The taxi driver in East Jerusalem is a thin Palestinian man in his mid-sixties, with a stubby salt-and-pepper beard and 9 children, the youngest just 7. He is taking all the shortcuts he knows around Wadi Joz, at speed as now we are hopelessly late for the morning school run. The children in the back are completely still, leaning tightly against their seats, as if glued to them. The image of the house being ripped apart had clearly torpedoed childish chit-chat even after a short glance.

Minutes before, our taxi had come to an abrupt stop against a huge Israeli police Jeep, (a vehicle out of “Judge Dread”, with oversized chunky contours out of a schoolboy’s imagination) parked perpendicularly onto the road. The two officers were leaning against the car bonnet with their backs to us and the screech of our taxi breaks did not arouse their interest. They and a gathering of about 30 people separated from our taxi by the police jeep, were watching a bulldozer taking down- methodically, dispassionately, relentlessly – the shell of a house. There were loud shouts, wailing and chants from the small crowd. I could just make out in the distance army vehicles and personnel.

The physicality of the demolition of a home, with the bulldozer teeth tearing through walls of rooms painted in happy bright colours, has a heightened malefic quality when seen “live” – when the TV screen displays one during the news broadcasts, it almost mellows it, it makes it more presentable. Disbelief (the limping prosaic question “Is this really happening in this day and age?” formed in my mind) is soon run over by surging outrage.

The home demolition skews all perception of the world: a desert of solutions or fairness, where the strongest perpetually win and the weakest get predictably crushed, and no heroes are ever flying in to restore humanity. It felt like that to me, even after the briefest of exposures and from the safety of the speedily turning-away taxi; how must it feel if one lived in Gotham every day?

The taxi does a quick U-turn and snatches us all out.

I venture: “Do you have hope for better, are you waiting for better?” The driver answers in a friendly tone, as if we are discussing the quickest route to somewhere. “I am not waiting for better so much…no, I am waiting for Isa.” I am stunned and have just enough time to work out quickly who he means, but have no time at all to work out the “Muslim or Christian?” query in my head, as the driver retorts: “Are you?” Yes, in Jerusalem life takes you by the lapels even in a taxi, gets up in your face and asks a question you just have to answer. “Yes, I am”, I answer.

“But I meant today”, I am ploughing on. The man sets off without hesitation, like he had thought about it many times: “It’s the leaders…we need leaders who are strong men for peace, strong men to make peace. Look, me and my Jewish friend who has a coffee shop, we could do it. He knows me, my family, I know him, his family, we meet up, we have a coffee most days…we could do it, no, seriously, why do you smile? We could do “better” for both…”better” for just the one, no peace!”

I am clinging on to hope firmly. This man blows out of the water the “intractable conflict” cliché that justified our inaction for years, shackled by the threat that we have not a hope of understanding the complexity of the situation on the ground.

Child-like simplicity: “better” for both. That would be something new here -desperately needed.

Simplicity has a quirky way of sprouting. The soldiers on patrol in Hebron, recent impromptu dancing with Palestinian youth to Gangnam-style music (link via The Guardian @guardian http://www.theguardian.com/world/2013/aug/29/hebron-israel-soldiers-dance-palestinians-gangnam-style ) is not just for hopeless inveterate optimists to marvel at. It is a ray of simple (natural) peace escaping from under the bushel, lighting our day when reading about it in the papers.

Lift off that bushel, make “better” for both, Gangnam –style it if you have to. Maybe the politicians involved in the 2013 peace talks should take a taxi every so often.