Yesterday my husband and I took a short tour of Jericho, one of the world’s most ancient cities. I’d been there once before, sometime around 1972. My firmest memory of the place, stronger than my recollection of the ruins, is of drinking warm soda straight from the bottle with a plastic straw. It was hot then, like yesterday. While we poked around the remnants of a curved, tall stone tower said to stem from the Natufian period (~ 9,000 BCE), our driver took a seat in a nearby cafe. He ordered a pitcher of lemonade. “It’s the best here,” he said as we reached the shaded table. He poured some of the slightly-sweetened, fresh juice into each of our glasses. This was a familiar dilemna…
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