The hardest thing to accept: I’m powerless
One year on from the terrible events of Oct 7, this is an attempt to gather a miscellany of thoughts that I have been struggling with over the past twelve months. Some are deeply personal, some are bigger picture. Some may be harder to digest than others. But as hard as it is sometimes, I want to be honest about what’s going through my mind.
No one really knows what’s going on
On and since Oct 7, I’ve been trying to understand what has happened, and what is happening. Not just in the massacre itself, but also with the IDF’s attempts to protect us from future attacks coming from the full gamut of hostile actors who surround us, and the fight to return the hostages.
I read, watched and listened to news; I followed commentators and experts on social media; I spoke to friends and colleagues in the IDF, and have come to the conclusion that no one really knows what’s going on.
There are a huge amount of people who have a tiny part of the picture, many of whom like to talk a lot, but much of it is without real substance. It’s speculation based on limited pieces of information. Or it’s claim and counter claim seeded into the media in order to support a narrative. There is a tiny group of people who have most of the picture, some in Israel, some in Gaza, some in Lebanon, some in Iran, some in the US, but no one has the full picture.
No one knows how this will play out. So many things have happened in the last year that would have seemed crazy 12 months ago, from the Hamas massacre, to the annihilation of the Hizbollah leadership, to the blockade of shipping in the Red Sea, to the biggest ballistic missile attack in history. We’re in unchartered territory.
Also, looking back, it’s really hard to know exactly what has happened in Israel, in Gaza, in Lebanon. There are many things we can be sure about, but much of it is unclear. What exactly happened, who it impacted, why it happened. Some of it we’ll never know.
And so, at a certain point, I gave up trying to work out what’s going on. It just creates anxiety. I don’t completely ignore the news, but I certainly don’t check it as frequently as I did. And I take people’s opinions with a healthy pinch of salt.
And this makes me very suspicious of those who are so certain about things.
There is very little that I can control
Leading on from this, is the realisation that I have very little control over significant aspects of my life. I do not know when my day will be interrupted by a siren. Whether there will be school or not. If I travel, will I be able to reach my destination? Will I be able to get back afterwards? It feels impossible to make major plans.
I write this in full awareness that I’m relatively lucky. People living in northern and southern Israel have had and are having it much worse. And this extreme uncertainty extends to those living in Gaza and Lebanon, arguably even in Iran right now.
Trying to stay up to date with the news was partly an attempt to get that control. If I can try to predict when there will be attacks, and how bad they’ll be, I can make plans accordingly. But of course, that’s impossible. We have to hope for the best, plan for the worst, and take things day by day. It’s a pretty rotten feeling, to feel powerless over major aspects of your life.
Hardly anyone’s talking about the psychological impact
I read some of the foreign press as well as the local Israeli media. Reports are dominated by details of numbers killed, injured, in various attacks. It’s rare to see much attention paid to the deep psychological impact of this war.
Let’s start with Oct 7 itself. The horror at what was unfurling. The bewilderment as to why the IDF wasn’t stopping it, and why it took so much time for them to get on top of things. The fear that these terrorists were also on their way to us. Not being sure if it was safe to open our apartment door.
And then of course the sirens, and the rockets. The huge explosions, the building shaking. Trying to calm our kids. Never knowing when it could strike. The terror attacks in broad daylight.
Everywhere you go, seeing pictures of the hostages. Being reminded that there are so many families missing a loved one. Being aware of the unspeakable horrors they’re likely experiencing.
It gets to you. I’m jumpy — so much sounds like a siren: an electric bike, a fridge whirring, a TV show my kids are watching. At more tense times, I walk around with an awareness that at any moment I may have 90 seconds to get to a safe space. Where is that space? How will I get there?
Many nights we’ve gone to sleep with a bag packed next to the door with essentials should we get stuck in the bomb shelter, and shoes lined up for the family. Showering, even going to the toilet, can be a stressful experience.
And again, I’m one of the lucky ones. I don’t personally know people who were killed, injured or kidnapped (although I’m one degree away from all of the above). I haven’t had to go and fight for my life on the front lines. So many people here have and are experiencing a level of trauma way above mine.
This is terrorism. It’s beyond the actual indiscriminate murder, maiming, and sexual abuse. It’s the fear that this engenders in everyone else. While I’ve developed coping mechanisms, they’re only partially effective.
Our allies are driven by their own interests
In Yad Vashem, the Israeli Holocaust memorial museum, there’s a section which opens with a question: Why didn’t the allies bomb the train tracks to Auschwitz? There are various reasons and excuses given but the bottom line is that there was a point in the war when they knew what was happening in Auschwitz, and could have bombed the train tracks, but they didn’t. It just wasn’t top of their agenda. Many people died as a result.
