I have a standard regimen every time I prepare to travel to Israel, about every year and a half. Buy some shekels. Arrange my interviews. Make sure my passport hasn’t expired.
And one non-standard step: I pull out a three-decades-old, tearing-at-the-edges, 20-page reprint of a series of stories written for the Philadelphia Inquirer in the wake of the start of the Camp David Middle East peace process.