A phenomenon that has often preoccupied me as a writer of narrative non-fiction – the work I mostly do when I’m not writing this column – is the way in which the world continually produces metaphors of such domineering obviousness that, were they to appear in a fictional text, a reader of any discernment would view them as disastrously heavy-handed. It’s a phenomenon related in my mind to the way the astonishing sunsets we often see in this part of the world – vast and spectacular displays of luminescent reds, oranges, bruised indigos – would appear simply gaudy and tasteless...
Monitoring Antisemitism Intel
