Prologue - Avshalom's Ghost

Avshalom & Sara

‘How strange it is to write of one’s own death... 

I fell, somewhere in the Sinai desert not far from Rafah in today’s unhappy Gaza, in the then, Ottoman Empire. A primeval landscape of sand dunes, stretching as far as the eye can see under a brilliant desert sky. The sound of horses, a gunshot. A man who I do not recognise, lies in the sand, blood congealed on his chest, his eyes closed. Golden light suffuses the scene. A tiny date pit sprouts into twin leaves, the tiny plant grows into a tall date palm tree. The date palm stands tall in the empty desert, its branches spreading against the sky...’