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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