A picture is worth a thousand words, alright, and that is what this boils down to. The photo of the Palestinian Father and his son cowering in helpless fear behind a tiny barrier, the son's eyes pried open in fear and pain, the Father's doomed attempt to shelter the boy with his own body, the pathetic knowledge that they were killed seconds later, these things render political arguments about the circumstances somewhat trivial and academic. Those who saw the picture saw the ancient injustice of families and children crushed by brute, stupid force.

If a corresponding picture of the baby murdered in Hebron existed, the same outrage would be voiced: How long will we continue to tolerate the death of innocents in the name of political power struggle? The answer, I'm afraid, is that it will continue as long as there are men whose hatred for one another consumes everything else around them.

I will be forever haunted by a photograph that appeared on the front page of our local newspaper after the bombing of the Federal Building in Oklahoma city. In it, a big fireman in yellow protective gear carried in his arms the limp, bloodied body of a year-old girl who had been killed in the blast. Tears came to my eyes when I saw it, and I felt pain, but also hatred for someone who would do this to achieve his ends. And so, I suppose, the anger nurtures itself in spite of the plain fact that what we owe the innocents of the world, and ourselves, is some measure of pity, and some measure of effort to put a stop to that tragic cycle.