One Year Later

Gaza is still burning.

“There is no flag large enough to cover the shame of killing innocent people.”
— Howard Zinn

“They’re doing it. Jesus Christ, wake up.”

I remember vividly waking up my closest friend, (we'll call him Ali), on October 7, 2023.

We had gone out the night before and he was crashing on my couch. I awoke that morning to see footage of young men paragliding, as if in an action movie, over the dividing wall that kept captive the millions of Gaza. Footage of the people of Gaza literally breaking down the fences and storming in to what was once Palestinian land, forcibly taken by Israel over the preceding several decades. An unrelenting encroachment that was happening since the 1948 mass ethnic cleansing event known as “The Nakba,” where thousands of Palestinians were killed and nearly three quarters of a million displaced.

Over the last year, we’ve witnessed something even worse and more dire than that, as a fascistic right-wing government attempts to conduct what appears to many to be its own version of “The Final Solution.” I’m sure you’ve seen some of the facts and figures: at least 40,000 killed in one projection, half of them children. The number is likely far greater, as the destruction has left most of Gaza rubble, and there is little that Palestinians can do to count and find their dead as they literally flee for their lives.

At that moment on that morning, we knew very little of what was happening on the ground. But one thing Ali and I both agreed upon: the people of Gaza were about to go through a new level of hell.

I didn’t always have this understanding of Israel and Palestine. I did not always understand what the Palestinians were experiencing or even have a deep understanding of the history of that region for the past century. I think just about a decade ago my outlook was not dissimilar from many American Jews today. As someone who grew up on Long Island in a partially Jewish family that celebrated all the Jewish holidays and belonged to a Synagogue, I have always felt a strong relationship to Judaism. I am proud of that heritage. My great-great uncle, Silas Ratzkoff, was the second Jew to graduate from West Point. The old family lore goes that Silas was bullied by a young Dwight D. Eisenhower, who was a member of the famous “class the stars fell on” at West Point which included Harry Truman and several men who would go on to be five and four star generals. When Dwight made fun of Silas for being a Jew, he challenged him to a boxing match and (allegedly) kicked his ass.

Whether true or not, this was the family, people, and history I grew up around. So, unsurprisingly, I felt that the situation was “complicated,” and I wanted a “two-state solution,” or something like that. I didn’t ever think much harder about it. In 2013, after finishing up my undergrad, I had worked as an intern in the Obama White House, so you can imagine about where my politics lay. I had applied for Fulbright under the auspices of being interested in a fraught and somewhat racially charged idea – one that was at the time, and probably still remains, popular in academic circles: that I, for whatever reason, needed to figure out how to best bridge the gap between “modernization” and Islam. It was a particularly myopic outlook and understanding of the world, one that accepted much of what I was told at face value.

In college, I had studied the Quran under some famous and well-respected Quranic scholars, as well as took Arabic and focused on international studies. By all accounts, I was well positioned to become a spook working for one of the three letter agencies. When I chose Malaysia for Fulbright, I did so strategically, writing in my application essay something to the effect of Malaysia is a modernizing, majority Muslim country with a successful and growing economy, and I want to understand why it's working there and not working in other places. Luckily, I quickly figured out the answer was most often U.S. Imperialism, you moron.

That’s more or less where I was when I met Ali in January of 2014. Ali would be my roommate in Lenggong, a small rural municipality that at the time we lived there, had a single traffic light in the entire town. We had a lot of down time in Malaysia. We were basically in the middle of nowhere and our internet was terrible. So, we spent a lot of our time hiking and talking. Ali is an American citizen, born in Pakistan. He and his brothers are truly the poster children for the American dream. They grew up poor, worked hard through state schools for their college education, and all went on to be successes in their respective fields. But back in 2014, Ali and I were just two dopes in our early 20s who found each other in the jungle. And I’m glad we did.

In America, we don’t care much for details, especially when it comes to those we ally ourselves with and their strategic value to U.S. military and corporate interests. It also doesn’t help that ­the American Israel Public Affairs Committee (AIPAC) spends tens of millions of dollars every single year lobbying members of Congress on both sides of the aisle to support the Israeli project and ensure billions of dollars in American taxpayer money go to continue supporting everything their government does. In 2024 alone, AIPAC has already spent over 100 million dollars lobbying, with fantastic results: since October 7, 2023, the United States has enacted legislation providing over 32 billion dollars in military aid to Israel, including a nearly 9 billion dollar supplement in April and an additional 20 billion dollar weapons package in August. Just as a point of reference, it is generally estimated that ending world hunger every year would cost somewhere between 23 and 50 billion dollars.

