Sometimes when you're sad, it's hard to post but you feel like you must.

This young man was the grandson of the woman who first put knitting needles in my hands.

He was named after the family that his grandma lost in the Holocaust

I remember the phone calls from Israel when he used to call his Grandpa - the alleged intermediary- to negotiate a good price for his teeth from the tooth fairy.

I remember when he left the states one summer in his teens with boxes of candy not available in Israel to be a small-time entrepreneur.

I remember his Grandma and Grandpa's 40th wedding anniversary. His siblings were always very kind to me-a sort of surrogate daughter to their Grandma- but always a little wary of why a grown woman not related would befriend her. He, on the other hand saw a kindred spirit and hung out with Mr. Sophanne and I throughout the evening.

I know that he was to turn 21 next month, was to be out of the army in 3 months and had a visit to his grandma scheduled to paint the porch shortly after. I know that he used his skills as a medic to save the life of a Palestinian man the week prior.

There is just so much suffering on the planet. Sometimes I wish it weren't so.