How can the happy rejoice, the dancers dance, the cheerers cheer, and the night watchmen stay up all night, while the massacre continues, as if it is beginning for the first time?!

So, why did those who today hold weddings and fun nights on the wounded, in the streets and squares, and in front of the cameras, criticize those who used to practice life by holding their children’s weddings in closed halls, and accuse them of lacking a sense of nationalism and social solidarity?!

Why was the ceasefire not announced simultaneously with the announcement of the agreement, so that the victims would not be left alone to suffer pain for several days in the face of the desires of revenge that dominate the killers, who are racing against time to multiply the number of victims in a geometric progression?!

There is nothing more painful than losing your children, grandchildren and loved ones in the period between the announcement of the agreement and its entry into force.

Amidst the commotion of joy over the wounds, I listened yesterday on Al Jazeera to a dignified talk by the patient and friendly man Wael Al Dahdouh, who lost his sons and grandchildren, and whose heart was still filled with sadness. He spoke with great humility and beautiful patience, befitting those with great ambitions, noble souls, and lofty stature, about the day after the massacre stops, and what the owners of the destroyed homes will do. Some of them are waiting for the right moment to resume digging and excavating, even with their fingernails, to extract what remains of the remains of their sons from under the rubble of their homes. Some of them are seeking help to heal the wounds of their loved ones whose limbs were amputated.

Al-Dahdouh's talk shows the stark difference between those who were burned by the fire of genocide and lived through its horrors, and those who are considered its victims while sitting in front of screens on couches from afar.

Let us be a little humble, and consider the feelings of those whose hearts are still in pain, and who are still suffering from the pain and anguish of the resounding national tragedy, the likes of which history has never witnessed.

No victory, no matter what it is, is equal to a child's tear, or the grief of a bereaved mother who has lost all her children. It has been said: He who does not respect a child's tear has resigned from the world.