367
Yesterday was the anniversary of Hamas’s October 7th attacks, and while I wanted to acknowledge the date, I felt uncomfortable about doing that because it wasn’t my space. It was a day for Jewish mourning, for remembrance, for reflecting on lives lost and trauma inflicted. It wasn’t the time for my voice to intrude, to inject itself into a conversation that didn’t belong to me. I wanted to respect that space. I still do.
But sitting here a day after that anniversary, I think it’s important to talk about the way forward.
The status quo has been reinforced in the most brutal and horrifying ways. Both sides have done everything they can to elevate the worst people to lead the conversation. The many faces of intolerance and extremism feed off each other’s hatred and violence, deepening and entrenching themselves in power. At the same time, the people on the ground — those actually paying the price — are left trapped in a never-ending cycle of fear and devastation.
I’ve heard, many times over the past year, a perspective (most often from pro-Israel folks) that bears correcting — the idea that “there was a ceasefire on October 6th,” as though Hamas’s attacks, as horrible and inhuman as they were, came out of nowhere. As comforting as that mythology is to supporters of Israel, it’s important to understand that it’s a categorically false and tortured reading of the status quo.
October 7th was an escalation, yes, but it was an escalation aligned with a continuation of a decades-long conflict. Palestinians have been fighting an Israeli government that has brutalized, occupied, and oppressed them. Israelis have been fighting against Palestinian independence and facing acts of violence and terror directed at them. There is plenty of fault to go around. But the idea that October 7th sprang as a contextless and fully formed attack from Sinwar’s forehead, like Athena emerging from the head of Zeus, is a myth that does little to help anyone understand or contextualize the situation we’re facing.
The true impact of October 7th, beyond the broken lives and casual cruelties, is the shattering of a particular Israeli fantasy — the hypothesis that the conflict could be fought in a way that inflicted pain ONLY on Palestinians and ONLY in their territory.
October 7th brought the conflict into Israel itself, forcing the understanding that no one — not Israelis or Palestinians — can escape this conflict’s inhumanity and suffering.
And I will say this because world leaders refuse to: the suffering is not equal. Yes, there is undeniable trauma on both sides. But any fair reading of the reality must acknowledge that Palestinians are enduring a level of violence and destruction far beyond Israel’s so-called “right to defend itself.” This is not defense. This is punishment. And pretending otherwise is both unserious and deeply biased.
All that said, this is not a Trauma Olympics. The suffering on both sides is real, and despite the imbalance, when your family has been killed, no calculus of body counts or comparisons can ease that pain. Telling someone whose child was murdered, “Yes, but we’ve killed more of them,” doesn’t make it hurt less. It doesn’t provide solace. Everyone’s trauma is real and valid to them. Comparisons may offer context and help us understand the broader picture, but they don’t help us move forward. We need to recognize that trauma on both sides exists and stop weaponizing it to shut down conversations about peace and justice.
If we ever hope for peace, we need to start by acknowledging the scale and depth of the hurt on both sides. They may not be mathematically equal, but they are emotionally relevant and valid to the sufferers.
It’s not enough to demand that one side or the other backs down. We need more.
We need to demand hope.
We need to create hope. We need to center a vision of the future where the expectations of both Israelis and Palestinians are not just met but exceeded — a future where both peoples can live in dignity, security, and peace. And that doesn’t mean a superficial paper peace — a peace of treaties signed and ignored — but a real peace where the humanity and rights of all sides are fully recognized, respected, and enabled.
The lack of hope drives extremism. Accepting a seemingly eternal conflict is profoundly cynical and counterproductive. It’s a worldview built on the premise that the region must forever be in a stance of military preparedness and aggression.
It is a worldview that ensures that peace will never come — not for Israelis, not for Palestinians, not for anyone. If this conflict continues in its binary, zero-sum way, no one in the region will ever be safe or at peace. Eternal conflict is a dead-end that only serves those in power who thrive on the instability it brings.
It’s not my place, or anyone’s place outside of the region, to define what peace should look like. That’s for Israelis and Palestinians to decide. What is incumbent upon those of us who want to fix things, however, is to act as guardrails and push both sides toward equitable and just solutions — solutions that de-escalate and minimize the tensions and hatreds that have become all too familiar.
We don’t need another Treaty of Versailles, where punishments and resentments sow the seeds of future conflict. What we need is something more like South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission — imperfect, yes, but an attempt to hear people out, acknowledge suffering, and start moving toward something resembling justice.
And so, 366 days out from October 7th, 2023, I am less hopeful but more convinced and committed than ever.
I am less hopeful in the short term because the powers that be seem intent on driving us further into chaos.
But I am more convinced and committed to the idea that if we can learn to sit in our discomfort, acknowledge our shared humanity, and recognize the imbalance of suffering and the validity of all grief, we can walk the long, hard path to a solution that works for both sides.
There is no other option.
The only future worth fighting for is one in which everyone gets to live—not just exist, but truly live—in peace.
A future where both Palestinian and Israeli children can grow up without fear of rockets, without the looming threat of occupation or the endless cycle of war.
A future where families from both sides can share the same streets, the same markets, and the same sunlight without wondering if today will be their last day on earth.
A future where the idea of borders dissolves into the shared understanding that dignity, safety, and prosperity are not zero-sum — they belong to all of us.
This is the vision I cling to. Not one born out of naive optimism but one born out of a deep belief in humanity’s ability to learn, to change, and to rebuild after the worst. Because that’s the only future worth having — one where everyone can live, not in fear, but in hope.
