INT. DAN MARGALIT'S HOUSE - NIGHT

Semi-sepia light clearing through a cigarette haze as we enter the dining room, where eight men are seated around the 20th century version of Arthur's table round. At the far end is the STUDENT, who finally appears to have found his home among old comrades. The TABLE is spread with everything necessary for a really capital Shabbat meal - kreplach, Jerusalem kugel, tabbouleh, piroshki. Bottles of beer abound. The apartment is filled with Spartan furniture, but the wall is lined with classical art and the shelves and cases overflow with books.

None of the men is yet thirty, and we see at once that they respect the student as their leader. He stands up from his perch at the table and rubs his stomach, complimenting his host - a blonde-haired man who gives a very solicitous impression. But a fighter. He proposes a toast to the old times, and all of them give full-hearted assent. Old jokes and old nicknames flourish, and the undercurrent of tension and conflict seems to lighten palpably under a brotherly benison and peace.  

After a few moments, the humor dies down, and the eyes of the eight turn to the student, who holds up a PHOTOGRAPH - the same one we've just seen of the woman. He passes it around to the men, who look expectantly back at him to receive a second PHOTO - this one of the MAN who threw the bomb into the house. Murmurous approval fills the room as the men scrutinize the photo. After a moment or two, one of the MEN - he's six-five if an inch - gets up and lights a cigarette while he looks out the apartment window. He sees the moonlight falling on the Tower of David and, in an almost preternatural state, begins to speak to the men. All of them - including the student - look at him as though he were Prince Hamlet himself, soliloquizing on Elsinore's battlements. We then look at the student, who now sees what he formerly thought of as mere duty and drill, begin to see his role in the light of destiny. The tikva is kindled.