My family lives in one of the few places in Israel untouched by the physical effects of the war. We haven’t heard rocket sirens, seen rockets overhead, or faced gunmen infiltrating our village. It’s a strange, beautiful (albeit hot and humid) bubble of normalcy amid the nation’s anguish. From this bubble, my heart breaks for the victims of October 7 and the families shattered by a war that drags on, forcing men to serve over 200 days in a conflict they [may] no longer believe in.

And my heart is breaking for this world. It is a challenge to pretend that the world is good, to try to inspire hope in the next generation when this nation I now call home is weeping, when this nation is up in flames, and mostly, when this world makes me question the essence of humanity. How can there be such hate for those trying to rescue the innocent hostages held captive for so long?

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