Are we never to be allowed Palestinian friends?

Does anyone not experience his

lifetime deprivation of a Pal-

estinian friend eventually as

a truly palpable injustice? I

forgot mercy, when I was pur-

chasing an espresso this mor-

ning, hurriedly in town, and

saw Tyler Hicks' photograph on

the front page of The New York

Times as a double-force remind-

er in one glance: the press's

precious pressing of involun-

tary views of life, is almost

vanishing in the convenience

of the self-absorbed device

that lets the self-empowered

know no more than they know.

And the disempowered somehow

seem more evil every day.

Not just less legitimate, not

just more impertinent, as they

were introduced to us in 1948,

65 years as targets unencumbered

by discovery. I forgot mercy long

ago in this fair protocol of pol-

icy, our Parties have competed to

intensify. Like Genet in The Pris-

oner of Love, I only asked if I 

imagined Palestinians, thinking 

of myself. This is the problem of

a portrait in the paper that one

can't expect to see in an internet

café.

Always not supposed to see asserts 

the power of expectation until sud-

denly its pose is thrown off-balance

and one knows there is a part of one-

self missing. I forgot mercy as the

newspaper showed me the soldiers ly-

ing in the bunker as their missile

sped aloft to find something unseen 

to kill, at least to hurt. Fastidi-

ous enforcement of our sovereignty

only deprives us of its image in the

flesh.

Willing a consequence has never been

less meticulous in its means. I for-

got mercy and was interrupted by a

newspaper, even as I was pondering

in my espresso, what I would like to

see to give me pleasure undisturbed

by something awful, done to me. May

I let it go as an agreement, going

on four generations, not to worry?

i    Cerruti dressing room

ii   Tyler Hicks photo, 18 Nov 12

iv  Rina Castelnuovo photo, 18 Nov 12

v   Vlad Averyonov