This has been preying on my mind recently with some of the pronouncements made by our allies. On the one hand, I’m extremely grateful to the US, UK and France for helping us during this war (I cannot express my gratitude enough). And also for their statements of support, particularly when this all started.
But I see a deep hypocrisy in their public statements (going back to my first point, who knows what’s being said in private) about Israel’s conduct and the steps they should take in this war. All of these countries have been involved in fighting Islamic terrorists over the past few years. And in those wars, they killed many civilians.
You can have the debate about whether those wars were justified, or whether the amount of force used was appropriate. But it happened. And it happened in places thousands of miles away from these countries’ borders.
And I’ve seen numerous opinions saying that the IDF goes way further than any of those armies did in their attempts to protect civilian life. Yet when Israel is fighting for its very existence, surrounded on all sides by terrorist armies who believe that God has told them to wipe us out, these same countries say Israel should act with restraint.
The cynic in me says that there’s likely a connection between this and fears over even more immigration from the Middle East to Europe (which is already causing huge problems), over the price of oil, being drawn into a bigger war between Israel and Iran, or fear of disturbances and terrorism in their home countries.
But surely decapitating Hizbollah, a huge player in global drugs smuggling, is a good thing for these countries too? Isn’t the Houthi blockade of the Red Sea damaging their trade? Haven’t there been numerous reports (going back to before Oct 7) of Iran hacking these countries and trying to assassinate people on their soil? And aren’t they now supplying weapons to Russia to use against Ukraine? Is the policy of appeasement working? Or does it make you look weak?
Would any of these countries be willing to put boots on the ground to help Gaza transition to a post-Hamas existence? Or to help the Lebanese be free of Hizbollah? Doesn’t look like it sadly. It’s easier to criticise from afar, but I have little doubt how they’d react if these threats were on their borders.
The UN is not fit for purpose
The UN is such a great idea. I lived in Geneva and got to see it relatively up close. There are numerous branches that do good work, despite the politicking around it.
But when it comes to helping keep the world peaceful, it’s a joke. Let’s leave aside for a moment that one of the members of the Security Council has invaded and stolen territory from two member states in the past 15 years. Or that another member has been illegally occupying a neighbouring country for 74 years.
Let’s take something very simple. Israel has invaded Lebanon. It’s done so because for the past year thousands of rockets and missiles have been fired into Israel, with huge damage to property, to agriculture, and many people murdered as a result. They’ve been fired by Hizbollah.
And yet, sitting in Lebanon are 10,000 UN peacekeepers (UNIFIL). Their job is to keep the peace. They’re supposed to do so by making sure that Hizbollah do not have a presence in southern Lebanon, close to the Israeli border. They’re supposed to prevent violations of the ceasefire agreement between Israel and Hizbollah in 2006.
UNIFIL doesn’t have the power to enforce the ceasefire through force (they’re allowed to defend themselves), so they’re largely pointless. They’ve failed to prevent Hizbollah from not only having a presence in southern Lebanon, but digging deep tunnels, strong fortifications, firing rockets etc. But if they had done any of these things, then this current war in Lebanon wouldn’t be happening.
Meanwhile, the UN, with a majority of countries that are not democratic and/or are in league with China, Russia and Iran, passes resolution after resolution blaming Israel for everything bad in the world (this goes back to well before this war). Way more resolutions than those critiquing any other country. Even if you think Israel is bad, it can’t be that much worse than every other country in the world, right?
And UNRWA, the Palestinians’ dedicated agency (no other refugee group has a dedicated agency), employs Hamas members, teaches hatred in its schools and perpetuates the problem by making Palestinians the only people in the world who can inherit refugee status.
I do think the Palestinians need support, and that could come through the UN, but UNRWA is broken beyond fixing, and its leadership is in denial.
I’m tired of empty aphorisms
Connected to these previous thoughts, I’m fed up with the consistently bland statements that I hear from politicians around the world. Meaningless cliches that seem targeted at their electorates more than actually trying to solve the problem: “We need to have a ceasefire,” “We need to have a political solution,” “We need a two-state solution,” “Too many people have died.”
Believe me, I want a ceasefire so much, but it has to be sustainable. I don’t want a ceasefire that will let Hamas/Hizbollah/whoever rearm and come back stronger in X years. I don’t understand why Israel should have a political solution with Hamas & Hizbollah when the West went to war with al-Qaeda and ISIS. I’d love a two-state solution if it really brings peace, but to talk it now just seems disconnected from reality.
