I am frequently asked if I have visited Israel, whereas yet, it is simply assumed that I have.
Well, I don’t travel. I really don’t, and if I did, I probably wouldn’t visit Israel. I remember how it was in 1948 when Israel was being established and all my Jewish friends were ecstatic, I was not. I said: what are we doing? We are establishing ourselves in a ghetto, in a small corner of a vast Muslim sea.
I am frequently asked if I have visited Israel, whereas yet, it is simply assumed that I have.
Well, I don’t travel. I really don’t, and if I did, I probably wouldn’t visit Israel. I remember how it was in 1948 when Israel was being established and all my Jewish friends were ecstatic, I was not. I said: what are we doing? We are establishing ourselves in a ghetto, in a small corner of a vast Muslim sea.
Something has shifted. You may not be able to name it precisely, but you feel it — in the cost of your groceries, in the tone of the news, in the conversations at church that drift toward things nobody used to say out loud. A quiet, persistent sense that the world your parents handed you is becoming unrecognizable, and that the pace of that change is accelerating. You’re not being paranoid. You’re paying attention.
Something has shifted. You may not be able to name it precisely, but you feel it — in the cost of your groceries, in the tone of the news, in the conversations at church that drift toward things nobody used to say out loud. A quiet, persistent sense that the world your parents handed you is becoming unrecognizable, and that the pace of that change is accelerating. You’re not being paranoid. You’re paying attention.