Because the Jewish consulate's elevator is slow and does not stop at the 13th floor, I am late for the quiz that would qualify me for a Jews in Latin America scholarship. We have half an hour to give twenty-five answers but the first few questions take the form of elliptical statements. I express my bafflement to the graduate students running the quiz, and they react warmly if dimly with apologies and clues. Later, when I have two out of twenty-five answers down, I learn that no one else had any trouble deciphering the questions. When my parents pick me up we the stairs down to avoid a wait. There is no garden outside so I eat at the mall with some friends of my father and explain to them the anxiety dream I had tonight.