Of the Levant, they say:
With the Greeks, they are always right; with the Turks, you are always wrong; with the Israelis, you don't what you are talking about.
Ellen is a Greek; I am a Turk; Harry is the Israeli of the Rockower clan.
Ellen looked like a Greek, wrapped in a green and white tapestried scarf wrapped around her head and leaving just whisps of black her and her sea blue eyes out.
I am a Turk, or get confused as such. Or perhaps a Mountain Turk, as the Kurds thought.
Harry knows where he is, even if he has never been there.
We communicate differently, but all are of the same Rockower geography.