I was away for ten days, ten days in this Holy Land of barbed wire, settlers, and outrageous guns. And every day I was there, I had a moment of profound despair. I truly wanted to look away, to go home and mumble some words about what I had seen in private. And maybe if I were left alone to my own devices, maybe if I were loyal only to myself, I would have done it. But I am a writer, and a bearer. I am a writer and a steward. I am not alone, and I don’t just mean ancestors but the people I met every day living in abeyance of Israeli rule.
