The months since October 7, 2023 have changed something in the world as well as something in me.
The barbaric attack by Hamas on Israeli civilians shook Israel to its core. Families murdered. Women assaulted. Hundreds taken hostage. I spoke almost daily with friends in Israel. The grief in their voices was raw. The fear was real. The anger was overwhelming. I felt it too.
What followed was a war that has devastated Gaza. Entire neighborhoods destroyed. Tens of thousands killed. Images of injured and displaced children broadcast across the world. As the war unfolded, something else happened. The world polarized.
Israel was condemned in capitals and on campuses. Protesters filled streets in Europe and America. In some places, criticism of policy blurred into something darker hostility toward Jews as Jews. Antisemitism reared its ugly head once again. Jewish communities far from the battlefield were treated as extensions of a government they did not elect and may not support. I found myself reacting defensively.
When people accused Israel of genocide, I rejected the claim. Words matter. Genocide has a definition. I do not believe this war, however tragic, meets it.
Some spoke as if October 7 had not happened. In some cases, that it was even justified. Hamas targeted civilians deliberately and in the most despicable ways. It knew Israel would respond militarily. It knew civilians in Gaza would suffer. It prepared for both the military confrontation and the public relations battle. Israel was prepared for one of those and not the other. I disagreed with aspects of how the Israeli government handled the war. But I understood the trauma that shaped its response.
Then somewhere in the outrage, the arguments, and the rising antisemitism, something shifted inside me. I stopped being empathetic.
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