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Basketball Epiphanies

Tonight at the ball courts someone on the sidelines picked up another guy's ringing phone, spoke on it for a while, then shouted to some guy on the court, "Eugene, your mother tell you to buy bread on the way home!".
An odd feeling came over me. I looked at the young men on the court, and for the first time I saw beyond the external bravado of youths playing a contact sport. I saw them, sons of parents. Boys on the verge of becoming men, somewhere between being loved as a child by their parents and learning to love their parents in return. Somewhere in stasis – a cocoon of sorts, so much transformation taking place, yet to them it seems their youth lasts forever.
Then I wondered: if you saw what I saw tonight, would you be shooting Lebanese children? Would you still have the heart to fire rockets into buildings in which Israeli children slept? Would you finally understand that there are no soldiers; that we are children of our parents, parents to our children, brothers and sisters to our siblings. That the death of a soldier is the death of a civilian. And the death of a civilian is a cost borne by those yet living.
It is borne ultimately by us all.

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