This week, Israel killed my cousin Mohammed, a young and cheerful lawyer, along with his wife Myriam and their only seven-day-old baby, Jaber.
Words fail me as I try to pick up the phone to mourn my caring and patient auntie, who is now displaced, starved, and left alone, having to find medical care for two of her grandchildren who have sustained burns due to Israeli missiles. How do we mourn unceasing wounds and waves of loss, even when mourning has become a privilege?
Displacement and death in Gaza City as Israeli depravity continues