Gil Mildar
As the song says, a Latin American with no money in his pocket.

We need to find our way back to humanity

Ron’s shadow hangs over us like an eternal lament. He wasn’t just a soldier but a tenuous thread of humanity stretched between us and Gaza, a bridge cruelly demolished. Under the indifferent watch of a government, Ron was taken into Gaza’s dark belly – alive, breathing, and with a sliver of hope still in his heart.

Ron’s life ended in a tunnel, a black hole dug by dehumanization and brutality: a bomb, a command, a sacrifice. Our Ron, that boy full of promises, became a shouted full stop in nine months of abandonment. He was tossed like a pawn in a cynical power game, his blood sealing the fragile unity of a political coalition.

And as Ron’s heart ceased to beat, other hearts bled on the scorching hoods of military jeeps. Not just one, but three vehicles carrying wounded men, unarmed, stripped of their dignity, of their hopes. Mujahed Abadi, a name that now echoes, was one of those burning bodies, a man turned into a spectacle of humiliation and pain. Smeared with blood and shame, his body was a grotesque offering to despair.

The clip of his torture went viral, a fragment of horror that circled the globe, a broken mirror reflecting the ugly face of occupation. The IDF, as always, tried to calm the turbulent waters with vague statements and promises of investigations that rarely touch the truth. “Inconsistent with directives,” they said. But what are directives when the heart is made of stone?

And then, like unleashed beasts, twenty settlers descended upon Madama, spreading chaos. Stones, fire, screams. The olive groves, symbols of peace and perseverance, turned into torches of hate. And the soldiers, those who should protect, watched silent accomplices to daily terror. The fire respects no boundaries – it leaped to Turmus Ayya, where, once again, flames devoured hope.

Three events, three acts of condemnation, linked by the invisible thread of dehumanization. Netanyahu’s far-right government has “thingified” the Palestinians, turning them into shadows. Hate has triumphed over humanism, a humanism that once shone like a guiding star for the people of Israel. History will exact its price, as it always does. What remains is the scar, the deep mark on the fabric of our collective soul.

Ron, Mujahed, and the burnt olive groves are all testimonies of an era where love was defeated by hate and dignity was crushed by cruelty. But, like olive trees that always regrow, perhaps one day, we too can return to humanity.

About the Author
As a Brazilian, Jewish, and humanist writer, I embody a rich cultural blend that influences my worldview and actions. Six years ago, I made the significant decision to move to Israel, a journey that not only connects me to my ancestral roots but also positions me as an active participant in an ongoing dialogue between the past, present, and future. My Latin American heritage and life in Israel have instilled a deep commitment to diversity, inclusion, and justice. Through my writing, I delve into themes of authoritarianism, memory, and resistance, aiming not just to reflect on history but to actively contribute to the shaping of a more just and equitable future. My work is an invitation for reflection and action, aspiring to advance human dignity above all.
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