861: Group Chat

Chana Joffe-Walt

From WBEZ Chicago, it's This American Life. I'm Chana Joffe-Walt, sitting in for Ira Glass. Family group chat, created May 19, 2023, two years ago, before. Yousef Hammash-- "Send this link to Aseel, Salsabil, and Heba so they can enter the group." Manal-- "We are all gathered together. What a blessing." Heart emoji. "I don't have Hasan or Ahmed. Yousef must add them." "I sent the link above, you idiots, so you can send it to them." Yousef reshares link. "Send them the link." "I sent it."

Manal-- "We want to go out tomorrow, to the beach." "OK, why is the group called the shitty family?" "Yeah. Who's the son of a gun who names the group?" Laughing emoji. "Please. Isn't this Yousef's doing?" "It's Yousef." "I did it for your sake, sister." "God bless you, pride of the Arabs."

"Manal wants to invite us to the beach, Hadeel." "I want to take you to the beach." "When?" "We're thinking either tomorrow or Monday." "I will let my children go. But what day?" "We're thinking Monday." "We need a watermelon. That's the most important thing." "You're making conditions as well?" "The watermelon is more important than you." "I'm being mocked." Yousef-- "Whoever wants to go with us, like this message. I will set up a time later." "Where?" "To the beach." "But what day?" "Tomorrow." Clown face.

Yousef, who started this group chat for his family, he's been on our show before, Yousef Hammash. He was a humanitarian aid worker in Gaza, grew up there, lived there his whole life. He started this group chat with his family months before the war, before October 7, when Hamas attacked Southern Israel. After that, Yousef became responsible for moving his whole family-- his four sisters, their extended families-- from one place to another, trying to escape Israel's bombing.

After six months of displacement and near-death experiences and worrying for his children, Yousef did something he thought he'd never do-- he left Gaza. This was last spring. He went with his wife, mother, and his kids to Egypt. His sisters decided to stay behind. And since that time, almost no one has been able to leave Gaza. That was a little more than a year ago. The group chat is still going.

Chana Joffe-Walt

"We," meaning the people who are outside Gaza now-- Yousef, his wife, his kids, and his mom. Inside Gaza, the sisters make plans, talk about who they ran into that day, share pictures of their kids, of bombings. They send voice memos to each other to share news and cheer each other up.

Chana Joffe-Walt

In the year-plus since Yousef has left, the sisters have all moved again. They're not all together anymore. And they keep moving. They've survived airstrikes, illnesses, months with no food at all coming in. And they keep checking in, here, in the chat.

Yousef, the problem-solver in the family, the "don't worry, I'll take care of it" guy, he keeps trying to figure out how to solve the same problems over and over. When his sister, Aseel, texts, "If I clean, I get dizzy. If I cook, I get dizzy. There's no edible food. It's worse than you can imagine," Yousef replies, "Buy anything."

Aseel-- "Don't worry about me, love. All is OK." Then they go back and forth. Aseel-- "1 kilo of rice is 35." Yousef-- "No problem. I'll pay." Aseel-- "A kilo of flour is 50." Yousef-- "Whatever the price." Aseel-- "The issue is not the price. It's the cash." Yousef-- "I don't know what one can do." Aseel-- "The situation has become very bad." Yousef-- "The problem is, I can't do anything."

Chana Joffe-Walt

Yousef spent the first six months of the war experiencing everything his family is experiencing together. And when he left, it felt inconceivable that it could go on this way, this much longer. But it has. His phone keeps getting new messages. And he keeps reassuring and responding and arranging and trying to provide comfort.

And then, these last few weeks, being unable anymore, even with all his skills and connections, to get money, cash into his sister's hands, hearing how their children are not eating, something changed for Yousef. He felt literally dumbstruck.

Chana Joffe-Walt

Leaving Gaza made Yousef the newest member of a well-established club. There are about 5 million Palestinians living inside the West Bank in Gaza. And the rest, about 9 million Palestinians live all over the world, people who are trying to maintain family and connections across countries and time zones and bad cell connections.

Today's show is about those conversations, inside one family and between friends, colleagues. Yousef's family agreed to share all the messages they sent back and forth to each other over years. We got them translated-- all the late night musings and updates and petty resentments and serious resentments and jokes and plans and fears, intimate moments, where you can see how these conversations and relationships change over time.

