LAST week’s terrorist attacks in London evoked in me an awkward sense of déjà-vu. I live and work as a psychiatrist in Jerusalem, where over the past decade terrorist bombs became part of everyday life. Eviscerated buses, screaming sirens and the sticky scent of burnt bodies are among the basic repertoire of my patients’ nightmares.
I know well the feeling of utmost improbability that such attacks can create: the dissonance between horror on one side of a street and, say, a poster advertising a holiday destination or beauty cream on the other. This juxtaposition of the incongruous and…
