It’s a dangerous business, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no telling where you get swept off to.

I come from a quiet place in the world, Anderdon township. I like it a lot, and it’s a place where nothing unexpected ever happens.

When I was younger and I had a lot less responsibility but I did have enough money to buy my own plane tickets, I got it into my mind that I should do some travelling, so I decided to leave Anderdon township, and I got swept off to a place far away from where I grew up. I had never been there before. I didn’t know if I would come back, and I knew if I did come back, I would never be the same and I would have a tale or two to tell. This tale directly relates to the motion that’s before us today.

As I said, I had enough money to buy my own plane ticket, and so I took a plane halfway around the world, and I landed at Tel Aviv international airport. I got into a “sherut”—that’s a taxi—and I started travelling to the city of Jerusalem.

The first thing I noticed was the traffic signs. I had anticipated that the traffic signs would be written in Hebrew, but they were written in Hebrew and Arabic and English. That’s when I learned that Arabic is actually one of the official languages of the State of Israel.

Now, I knew that there had been a very difficult history between Arabs and Jews, and so that’s why I was surprised to learn that Arabic is actually one of the official languages of Israel. Later, I learned that there are actually two million Arabs living in the State of Israel, and they enjoy all the rights and privileges that we enjoy. They enjoy rights and privileges, and are protected under the Israeli constitution.

The “sherut” took me to the city of Jerusalem, but not the new part of the city; the old part of the city, the historic part. I got dropped off at the Damascus Gate, which is the principal entrance to the old historic city, and I walked in. I walked in because I thought it was appropriate to walk in.

It was dark when I arrived. I was a stranger in a foreign land with a suitcase, walking around in the dark, trying to find my way. Eventually, I found the Via Dolorosa, which is the “way of sorrow.” I got lost. I got turned around. I passed some soldiers. Eventually, I found the door I was looking for. It was the door to the Ecce Homo convent. “Ecce homo” is a Latin phrase. It means “behold the man,” which purportedly is what Pontius Pilate uttered one day during his duties.

I stayed with the Sisters of Sion at the Ecce Homo convent on the Via Dolorosa for three months. These are a remarkable group of women, nuns who have dedicated their lives to promoting interfaith understanding in the Holy Land. When I stayed with them, I met remarkable people. I met a strong Palestinian woman by the name—