Airstrikes in Gaza—Israel "mowing the grass". Yesterday I read a diary by Ziad, a 35-year-old Palestinian man based in Gaza. Among the diarist's concerns is how his cat is being affected by war and displacement. Although terrified and desperate, he could still spare a thought, a feeling, for an animal's mental welfare. How generous of him; if only we could say the same of people in general.

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From Gaza Diary Part 5: "I think about what my gravestone would say if I died during this horrendous period. I find it impossible to come up with a statement – I don’t even know what I want to achieve, what I want to say. I lay my body on the couch in the living room and close my eyes. Then, suddenly, I remember a poem I read one day and loved – I even kept it in my Notes app on my phone:

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die."




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