As a kid growing up in northern Israel in the 80s and 90s, spending time in the bomb shelter was routine. I heard about fallen soldiers (some of whom I knew personally) and Palestinian terror attacks on the evening news. The threat of death loomed constantly like a cloud. I carry this existential fear with me to this day. What I did not see as a child — not once — was a picture of a Palestinian child who was killed in an Israeli airstrike, a family evicted from their ancestral home, or a mother struggling to provide her children with clean drinking water during an Israeli blockade. 

The media and adults around me never spoke about this because seeing the humanity of our enemy could lower the morale of the troops or make us question the benefits of never-ending warfare. If we feel empathy toward someone on the other side, how could we continue to fear them and fight them? Instead of learning about their very real pain, our history books and media told us the Palestinians (all of them) love Hamas, refuse to talk about peace, and want to throw us all into the sea. We were David, and the Palestinians — along with the Arab countries all around us — were Goliath; we were small but clever, and they were large and evil.

Since my childhood, I have seen my country go through a dramatic shift. In 1995, Yitzhak Rabin was assassinated by a far-right activist. In 1996, Benjamin Netanyahu, who played a significant role in the incitement against Rabin and the peace process, was elected Prime Minister. Since then, Netanyahu has been in power for 17 non-consecutive years. 

Actions speak louder than words, and Netanyahu’s regime is no exception. While speaking words like security and stability, he has supported the expansion of illegal settlements in the West Bank, sanctioning terrorism committed by Jews against Palestinians. More recently, he allied himself with a party of extremists who explicitly support the annexation of Palestinian territory and Southern Lebanon. 

He and his radical messianic partners have led a movement to neutralize the judicial system in Israel thereby granting him unchecked powers. His actions are as far away from promoting coexistence, security, and democracy as imaginable. Israel shifted, under his leadership — from my problematic but beloved homeland — to a nation I no longer recognize.

When I heard about the atrocities of October 7, my heart ached. My trauma pulled me to make sure my family and friends were safe, and I wanted to be around “my people.” Others around me offered sympathy, but at the time, only “members of the tribe” seemed to understand. For the next few weeks, I read every little report about the victims, especially people my age with kids the same age as my children. It was shocking beyond anything I ever witnessed as a young child. 

Israel has a right to defend itself. After such a horrifying massacre — as rockets continue to be launched toward Israeli communities — something has to be done. However, I can no longer support how Israel is conducting this war. 

I had naively hoped the Israeli response would be precise and cautious to keep the hostages safe and limit harm to civilians in Gaza. I was wrong. Today, Israel kills Palestinian civilians daily, along with Hamas combatants. We cannot know how many Israeli hostages may have also been harmed in these airstrikes. With the bombing of hospitals and the blocking of humanitarian aid, Gazans are further exposed to death by disease, infection and severe malnutrition. “Total victory” is a goal that cannot be accomplished. We lost so much on October 7, and every day since, with people dying on both sides, we continue to lose. 

In Israel and America, it has become impossible to express compassion and speak up against the war without being called a brainwashed traitor or a self-hating Jew. From people in my own family to strangers on the internet, there is virtually no way to engage in nuanced dialogue when it comes to Israel. 

There seems to be no space for any grief beyond the grief over Israeli lives lost on October 7. Any critique of Israel is perceived as antisemitism. As an Israeli, I naturally relate to Israeli pain more easily, but my empathy as a human extends beyond my own tribe. 

As a Jew and as an Israeli, I believe that we cannot close our minds and hearts to Palestinian suffering while pleading for others to acknowledge our own pain. The pain of our people is real. It is rooted in generations of trauma. Precisely because it stretches over centuries and continents, our compassion and empathy must extend to all human beings. The destruction and death of civilians caused by Israel is hard to acknowledge — but that does not mean we should deny the truth of what is occurring in Gaza. What started as self-defense has gone too far. 

More than one year later, we continue to feel horrified and outraged by the violence inflicted upon Israel on October 7. We continue to believe that Israel has a right to defend itself against terror and violence. And we bear witness, daily, to the death and destruction caused by the actions of Israel. We may not feel connected to the Gazans or Lebanese in heritage or faith, but they are, like us, part of humanity. When we are horrified and outraged by the brutal killing and torturing of innocent Israelis and, in the same breath, justify the bombing and starvation of civilians in Gaza, I wonder, what has happened to us? Does our pain and generational trauma give us permission to inflict pain and trauma on another? 

This may be the biggest war since the inception of Israel but it is not the first. We have history we can draw upon as we face this. We know from experience that violence breeds more violence — it does not bring about safety and peace. Hamas will not be defeated by bombing schools and hospitals in Gaza. Hezbollah will continue to operate and grow in spite of our targeted attacks. 

Blocking humanitarian aid and starving the children in Gaza will not bring back our dead. We have two peoples who care deeply for this land and plan to stay. We cannot throw the same solutions (and explosives) on this conflict and expect different results. Let us, instead, unite against terror and authoritarianism on both extremes and save the lives we still can.