I MET Robert Slater in 1989, the year my first novel “Jephte’s Daughter” was published.

Before that, I had heard of him, and glimpsed him from afar when I was battering down the doors of the Government Press Office in Jerusalem’s Beit Agron for press credentials. At the time, I was a columnist for the Intermountain Jewish News of Denver, quietly going through freelance hell.

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