A dear friend told me today about a man she had seen many times in the neighborhood and had secretly longed for.  He was killed in the war – she told me – and only later she discovered his age, the story of his life, his hobbies, his ex-partner, his loneliness.

And she started to cry.

Every time they start to talk on tv about a man killed in the war I change the channel.  I cannot bear the loss.  Each one makes me think of their lives, their loves, their children, and I break up.  

When I see pictures of victims in Gaza it is more blurry.  It doesn’t always come automatically – sometimes I have to conjure up their individuality.   

And that too breaks my heart.