I thought the best place to start would be at the beginning.
When I was four, I used to play in the deserted garden of a Arabic house opposite our home on Betzalel Yaffe in Tel Aviv. One day I heard kittens mewing so I ventured deep into the undergrowth in search of them. I felt something above me, and heard an intense, high-pitched sound, and then I was knocked off my feet by a ray of light from a burning globe over my head.
When I came too, I ran to my mother but she didn't really believe me. But a few days later, I bent my first spoon. I was eating soup, and my mother was at the stove, and the spoon just curled. The soup went in my lap. My mother said, "It must be a loose spoon or something," but even at four, I knew the truth was far stranger.