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“Others might talk about ‘roots’… That’s not my vocabulary, I don’t like the word ‘roots’, least of all its image. Roots hide in the soil, twist in the mud, grow in the dark; they keep the tree captive, from its birth, and feed it in exchange for blackmail: ‘If you’re free, you die!’… “I belong to a tribe that has been wandering since time immemorial in a desert the size of the universe. We leave our homelands when the spring dries up, our homes are tents of stone, and our nationalities are a matter of dates or ships. Everything that connects us, beyond generations, beyond seas, beyond the Babylon of languages, is the ringing of a name…
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