Today is Easter Sunday. A day that marks the resurrection of Jesus—the story of an innocent man, beaten, humiliated, and nailed to a cross in front of a silent, complicit crowd. And yet, we call this day holy. We call it sacred. We dress in pastels, go to brunch, and speak of redemption and light. But how can we speak of resurrection when so many children are being crucified in real time? We’ve all watched crimes against humanity unfold in real time—broadcast in high definition, shared across social media, dissected in news reports—and yet the world remains silent. Worse, complicit. But what breaks me most, what will haunt me for the rest of my life, is the slaughter of children. Not just a few. Tens of thousands. Gone. Erased. Bombed, burned, buried under rubble while the world debates the semantics of war and “self-defense.” Tell me, how do I explain this to my children? That the world let this happen? That governments, journalists, influencers—so many people—chose to look away, or...
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