An Oasis of Peace

A deeply chilling video surfaced online today, where a self-proclaimed “physician and nurse” from Australia unabashedly stated that if they were treating an Israeli patient, they would kill them immediately and send them to hell. This isn’t just hateful rhetoric; it is a deliberate violation of something far more sacred. As healthcare professionals, we swear an oath to heal, to alleviate suffering, and to protect life. This bond transcends politics, religion, and beliefs. These individuals didn’t just calmly and openly admit a willingness to murder another human; they tore apart the very fabric that holds our profession together. Medicine is sacred. It is a sanctuary where the sole focus is on saving lives. When this bond is violated, we risk everything that medicine stands for.

One night, when I was on shift, a woman from a remote Muslim village presented to the Labor and Delivery ward of my hospital. She was gravely ill, 24 weeks pregnant (about six months), in active labor, and running a high fever. She had been transferred from hospital to hospital, each one unable to treat her extremely premature baby. The hospitals across the West Bank had told her the same thing: her baby wouldn’t survive.

When she arrived at my room in Hadassah Ein Kerem Hospital, there was no hesitation. A team of midwives, OB-GYNs, and NICU doctors specializing in extreme preterm births immediately sprang into action. Her baby was born a short time later weighing just 600 grams (1.3 lbs). We immediately resuscitated the infant and transferred her to the NICU, pink and crying despite having a serious infection and being severely preterm. Day by day, the baby defied expectations and became one of the rare cases of extreme preterm birth without significant complications.

But this story is not just about medicine. Over the next several weeks, I visited this woman and her family as much as I could. Though neither of the parents spoke Hebrew and my Arabic is limited, we found ways to communicate, through tea, hand gestures, laughter, and respect. At one point, the woman and her husband told me I was the first Jewish Israeli person they had ever met.

At Hadassah, like in every hospital throughout Israel, this is not unusual. Muslims, Jews, Christians, patients, and staff from all walks of life come together daily to provide and receive care from across the region. As a midwife, I have personally treated refugees from Sudan, women and their unborn children from Gaza and the West Bank, and people from all corners of the globe, despite knowing that had I required the same care in some of these regions, I would not have been treated in kind. When this woman and her unborn child arrived at our hospital, we immediately provided the highest standard of care, without ever asking where they were from, what their religion was, or what their political beliefs were. We saw a human being in need, and we responded, just as hospitals across Israel do every day. Hospitals are an oasis of peace.

The Hippocratic Oath calls on us to treat everyone with care, dignity, and respect, without discrimination or judgment. In Israel, this oath is tested time and time again as hospitals have always treated everyone, no matter their background or political affiliation, even those responsible for horrific acts of violence. In the wake of October 7th, hospitals throughout Israel provided care to both the victims alongside the terrorists who perpetrated the heinous crimes.

This approach, this unwavering commitment to human dignity, has ramifications beyond mere medical care. When a person, like this family from Gaza, meets a Jewish Israeli midwife for the first time, who treats them with respect, it challenges deeply ingrained fears and misconceptions. That simple act of care has the potential to shift perceptions, disrupt cycles of hatred, and change the way they will teach their children. The ripple effects of these encounters can extend far beyond the confines of one hospital room. It’s a reminder that when we treat each other with mutual dignity, compassion, and respect, we have the power to break down walls, dispel misinformation, and build bridges, one interaction at a time.

As healthcare professionals, we are not just saving lives; we are breaking down the barriers that divide us. Every time we treat a patient with compassion, every time we reject the influence of politics or personal hatred, we are building the foundation for a more peaceful, just, and respectful society.

But this must not stop at the walls of our hospitals. If the principles of care, dignity, and mutual respect can thrive in the most challenging of circumstances in the microcosm of the ICU, labor and delivery ward, and on the operating table, why can’t they be applied to society at large? If healthcare can unite us across cultural, religious, and political divides, why can’t the rest of the world learn from this example?

In today’s world, it often feels as though we’re overwhelmed by conflict, hatred, and division. The fact that we even need to write an op-ed to calmly address the actions of “healthcare professionals” who, without hesitation, proudly state that they would murder another human being, without any expected recourse, is a stark reminder of how far we have fallen. It can feel impossible to fix, and at times, a lost cause. But within the walls of the hospital, we continue to find a way to communicate, person to person, human to human.

Maybe, in the end, that is all we can do: see the human standing next to us, one person at a time. Perhaps, if we start there, we can begin to translate that compassion, dignity, and respect into the world beyond the hospital, one interaction at a time, and in doing so, find a way to hold onto our humanity, even when it feels impossible to see it in others.