January 13, 2009

It’s the start of day 18 and we’re all trying to go on with life, to resume some semblance of normality.

Looking up to the drones, the F-16s, the Apaches is normal.Discussing where the latest explosions were –as if no lives were being taken!—is normal.And even discussing those killed is routine: where was it? How many dead? Any injuries?

We joke about going out on the street too late –about being zapped—and the New Year’s Eve text message [Sending a festive sarook to a friend for New Year’s] has extended to daily jokes about calling rockets to visit.

It is sordid humour, sordid talk, sordid calm, a sordid side-stepping of a sordid reality.

Crashes and the ominous hum of drones and thud of an Apache bring reality back to me: there are machines flying above whose mission is to kill –and kill entire families, apartment residents, passersby, Palestinians… That reality is very hard to understand –to really understand.To see a photo of a baby, dead, burned, run over by a tank… A photo of a child, shot point-blank in the heart…

Somehow the fact that an elderly woman was punched in the face was more alarming to me than her two gunshot wounds.



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