Descending the holy hills that are Jerusalem, the warm sun sweeps us through Sha’ar Hagai, on to the Shfela [lowlands], and into the heart of Israel’s Coastal Plain. We’ve left our beloved home on a venture that gives us much moral clarity. We’re going to help harvest fruits and vegetables in the evacuated farming communities near Israel’s border with the Gaza Strip. It is the quintessential labor of love.

We were privileged to see the sunrise in the cool quiet of Jerusalem. The sun sparkled through the aging trees, illuminating the ageless stones. In the Shfela, we pass enormous and rolling fruited fields. They are often punctuated with small wet wadis crossing their long arching furrows. At their edges and on their crests are stands of eucalyptus trees fluttering like a million miniature windsocks.

As the sunshine stretches out, burning off the lingering mist, dark blue hills of Central Israel line the horizon over my left shoulder. Mid-morning gives way, and the blue sky remains shrouded. Farther south, the wispy cirrus clouds become one and disappear behind dark plumes of smoke rising from the ground.

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