An Open Letter to the World from the Jews Who Are ‘Committing Genocide’ in Gaza

To Those Who Call Us Murderers, Oppressors, Colonizers, Occupiers—Even Genocidal:

I must write to you, on behalf of the Israeli people, a deep and sincere apology.

We’re sorry that we exist.

We’re sorry that we refuse to disappear into the ash heap of history, where so many seem to think we belong.

We’re sorry that we dare to call a tiny sliver of land our home, in a world that begrudges us even that.

We’re sorry that, after millennia of exile, pogroms, forced conversions, expulsions, ghettos, and gas chambers, we had the chutzpah to say, never again.

But most of all, we’re sorry for the greatest crime of all: for living in a world that would rather have us die quietly.

This is what they call genocide.

The world screams this word at us—genocide. As if a people who buried six million of their own less than a century ago don’t know what it means. As if we can’t see the obscene irony of this accusation when it’s hurled at us from the same mouths that shrug at the slaughter of Jews in synagogues, on buses, and at music festivals.

We’re sorry that our history makes it impossible to forget what happens when Jews are too weak to defend themselves.

We’re sorry that our strength is inconvenient to your narrative.

To the world gaslighting us: I apologize for your discomfort. I apologize that we don’t fold neatly into the role of perpetual victim. I apologize that we’ve learned to fight back, because no one else ever will.

We’re sorry for defending ourselves against a terrorist regime that uses its own people as human shields while vowing to wipe us off the map. We’re sorry that this doesn’t look like the sanitized, victimless wars you like to imagine in your ivory towers. We’re sorry that we refuse to let those who scream “From the river to the sea” finish the job that history started.

We are not perfect. We never claimed to be.

But let’s be clear: we didn’t choose this war. We didn’t choose to live in a world where every ceasefire is just a pause before the next bloodshed, where every defensive move is twisted into aggression, and where every act of survival is painted as oppression.

To those who label us as murderers and occupiers, I ask: what would you have us do? Lay down our arms? Let rockets rain down on our children? Accept annihilation so that you can put down your precious Free Palestine flags, and finally go to sleep at night?

If defending our right to exist makes us genocidal, then perhaps the problem isn’t with us—it’s with your definition of genocide.

We don’t need your forgiveness. We won’t apologize for being here. Not now, not ever.

But we will mourn. We mourn the lives lost—ours and theirs. We mourn the brokenness of a world where peace feels so impossibly far away.

And we hope. Because hatikvah—hope—is the heartbeat of our people. It is why we are still here, no matter how inconvenient that may be for you.

So, no, we’re not sorry.
But maybe you should be.

Sincerely,
A Jew Who Refuses to Disappear