I Cannot Love Even One Country
Bezalel Eliyahu, leaning heavily on his cane, greets me in front of his jackfruit tree at Moshav Kidron in south central Israel. At 83, he is carrying more than his own weight. He is carrying the shell of something that belongs to another Israel. Something I recall from the stories I grew up with as a child. Stories of radical reinvention, of fractured Jewish lives migrating from west to east to rendezvous with their new selves under a disputed sky.