Every place, every face has multiple truths, as many as the eyes of the beholders and the times it can be seen. So every impression one takes home from a journey is his or hers only. When it comes to Israel, the word that comes to my mind is conflict. A cliché maybe? Conflict for me, in the sense of a constant struggle between opposites and, as a result of this struggle, only an even stronger confirmation of the fact that there is no real winner.
A silent frustration. A clash between the constant, suspended warfare condition, represented mainly by barbed wire, tanks and teenagers with rifles, and a widespread, somehow forced detachment to that aggressive reality. A sort of vigilant immobility, a bored uncertainty, ready to burst into the next induced political crisis. Almost a duty one has to patiently accept.