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The Nation Builders - TIME (Full Access)   

It was easy to miss, amid the horrors, what answered them. In the blood-soaked weeks that started on Oct. 7, the most consequential acts in Israel and in Gaza may also have been the least noticed, carried out not by those who claimed leadership but by those whom leaders had failed. The people who pulled others out of rubble, or out of hiding, who sheltered strangers, who bent to heal wounds seen and unseen, they all answered unspeakable violence with a shared humanity. But their selflessness did more than save lives. It illuminated the connection at the heart of a contest that has preoccupied the world for most of a century, the fellow feeling that defines a community and, more broadly, a nation. Amid the negation of war, and in the absence of a state, two nations were affirmed.

In Israel, the absence was temporary but catastrophic. As Hamas terrorists marauded across the country’s south, killing 1,200 people in a day and retreating back to Gaza with hundreds of hostages, the Israeli government was simply not in evidence. Into the void surged the people of Israel. Within hours, a matrix of volunteers mobilized to rescue those stranded in safe rooms, sustain those evacuated from border areas, and address the traumas of survivors.

The effort was instant, intuitive, unrequested. Its leaders were citizens who had spent the prior 10 months organizing weekly protests against an extremist government angling to erase the only check on its power. Pivoting from protest to service, the loose network of citizens dispatched trauma kits and therapists. When it emerged that no one, least of all the authorities, knew who was dead, who was alive, and who had been abducted, computer experts by the hundreds dove into a digital netherworld, sleuthing for clues.

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We Didn't Have Much Money. My Daughter Still Deserved Joy - TIME (Full Access)   

This sentiment–that a child whose family relies on government assistance should be denied something that other children feel entitled to–goes beyond the “poor people can’t have nice things” outcry. When people projected anger toward struggling parents like me for purchasing Christmas or Easter candy with food stamps by complaining about it online, it felt like an attempt to punish or shame me, a poor person, for getting pregnant in the first place.

I started writing about parenting under the poverty line when I lived in low-income housing and still needed food stamps to feed my daughters, who were around 8- and 1-year-old. Just a year out of college, somewhat propelled into the niche after an essay about working as a maid went viral, I began experiencing some success as a freelance writer. It should have been a moment of pride. But every personal essay published brought with it hordes of hate-filled messages. People sent me emails to tell me I was a cockroach, no better than vermin, and needed to be committed.

I’m not sure why I thought the anger would die down after I shared my experiences in a bestselling book or after a limited series inspired by it had some unprecedented success. Perhaps I expected a little more empathy for a mother who is just trying to do her best for her child and create moments of joy amid financial precarity. And yet there it was, one of the first online reviews of my new book, and the woman was upset that I’d given my kid so much ice cream.

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