I am reading ‘Who could ever love you’ by Mary Trump. I have just read a chilling few paragraphs which are even more relevant now than in 2017, as the Israeli war on Palestinians and Lebanese rages forever on:

A week after he took office, I was sitting on the couch in my living room, doom-scrolling through Twitter with MSNBC on in the background, when the news about Donald’s Muslim ban broke. I jumped to my feet and paced around the room as the chaos unfolded and the details, as muddled as they were at first, made clear just how far-reaching and depraved the ban was meant to be, thanks to its chief architect, the unspeakably vile Stephen Miller. The contours of the horrors Donald and his chosen deputies planned to inflict on us started to come into focus less than a week after the inauguration. I was staring at the TV in disbelief from my position in the middle of the room when my daughter, a sophomore in high school, came through the front door. I didn’t ask her how school was; I didn’t ask if she wanted a snack or if she had any homework. I said, “Av, do you understand what’s going on?” My voice was raised, and she took a step back. “This is fascism.” I gestured at the television and she looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “He’s a fascist.” That’s when I recognized the extent to which my fate had become intertwined with Donald’s. Beyond the election itself, that was the first chink in the armor of American democracy (to the extent it existed), which wasn’t nearly as strong as many of us had believed. It wasn’t immediately clear, but in the days that followed, the Republicans and the Supreme Court revealed that they were not just inclined but eager to let Donald have his way and, in many cases, enable him. I watched every day as things got worse. Each new transgression landed like a blow. This was America now. At random moments throughout the days that followed, I thought, How is it possible? How can this have happened? I mean, Jesus Christ, it’s Donald. Donald! Whenever this reality became conscious, a jolt hit me between the ribs and I felt like I was hallucinating. But I was screaming into a void. The least worthy, the most vile among us had won—again. He was going to get away with it—again. I could barely move beneath the weight of the unfairness of it all.