My birthday started off so perfectly.  The day I was born – was the last day of the V2 rockets in London.  My father was insistent that they not go to the hospital because the bombings were very heavy, but I was equally insistent on coming out, and the nurses at what was the Salvation Army hospital for unwed mothers and Jewesses were shocked to see her.  They themselves had recently been bombed and their new operating room was adjacent to the shelter, so right after the delivery, she was made to get off the table and run to the shelter. I’m lucky they remembered to take me along.

So this new wave of terror – the third this week and the most devastating with at least 4 people killed – is a reminder of the way things have been going for the past 77 years.  

But the day did start off wonderfully – with flowers and friends and a beautiful feeling of health after a long period of illness.  The blessings came in all languages – Hebrew, Arabic, English, and French – and it seemed to me the world could come together, that the optimism of King Abdullah and Nafaly Bennett could work.  It was only during the last party that I found a message on my cell – optimism hasn’t worked for all these years.  Why should it work now.