A few years back, I visited Israel. Along the way, our tour guide asked our Israelis in the group, “How many of you know someone who has been killed in a terrorist attack?” I’m not quite sure why, but I snapped a photo of that moment. This moment here. Where three out of five raised their hands. Three out of five.
That moment has always stayed with me. At first because it seemed so foreign to me. And now, because it seems so possible. Will this be a picture of our children someday soon?
Of course, after yesterday, this picture came to me again. Best Friend: Accomplice was mourning, raging, processing with that big open heart of hers. And I was just feeling numb and thinking about that picture.
How many more?