How do you keep being a family? And we hear from other people on the outside and others inside, figuring out what to say and what to keep secret. Stay with us.

Chana Joffe-Walt

It's This American Life. Act One, I'm Fine. Don't Worry. Within any family, there's the group chat, and there's the side chat. The person Yousef is always checking in with most is his youngest sister in Gaza, Aseel.

June 2024, Yousef to Aseel-- "Yo, my sister, please confirm you're well." Aseel-- "I feel like I haven't seen you since the last century." The thing Yousef says more than anything else in these chats is, "Please confirm you're well." The thing Aseel says most? "I'm fine. Don't worry."

Yousef says Aseel is the one in the family who's the most like him, practical, can-do, unfazed, also stubborn. Aseel is 10 years younger than Yousef. She's a nurse. She wants to know things and do things.

Chana Joffe-Walt

She looks to him the same way. She trusts him. When Aseel was trying to figure out the safest place to give birth to her first child in a war zone, the person she planned it out with was Yousef. When she needs advice on anything, Yousef.

In the beginning of their WhatsApp chat after he left Gaza, you can see Yousef trying to set the terms of their new situation. His point over and over-- the important things have not changed. I'll call every day. Anything you need, I'm here. Yousef-- "If you want anything, whatever it is, do not hesitate."

Aseel jokes, "After all, everything is cheap." Yousef-- "Live and spend." Aseel-- "My dear brother, I swear I want nothing but to see you. I swear I don't need anything." Yousef-- "This is my duty, my sister. Just take care of yourself." Aseel responds with a voice memo-- her and her baby, Seela.

[ASEEL SPEAKING GIBBERISH, SEELA GIGGLING]

24 hours later, Yousef, seemingly concerned that he didn't get his point across, writes, "The most important thing is that you do not lack anything. Buy whatever you want."

Relationships shift all the time, sometimes suddenly, but the long, slow changes, they can be just as dramatic. Yousef and Aseel lived within walking distance their whole lives. They saw each other in person all the time. They shared life, a landscape. And right away, within a week of leaving Gaza, Yousef realized how much information he gathered just by being there, seeing Aseel face to face, seeing what she needed. When he wasn't there, he understood, oh, Aseel isn't great at asking for things.

Chana Joffe-Walt

So every time Aseel says, I'm fine, Yousef has to guess what he can do to help. Four months after he left Gaza, Yousef was reading and hearing about bombing. Increasingly, the bombing was where she was living. The other sisters were moving. Yousef figured Aseel would, too, and made a plan for her to move to a safer area called Al Mawasi, just like he always did. He would pay for it, of course.

Yousef to Aseel-- "There's a furnished apartment in this project, $1,000 per month." Aseel-- "Oh, my God, it's a lot. I don't know if the war will go on longer or not. The amount of money is a lot." Yousef-- "Call her. You will love it." The next day, Yousef-- "Have you seen the apartment? It's a good place." Aseel-- "It's forbidden to be extravagant. I didn't go, no."

Four hours later, Aseel-- "It's really nice, honestly. But it's expensive." Yousef-- "Is it a suitable place??" Double question mark. Aseel-- "I'm fine now. If there's an evacuation, I will leave." She did not move to the apartment.

Money was becoming an issue between them in a new way. Yousef had always supported a lot of people in the family, but after he left Gaza, he started doing it through Aseel. She'd tell Yousef who among their family and friends in Gaza needed help. Here's how much. Here's a list. He'd coordinate with her to get the money to them. Aseel to Yousef-- "Everyone thinks I'm the finance ministry." Yousef-- "Let them think that."

This meant, now, Aseel knew how much money Yousef was giving out, how many people he was supporting in Gaza, not to mention trying to find a place for his family on the outside. Aseel didn't want to add to the burden. Aseel-- "Don't worry about me, love. You're going to have travel expenses and expenses that will destroy even mountains. Don't send me money until you guys get settled and organize your matters." Yousef-- "Don't worry. Your brother is strong as a whale."

As the months passed, Aseel continued to lean on Yousef for some things, but she also quietly started trying to manage more things on her own. In August, a few months after Yousef left, Aseel's baby was suffering from a terrible rash. She couldn't figure out how to treat it. She couldn't find the cream she needed. Aseel sent me pictures to see if I had any ideas. But she didn't tell Yousef, even though Yousef knows all sorts of medical people in Gaza.

