Jerusalem, January 1981

Dotty,

Something unbelievable has happened. Upon my return from America, I discovered among my unopened mail a list of participants at that conference on the cultures of the Black Sea Coast I told you about. And guess who's on the list! Or perhaps you already know, you with your prophetic little soul, which doesn't need a hairdresser to have its hair curled? The Arab, in flesh and blood, the one with the green eyes who drove me from my husband's bed. He's coming to the meeting in Istanbul. But I won't lie. He's not coming in order to see me. I'm going to finally see him. I've reckoned for a long time that our work intersects, and that if only I were to go to these conferences, our paths would be bound to cross as well. In my bag I'm carrying my paper on the Khazar mission of Cyril and Methodius, and underneath is a .38-caliber model 6 S & W. Thank you for your fruitless efforts to take Dr. Abu Kabir Muawia upon yourself. Now I'm taking him over as my own responsibility. Love me as you don't love Isaac. I need this now more than ever before. Our common father will help me. . . .