4 | MAY 9 • 2024
J
N
opinion
Is There a Better Way?
S
ince Oct. 7, I have felt
loneliness like I have
never felt before. Being
an Israeli in America, I am used
to some degree of everyday
loneliness, but
this is uncharted
territory. Who
can I talk to?
What is OK for
me to say? Who
wants to hear me,
and what will
they think of me
if I tell them how I really feel?
Friends from across the
spectrum reached out to me
immediately after Oct. 7. It was
kind, validating and comfort-
ing — but, it quickly stopped.
For some, this was because I
expressed too much concern
for the people of Israel, the
place where I was born and
raised, where my mom and
sister still reside. For others, my
empathy for the suffering of
Palestinians made me a traitor.
I quickly found myself
caught between two opposing
sides, where somehow my posi-
tion was the radical one. While
many others may also find
themselves somewhere in this
messy, nuanced middle, it has
been hard to break through the
noise of slogans, social media
and flag-waving into authentic,
meaningful communication.
With that in mind, I have
been wanting to write some-
thing for some time now, a
confession of sorts from an
expat Israeli who yearns for
peace and justice for all. I do
not claim to represent anyone
beside myself. My words are
my own, a product of my lived
experience. I hope that this
essay might help you, readers of
the Detroit Jewish News, to see a
different perspective. Take what
you want and leave the rest. I
have been keeping relatively
quiet, knowing that putting my
name out there might, sadly,
alienate me from my communi-
ty. Despite the fear I feel in this
exposure, I decided to publish
this because of the urgent need
for change.
To my fellow Jews, Israelis,
Americans: We have stopped
listening to each other. We are
labeling each other based on
single statements like “Free
Palestine,
” or “I Stand with
Israel” — statements that can
reasonably be interpreted in
many ways.
In our anxiety about Israel,
Palestine, diaspora Jews and
humanity, we have reverted to
black-and-white thinking. I
first want to validate that these
feelings are normal (I am a
social worker, after all): Grief,
fear, anxiety and hypervigilance
are entirely normal reactions to
abnormal circumstances. They
are natural and expected.
And yet, we should acknowl-
edge that these behaviors at
some point become maladap-
tive: They do not serve our
goals. They do not contribute
to an inclusive, compassionate
and safe society. Could we
challenge ourselves to move
past these responses?
Start where you are. Give
yourself permission to feel and
grieve. This situation is not
normal. It is horrible. After
you extend this grace to your-
self, though, strive to extend
it toward others — especially
those who are not like you, who
don’t see it like you do, whose
perspectives and upbringing
put them in a position to expe-
rience this extreme situation in
a different way.
It may sound naive and
impossible, and I know that
being able to sit here and write
words like “permission” and
“grace” is a privilege. But to
me, it is the only way for us to
pause, come together and move
toward a better reality.
If we continue to believe
that only one group has a right
or historic connection to the
land of Israel/Palestine, we will
remain stuck. If we continue to
justify violence as “self-defense”
or “liberation,
” we will remain
stuck. If we continue to view
the safety and self-determina-
tion of Israelis and Palestinians
as a zero-sum game, we will
remain stuck.
It is OK to feel anger, sad-
ness, grief and fear for your
people — and it is also OK to
feel empathy, compassion and
solidarity for “the other.
”
It is OK to love Israel deep-
ly — even to call yourself a
Zionist — and at the same
time feel profoundly upset,
disappointed and angry by its
actions.
As a Jew whose ancestors
died in the Holocaust, I am
ashamed by the famine inflict-
ed by my country upon the
Gazans. I sigh in relief follow-
ing the (mostly) successful
interception of the Iranian
attack, yet I promptly brace
myself in fear for what Israeli
leadership will do next and
the consequences that follow.
I fear for the safety of my peo-
ple while knowing that more
violence, “an eye for an eye”
approach, will not make them
safer long-term.
I feel all of these ostensibly
conflicting feelings and still
love Israel, my homeland. In
fact, I feel them because I love
Israel.
It is understandable to
harbor the inherited trauma
of centuries of antisemitism,
to have your heart stop with
worry when your family mem-
ber doesn’t pick up the phone
— and at the same time, to not
give up hope for a better future
for all. It is reasonable to want
peace and self-determination
for Jews and Palestinians alike
— and to not accept “solutions”
that force either “side” to live in
fear and pain.
Where does this leave us?
I’ll admit, I do not think that
I know how to resolve this
conflict: It has preceded me, is
much bigger than me, and has
affected my life in more ways
than I can verbalize.
Perhaps, in writing these
words, I am just trying to find
the hope in this hopelessness
— to let others feeling this way
know that they are not alone.
I am right here, in this mess,
with you.
Perhaps these words and
assurances will inspire you to
participate in conversations in
a new way. Perhaps you will
talk to someone empathetically,
who will talk to someone else
empathetically, and eventually
we can manifest compassion,
communication and — yes,
even — peace. Because we all
deserve safety, self-determina-
tion and peace. We really do.
And (one last thing) my
mom, who lives in northern
Israel, deserves to return home
soon. I hope she will.
Yifat Clein, LMSW, is an Israeli American
mom and social worker who grew up in
Kibbutz Sasa, Israel, and lives in Detroit
with her family.
Yifat Clein
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