Chana Joffe-Walt

Keeping things from each other-- this became a bigger part of their relationship. Yousef was traveling around-- Egypt, England-- trying to get asylum somewhere in the world.

He told Aseel about some of it, and he edited out stuff that would be too sharp a contrast to Aseel's life. He'd share a selfie from the train, but he would not tell her about taking the kids to see the pyramids, the Nile. He'd gleefully tell her he's near where David Beckham lives, but he wouldn't mention the restaurant he went to that day.

Aseel knew he was keeping stuff from her, and in the texts, she's constantly nudging him to send her pictures and updates. And when he does share something, she responds quickly with hearts and says things like, "I am happy just seeing your pictures. It's amazing, bro."

Yousef sends a picture of himself on a bike in London. Aseel-- "Wow." Smiley face. "It's amazing-- and an athlete." Smiley face, heart. Another time, a selfie of Yousef in Cairo. Aseel-- "Advice for you--" smiley face, heart, "--this haircut looks good on you."

Aseel had pushed Yousef to leave Gaza. She considered going with him, but the cost was enormous, more than Yousef could cover. And she didn't want to leave her in-laws and extended family behind in Gaza. She's genuinely very happy for Yousef, but there's also a new, unfamiliar feeling.

Chana Joffe-Walt

Yousef knows it without her saying it because he feels it, too.

Chana Joffe-Walt

One of the reasons Aseel didn't leave Gaza with Yousef is she thought the war would end soon. Another reason-- she wanted to go home, to the north, where her house is, in Jabalia. She wanted to raise her daughter at home. She thought about it every day. She was waiting and waiting for the Israeli military to allow residents of the north to return. These months and months of text messages really convey just how long she was stuck.

You can see Aseel getting ground down over time. There's no electricity, no clean water. She keeps getting sick. There's bombings and drones and just uncertainty, endless uncertainty. September 2024, Aseel-- "Oh, by God, we are tired. I wish I had listened to you and gone with you." October, Aseel-- "Officially, I swear to God that I cannot bear the situation at all."

November, Aseel-- "Seela has malnutrition." Yousef-- "Oh, my God. What did the doctor tell you?" Aseel-- "She told me she has malnutrition, and she's very underweight and needs vitamins. I don't know what to feed her. I didn't feed her canned food because I was afraid she'd get sick. Today is the first time I regret giving birth." Yousef-- "May God help you, sister." January 2025, voice memo from Aseel to the group chat.

Chana Joffe-Walt

Then, January 15, some news. Hammash family group chat, Aseel-- "The president of Qatar wants to announce a ceasefire soon." "Oh, God." "Get excited, guys." "The war is over." "It's a truce. It's a truce. It's over." "Oh, God, a truce." "Thank God."

The moment Israel and Hamas agreed to a ceasefire last January, Aseel began planning her return to the north, to her house. It was time, the thing she'd been waiting for. But Yousef was against it. Yousef to Aseel-- "In my opinion, sister, you should stay where you are. It's early, my sister. And I hear strange things in the north."

Aseel-- "But I'm tired. How long will we continue like this?" Yousef-- "One by one, everything will be solved." Aseel-- "But man, the house is important." Yousef-- "Leave it to me. The war just stopped yesterday." Their other sisters were fine to wait and see, but Aseel kept pressing to go north. Yousef had access to satellite images, and his assessment was if Aseel went north, she'd find that she had no house anymore.

Chana Joffe-Walt

Yousef and Aseel's texts about this went on for weeks. Their back and forth reads like Yousef is still that older brother who's in control. But one of the things Aseel is not telling him, she and her husband, Ahmed, have already begun moving their things north. Yousef thinks he's still in a position to grant permission. Aseel tells him, it's already done.

Yousef to Aseel-- "You can go for two days and try it, but try not to move your things." Aseel-- "Ahmed transferred 90% of them." Smiley face. She was already there.

Chana Joffe-Walt

Yousef saw that Aseel was not alone in this decision. As soon as people were allowed back, 376,000 Palestinians returned to their homes in the north. And they returned to places with no roads or schools or hospitals or clean water, and to homes that were damaged and destroyed. But they still went back.

