The hotel lobby in Tiberias was full of ladies, sitting empty-eyed.  We passed them and brought the clothes, the books and the toys up to the room of my old college friend and we spent the afternoon sorting out what belongs where.  Lots of books were refused because they were in English, she’d already read them, and of all the evacuees no one else reads English.  I’m sure the clothes, though, will find a home.  And the toys – outgrown by my grandchildren – already went to the kindergarten.  

How they live is beyond my comprehension.  It’s not that they don’t have beds – but they don’t have their homes.  They don’t have their jobs.  They don’t have their usual medical attention.