Recently, memories from South Africa keep popping in my mind. No, not from my time as Israel's ambassador in the early 2000s, when I was constantly called upon to refute allegations of Israeli apartheid, but from my teenage years, when my parents taught Hebrew there. Why now? Because when I stand at the Sheli intersection in Jerusalem with a few others, one with a megaphone, holding a blue-and-white Israeli flag in one hand and a yellow hostage flag in the other, someone will occasionally complain about the noise. A police car arrives, explains that everything is legal, doesn't ask for our details, and photographs us.
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