After weeks of pushing back, Yousef got it. It was easy to urge patience from the outside, but it was hard in the south, where they had been forced to live for more than a year. Towns in the south were overwhelmed by displaced people from the north. There was tension between people from the north and south. There was months and months of displacement. People were tired, degraded. It was better to be in a tent where your home was than in a tent in Rafah or Khan Younis.

Now that she was home, Aseel began trying to live, not just survive. Her husband, Ahmed, set up a solar panel and started a phone charging station, a small business. Aseel found a job with an NGO doing data entry. Yousef hadn't wanted her to work. He thought going outside was unsafe. But Aseel wanted to have money of her own. Yousef told me, despite his objections, he was proud seeing what Aseel had created.

For two months, the ceasefire held. March 18, Hammash family group chat. "The war is back." "Damn." "God is sufficient for me, and He is the best disposer of affairs." 2:39 AM, Yousef writes, "Call Aseel. I can't get through." Seven hours later, Aseel-- "I'm fine. Don't worry."

Now that she was back north and the war was back on, all the little ways Aseel had been gathering herself over the last year-- making her own decisions, working for her own money, relying mostly on herself-- became essential for her survival. It's like she anticipated a time when, even with love and support from the outside, she was going to need to be entirely self-sufficient. That time was now.

When Israel violated the ceasefire in March, it launched one of the deadliest days of the war, 400 people killed in a single day in the north and also throughout the Gaza Strip. Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu said, this is only the beginning. Israel barred all food, aid, and any other supplies from coming into the territory, a complete ban that would end up lasting more than two months.

Chana Joffe-Walt

The flour lasted two days. Aseel stopped working. She tried not to go out more than she needed to. There were evacuation orders for areas in the north in April, again in May, but also, orders in the south and some in the middle area of Gaza, and threats of a new Israeli ground invasion in the north and bombs. Aseel was coming back from visiting an injured relative in the hospital. She was almost home, and there was an explosion right where the car was going to drop her off. This was two weeks ago.

Chana Joffe-Walt

You can see in the chat when Aseel does tell him. And she's right. He pleads with her to leave, to go to her sisters, who are sheltering in Gaza City. But she doesn't want to leave. In her home, she managed to collect bedding, some furniture, a small generator, toys for the baby, the beginnings of something livable. If they leave, everything could be gone when they get back. And, Aseel tells Yousef, nowhere is safe.

May 15, 2:25 PM, Aseel-- "I'm fine, my love. Don't worry." Yousef-- "God is sufficient for us, and He is the best disposer of affairs, my sister." By midnight that night, more bombs. Hammash family group chat. "Can someone check on Aseel?" Manal-- "Yousef is talking to her."

Chana Joffe-Walt

1:39 AM, Yousef-- "Please confirm you're well." Aseel-- "Thank God for everything."

Chana Joffe-Walt

1:59 AM, Yousef-- "May God keep you safe, my dear." Aseel-- "Thank God. I'm fine. Don't worry."

Chana Joffe-Walt

In the video, the camera is pointed at what looks like a pile of rubble, but it's hard to see because it's dark, and they're surrounded by a cloud of dust and debris. In the upper corner of the video, there's a piece of drywall, maybe a fallen ceiling. Aseel is saying, I can't see a thing, calling for her husband, Ahmed. Someone says, Ahmed is there. He's there. Aseel says, I hope they don't bomb again.

Chana Joffe-Walt

And then--

Chana Joffe-Walt

I got messages from Aseel that night, too. She wrote, "I hope to stay alive until the morning. This is the hardest night since the beginning of the war. I'm so scared." And she wrote, "I feel like I won't meet my family again."

Chana Joffe-Walt

It took 11 hours before he heard anything. His other sister, Heba, finally got through to Aseel. They'd survived. Heba was hiring an ambulance to try to get Aseel out. She wasn't injured. It was just the only way the family could figure out how to get to her.

Chana Joffe-Walt

Hammash family group chat, Yousef to the group-- "Aseel has arrived at the girls' house." "Are you asking or telling?" Yousef-- "I'm telling you." Upside down face. "Thank God she's safe." "Thank God. May God keep them safe and well, God willing."

And then, 5:51 PM, Aseel shows back up in the chat. Aseel-- "I'm fine, guys, but I'm devastated." I got a text, too. "I'm fine," she said, "but my psyche is broken." Aseel has not gone back since.

