We were boys, we were friends, we were enemies...today's LA Times:
snip...
In the fall of 1961, I was 8 years old and living in the Israeli hamlet of Kfar Saba, where my parents and I were born. We could see the Samaria Mountains from our porch, and the town of Kalkilya, now in the West Bank but then part of Jordan just a mile or so away. A valley of orchards and wild brush lay between us and was forbidden; the border was more or less defined by an old rail path.
But precisely because that citrus-scented valley was off-limits to me, it was also enticing one Saturday afternoon. I rode my bicycle past the village square, beyond the old bus station and into the valley that unfolded against the biblical mountains.
Kalkilya was close by where I walked in the thick groves that divided the two worlds. And then I realized that I was not alone. Standing and staring at me was an Arab boy, about my age, as surprised by this encounter as I.
We both froze in fear. But curiosity quickly prevailed and we began to talk. It was a halting mixture of Hebrew and English; I did not know any Arabic. I still remember that he knew words from both of my languages and I did not know any from his. I remember his face very clearly, particularly the way he smiled.
The rest at the link: http://www.latimes.com/opinion/op-ed/la-oe-kamin-israel-two-boys-20140717-story.html
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