Eight months later, however, Kaadan is singing a different tune. The Supreme Court verdict has had little effect on the discriminatory policies of the Israel Lands Authority, Kaadan still lives in Baqa and the recent outburst of violence has radicalized even the most conciliatory minds.

"If the Supreme Court had given the order to destroy my house, it would have happened the very next day. But since the order was to build a house for me, I probably won't get it even if I wait another 20 years. That is racism," says Kaadan.

"I feel like a prostitute. Israel used me to mount a PR campaign for the outside world so that the world would think it is democratic. But, in fact, it's a racist, militaristic country that takes away people's rights." Later in the same interview, Kaadan refers to Israel as a "Nazi country" with an "apartheid system," and drifts into an anti-Semitic diatribe against Jews who plague the world "like a cancer."

But Kaadan says he would still like to live among the Jews in Katzir. "It's my right, and I'm demanding my right. If I can't [live there] my only outlet is religion, and we, as Arabs, have to declare jihad." Kaadan, who is secular, says he prefers "the challenge of peace."

In Katzir, Israeli Jews have also been more on edge lately. Dubbi Sandrov, the mayor of Katzir, believes the violence has vindicated his decision to exclude Kaadan from purchasing land in the village. "The places where there was tension were places that have a mixed community -- places like Jaffa, Acco, Nazareth. It strengthens the conclusion we had already made that, when you plan residential neighborhoods, you shouldn't plan conflict areas. You have to be smart and plan ahead. It would be ridiculous to now create new points of conflict," the mayor says.

Sandrov also says that the majority of Katzir's 2,200 Jewish residents aren't racist. Instead, he argues, barring Arabs from the town is "a question of social suitability."

In Sandrov's worldview, Arabs are apparently suitable enough to bus Katzir's children to school or fix leaks in Katzir's tony homes, but they don't share the same values as Israeli Jews. When asked to give examples of the culture clash, Sandrov accuses Israeli Arabs of lusting after Jewish women and disrespecting national holidays. "We work well with them. The problem is political. High walls make good neighbors," says Sandrov, mangling the Robert Frost verse. "It's the same in Bosnia, Serbia, the United States and Africa -- wherever there is mixing there are problems." But Kaadan finds great hypocrisy in the words of Sandrov and other Katzir residents. "It's ironic, because some of the people sitting on the Katzir council were treated by me in hospital. They were embarrassed, but they told me up front: 'We don't want Arabs here,'" Kaadan says. "I said: 'I took care of you through the night, but you can't accept me as your neighbor?' They had no answer."

The plot of land Kaadan wants to buy stands in front of Katzir's modern, landscaped school on a street that offers breathtaking views of the Mediterranean. Ayelet Sheiman, an English teacher at the school, pauses for a minute on her way home from work to explain her ambivalent feelings toward Arabs. She believes Kaadan should have the right to live wherever he wants "because Israel is a democratic country," she says. "But part of me doesn't want Arabs and Jews to mix. I want to preserve my religion. If [Kaadan] comes to live here, his daughter will marry his neighbor's son, their children won't be Jewish and their grandchildren won't be Jewish at all."

"We both live in this country," says Sheiman, 26. "We have to live together -- together, but separately."

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