An Israeli mother drops to the ground, protecting her boys from a terrorist rocket with her arm... her arm. Look how well trained the boys are, their faces against the bricks, their hands perfectly placed in protection.
While I entertain myself with a football game tonight, while I feel inconvenienced by the weather or my sinuses, while I say goodnight to my boys with the room and night light arranged to get rid of every scary shadow...
A Palestinian boy flees his home from the "righteous" rockets and waits in a strange place bewildered and afraid. Look at his feet on the stone. Imagine the bulk of his sweater and the heft of his body as you give him the hug he clearly needs.
I'll get along tonight because somewhere in the activity of my evening the images will fade. The tears won't be pressing behind my eyes. The goodness of life will again have my attention. But those boys are still out there. At least I hope so...
