When Ethiopian police called in Habtamu Assefa Seme to give fingerprints seven years ago, he took the hint.
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In any other circumstance, the array of items blanketing the table would be harmless, picked up in a family trip to the grocery store. A canister of Pringles, a bottle of water, Visine eye drops, a can of Dr Pepper, Tootsie Rolls, a pacifier, children’s chewable vitamins, WD-40. Even a rock.
There’s no way around it: The sound filling the sanctuary of Congregation Ner Tamid resembles the pained bleating of a herd of water buffalo after a lunch of profoundly questionable burritos.