It took me a couple of days to process the tragedy of the deaths of Druze Israeli children by the hands of Hezbollah terrorists. Once again we are in a war we never initiated never wanted and tried our best for a while despite bombings to avoid and manage.
But then they killed 13 children as they were playing soccer. 13 little girls and boys.
The Druze are a population no pro pali ever seems to mention or even know about. They speak Arabic and follow some elements of Islam, but they do not see themselves as Arabs nor Muslim. They are Druze. And they are one with Israel, often making the best soldiers as they believe in protecting their place of birth side by side its other local and native populations. They are my father's teachers and students, my friends, our people are one even if we have different religions and DNA. We are inseparable. So excuse me, that I didn't write of this yet and, that I can not and do not even want to try and comprehend the grief of the ones who I see as family, as my own. The victims of terror and antisemitism. Because I am mentally fragile and I'm doing my best every day to stay calm and positive so I'm not going to ignore this happened but I try my best to avoid the topic. Sometimes the pain is too much to even be felt.