Since Israel’s ground invasion, Israel has cut the electricity for upwards of 15 hours beginning around sunset. This silence is deafening, pregnant with the kind of news its morning unsilence might bring.

Since begun, the fear sits behind my eyes and I cry without much prompt. Like earlier today when I saw a man seated serenely with his newborn, rocking gently on their porch. What I actually saw was innocence alive, blessings in abundance, parents with their babies safely painted in their arms, a lifetime of opportunity still on the horizons of their tiny chubby cheeks and I began to cry in thanks, confusion, rage, and fear.

My aunt Amal, to whom I am closest, yesterday wrote how she is feeling really down, depressed, and helpless. I was staring at her message with nothing to offer. Nothing. Nothing but words of love and support that can not provide shelter from Israeli bombs. So – they are nothing. I am impotent and helpless and sit on the sidelines of hell while my family are pawns in a repulsive game of political manoeuvrings and monstrosities.

I offer nothing but prayers.