April 25, 2026, 17:42. Jerusalem, rooftop of the Austrian Hospice on Ha-Gai Street, Muslim Quarter. I was supposed to meet at four o'clock with Professor Jonathan Garb, the Kabbalah scholar at the Hebrew University, at a café near the Temple Mount. He didn't show, didn't answer the phone. I waited an hour and a half, then went up to the hospice rooftop to smoke. I took the attached photograph at 17:42. A girl about twelve years old, gray checked dress, barefoot, eyes closed.

Until this moment I'm still not sure whether it's even advisable, or permitted, to speak about this — but in light of the way recent events have unfolded, I have no choice but to gather what remains of my courage and try to call things by their names. At least so as not to lose my self-respect as a human being. I've already accepted that, as things stand, my physical life is worth nothing and isn't really important either. It all started at the beginning of my work in cinema,