Our first glimpse of Mount Rushmore was accidental — both unexpected and spectacular.
My 19-year-old son Azriel and I had landed a few hours earlier for a High Plains road trip before he begins his service as a combat paramedic in the Israel Defense Forces. High above Keystone, S.D., with its kitschy tribute to the gold-mining town of yore, we were preparing to descend an alpine slide when we looked off toward the distant cliffs. There they were, the breathtaking stalwarts of American liberty, staring solemnly out from their granite berths.
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