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Executive Summary: Activists Mobilize a Cross‑Border ConvoyOn 21 May 2026, a coalition of activists began a land convoy from Libya toward the Gaza Strip, aiming to transport essential humanitarian supplies amid the ongoing blockade.Logistics of the Libya‑to‑Gaza Aid ConvoyDeparture point: Tripoli, LibyaRoute: Through Egypt’s Sinai Peninsula, crossing the Rafah borderSupplies: Food, medical kits, water purification units totaling ≈5,000 kgParticipants: Roughly 30 vehicles and over 100 volunteersFinancial and Material Scale of the OperationThe convoy’s cargo represents an estimated value of $2.3 million, funded by a mix of private donations and crowd‑sourced campaigns.Regional Implications for Humanitarian AccessThe initiative challenges the prevailing restrictions imposed by Israel and Egypt, potentially setting a precedent for civil‑society‑driven relief pathways in conflict zones.Outlook: Prospects for Continued Aid CorridorsIf the convoy reaches Gaza, it could inspire similar cross‑border efforts, prompting diplomatic negotiations to formalize humanitarian corridors and reshape aid logistics in the Middle East.

The Lead Egypt's plans to conduct live-fire exercises in Sinai have alarmed Israel's residents and security officers on the other side of their shared border. Egypt's Military Drills on Israel Border Although the drills were coordinated with Israel within the terms of the 1979 peace treaty between the two countries, Israeli residents, including those living close to Gaza, are reported to be concerned about their proximity. Israeli media suggest that many fear a return to the conditions that preceded the Hamas-led attack on Israel on October 7, 2023, which killed more than 1,000 people, most of them civilians. Concerns and Reactions Residents of border communities have expressed concerns, with one resident of Bnei Netzarim stating, 'The sequence of events is eerily reminiscent of what preceded the October 7 disaster.' The Forum for Israel's Border Communities also warned against the creation of 'dangerous norms that led to October 7.' Is Egypt Testing Israel's Border Readiness? Under the 1979 Egypt-Israel peace treaty, Sinai is divided into zones with strict limits on military deployments. While the treaty does not explicitly prohibit Egyptian military exercises, any deployment or activity involving regular army forces near the frontier would normally require prior coordination and Israeli approval. Representation in Israel Some Israeli media have portrayed the drills as part of a wider and more troubling agenda on the part of Egypt. Lebanese-Israeli commentator Edy Cohen characterized the drills as part of a wider pattern that had seen Egypt assume a 'soft' position towards Iran and oppose Israel's recognition of Somaliland. Relations Between Israel and Egypt Egypt and Israel have maintained a 'cold peace' since their 1979 treaty, formally stable, but rarely warm. Despite growing strains following the 2023 Hamas-led attack, cooperation endures, particularly in security coordination to prevent an unintended, catastrophic war.

A Widow's Journey Through Grief I am alive. My husband, Paul Auster, is dead. He died on 30 April 2024, at 6.58pm here in the Brooklyn house where I am now writing these words. He was diagnosed with non-small cell lung cancer in January 2023. But before that, in early November 2022, Paul had a CT scan in the emergency room at Mount Sinai West hospital. The radiologist spotted a mass in his right lung and noted it might be cancer. We all die, but only some of us know our lives could end soon. Although I had often thought about what it would mean to live without Paul, I began to imagine it more often. I imagined walking around the house alone. I imagined grieving. If your father dies, I said to our daughter, Sophie, I will lose my every day. The Final Days with Paul Auster What I didn't imagine is that after Paul's death, time would be deranged beyond recognition. I remember and then forget what day it is. I remember it's the month of May and then forget. The hours skip ahead but minutes often move slowly. I want to root my body in calendar and clock, those reliable, if ultimately fictional, markers of time, but I'm not making sense of their regular beats. I'm afraid if I don't keep checking date, day and hour, I will lose my orientation, stumble on the stairs, and fall or float away ungrounded. In the days that immediately followed Paul's small graveside funeral, on 3 May at Green-Wood Cemetery, a compulsion to sort, throw and scrub came over me. When I'm distressed or anxious, I often clean. I get my own little world into shiny order. I exercise some control by getting rid of dust and fluff and blur. I was not going to be one of those widows who leaves her husband's clothes in the closet for months or even years. A dead man doesn't need shirts, keys, shaving cream. A dead man can't be sick. He doesn't take pills. The Physical Toll of Loss I have trouble breathing. My heart beats too fast, not all the time, in bursts. I have pains between my ribs, sometimes intense. My neck and head ache. My nerves buzz and hum, and electricity shoots up and down my limbs. I sleep by pill. I pick up a paper or an object that needs attention and then see another that calls to me. I put down the first thing only to spot it hours later, an inanimate victim of the unfinished gesture. A pile of unopened condolence letters and cards lie on the red table in the dining room. I cannot bear to open them. Not today. I will wait. Tomorrow. The Empty Spaces of a Shared Life The four-storey house in Brooklyn where Paul and I lived for 30 years and where our daughter, Sophie, grew up, and where Daniel, my stepson, lived when he wasn't at his mother's, became vast overnight. The two of us occupied this space for a long time without children, and the house felt roomy but not huge. I'm amazed by the determination with which I attacked Paul's study. He spent most of his days from morning into the afternoon writing in a small room at the back of our house near the garden. My guess is that there were at least 150 pens on the surface of Paul's desk. He had a supply of typewriter ribbons for his manual Olympia to last him several additional long lifetimes. He had a number of well-used erasers and 35 Clairefontaine notebooks, the kind with graph paper inside them. Paul's courage as he looked into the abyss astounded me. The man couldn't stand up from his bed alone. Finding Meaning in the Aftermath I have been sleeping on my side of the bed. So far, I haven't found myself taking up more room than I used to. When I wake, I do not expect him to be beside me. I do not expect him to walk into the room. I know I cannot conjure him, as much as I would like to. I dreaded his imminent death for far too long. I occupy the same space in the bed where we coupled and slept, year after year. We slept together in that bed for the last time on 28 April, two nights before he died. Spencer wheeled Paul into the room and helped me lift him on to the bed. He, Sophie and Miles had come to stay with us. After I crawled in with Paul, he stroked my hand and arm for what seemed like a long time. We talked. He wanted me to live on, live long, to write more. I woke up several times that night and reached out for him to make sure he was breathing. Paul loved the library on the third floor of the house. "I want to die in the library. I imagine putting a hospital bed in here," he said to me long before the hospital bed arrived and well before we knew the cancer had returned. He knew he wanted to die in that room filled with light. Light became more and more important to him as he neared death.

