I’m Exhausted

I’m exhausted.

Not from work. Not from age. From the constant, grinding battle to shout the truth about Israel into a world determined to plug its ears. I speak it. I write it. I repeat it—over and over—because truth that isn’t repeated is truth that gets buried. And in this war of narratives, the other side has a head start and a megaphone.

I’m exhausted because the lies are relentless. The twisted half-truths pour from the United Nations, where bias has become tradition. The same UN that once swore to uphold justice now declares—without shame—that the Western Wall is “occupied territory.” The audacity. The ignorance. It would be laughable if it weren’t so dangerous.

And so I shout again: The origins of “Palestine” are not some ancient Arab homeland. The very name was a Roman invention—a rebranding after they conquered Judea and tried to erase the Jewish presence. If you speak of “Palestine,” you are speaking of the Land of Israel after it was stolen and renamed by Rome. Claim “Palestinian” ancestry and you are, knowingly or not, tracing your roots to the occupiers of the indigenous Jewish homeland.

This isn’t opinion. It’s history—millennia of it. From the river to the sea was Jewish long before it was renamed, resettled, or rewritten. That truth was reaffirmed in 1922 by the League of Nations in the Mandate for Palestine, recognizing Israel as the rightful Jewish homeland.

Today’s Arabs who claim an ancient, separate ethnicity are simply the latest in a long parade of conquerors and occupiers: the British before them, the Ottomans before them, the Crusaders, the Muslim Caliphates, the Romans, the Greeks, the Byzantines, the Persians, the Babylonians, the Assyrians—on and on, each trying to plant their flag where the Jewish people were already rooted.

And yet—through it all—the Jews remained. We predate them all. We have outlasted them all. We are the indigenous people of the Land of Israel, and no decree from Geneva or vote in New York can erase that.

So yes, I’m exhausted. Exhausted from shouting the obvious into a world that would rather believe the convenient. Exhausted from watching history get mangled into propaganda. Exhausted from seeing the aggressor recast as the victim and the victim condemned for surviving.

But I’m not done. Because if the truth-tellers go quiet, the lie becomes the only voice left. And I will not hand over my history, my heritage, or my homeland to a false narrative.

I’m exhausted. But I’m still here. And I’ll keep shouting. Because the truth is worth it.