Marc Prowisor says he will take me to see a Palestinian. And he does, wheeling his dusty SUV out of the hardline Israeli settlement where he lives—perhaps the biblical site of Shiloh, where the Ark of the Covenant was kept in a tent—past the security fences, the electric gate, down to the scruffy farm of Khaled Daraghmeh.
Daraghmeh is not happy to see us. The Palestinian farmer wears grey stubble on his chin. A shock of thick, black hair. Work-soiled trousers. A wary squint.
“Who are you?” he says stonily. “What do you want?”
“Sabah-il-khair!” Prowisor replies: “Good morning!” He is the happy warrior. He smiles warmly. He has ...