The Impossible Distance: A Choice to Kill
I watched them marching toward the border. Row upon row of them in the hot, bright sun. They marched without guns, without tanks and missiles — although some, like the shepherd boy David, did pick up a few rocks to hurl into the impossible distance. I watched them stream down the green hill toward the heaps of dirt and wire. I saw them, old and young, walk toward the occupied land. I saw them come closer — close enough for the heavily-armed occupying force to have them in range. From a distance — behind the barbed wire, with the occupiers,