Jewish prayers are mostly about daily things - the sliver of a new moon, dew on the grass, the bread and the wine.

Men can absent themselves from real life for their art more easily. Women are anchored into the quotidian business of getting food on the table, making sure everybody's socks match, the soccer gear is ready. I admire idealists, but they're usually enabled by someone who holds the tether on their balloon, who pays the bills and sweeps up after them.

There are always a few who stand up in times of communal madness and have the courage to say that what unites us is greater than what divides us.

Jewish prayers are mostly about daily things - the sliver of a new moon, dew on the grass, the bread and the wine.

And so, as generally happens, those who have most give least, and those with less somehow make shrift to share.

How strange it is, Anna. Yesterday, I have filed in my mind as a good day, notwithstanding it was filled with mortal illness and the grieving of the recently bereft. Yet it is a good day, for the simple fact that no one died upon it. We are brought to a sorry state, that we measure what is good by such a shortened yardstick.

I knew I was going to be a journalist when I was eight years old and I saw the printing presses rolling at the Sydney newspaper where my dad worked as a proofreader.