I wonder what we experience with residual ancestral memory. I don't know when I learned about grandma Rose fleeing a burning house in a pogrom in Ukraine. In my mind it was only shortly before she died. I just wonder if the experience was in my memory before I learned of it. Every bad thing that happens to us happens in the world, and the very earth is scarred with memories. I know I felt something in the pit of my stomach when my uncle settled in a kibbutz before he died of cancer. It was more than my personal history with him. The Zionist holocaust affects me in the pit of my stomach too. Other genocides have happened since the Nazi holocaust, but this one in Gaza seems to affect me particularly, not only for the unimaginable suffering right now, but with the time ghost keening of ancestral memory. 

To be alive is to mourn the dead, and the dying.