Robert Azzi is a photographer and writer who lives in Exeter. He can be followed at robertazzitheother.substack.com.

Barcelona, Jan. 6 — I am having a wonderful visit with family, so thankful to all who helped make this visit possible, and, as I read weather reports about powerful winter storms being visited upon America this week, I must admit some reluctance about my willingness to exchange dipping my toes in the Mediterranean (which I did yesterday) for shuffling through freezing temps in Exeter.

Yet, I miss home; miss loved ones, friends, neighbors, books, moments of solitude.

I miss writing and, I must admit, occasionally feel guilty that so many of us are as blessed as we are while there is so much injustice being visited upon the earth.

Especially being visited upon the Holy Land.

On days I don’t write, which have been several this trip, I often feel I am abandoning a call; a call to stand in solidarity with the sojourner, the weak and vulnerable, the oppressed and occupied.

The wailing and lamentation persists.

Just hours ago the Al Jazeera news service, amidst updating reports that Israel has killed nearly 46,000 Palestinians in Gaza, dozens daily, since Oct. 7, 2023, reported that the Gaza health ministry recorded that an “eighth infant dies of severe cold in Gaza ... An eighth Palestinian baby has died of hypothermia...”

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Eighth!

At this moment my privilege demands of me to stand in solidarity with the eighth newborn who froze to death in Gaza as its mother tried to nourish and protect the infant child.

The newborn, lacking even the comfort of a manger, never had a chance.

The barbarians are having their way.

Today, as I am about to post this reflection, I must admit that I never thought — never could have imagined — that the sun would rise on a day when I too would consider, in one thought, of the calumnies once visited upon the Warsaw Ghetto today being inflicted on Gaza; twin calumnies committed by one people, barbarians, who speak in one language: their accents may differ but their language is known as genocide.

A language of inhumanity, erasure, forced starvation, infanticide.

Today, from a room not far from Barcelona’s shores, from a place where Spanish waters mingle with waters on Lebanon’s and Palestine’s shores, I’m not interested in impressing your minds with the depths of my insights, the cleverness of my creations; I’m interested only in trying to challenge the landscape of your mind.

How do you bear witness?

Today, I believe, we’re all Syrophoenicians, all begging to be free — free of the demons of injustice and inequity that afflict us all. Free from being reliant on oppressors’ crumbs that fall from the table, free to raise and nurture children distant from the afflictions of hunger, pain and fear.

Free from barbarians.

Last month Christians celebrated, from within the warmth of a manger, the birth of Jesus, whom they believe to be the Son of God and savior of humankind, and whom Muslims venerate as the most revered prophet after the Prophet Muhammad.

Born of an unwed mother, a virgin, in Palestine, a Jew named Jesus challenged privilege and hypocrisy and led through love a life of humility, inclusiveness and goodness.

That all seems not to have carried us very far.

Just days ago, the Biden administration, complicit with the ongoing genocide of the Palestinian people, announced an $8 billion arms sale to Israel. The planned deal includes medium-range air-to-air missiles, 155-mm projectile artillery shells for long-range targeting, Hellfire AGM-114 missiles, 500-pound bombs and other weaponry.

That’s $1,000,000,000 per frozen Palestinian infant.

It’s a price I refuse to pay.

I refuse to be complicit with barbarians, war-mongers, criminals.

Today, as I prepare to post after Epiphany, what is being offered is not gold, frankincense, and myrrh but missiles and 500-pound bombs.

Today, as I prepare to post during these winter days of January, days following Epiphany in the Christian calendar, celebrated as Three Kings Day (honoring the visit of the Magi) here in Barcelona, many share the story of the “Holy Family” fleeing to Egypt for safety.

There is no Egypt to flee to. That path is today closed. The Rafah Crossing is closed.

Closed to all but the barbarians, and their agents.

Hospitals are closed: shelter, food, water, electricity, sanctuary are non-existent. There is no straw in the manger.

Today, as of old, wailing and loud lamentation are heard throughout Gaza, mothers, as Rachel wept, weeping for their children; they refuse to be consoled, because they are no more.

Understand, my loved ones, that if they are no more then we have ceased to be.