One person dying is one too many, as far as I’m concerned. It’s a weird thing to say. What would be an acceptable amount of deaths?
It’s easy to sit in New York, London, Paris, or any other major city, far from the risk of being killed by a rocket, without rabid terrorist armies one hour’s drive to the south and two hours’ drive to the north (and, quite possibly, around 30 mins to the east) and make these grand statements. Are they willing to help solve the problem? I’m not talking about throwing more money at the corrupt Palestinian officials, but actually putting boots on the ground. I’m guessing no. But maybe saying these things makes these people feel better about themselves?
No, this is not about you
When the war started, I began a video diary sharing my experiences, thoughts and feelings. Many many people reached out with kind words of support, questions, empathy. It was extremely touching. Others reached out to argue.
I’m open to a discussion with most people about most things. I’ve really enjoyed guiding tourists who have very different views to me, and having open conversations with them. I’m not into trying to convince people what to believe, but I do want people to understand why I think what I think on certain topics. And I’m very open to reciprocating.
But this has been challenging this time around. A couple of people I guided reached out with some really quite nasty abuse. It took me by surprise because I had very fond memories of touring with them. It made me wonder how many others there are who think the same things but don’t get in touch.
I don’t believe in having a conversation about complex issues in text. So every time someone got in touch with criticism, no matter how unpleasant, I offered to talk on the phone. I think one person took me up on it (and it was a very good conversation). I think that most things can be talked out, at least to an understanding of the other’s view, without having to agree. But most people refused my offer, either directly or by simply ignoring it.
Why reach out if you’re not interested in the conversation? Is it an ego thing? At one point I pleaded with someone, with whom I previously had a good relationship, but just wouldn’t stop sending me messages, to leave me alone. I was trying to cope with a massive trauma and wasn’t in the place to deal with what they thought was important to share. They wouldn’t relent. I asked, why it was so important for them to convince me of their viewpoint instead of giving me time to deal with my grief? What difference would it make in the big scheme of things if they were to convince me? Would they brag to their friends that they had turned the Zionist?
Someone else assured me that they could understand what I was going through because several years ago they’d been in the same city as a significant terrorist attack (think the scale of the 7/7 London bombings). They hadn’t been involved, they hadn’t seen anything, but they’d been in the same city.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure that it was traumatising (from personal experience being in London on 7/7, or being way to close to terror attacks in Israel). Is it even close to what we went through on Oct 7? Not remotely. I tried pointing this out, but they were sure they could relate to my situation, and this gave them a right to a strong opinion on it.
Going back to my first point, that in real time we really know very little for sure about what’s happening, it makes me sad that so many people can have such strong opinions based on so little accurate information. But that takes me to my next point.
Why do so many people believe and even support Hamas?
Hamas is a terrorist organisation (even if the BBC struggle to acknowledge this). They’re extreme in their religious views. They actively try to kill civilians. They used sexual abuse as a tool of war. They kill people in extremely cruel ways. They have murdered many Palestinians. They use their population as human shields. They consistently lie about pretty much everything.
When I first moved to Israel, I went to the Palestinian West Bank a few times for work. I remember speaking with a colleague there, a religious Muslim, about the business in Gaza, for which he was also responsible. I asked him if he ever went there. He looked at me like I was mad, and indicated that he was afraid of Hamas. This was in 2011.
Hamas lie as a strategy, yet so many people seem eager to believe them, and even support them. It’s incomprehensible.
This war is not Muslim vs Jew
This is a war between Israelis and Palestinians. Just because the majority of Israelis are Jewish, and the majority of Palestinians are Muslim, does not automatically make it a war between Muslims and Jews.
Why? Well for starters, Hamas killed, injured and kidnapped Muslims. Conversely, there were several cases where Israeli Muslims helped protect Jews. Although most non-Jewish Israeli citizens aren’t conscripted to the Israeli army, many do volunteer. Which means there are Muslims in the IDF, fighting against Hamas and Hizbollah.
Why does this matter? Because in places outside of Israel with large Muslim populations, I see this being framed as a religious conflict, which suits Hamas. And for some reason, even though Muslims are being oppressed specifically because of their faith in some parts of the world (China, Myanmar), it’s this conflict that has fired up the Muslim world, or even led to people being elected to the British parliament just on the Gaza issue.
I recently watched a news report about Arab/Palestinian citizens of Israel being attacked and/or feeling threatened when being overseas, because they live here, even though they are Muslim.
Of course, religion plays a role in this war, but to portray it just in that light ignores the reality that Hamas and Hizbollah really don’t care who they kill. And it helps stir up violence in and against Muslim populations in Europe and the US, which is what they want.
