Picking Up The Pieces

Three out of four homes in our immediate neighborhood have lost a loved one; the fourth now stands without a roof. My mother's girlfriends confess to her (in the most confidential terms) that although they are grown women, they have wet their pants out of a fear of death on numerous occasions these past three weeks.

The rise of amputees throughout Gaza has sky-rocketed at such an alarming rate that my mother has altered her daily prayers and supplications to include simple things like: "Thank you for my arms and legs, and for my children who still have their arms and legs."

Grandpa says that people are so disoriented that they no longer recognize each other. "Three weeks of straight carnage, destruction, and horrors can only rob people of their innocence and sense of consciousness." Dad had worries of his own: his 33 grandchildren gathered around him hoping he would to keep them safe, something he promised them he would do. But I think he said it best when he told me: "If I can't even keep myself safe, how can I give them what I don't have??"