The dehumanization process of the Palestinians has been completed. In the war over the Israeli state of mind, Netanyahu has already achieved total victory. Even among Gazans, there was little interest in the latest [dead and wounded] figures, and their expectations have also become very low. They know by now that Gaza doesn’t really interest anyone anymore. Attention had shifted to Lebanon, and then to Syria – that’s where the big story is now, with important repercussions for the region. What new is there to say about Gaza? The suffering is the same suffering, even if it keeps getting worse.

It’s the last sentence that got to me. The words were written by Jack Khoury, a Palestinian columnist for the Israeli newspaper, Haaretz. The latter publication, way more than many other Israeli media outlets, has covered the death, maiming, starvation, and devastation happening in Gaza with relatively little response from the Israeli public, most of whom have turned inwards, licking their own wounds and not wishing to bear witness to events “on the other side.” They’re looking at their own refugee problem, their hostages, their dead. Who has feelings for anything else? A few, but very few.

The suffering is the same suffering, even if it keeps getting worse. Gazans’ suffering has been with us for a long time; now it’s more interesting to follow the suffering in Lebanon, and even more so, Syria.

Lately I’ve been feeling uninspired, wishing to sit down in front of the TV and get into a detective series of some kind. Lose myself in some fictional character who got killed, then in the chief detective or journalist or whoever is hunting down the killer. It’s fiction, a story; I don’t have to give it any mind.

When it’s like that, I know I’m mentally tired, just like when mornings start by feeling that my legs have turned to lead, I know I’m physically tired. Soon, I tell myself, soon I’ll take some time off and rest.

The suffering is the same suffering. How has that word turned into such a cliché? Everybody suffers, the Buddha said. There’s suffering because we don’t get what we want, and there’s suffering because we get what we don’t want. Ok, I tell the big guy, but isn’t that a pretty antiseptic way of expressing how you feel when 10 members of your family have just been offed by a missile or when your home has just crumbled around you, it’s cold and you don’t have shelter or food for your children?

Isn’t getting what you don’t want too sterile a description for the fear of missiles raining from above or warnings to get out because we’re going to bomb your village or town and go—go where? What if there’s nowhere safe to go?

What about people rounded up to be killed? Animals shrieking in slaughterhouses, or even the helpless fluttering of a chickadee in the talons of a red-tail? Does getting what you don’t want begin to describe that terror and torment? Right now, Henry the Illegal Chihuahua is looking up at me, sad because he’s not getting the attention and play he wants so much. Is that the same kind of suffering?

When do I get jaded by suffering? When do I want to disengage?

You’re tired, a voice says. Get the blog out, prep for the class tomorrow, and then just stop. Stop. Treat yourself to a massage, or else to a pedicure. Even cheaper, spend half a day in bed or on the sofa, reading.

But that’s when Aussie scampers upstairs. “Don’t you dare take a rest!”

“Why not, Auss? And who’re you to tell me when to rest and when not?”

“I’m the enforcer around here.”

“Oh, yeah? What are you enforcing, Aussie?”

“I’m enforcing your vows, remember? Your vow to free all beings from suffering. But look at you, staring out the window.”

“Only for a few minutes, Auss.”

“What about the vow to break through all delusions and to embody enlightened living?”

“Oh Auss, vows don’t require an enforcer. You remind me of my parents when I was a kid, wagging their finger at me and telling me I was no good. We don’t need any of that stuff.”

“You sure do. Humans are basically lazy and selfish. Unless you either threaten them or promise them some goodies, nothing ever happens.”

“I think, Aussie, that when it comes to vows, love is the agent here, not someone wielding a stick. A feeling of tenderness that lets empathy arise. But it starts with the self.”

“Okay. Hurry up and take care of yourself—and then get back to work.”

Dear Blog readers, after several hours of discussions with Amazon concerning the glitches that affected our list of Christmas presents for immigrant children, I was persuaded that the list sold out. In fact, it sold out pretty quickly after I blogged about it. On behalf of some 75 children and their families, thank you very much for your generosity.