It’s nearly impossible for me to explain the combination of fear, rage, instability, and confusion I have felt since October 7th, 2023. My curiosity about and passion for peace in the Middle East have been a constant in my life, but the past few years have challenged me more than I knew was possible.
My great-grandparents survived the Holocaust in Lithuania and Poland, and my grandparents were born in displaced persons camps in Germany. I grew up with their horror stories of survival lingering in the back of my mind. Their trauma has always informed my worldview. Even after living through the tragedies they encountered and the pure evil they experienced, my family still believed in a better future.
After the war, they sought refuge in Eretz Israel, the holy land, where they were safe for the first time in decades. Israel was a safe zone for Jews all over the world. Growing up in North America, my parents always thought the worst of it was over. In every generation for thousands of years, Jews were targets of genocide. In every century since the Romans, Jews were murdered systematically. Our temples were destroyed. Our cities were stolen from us.
Finally, in the mid-20th century, the pogrom massacres across Europe had slowed down. The Holocaust was over. Nazi Germnay was defeated. Jews had finally gained the right to self-determination in the one place where they were not persecuted in the entire world. The Six-Day War was over. The intifadas were over. We made peace with Egypt, Jordan, and all the countries a part of the Camp David Accords and the Abraham Accords. We offered land for peace over and over and over again. I was convinced the future would bring more peace than the region had ever seen before.
Israel started to thrive across every industry. My family helped me feel optimistic about the future of Jews in Israel and in Diaspora. Despite the sporadic course of rockets, bombs, and violence that has been on and off throughout the 21st century, I thought things would be okay.
But the past 2 years proved me so wrong. These years have shown me that there remains a deep hatred of Jews and Judaism across the world. Advocacy against Israel is a direct attack on my religiosity and culture as a Jew. To criticize Israel is one thing, but to claim Israel is founded upon colonial racist ideologies is not only painfully inaccurate but deeply harmful to my identity as a Jew. My profound, complex love of Israel is inseperable from my ability to be Jewish in this world. And to hear so many people call for the extermination of Israel really breaks me.
There is no comparison to any other identity in how the Jewish religion connects to a land. No phenomenon, concept, religion, ethnicity, or culture in the world encompasses exactly the same traits and meanings of what it means to be a Jew. That’s why it’s so complicated. Because, yes, for some, it’s extremely religious. And yes, for some, it’s incredibly secular. For some, it’s cultural. For some, it is simply tradition. And for some, it is community, a spirituality, a code book of values to live a full life, a nationality, an ethnicity. For some, it is the single most important part of their being.
The recent murder of two Jewish peace activists in DC has been immensely painful for me. Amanda Markowitz said being ignorant is understandable, but remaining ignorant is unacceptable. Everyone who has chanted to free Palestine without realizing the consequences of championing a cause without understanding the nuance is part of this. We can fight to end the oppression of Palestinians without murdering Jews. Murdering an innocent Jewish couple outside the Jewish Museum in America most definitely will not free Palestine.
I go to Jewish events all the time. I love to support local culture and political events weekly. However, I feel an underlying fear each time. I check if there is security when I walk in and out. My fear is valid after what happened in DC this week.
It crushes me to see people refuse to see documentaries telling the story of October 7th because they think it is a conspiracy, and sometimes not only refuse, but block others from learning too. It hurts me to see mobs vandalize buildings named after Jewish families. To see parades in the streets equating Jews to Nazis. It’s a frustration that I don’t know how to explain to non jews. Because it doesn’t make sense. It hurts so badly.
For us to be called zionist pigs, nazis, colonialist pricks. It’s so backwards. I am most passionate about spending my time reading and learning about international humanitarian law and seeking to understand reconciliation initiatives after mass atrocities. While I write my thesis, unpacking and understanding how different kinds of transitional justice initiatives and interventions best support victim and survivor populations, I am relegated to the periphery of the human rights community.
I study to understand the growth of radicalism and fundamentalism in the Middle East, and try my best every day to ground myself by remembering our shared humanity. But I don’t fit in because I support the Jewish existence in Israel. I focus intentionally on how I can unlearn ideologies that maybe don’t serve targeted populations so well, and instead, I aim to learn effective ways to support various minority groups locally and globally. But I am still isolated.
So, I struggle. Because I love Israel and I support the right of Jewish people to live there, I am suddenly a white supremacist genocidal nazi?
No. That is not how it is, and I can no longer allow people to think that without speaking my truth. I love and support Israel because it is a safe space for Jews across the world. Because it represents three thousand years of documented history of my people, and it carries the memory with it.
I considered not clarifying this because I feel like it’s a crazy thing that it even needs to be said, but supporting the mission of Zionism does not mean other groups cannot also survive and thrive there, too. Zionism, the right of Jewish people to survive and thrive in the nation of Israel, is not racism. It’s resilience for the Jewish people.
We are losing the ability to hold complexity. The conversation has become so polarized, so flattened, that to express grief for one side is taken as betrayal of the other. But grief is not zero-sum. I do not believe that justice for one people must come at the expense of another. We need to return to a politics of empathy, one where it is possible to say, ‘I see you. I hear your pain. And I will not erase mine to prove it.’
Yes, there are multiple people native to the same land. And that’s okay, should they all choose to respect and value one another’s ways of life. And no, supporting Israel does not me I support all the actions, decisions, and statements of the Prime Minister, the Knesset, and the Israeli Defense Forces. Many Israelis don’t either. We don’t have to agree with the actions of the state to still believe Jews deserve to feel safe in the place they are indigenous to.
Yes, I support the right of Palestinians to live in peace, dignity, and freedom. And yes, I can also love Israel with my whole heart. Both can be true. I so badly want to trust that there are enough people in the world who can separate a people’s right to simply exist from their governing body or a military. In return, I ask that you do the same for me. Trust that my love, passion, and support for Israelis does not mean I am happy to see the mass atrocities and humanitarian crisis in the Gaza Strip. And my advocacy against Hamas does not mean I am against every Palestinian who has ever existed.
Antisemitism is a 3000 year old virus, and we are experiencing the modern mutation. We are severely losing the media battle today, and it’s inspiring a new generation of hate we can’t control. But we can’t give up or throw in the towel. We can keep being proud to be Jewish. We can hold our heads high. Be more Jewish. Teach the next generation our values of tikkun olam, tzedakah, and to live life fully every day. That’s what we need to do.
Am Yisrael Chai. The nation of Israel lives, and so do we.