We had this kind of Blind Date you sometimes have with people you should work or start a project with, people everyone talks about saying: You two should meet. We missed our Blind Date several times before we finally bumped into each other by chance in an event in Kantstraße, a part of the city that neither me, nor Hanno ever go to – only for that one evening, for the first time in years, the last time in months. So we were both a bit late, both waiting for something, but stopped waiting within a second, started talking and didn’t stop since then. Talking also means: Listening. Talking with Hanno also means: Silence. What I immediately liked about him was the intensity of his thinking, the ethically motivated way of looking at the people around him, the intimacy in which he engaged with them. Hanno knows how to ask the right questions at the right time. He thinks in stories and he acts in stories, constantly travelling between Tel Aviv and Berlin, down to earth with his head full of intellectual glittering. I always calm down next to him. I always get in a good mood. I always laugh a lot. He has a rare empathy, which sets him apart from the rest of the people with whom you have this kind of Blind Date just because they are part of your network or circle or community. And if I would be one of those writers who would need a muse to be inspired, I might choose him, because he is amor fati – sometimes I’m sure: he has an old soul. You should talk with him, when you meet him around.