I think about Gaza every day
I’m just returning from a much needed sabbatical with a friendly reminder that if you too are burnt out to TAKE THE TIME OFF. Aiming to return to a much more regular posting schedule this year. Thank you, as always, for taking the time to read what I write. I don’t take it for granted.
I think about the people in Gaza every day.
I think about how we are witnesses to genocide and those who can do something about it won’t.
“This American Life” reported on Palestinian children asking their parents, “if we die, will we die together?”
They report on Israeli children telling their parents, “Dad, I don't want to die here.”
What kinds of questions are these for a kid to ask? Where are the so-called “pro-life” adherents?
Every time I hear about families being specifically targeted I think of Hiba.
Hiba who I tutored in English for a summer.
Who told me in that uniquely authoritative eight-year-old way
How her family left Iraq because of the bombs.
How she heard bombs all the time in Iraq.
She was an authority on a subject she should have known nothing about.
It changed how I viewed the so-called “War on Terror” that was raging at the time.
From the pulpit and the politicians, I heard of “those who wish to destroy us.”
I didn’t think about how we were destroying them.
I didn’t think about the bombs.
A luxury.
Now, I can only think about the bombs.
I now know those were our–my–bombs.
I know that the bombs falling on Gaza are our bombs.
I wish I could stop them.
I don’t believe that the ends justify the means.
I don’t believe that we have to live this way.
I think about Gaza every day.
I think of all the kids, like Hiba, who are now experts on bombs
Who are experts on death, and dying, and war
When all they should be doing is being kids.