Years ago, I visited Gaza. It was in 2009, shortly after the disastrous Israeli war, and I was there to see the damage firsthand with other activists. There was devastation, but that’s not what I remember most.
More than the skeletal remains of a hotel on the beach, riddled with holes from artillery fire, I was struck by the laughter of the children running past it, playing. More than the rubble of the American International School of Gaza, I was moved by the sounds of a wedding parading in the street.
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