What do we tell them?
What do we tell the children of Gaza as the tears stream down their faces, leaving tracks in the layer of dust that settled on their cheeks after bombs turned their homes into craters?
What do we say to the terrified children of Syria, where the innocent years have been smothered in bombs and blood?
What words are there for the lost and desperate children of the American border, where they stream across in their thousands, running from death, hoping for a new life?
What do we tell them? What can we do?
We see the images on TV, hear the horror even in the refined, detached voices of the men and women assigned to cover it. How can we change the channel? How can we look away?
How can we not, though?
It is easier, safer, to turn away from the horror than to…
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