Eva Woolridge
There’s a story from last week I can’t get out of my head: A Palestinian family takes a taxi to their daughter’s home in Gaza City, five minutes away, on the last day of Ramadan, because they thought they’d be safer from the ongoing Israeli airstrikes. They’re unpacking the car when suddenly a military drone strikes, killing the taxi driver, the father, the mother, and wounding the son, 28. For many American Jews who were raised to see Palestinians as the enemy, it might come as a shock to recognize the Israeli military as the aggressor in this situation, or to mourn the victims of that strike. But this week, I mourn.