From the Publisher:
Editing Germaine W. Shames, even though she doesn't need it, is a singular privilege.
From the Author:
Borders. Names on a map. I was born a traveler, one for whom the globe could never be big enough. When, in 1987, I fixed my sights on Israel, I had already sojourned on six continents, and considered myself a citizen of the world.
I booked a flight during the early days of the conflict that came to be called the Intifada. Laying aside my Frommer’s and instinct for self-preservation, I became a correspondent for a small news service. My self appointed mission: to cover the peace and coexistence movement so under-reported in the mainstream media.
I moved to Jerusalem’s Muslim Quarter, where donkey dung and tear gas canisters lay in sorry heaps among the cobblestones. Daily, I followed the uprising to its flashpoint in the West Bank or Gaza Strip, numbly awaiting the collective eruption of nerves that would trigger the first volley of stones and rubber bullets.
Sometime between the stabbings of old people on Jaffa Road and the demise of the militant rabbi Meir Kahane, I cut my press card to shreds with cuticle scissors. My carefully measured column inches, aptly called "hard news" had failed miserably to capture Jerusalem’s complex moral climate, the myriad questions posed in equal parts by her beauty and her brutality.
Between Two Deserts allowed me to tell a larger story, the intimate dramas that extraordinary circumstance makes of ordinary lives. In its pages, I give voice to Muslims, Christians, and Jews, and through their struggles and dreams, make my plea for peace.
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