At Boston Children's Hospital, the list of the wounded included a 2-year-old boy with a head injury, a 9-year-old girl with leg trauma and six other children under the age of 15.
The oddly titled film combines state-of-the-art animation, an anti-war documentary theme and a psychoanalytic approach to recover the memory of a traumatized Israeli soldier.
An Israeli professor studying the long-term effects of war on the soldiers who fight is now sharing her knowledge with United States counterparts in an attempt to provide better therapy for American servicemen and women returning home from the battlefields of Iraq.
Living with the trauma and sorrow of losing a brother or sister in the Israel Defense Forces has scarred all of the 30 12- and 13-year-olds who spent 10 days at Camp Ramah in Ojai earlier this month. The Legacy/Moreshet program, sponsored by Friends of the IDF (FIDF), gave kids who lost a sibling or parent in combat a bar or bat mitzvah present that allowed them to have an American-style summer blast -- if not to forget, then at least to enjoy a respite from the sadness that follows them at home.
This is how naive I am: I never understood why Primo Levi killed himself. I'd long admired and devoured the works of the Italian chemist who wrote of his experiences surviving the Holocaust.
The gleaming digital tracking board that dominates Shaare Zedek's new emergency room, with its color-coded system for monitoring patients, has Dr. David Applebaum's fingerprints all over it.
So do the more private individual rooms for patients, the improved nurse-to-patient ratio and an area for paramedics to rest and grab a cup of coffee between calls.
OK, so if you're rejected, perhaps your self-esteem takes a little hit. If you're rejected a lot, perhaps it gets bruised. And if you experience nothing but rejection, maybe your self-esteem ends up in the trauma ward of Love General Hospital. But enough about my pain.
Thirty-three years ago an Israeli soldier was killed during the War of Attrition in Fort Kantara on the Suez Canal. The soldier's name was Kobi; he was 19. I think about Kobi every day, and sometimes I don't sleep at night. Thirty-three years have passed, and I still live with it like it happened recently.