When we renovated a house we had just purchased, I found myself photographing everything except the renovation itself.

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My attention kept returning to the workers—their hands, faces, gestures, the tools they carried, and the quiet choreography of their daily labor. Most were Palestinians who crossed the border every morning to work.

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Over time, a genuine relationship developed with many of them. We shared countless cups of coffee—more than I had ever drunk before—and long conversations about our families, our traditions, and the very different worlds we came from.

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Some wondered why I wasn't photographing the progress, the before and after. But that wasn't the story I was seeing.

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What interested me was already there: the people, the relationships, the dust, the sounds, and the weight of materials passing from one pair of hands to another.

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Throughout the project, one thought stayed with me:

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Sometimes you have to destroy in order to build—in construction, and perhaps beyond.