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realize that they have this fandom in common. There's no way mutual fans of Real Mad-
rid could be mutual enemies. They are completely reliant upon hometown media, parents,
and schooling to shape their opinion of the younger generation of the people on the other
side of the wall—a generation they are destined to share their historic homeland with.
There's a little turnout on the Palestine side of the wall where passengers can con-
veniently change from a Palestinian car to an Israeli one. When I left Palestine, my Israeli
driver was there, waiting for my Palestinian driver to drop me off. While I barely knew
either of these men, I'll never forget their handshake—in the shadow of an ominous Is-
raeli watchtower painted black by the flames of burning tires and ornamented with angry
Palestinian art. These men were each beautiful, caring people, trapped in a problem much
bigger than either of them. In the exchange, I was little more than a suitcase shuttling from
one back seat to the other. I watched as they quietly shook hands, looked into each oth-
er's eyes, and said a solemn and heartfelt “Shalom.” And I thought, “With all these good
people on both sides, there has got to be a solution—and a big part of it will be regular
people making not walls…but bridges.”
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