Memories of growing up Jewish in Montreal in the 1940s, and visiting Israel in 1992 to visit old friends who had emigrated to Israel as they had resolved to do as members of Jewish youth groups, and to see how the country had developed. In this way, and in his inimitable style, Richler provides what feel to be honest and accurate views of an eternal dispute over possession of an ancient land, which continues thirty-one years on.
“Instead of drunken Cossacks wielding swords it was IDF delinquents with dum-dum bullets. Even as I luxuriated in guilt, I had to acknowledge a deeper feeling, one that I hadn't plucked out of my liberal convenience store. I was grateful that, for once in our history, we were the ones with the guns and they were the ones with the stones. But, taking it a step further, I also found myself hoping that if Jerry, Hershey, Myer, and I had been born and bred in the squalor of Dheisheh rather than the warmth of St. Urbain, we would have had the courage to be among the stone-throwers.”