"What do they think,"

  a parent who'd come from all-night Kinesset talks asked out loud, "They are going to a museum?" 

  A couple looked at the photographs of the soldiers in white gloves holding machine guns.  "So...no fingerprints?!"  The couple spoke sentences together.  One starting, one finishing. 

  "Where did you get those?" 

  Of course, no one could answer.  It was one of the topics more hintimated about than discussed with any degree of certainty.  Like, a next generation frantic to survive. 

  "A slave?" A son serving both militarily and as medical tech asked his mother.  She'd gone to great lengths to have his "case" reviewed to determine his fate.  "My status is slave?" 

  The mother nodded, "Mine.  For right now." 

  "Have you people lost your minds?" A lumpy with cancer older generation Israeli breathed shallow and shifted his heft in a massage chair.  "There's no getting out of this.  Ever." 

  A middle-aged daughter turned on heel and spoke in Hebrew.  "But it might be different for them."  The old man groaned.