What demonstrating at a Jerusalem junction taught me about Bibi and Israel

Let me be honest: to me, participating in medium- and large-scale demonstrations is both useful and uplifting. I meet old friends, make new acquaintances, and above all, find encouragement and solace: the companionship of like-minded people who refuse to give up inspires hope. By contrast, standing with a small group at a Jerusalem intersection, one of us chanting slogans into a megaphone, brings mostly frustration, bordering on despair.

Let us begin with the obvious: many of those passing us are Arabs. They make up roughly 40% of the residents of what is often described as “the eternal, united capital of the Jewish people.” I am embarrassed to admit I have no idea what they think or feel when they see us, and doubt that I am alone in that ignorance. But the fractures and alenation in Jerusalem are not my subject here.

Some passersby express support with a shout, a honk, or a raised thumb. Occasionally, a pedestrian joins us for a few minutes. From what I can tell, the number of supporters is about equal to the number of opponents. Our chants focus mostly on the hostages; we avoid especially harsh statements about the government or its leader. Nevertheless, people don’t hesitate to voice their opinions about us as a group or as individuals. (Yes, I’m quite old an nd no, I’m not just looking for a way to keep busy.)

Even when traffic flows quickly, there’s always time for a window to roll down and for someone to shout something short, that says everything and nothing. Three syllables are enough: Rak-Bi-Bi. Only Netanyahu. The hostages? Only Bibi. The war? Only Bibi. By extension: cost of living, education, personal security, international standing? Only Bibi. One day, I’ll ask one of them what exactly they mean by it. So far, all I hear is: you are not us. And beyond that?

And yet, and here lies the despair, I prefer even those voices, along with their raised middle fingers, to the vast, silent, indifferent majority. They pass us on foot, by bike, mostly by car, deliberately looking away, as if we don’t exist. Their eyes fix on anything but us: the traffic light, the billboards, the sky – look, a bird! Their avoidance makes us invisible and with us, those we are trying to keep in mind also vanish: the hostages and the soldiers at risk in this never-ending war that Only-Bibi perpetuates. As for the Gazans, best not even start.

To the apathetic majority, the situation seems like fate. Yes, they know it is partly human-made, like climate change or melting glaciers. At first, some even took a stand against the governemnt or the war. But eventually came resignation: enough is enough. You can’t change things. Move on. And please, spare us the sight of those elderly protestors waving flags at an intersection, reminding us of what we’d rather forget.

So here, finally, is the answer to the question: what does Only Bibi mean? It means that only Bibi, the leader who once freed 1,027 prisoners for a single captured soldier, could turn the fate of today’s hostages into a matter of political dispute, a pretext for insults. And above all, it means that only Bibi could normalize a rolling disaster so thoroughly that most of the public becomes apathetic, not just to the fate of the hostages, but to the fate of the country itself.