Let The Walls Tumble Down
It was not a full-scale prison, rather an army base with a military-police station. I was the sole refuser. My cellmates were young conscripts who had shown up late once too often or left their weapons in barracks or whatnot. And they were there, too, in cells facing the main yard. They: the Palestinians, whose representatives today chip at walls in Madrid or Washington or Moscow. Through the bars in the walls they watched us, crying out sometimes for water or cigarettes....