It seemed to Mark that all of life was either There’s still time or It’s too late.
You’re only given a little spark of madness. You mustn’t lose it.
— Robin Williams.
This is the dubious situation that Israel finds itself in: signalling to the military that a dead soldier is preferable to a captive one, while at the same time signalling to the Israeli public that no cost will be spared to secure a captured soldier’s release.
— I wrote a piece about Israel’s use of a military procedure known as the Hannibal Directive. (Oh you know, just some fun read for the weekend. Hmm.)
OZ: I would like to begin the interview in a very unusual way: by presenting one or two questions to your readers and listeners. May I do that?
DEUTSCHE WELLE: Go ahead!
QUESTION 1: What would you do if your neighbor across the street sits down on the balcony, puts his little boy on his lap, and starts shooting machine-gun fire into your nursery?
QUESTION 2: What would you do if your neighbor across the street digs a tunnel from his nursery to your nursery in order to blow up your home or in order to kidnap your family?
"What more do you need?" (Modacrylic wigs, 1970)
Poetry is the weak sister of its sibling arts, alternately ignored and swaddled like a 19th-century invalid.
School is out for the summer. The sun is beating down on Israel and Gaza. Kids are growing restless. So that they don’t have to pay with their lives for a game of hide-and-seek on a beach, so that they don’t have to duck for cover every time a siren sounds, all eyes should turn to Gaza in hopes that this conflict finally comes to an end.
My post in The New Yorker.
The relationship between the two peoples was hardly that of equals. It had a colonial quality not unlike that along much of the American border with Mexico. But when the guy repairing your balcony did not show up for work because of a closure of the West Bank and could not earn his pay, his deprivation meant something to you, as an Israeli. You knew him; you trusted him; you knew about his family. And when you, a Palestinian worker, saw your Israeli employer’s mother growing ill, you understood his anguish. You knew the woman; you liked her.
Israelis — especially in the heartland around Tel Aviv, where two-thirds of the country lives — can now go weeks without laying eyes on a Palestinian or ever having to think about one. In Gaza, Israelis do not exist except in a kind of collective nightmare. In the West Bank, the Israelis are mostly settlers and soldiers. Apart from a few pockets of industry and shopping where Palestinians are employed, interaction is highly limited.
Ethan Bronner on the growing separation between Israelis and Palestinians, and its role in the current escalation.
The Beyoncélogues. A piece of brilliance on a gloomy day. Watch.