I have a limited capacity for grief
There’s only so much bad news I can take. So much mourning I can do. So many tears I can shed.
To take in all the pain, all the suffering, is too much. I can’t cope with it. It would be overwhelming. The little I did take in is already overwhelming.
Back in April, I was talking to a friend in England, who raised a question that had been posed by some British commentators. Israeli media doesn’t show as much of the suffering on the Palestinian side as the international media does. Shouldn’t Israelis engage more with the impact of this war on the other side? If they could see the suffering, would they support the war effort? Maybe it was being deliberately hidden?
Maybe the answer to all those questions is yes. And yet…it’s so difficult. I’ll be honest, I have not engaged with most of the bad things that happened / are happening in Israel. The little I did had a big enough impact. It’s too much for me to go much deeper. I feel guilty about it, but I don’t think I can cope. I need to function. A couple of days ago, my wife mentioned a name, and I didn’t know who she was talking about. It was one of the hostages. Should I know the name? I should, right? But thinking about all of them is too painful.
And if I don’t have capacity for all of the sadness and suffering over here, how much harder to engage with the suffering on the other side. Despite that, I have tried. I haven’t ignored it. But it was overwhelming. And I’m not sure how it helps, for me to be overwhelmed in that way.
For people not living here, who don’t have skin in the game, who aren’t one degree away from someone who’s lost someone, it’s easier to take that step back. And I’m all for it. But to expect those of us directly engaged in the war, no matter which side, to be deeply engaged in the suffering of the other, when we’re struggling to cope with our own experiences, is a big ask.
I should note that there are people who do so, and I’m full of admiration for them.
Not all lives are equal
“We can’t have a hierarchy of human life can we now?”. So said the message I received. It was part of a longer discussion, but it made me hurt. After all, aren’t all people are created equal? Isn’t this a foundational belief of our society? And so, how can we justify killing one person to possibly save another?
And yet, I realised that, for me, not all lives are equal. While it’s not been put to the test, I like to think that I would prioritise my children’s lives over my own. And although it’s perhaps unpleasant to say it, I place a higher value on the lives of those close to me, my family, friends, than those I don’t know. I think that most people, if they were entirely honest with themselves, would say the same.
That’s on the purely personal level. But even on a bigger scale, if the world were to end tomorrow, and you could only save 100 people to rebuild humanity, it wouldn’t make sense to choose them at random. And frankly, I wouldn’t make the cut.
It’s a fallacy to say there’s no hierarchy of human life, as much as I would want it to be true. We’re just fortunate that most of the time, we don’t have to confront this fact, as most things are not life or death decisions. And so, as much as possible, we can and should treat all people as being created equal. And pray that we’re never in a situation where we actually have to make that choice.
I don’t know what to think about the hostage campaign
Let me be clear. The hostages need to come home. We need them home. We needed them home a year ago. They should never have been taken. This is a vital reason for us fighting.
And yet…I don’t know that the big public campaign, the huge marches, is the right thing to do. Look, if someone close to me was a hostage, you can bet I would do anything and everything to get the world’s attention. But there’s a part of me that wonders if the more we talk about them, the harder we make it to get them back? The more we show Hamas how much we value them, the higher the price they’ll make us pay for them to return, or the longer they’ll keep them from us?
But of course, you can easily make the counterpoint, that we need to make it clear to the world how important it is to bring them back, so that they can exert pressure to try and make it happen.
Ultimately this goes back to my first point. There’s no way of knowing. Whatever the approach, I pray for their swift return.
What is the answer?
Possibly one of the hardest things to deal with…it’s very hard to see a way out of this. It goes back to the empty platitudes. We all know what’s wrong about the situation. But how to stop it? And beyond stopping it, how to solve it?
The Americans talk about a revitalised Palestinian Authority, which sounds vague, and without major intent and pressure, unrealistic. Some in Israel speak of occupying Gaza again, which sounds dangerous, and undesirable. There’s mention of a multi-national peacekeeping force, but it’s unclear who is willing to commit troops, how reliable they’ll be, and how much they’d be accepted.
One thing is clear, we can’t keep trying the same thing and just hoping it will work this time. We have to do something differently. But the idea of choosing the least bad option and hoping for the best is a depressing thought.
In conclusion
I don’t know how much of this stream of consciousness makes sense. But then, not a lot of the past year makes sense. I process through writing, and it’s a helpful way for me to organize my thoughts. There’s more, of course, but I’ve written enough. I’m sure I’ll continue to struggle with these issues and others in the months to come, and am open to hearing your opinions on any of the above.