I discovered my camera was gone halfway across the no-man’s-land between Israel and Jordan, at the Rabin border crossing near the Gulf of Eilat. Preoccupied with the formalities of this politically tortuous part of the world, I had not noticed, as I did now, that my shoulder bag was lighter than it should have been. It was a bad moment, not so much because of the camera, but because of the photos—my beautiful photos—taken with such care and passion through Egypt and Israel. “My camera’s gone!” I called out to my two travelling companions who, always quicker than I, were…