And what are we to do with horses in the twentieth century?

And with the does?

And with the great stones that rise in the hills of Jerusalem?— “Answer,” Leah Goldberg

At the outer edge of the moshav, on the crown of the hill, stretch the greenhouses of raspberries — row upon row of winding canes freighted with sweet fruit. What does a person need in order to summon raspberries into the world? Just the right allotment of water; stout wires strung from post to post; buckets and crates; the blessing of the sun. A greenhouse, too, to shield against excess light and voracious pests. How strange, in days like these, to ponder the cultivation of raspberries.

At summer’s end a friendship sprouted between me and David, the raspberry man of Petel Eretz farm. He urged me: Come before the season closes. Come…