Nothing says "We're not Hitler!" like trying to ban the opposition.

It's written on destroyed buildings and burnt bikes. Proof by Palestine

Last night I put your bedroom light on, sat on the floor in your room and cried. The same cold white bulb from when we moved in still hangs within your lampshade and throws out an eerie glow that reminds me of the nights before you died. I sat cross-legged on the sheepskin rug you were sent when you were sick. It arrived addressed to you in a box wrapped with gift paper. We helped you open it, assuming it would be another toy sent from another well-wisher. You were confused and disappointed when you pulled out a sheepskin rug. We realised quickly that it was meant for your bed, for pressure sores, for a time when you might not be able to move anymore. “It’s for your bedroom!” I told you, in my brightest voice. “A lovely soft rug for your feet to touch when you get out of bed.” You could never know its real purpose. I’m not sure whether your feet ever touched that rug in the end; you lost the use of your legs so quickly. 4am. Everyone asleep. I wandered into your bathroom and shuddered at the memories. The nights we would be up in the dark, sitting on the floor next to you on the toilet. You didn’t want the light on; it was too bright for your eyes. We’d sit there for ages, waiting for you to pee, but your brain was no longer able to tell your bladder what to do. You’d be crying in pain and frustration, and I’d be running up and down the stairs, fetching drugs that might help you, trying to sound like I knew exactly what to do to help, while carrying this overwhelming sense of helplessness and dread. You’d frantically chew CBD gummies and take those awful-tasting drops under your tongue, and then, when nothing else would work, we’d resort to the dreaded midazolam. You’d still be sitting there when your foot, locked in an unnatural position, would start shaking uncontrollably. I’d cradle it, massage it, wipe away your tears, kiss your face and tell you it would be okay, while silently screaming at god, the universe or whoever the fuck might be out there to show us some mercy. But no mercy came. We battled those nights alone. The agony of it all. The darkest nights. They will haunt me forever. Donate for DIPG research so we might provide hope to the children diagnosed with this awful monster: justgiving.com/page/billysba…

Una socorrista israelí declaró a la CNN: «Hamás le cortó la mano a una niña de 8 años. Durante horas, permaneció tendida en su propia sangre, temblando. Completamente sola. Para cuando llegamos hasta ella, estaba dando sus últimos suspiros». Estos son los salvajes con los que estamos tratando... Susan Sarandon? Creo en la autodeterminación de los pueblos

Meiner Tochter, die Breakdance, Hiphop, Calisthenics und Marathon macht, wird im Arztbericht zum Stressabbau empfohlen, Sport zu machen. MaW die haben sie nichts zu ihrem Lebensstil gefragt, sprechen aber eine Empfehlung aus. 🙈