Judith Rapoport, a leading child psychiatrist, passed away at 92, leaving a legacy defined by her groundbreaking work on obsessive‑compulsive disorder (OCD). Her 1989 book, The Boy Who Couldn’t Stop Washing, translated into more than twenty languages, presented complex research in a clear, jargon‑free style that resonated with a broad audience. OCD is characterized by compulsive rituals—re‑tying shoelaces, repeatedly checking switches, or incessant hand‑washing—that can dominate a person’s daily life. Before Rapoport’s book, many sufferers concealed their symptoms out of shame, unaware that they were not alone. Rapoport’s research demonstrated that OCD has a neurological foundation and may affect up to 2% of the population, challenging prevailing beliefs that it stemmed from overly strict parenting. She proved that the disorder can be hereditary and responsive to medication. In a pivotal 1989 double‑blind trial, she showed that the antidepressant clomipramine significantly reduced OCD symptoms, prompting the U.S. Food and Drug Administration to approve its use for the condition—a landmark moment in psychiatric treatment. Patients and colleagues credit her work with reducing stigma. "Reading Rapoport’s book washed away my shame," recalled Charles Gentz, who lives with OCD, while Professor Gabrielle Shapiro of the Icahn School of Medicine noted that the book “reduced the stigma for these people.” Rapoport herself reflected, “If my work alleviated just part of their pain, then it was not wasted time.” Born in New York City to a schoolteacher mother and a businessman father, she grew up with a literary lineage—her grandfather translated Ibsen into Yiddish. She excelled academically, graduating magna cum laude from Swarthmore College in 1955** and earning her medical degree from Harvard Medical School in 1959, where she met her husband, Stanley Rapoport. After early positions at Mount Sinai and the Massachusetts Mental Health Center, she and her husband secured fellowships in Sweden, conducting research at Uppsala University and the Karolinska Institute on women seeking abortions abroad. Returning to the United States, Rapoport joined the National Institute of Mental Health (NIMH) in 1976. There she led the institute’s child psychiatry branch from 1984, steering American psychiatry away from Freudian models toward a **biology‑focused** approach. Beyond OCD, she made significant contributions to the understanding of attention‑deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) and childhood schizophrenia. Her 1978 study revealed that amphetamine improved concentration in both hyperactive and control children, contradicting the notion that stimulants only calm hyperactivity. Using MRI, she showed that childhood schizophrenia is progressive, involving loss of brain matter—a finding that shifted the focus from parenting to neurobiology. Rapoport’s expertise reached mainstream audiences through appearances on shows hosted by Oprah Winfrey and Larry King, further amplifying her message. By the time she retired in 2017, she had authored over 300 scientific papers, several books, and earned prestigious honors, including fellowship in the Institute of Medicine (1991) and the American Academy of Arts and Sciences (2000). Colleague Gabrielle Shapiro described her as “a pioneer who turned child psychiatry into a modern, evidence‑based discipline.” Outside the laboratory, she enjoyed music, theatre, hiking, and gardening. She is survived by her husband, two sons, and four grandsons.