When I write a word in English, a simple one, such as, say, 'chief,' I have unwittingly ushered a querulous horde into the room. The Roman legionary is there, shaking his 'cap,' or head, and Al Cap is there, slouching in his signature working man's headgear.

Jewish prayers are mostly about daily things - the sliver of a new moon, dew on the grass, the bread and the wine.

We are not the only animal that mourns; apes do, and elephants, and dogs. Yet we are the only one that tortures.

When you're writing non-fiction, you go as far as you can go, and then ethically you have to stop. You can't go. You can't suppose. You can't imagine. And I think there's something in human nature that wants to finish the story.

Yes, it seems we've got this mutant gene in our human personality that makes us susceptible to this same kind of mistake over and over again. It's really uncanny how we build these beautiful multicultural edifices and then allow this switch to be flipped and everybody goes, 'Oh, the other, get them out of here.

It is human nature to imagine, to put yourself in another's shoes. The past may be another country. But the only passport required is empathy.

Here we are, alive, and you and I will have to make it what we can.