This story was originally published on nationaljournal.com on July 15, 2016 Tragedy strikes again, this time in the south of France. The blood­shed in Nice was just as hor­rif­ic as the as­saults in Par­is last Novem­ber that killed 130. The Nice at­tack was spread over a much lar­ger area that the one at the Pulse nightclub in Or­lando last month, when 49 in­no­cent people were killed, and it was far worse than the Janu­ary 2015 at­tack on the of­fices of the magazine Charlie Hebdo, when 12 journ­al­ists were killed. In some ways, the Bastille Day at­tack was re­min­is­cent of the Bo­ston Mara­thon bomb­ing, when people came to­geth­er in a spir­it of cel­eb­ra­tion, an oc­ca­sion chosen by the ji­hadists be­cause it was spe­cial and offered the twis­ted pro­spect of mass cas­u­al­ties. What’s so dis­tress­ing is that these events of un­speak­able hor­ror are be­com­ing so fre­quent that un­less they dir­ectly af­fect us, our loved ones, or our ho­met­owns, the peri­od of shock and mourn­ing lasts a little less each time. Numb­ness sets in more quickly. As dis­taste­ful as it most cer­tainly is,

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