Being Jewish in the current climate within the U.S. is confusing, no doubt. Being Jewish, and hoping for a free Palestine, is even more confusing. 

On the one hand, my family can trace the ancestors we lost in the Holocaust with relative ease. I know which of my great uncles were sent to trenches and made to be prisoners of war. I’ve heard the terrors of that event passed down through generations, and I have distant family who have gone to Israel as a result of it.

On the other, though, I cringe at the hypocrisy I see from my own people — and from my country. Earlier this year, pro-Palestinian protestors at Columbia University were sprayed with hazardous chemicals — right here on home turf, allegedly by former IDF solidiers.

This is how war is waged in the most intimate form, breaking apart families and friends. But Americans of all faiths must recognize that this crisis is far bigger than us. 

Our nation was built on a notion of self-determination born of the Enlightenment. Its founders believed in the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. They certainly did not support tyranny (in the sense of countries oppressing the individual, though they certainly supported it in other ways). The framers designed the Constitution and Bill of Rights to make a listed set of protections from the federal government. 

And yet, we stand by without asking, “Why are we funding a nation that is doing this?” Why are we sending taxpayer dollars to a nation that has now killed over 34,000 people, and counting? 

We are a nation built on ideals of freedom, and we have not hesitated to involve ourselves in foreign affairs when they concern our doctrines and notions of liberty. We hold in the highest regard the rights that protect us, as individuals, against government, and so, I ask, why have we failed to recognize just how many of those rights have been trampled on by a government we support? 

What does it say about a commitment to freedom from unwarranted searches and seizures or a security in possessions and properties when an Israeli soldier can forcibly remove Palestinians from their homes? How can we claim the right to the pursuit of happiness, when Gazan children and parents are killed while merely searching for food? Can we claim to protect the press when journalists are being killed in Gaza?

As an American, I can see only one way forward, and that is a ceasefire. Until we have that, the apathy and brutality of our nation will continue to reverberate in the sound waves of every bomb dropped in Palestine. 

As a young Jewish woman, I try to hold on to hope for a future in which my people aren’t marked forever by Israel’s actions, for the blood on the hands of the once-oppressed-now-oppressors. But in a world where the Holocaust’s existence is questioned, I hope that the plight of the Palestinians is remembered, and remembered well. 

It’s because of this that I simply cannot empathize with my Jewish brothers and sisters who stand with Zionism. The desire to return home after hundreds of years of exclusion I can understand, but the disregard for the morals, ethics, and justice in the process of returning to a homeland that belongs to all of the Abrahamic religions is beyond my understanding. How is a home for all really a home for some? When Palestinians are barred from entering Jerusalem, we now know how.  

The most important distinction to make in writing this, is that the consequences we’re watching in live time are the result of the actions of a select set of people in power. Just as Biden doesn’t speak for all Americans, Netanyahu does not speak for all Jews. In this chaos, it’s easy to feel like one’s voice doesn’t matter. However, neither of them speak for me, and they don’t have to speak for you. 

My words and voice are small among a sea of opinions — and opinions alone won’t stop the bombs. Call your representatives, demand a ceasefire, and leverage your voice and power to demand that our government stand by its true values and put an end to the bombings, to the starving, and to the apathy.