19 months is a long time, long enough to move four times, to create a home out of nothing, to start a new business, long enough for Aseel to be pregnant, to deliver her first baby, and for that baby to learn to roll over, crawl, and walk, long enough to feel certain that this cannot possibly go on any longer. The day after this terrible night, Aseel sent me one more text-- "I'm pregnant. I don't know if I should be worried or upset or happy. I don't know what to feel."

When Aseel and Yousef shared their messages, I started reading from the beginning and didn't stop for hours and hours until I was finished, hundreds of pages and photos and videos later. After I was done, I kept scrolling back up to the beginning, to how the story starts, two years ago, a family planning a day at the beach.

"Make a cinnamon roll, Heba, and arrange it here." "Heba, I'm scared you'll ruin the cinnamon roll. You're good at baking cake. Bake a cake. Hadeel's cinnamon roll is tasty." "I'll make a cake, and you won't eat it." "Who told you we won't eat it?" "OK, I'll make you a cake." "Aseel, do you want to bring the nuts? Bring the seeds and nuts."

Aseel-- "Shall I make you a crepe?" "No." Aseel-- "Shall I make you some pastries?" "Come on, Aseel. Manal and I will work with you. Do you know how to make a cinnamon roll?" It felt like a shock being in the presence of a family in this way and the banality of a moment. I understood, oh, this is what this family was. This is what was destroyed.

Coming up, a refresher-- how many pounds are in a kilo again? 2.2 pounds-- and other memorable measurements. That's in a minute from Chicago Public Radio, when our program continues.

Chana Joffe-Walt

It's This American Life. I'm Chana Joffe-Walt, sitting in for Ira Glass. Today's show, Group Chat. We're hearing from Palestinians living outside the West Bank and Gaza, checking in with people there. We've arrived at Act Two of our program. Act Two, Week 11.

Mohammed Mhawish left Gaza a year ago, around the same time as Yousef, just before the border closed. Mohammed's a reporter. He's lived in Gaza his whole life. And he spent the last year, since he left, continuing to report and talk to people back home. Some are people he knows, others he finds through his reporting.

He's been trying to document each phase of the current war. Last fall, the messages and voice memos Mohammed was getting from people in Gaza were about evacuations or about people figuring out where to move to be safe. In November and December, the messages were about the cold. Winter was coming. Now, they've turned to food.

Israel has imposed restrictions on food and supplies entering Gaza throughout the war. In March, they began a total blockade. No food was allowed in for 11 weeks. Israel said it was to pressure Hamas to release hostages.

Now, just this week, Israel is allowing a trickle of food, but it's doing so through a brand new, privately-run system that's backed by Israel and the US. This new system now has only three food distribution sites running. There used to be hundreds. A UN official has said the new system, quote, "cannot possibly meet Gaza's needs."

The upshot, as of the moment I'm saying this, is there's still not enough food inside Gaza, especially in the north. Mohammed has been talking to people there. Here he is.

Mohammed Mhawish

A few weeks ago, I got a phone call from my friend, Abdelhakim Aburiash. He's in Gaza, in the north. He said, I can't explain the pain in my stomach, in my bones, in my head. I know exactly what he meant. Right before I left Gaza a year ago, I was in the north of the strip. There was a blockade then as well-- no food or supplies. My son and I were both diagnosed with acute malnutrition.

Now, it's not just the north. All of Gaza is hungry. When I call people there now, all I hear are stories of hunger, the quiet and desperate tricks that people have come up with to survive. A father living in my old neighborhood, Al Daraj, told me his family of five shared a single Snickers bar for lunch. We slice it like cake, he said. We make it a moment.

I talked to a son in charge of searching for food for his whole family, who told me, we boil herbs to trick our bodies into thinking we're full. We feed the children first, then wait to see if there is anything left. Most nights, there isn't.

Now, I'm talking a lot to another person in the north, Huda Skaik. She is 20 years old. A few months ago, she messaged me out of the blue. She said she wanted to be a journalist, asked me for advice on how to pitch to news outlets.

These days, I message her for updates. I called her on week 11 of the blockade, week 11 of no food going into Gaza. We don't just talk about food. She has ambitions. I asked which journalists from Gaza she'd been reading lately.

