Why is a taxi in the middle of a field? There is no driver. Anywhere. Only empty space, a gentle breeze, a makeshift fence and the land itself.

The taxi is a statement. The movable perched on the unmovable. This is my land, it says. Stay away.

Is this the Holy Land? Where the call of my people, my land, my destiny is heard in the footsteps of soldiers and militants, and in the solitude of prayer? Where is the driver in this land of Israel and Palestine? Who is the driver? Maybe it is a people afraid of another people, bound together all the same. Peoples taking their nations to an undecided destination, where peace and prosperity carry a price too high to pay for now.

Or is the driver God? If so, God seems to be everywhere and yet nowhere.