Look around: Republicans, Democrats, Israeli hostages bombed in Gaza, Gazan civilians bombed in Gaza, evacuees, refugees—is anyone in this world satisfied with the way things are going? Putin, Bibi, António Guterres, Zelensky, Yahya Sinwar: does a single one of them look pleased?

— Image by Steve Baccon

The nice editor of the weekly magazine’s culture section explained that readers were very interested in the Middle East, especially since 9/11, but knew almost nothing about the region. “It would be great,” he suggested, “if you could explain to our readers a little about the history of the conflict, the current geopolitical and human realities, and maybe some reflection on the future of the conflict and possible solutions. Oh, and if possible, we’d be happy if you could do it in 600 words or less.”

— Image by Neil Cohen

A few days ago, I met an old friend. Like most Israelis I’ve seen since October 7, she looked broken and anguished. But in addition to the familiar feelings of grief, terror and loss, I picked up on something else she projected: a sense of betrayal.

— Illustration by Ofra Kobliner

Generally speaking, Israel’s peculiar government, with its through-the-looking-glass view of the world, sees the Biden Administration as little more than a hotel doorman whose job is to serve the chosen people while they wait for their ride to the Third Temple.

— Photo: Yair Palti - Anadolu Agency

Netanyahu’s government is not here to debate—it’s here to rule, and any resistance is an intifada.

In an overwhelming, unpredictable world, our virtual selves offer an appealing existential strategy.

— Illustration: Diego Patiño

Explaining conflict — and how we could resolve it — to my young son in the back seat.

My theory is that many people on both sides of this dichotomy are tired of earnestly debating the specifics and find it easier to demand a tribal discourse, the kind that essentially resembles a sports fan’s unequivocal support of a team.

Walking my son to school was a kind of slow, pleasant awakening in an equally sleepy universe, until he announced he was old enough to walk alone.

And then we hear the boom. Loud, but far away. We stay lying one on top of the other, without moving, for a long time. My arms are starting to hurt from carrying my weight. From the corner of my eye, I can see other drivers who’ve been lying on the highway get up and brush the dirt off their clothes. I stand up, too.

“Lie down,” Lev tells me, “lie down, Daddy. You’re ruining the sandwich.”

I lie down for another minute, and say, “O.K., game’s over. We won.”

Even if the person you wronged doesn’t remember what you did, it can still make a difference to ask for forgiveness. Maybe.

Everything in the photograph seemed to be taken not from reality, but from my childhood imaginings of Poland. Even the expression on my face looked Polish and frighteningly serious. I stared at the image. If I could have unfrozen my photographed self from his pose, he could have walked right out of the frame and actually found the house where my mother was born.

it’s the total strangers, people I’ve never met before, who help me grow a bit closer to my father even now that he’s gone.

When he catches me looking at him, he smiles and says: "Too bad you weren't there. A reaction from a writer would've been good for my article. Someone original, someone with a little vision. After every attack, I always get the same reactions: 'Suddenly, I heard a boom'; 'I don't know what happened'; 'Everything was covered in blood.' How much of that can you take?"