It was at the beginning of my first year in art school. My photography teacher cut us no slack. He wanted us to create a daring photo journal depicting a social issue of our choice. 

I chose to go olive picking in the west bank. It wasn't my first time in the west bank, but this time I wasn't in uniform carrying my custom issued weapon. In short it was my first time as a civilian. First time I could actually sit down with the people stuck in the middle of the Israeli-Arab conflict, just like me, or actually my mirror image. they were the iddle of the "other side".

The memories from my army service were still strong, pounding inside my head, sharpening a feeling of danger I just couldn't shake off. It was only after launch and a ciggarette that i realized that I might actually make it back home in one piece. I dont remember being in one piece since before enlisting