I am not a night stalker.

I am a writer.

I am a woman.

But I am also a journalist, a feminist and a queer Jew.

On Sunday night, the night of a planned march by Israeli Jews to protest against the government’s proposed law that would criminalize the wearing of “face coverings” and the use of social media, a woman was killed by an unknown assailant.

Her death, which followed several days of protests and protests against the bill, was a heartbreaking reminder of the precariousness of Israel’s identity and of the need for a greater level of respect and understanding of the countrys complex histories and ways of life.

I don’t wear a mask, and I don’t share my face with anyone, let alone Israeli Jews, who do.

I also do not share my identity with the rest of the world, because that would make me an outsider, someone who is less Jewish.

The woman I know and respect, Shira Oron, who has lived in Israel for more than 15 years, was killed in a shooting that police say was not terrorism.

Oron’s killer, an Arab, was identified by police and is being held in custody.

But it is not only Jews in Israel who wear masks.

A recent poll found that about 1.7 million people in Israel have worn masks in recent years.

This figure includes people who are not Jewish and those who wear Jewish clothes.

But to be sure, there are other Jews who wear full-face coverers.

This includes my father, a Holocaust survivor and the founder of the Jewish Community in Israel.

My mother, who was a survivor of the Holocaust, is a grandmother of three who has served as a minister.

I have been a member of the Israeli parliament for 25 years and serve on the board of a large-scale social justice organization.

I wear a hijab and a kippah to protect my identity and my Jewishness.

The kippahs are made of fabric made from the same recycled polyester that I am so proud of wearing.

But to be a full-fledged Jew in Israel, I am forced to wear a full face veil every day.

The first time I saw my father at a protest, I saw him wearing a mask.

I was a young girl.

But the mask made me realize that the mask I wore was no mask.

The mask I am wearing is a mask that is mine.

It is my body.

It belongs to me.

The man who shot and killed Oron is a coward, a murderer who will be punished by the law.

But he is not the only coward in Israel today.

I don`t know who else is a murderer in Israel right now.

I`m not afraid of being a night stalker, because I have not done so.

I do not know what it is like to be stalked, and if it is a normal occurrence, I do my best to not think about it.

But my family is scared, too.

My father`s widow, my mother`s family, my father`t even bothered to talk to me about it, because they feel that I`m a threat to their identity and to their family.

In Israel, there is a growing fear that young women are being stalked by men who want to get close to them.

It`s a fear that has been growing for a long time.

I was walking my dog when I was attacked.

It happened at 3:30 a.m. in the middle of the night.

I saw a man coming towards me with a knife.

I stopped, and he pulled me towards the bushes, where I was stabbed.

He then pulled my clothes off, threw them on the ground and ran.

My body fell to the ground.

I ran to the ambulance and I was in the ambulance for five minutes.

Then the police showed up and took me to the hospital.

I woke up in the emergency room.

I went into surgery and there was no blood, no wound.

The doctors told me I would be dead within an hour.

I spent two days in the ICU and a third day in the intensive care unit.

I never recovered.

After the attack, the doctor told me that I would never be able to walk again, because of my injuries.

He also told me not to speak with anyone.

My friends are scared of me.

The man who attacked me, he told them that he would never talk to them again.

He would only use my name, which was the only thing I had.

He told me, “I know your name.”

I`ve never had an identity crisis like that.

I just want to live my life and be a good Jew.

I have a job.

I`ve been working since I was six years old, so I can afford to pay rent.

I live in a modest apartment in Jerusalem.

My parents are very proud of me and my achievements.

They think I