This is not the world that I wanted. I hoped for better. For you. For me. For our children. This is the world that has frightened me. This is the world that should frighten all of us.
There are complicated and important geopolitical, socioeconomic, and religious forces at work here. I will not even attempt to untangle the complicated web of decisions, policies, and events that have brought us to this point. I’m not arrogant enough to pretend that I even fully understand all of the issues.
I do know that Jews are scared. Yet in many ways, we’ve always been scared. I don’t know, but I imagine, that Palestinians are scared, too. There’s been such loss of life. So many atrocities. So much hatred. Is it naïve to think that there’s a path forward, for all of us? Does any common ground even remain? And so, we remain constantly afraid of the other. Living an ocean away grants no immunity. We have been hated here just as we were hated there. They are hated here too. You would think that would be something to bind us together, but instead, we carry the baggage of hatred and pass it on to the next generation.
There’s an incredible privilege in being able to pass, to hide in plain sight, that is so often not afforded to many other oppressed and minoritized individuals. But my children know that you hate them. They wonder why. They look to me to tell them “you are safe here.” But are they? I honestly don’t know anymore. I know that I cannot protect them from the hatred of this world any more than I have been able to protect myself. And so I grieve. For them. For you. For us. Our grief unites us. It looks the same on every face.
But there is some reason to hope. In the end, whether Israeli or Palestinian, what we want is what everyone wants: our family to be safe. To feel protected. While too few and too late, there are glimmers of humanity. The reuniting of Doron Katz-Asher and her two daughters Raz, aged 4 and Aviv, aged 2 with their husband and father. Marah Bakeer returns to her family home. Ohad Munder, aged 9, and his mother Keren, both held captive are joined by their family. Shorouq Dwayyat is hugged by relatives. These are images of families. Of love. And maybe, of hope.
