So…. the pretty and energetic Filipina packing my schlepping bags this morning said that she’s worried sick about her brother in Beersheba.
“Holy shit,” I hear myself say. Beersheba’s like 50km from Gaza
“He’s a nurse. The Israelis won’t let him leave.”
So, not to put to fine a point on it, if the Israelis are preventing him (he’s either Filipino or Canadian, she wasn’t clear on that and I never ever ask anyone about their citizenship status any more, it’s like the least anarchist thing you can possibly DO) from leaving a war zone because he won’t help heal their soldiers…. that’s a war crime. It would be different if he was a citizen, and he wouldn’t expect to be able to leave.
So here I am 10,755 km away from Gaza and the war – and the geopolitical crap it brings – is in my grocery store.
as you may recollect I bought Mike a Palestinian kuffiya for his birthday this year, a presentiment of a sort I suppose.
This is the public statement of the business – one of the last factories in Palestinian territory – Harbawi.
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