I never had a real house to grow up in. You know, a home? I never belonged anywhere and all my life I was looking for that thing, you know? Thinking that it was out there somewhere, that all I had to do was find it. But I think, maybe… that home was us.
A revolution is not a painless march to the gates of freedom and justice. It is a struggle between rage and hope, between the temptation to destroy and the desire to build. Its temperament is desperate. It is a tormented response to the past, to all that has happened, the recalled and unrecalled injustices—for the memory of a revolution reaches much further back than the memory of its protagonists.
"Do you have any advice for other fishermen?" "You have to sneak up on them and catch them real fast. And you have to wear boots. I once caught a monster fish that went all the way up to the sky like a giant. I like giants. But not mean giants. I like nice giants."
School is out for the summer. The sun is beating down on Israel and Gaza. Kids are growing restless. So that they don’t have to pay with their lives for a game of hide-and-seek on a beach, so that they don’t have to duck for cover every time a siren sounds, all eyes should turn to Gaza in hopes that this conflict finally comes to an end.