Who’s Celebrating this 70th Anniversary?

Mohammed scrunches his eyes to gaze at the forever blue of the sky above the razor wire fence he can feel his quickening breath, moisten the black and white Kaffiyeh he uses to hide his head and face. At nineteen he has no prospect of a job and in the living space he shares with his mother, father, sister and brother, he sleeps most of the day. It’s better, he says, than just staring into the abyss of the future he is there to protest. His anger, like the hot stone in his hand has become heavy as he places it in the sling, anticipating the Tzahal, in full battle fatigues on the other side of the fence. Some only evidenced by their military helmets and Bullpup assault rifles rising above thei

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