Mohammed Mhawish

She did. Huda is a very serious student. She is studying English literature online through the Islamic University of Gaza-- first in her class. She told me studying brings her peace. It was nighttime in Gaza when we talked, nine hours since she'd last eaten.

Mohammed Mhawish

It's exam time right now. Huda has been putting her headphones on and studying late into the night. I was astonished by Huda's ability to stay focused. Night time is terrifying in Gaza. All we could hear was explosions and the sound of drones getting closer. But Huda just studies through it.

Mohammed Mhawish

Before the war, Huda was the kind of person who liked to take pictures of what she was eating, especially when she made it. These days, when she gets hungry, she scrolls through those pictures. She said it helps her feel full, just looking at them. She told me about a photo of maqluba from 2022, a screenshot of a burger ad. She told me she zooms in and pretends she's picking the crispy bits off the chicken.

Mohammed Mhawish

Like almost $11 for a candy bar. A year ago, prices were high, but not this high. People still had stored food. There were still some farms. The market I used to shop at still had stock.

A kilo is a little over 2 pounds. Before the war, a kilo of sugar cost about $0.25, $0.30 on the high end. When I was still in Gaza, a kilo of sugar was already outrageous, $16. And it was already hard to find.

Now there is almost nothing. Farmland has been wiped out, greenhouses turned to ash. It's not just the food that's gone. There is no fuel to cook what little might be left-- rice, lentils. There is no fuel to even boil water.

Mohammed Mhawish

I remember the way hunger settled into my body. Not just as pain, but as a kind of silence. When I stood up, the room spun. My mouth tasted like metal. My limbs felt heavy, like I was wading through water. I stopped feeling hunger as a craving. It became something else, a slow shutting down.

Mohammed Mhawish

When I first talked to Huda, I could tell she was ambitious. She talked about wanting to be a teacher. She dreamt of getting her master's degree abroad. But just before we talked, she had started to rethink that plan because she doesn't want to leave Gaza behind.

I was surprised by Huda's question, and I had trouble answering it. It slammed me back to the moment as I was crossing into Egypt-- no drones, no sounds of war. People were just living, only 30 minutes away from Gaza, sipping sodas, grilling on the street, kids heading to school, others coming back from college.

The world outside Gaza, it's an overwhelming mix of things. My mouth isn't capable of what it wants to speak. I think it's good for us to be in other parts of the world to share what is happening back home. But to do that, I had to leave everything behind, knowing I may never go back. My home is out of reach. This is kind of breaking my heart.

Huda texted me after our call and surprised me with another question. She asked what I had for breakfast. I lied. I said, coffee and toast. These two things are still available somewhere in Gaza. I did not tell her I had one egg, a cookie, and a cup of tea.

Chana Joffe-Walt

Mohammed Mhawish is a journalist and writer from Gaza. Diane Wu produced this story. You can find more of Mohammed's reporting in Al Jazeera and MSNBC. He's also a contributing writer for The Nation, which is where we first read about his experiences with hunger. Huda's access to food has not changed since Mohammed spoke with her two weeks ago.

Chana Joffe-Walt

Our show today was produced by Lilly Sullivan. Nancy Updike edited the show. The people who put our show together include Michael Comite, Angela Gervasi, Ira Glass, Cassie Howley, Valerie Kipnis, Seth Lind, Miki Meek, Katherine Rae Mondo, Stowe Nelson, Nadia Reiman, Anthony Roman, Alissa Shipp, Christopher Swetala, and Marisa Robertson-Textor.

Our managing editor is Sarah Abdurrahman. Our senior editor is David Kestenbaum. Emanuele Berry is our executive editor. Special thanks today to Hany Hawasly, Laura Albast, Rania Mustafa, Dana Ballout, Rachel Strom, Emna Zygal, Lizzy Ratner, and Suzanne Gaber. Thanks also to KCRW in Los Angeles, where I've been recording this week and have had help from Katie Gilchrest, Phil Richards, Mike Stark, and Mike Newport. Voiceover for Aseel in Act One was performed by Tara Aboud.

Our website, thisamericanlife.org. If you become a This American Life Partner, you'll get bonus content, ad-free listening, and more. To join, go to thisamericanlife.org/lifepartners. That link is also in the show notes. This American Life is delivered to public radio stations by PRX, the Public Radio Exchange. I'm Chana Joffe-Walt. Ira Glass will be back next week with more stories of This American Life.