One night at the dinner table in the American Colony—the lovely boutique watering hole in East Jerusalem—I overheard an elderly American heiress proclaiming that she would give a million dollars to anyone who could solve the Arab-Israeli conflict. It was 1956, and I was just five-years-old, but I tugged my father’s sleeve, and said, “Daddy, we have to win this prize.” [time-brightcove not-tgx=”true”] I spent my entire childhood in the Middle East, the son of an American diplomat.