I took off for Hebron on a Sunday morning, on a number 405 bus from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem. Throngs of Israeli soldiers filled the station, soldiers on the move, barely more than teenagers, large backpacks and automatic weapons flung over their shoulders, smart phones in their hands. Sitting beside me on the bus, a petite, red-headed girl in olive uniform flicked her finger across her smart phone. Listening to her chat with a friend, I could tell she was North American. Strike up a conversation, I told myself, but I didn’t have the heart.