I went to Israel to talk, and I talked a lot, but I did my best to listen, too. On my first day, I sat in a Jerusalem café with Z, a comparative literature student, who told me that just a couple of weeks before, in this same café, a girl had walked in who reminded her of herself, except that she was very bundled up, in a down jacket, on an unseasonably hot day. The girl was breathing heavily, and Z asked her if there was anything wrong. She stood up and said, quite loudly, "Yes, something's wrong." In the next few seconds, Z's whole life passed before her. Then the girl said, "I'm wearing too many clothes!" She shed layer after layer of clothes, then sat down to read the paper and eat a normal meal-oblivious to everyone else in the café, who spent the next hour unable to stop laughing.

A few days later, A, an architect in Tel Aviv, mentioned Jerusalem, and I asked him if he got up there much. He replied, "Why should I go to Jerusalem? I know what a bomb sounds like. I ca...

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