Last Friday, I brought Ali to make a famous Jewish pilgrimage: driving to New Jersey to see relatives for Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. Out on the front lawn of my aunt’s house, next to one of those “We Believe In Science” signs with its litany of inane talk-down bullshit, was a “We Stand With Israel” sign. Well, at least we knew what we were getting into.

Pictured: These should be outlawed

We opted not to have the conversation at this family gathering because neither of us felt like arguing. Apparently, someone else did speak to my aunt, in their progressive-ish way. But outside the house, sitting on wicker chairs, myself, Ali, and one of my family members spoke a bit about today, October 7, 2024. One year since the day Hamas staged its attack. Or, as some might frame it, its response to years of death and destruction.

The three of us have gone to protests and demonstrations to support Palestine. A few times the three of us even went together. But my family member let us know that they would be making the decision to not demonstrate today. I didn’t dig too much. I think that their position is a very different one, as they are working, advocating, and living in communities that have a very different understanding of what is happening. And I also think they have a different responsibility and way to be effective in that community. So, I understand it.

Ali and I spoke about it after. For him, marching today wasn’t a celebration, not by any stretch. It was a marker. A remembrance for everything that has happened since that day. A genuine mourning of all the death and destruction. But also, a stance to say we, the many supporters of Palestine are here. We are still supporting these oppressed people. We do not accept the death wrought upon them over this year, or before that, or after it. One other thing he said stuck with me: when you include the oppressor in a conversation, they control the conversation.

And so, I am marching today as well. I hold inside myself no feelings of conflict: I am against the death and destruction wrought upon Palestine. I do not feel this is a controversial opinion, nor do I think it should be one.

Now, I am sure that some Zionists will read this piece. I am sure that some progressives who aren’t sure exactly how they feel will read this piece also. I hope that they do. Even though I do not think it needs to be said, I will say it anyway: I think all of this violence is horrible. I do not celebrate any of it. But I do recognize that, much like during the Haitian Revolution, where the slaves broke free from their chains and visited tremendous violence on those oppressing them, this was bound to happen. It was an inevitability. Haaretz, the Israeli publication, said something similar in so many words. “The disaster that befell Israel on the holiday of Simchat Torah is the clear responsibility of one person: Benjamin Netanyahu.” Well no, it isn’t just Netanyahu. But it was a clear set of policies and a history of actions that led to that moment.

It is not incomprehensible why some people do celebrate violence done to those who they perceive, not wrongfully so, as their oppressors. It is not a nice or pretty thing. Neither is apartheid. Israel is an apartheid state. These are not my words, they are the literal words of countries like South Africa, the International Court of Justice, and the United Nations Special Rapporteur’s report on Israel’s occupation. No amount of lobbying or spin can change that. It is reality.

The even simpler reality is that this violence will continue until the colonial project ceases. That violence does not know the color of a flag.

There are many Israelis and American Jews who will mourn today, and I understand it. I expect them to: many families experienced something shocking and terrifying that day. As we come to Yom Kippur, an extremely important Jewish holiday that asks Jews to be contemplative and search inward, I would ask all of them to think hard about this past year. About the actions of the military in a relentless bombing campaign that has displaced over a million people and killed tens of thousands. I do not ask you to forgive what happened. I ask you to consider what led to this point, what occurred after, and what possibilities remain for the future.

There is a concept in Judaism that was introduced to me by my Jewish step-mother. It is one very familiar to Jewish people. Tikkun Olam is a phrase that translates to "repairing the world." It refers to the ethical responsibility of individuals to contribute to the improvement and healing of the world. Today it is widely understood in a broader, often secular context, emphasizing social justice, charity, and the pursuit of peace. In modern Jewish thought, Tikkun Olam is commonly associated with the idea that individuals, particularly Jews, have a duty to act in ways that promote fairness, justice, and the common good. This can involve engaging in acts of charity, fighting oppression, and advocating for human rights.

I ask, genuinely – is wiping out hundreds – literally hundreds – of entire Palestinian families Tikkun Olam? Is displacing a million people? Killing 20,000 children? Erasing an entire culture? Because, at the end of the day, since October 7, 2023, life has gone on for many Israelis. They are going on vacation. They are traveling back to their second homes in the United States. They are going about their business. All while, in the opinions of most international observers and health organizations, their government is literally perpetuating a genocide.

Today is a marker. It is a day of mourning for both Israelis and Palestinians. But it is not only that. It is also a reminder that, so long as we allow this to continue, as we sit by and not call it exactly what it is, violence and destruction will be the only thing that remains.

May Palestine be free.

Credit: Today’s header image is “city in hell - oil on canvas” by alex schaefer - @ paintwithalex on Twitter