Ione Belarra brings divine justice, already woven from home, like the blessed one with her mourning, her cardigan and handkerchief, in this case a Palestinian scarf or shawl (a Westerner with a Palestinian handkerchief always looks like a fake homemade jam, something like a kitchen cloth under the cover). Belarra, stretching out her shawl like those ladies who stretch out cardigans or act hypocrites at Mass, wants to send the International Criminal Court Netanyahu, which is the same as wanting to carry him away to the hell of his intertwinings, to that intimate hell that is a gracious warmth for sinners. I don’t remember now that Belarra, with her closet full of justice, like shoes, for every day and occasion, asked for shackles and condemnation neither for the leaders of Hamas, nor for the bloodthirsty ayatollahs, nor for Putin, nor even for Joshua Veale.