What you basically try to do when you write a personal portrait of somebody is you make a kind of retrospection that, too often, turns into an introspection. Where did you meet? Do you know that person? What did you talk about? Did you talk about anything? The facts: I remember having met Kenza in Tel Aviv in November 2012 shortly before young guys in the Gaza strips were launching poorly built rockets heading for Tel Aviv. She is a friend of a friend of a friend. At that time, Kenza was working for Amnesty International Israel. With Kenza there was Angel, the friend of the friend. Angel worked at a set for a French film about a giraffe in Ramallah who got love sick or something. And it gets dizzier later. We went to Florentin, south of Tel Aviv, and Kenza and Angel met a guy who said he would never participate in this propaganda war (Israel was discussing raiding the Gaza strip). And then they all left, Kenza, Angel, the guy, to The Block, a club where there was a Party labelled It’s Britney/Beyoncé Bitch. The Block is near Tel Aviv’s god’s forsaken bus station where you have the Levinsky park where dozens of refugees from Sudan and Eritrea are waiting for a better life. And I guess Kenza is this kind of person who tries to make the world better. Being young, very smart and multi-lingual (speaking more languages than you have kids, for sure), multi-cultural, multi-faced (in Hebrew the word face does only exist in plural, which makes complete sense). Kenza was born in Rabat (I suspect her to be a Moroccan princess), and she did a master in international security and conflict resolution at Sciences Po in Paris, and she might be all French, and she might not be. And she might have escaped from a story of justice and equality and beauty. But the world is a rotten place if you are unlucky. And even if you are one of the lucky few, you still rot sometime. However, Kenza might rescue you.
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