The Black liberation holiday of Juneteenth was on my mind when we drove past a platoon of Israeli occupation forces as they marched into a Palestinian village, black automatic weapons in hand, likely about to execute a raid. As our bus drove past the handful of military vehicles parked alongside the road, a deep sense of rage, sadness, and powerlessness swelled up within me.
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I expected to hear the explosion when the missiles struck Gaza Thursday morning. I expected my grief to be as a mighty wave whose undertow dragged me through the depths of despair. I expected to know when a life was lost. Instead, less than fifty miles from the Gaza Strip, I had no idea that Israel’s “Iron Dome” missile system had been used…
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