My generation is going in the way of their ancestors. I met Hanan in the Shomron in the eighties, where I was taken by a collegue. I imagined that I wished to be like him but face to face I realized that he was not my cup of tea. Everybody was called to the minha (the afternoon prayer) and they all prayed extatically and derived visible satisfaction from the ceremony, but I didnt grow up in a Jerusalem yeshive but in Communist Hungary. I abhored "the mystic link of the Jew with the Land" and all that messianic bullshit of Gush Emunim. By now, the religious extasis has cooled down and is forgotten, and the old revolutionaries - because that is what they were - are well to do landowners. That's the way of all successful revolutions. A cancer killed him. Left eleven children and many grandchildren.