“People debate Israel like it’s just a concept."

 (Thanks to AP Hamilton)

“People debate Israel like it’s just a concept."

As if it’s something you read about in a book or watch on Netflix.

You hear it in universities, in the media, on podcasts hosted by people who’ve never lived a day in this region or ever faced a single siren or buried a friend in uniform.

You hear it all: 

“Proportional response.” “Occupation.” “Ceasefire now.” “Colonial state.” “Resistance.”         “War hungry.” “Aggressor.” “Genocide.” 

They say it so easily. The words roll off their tongues like a case study, something theoretical.

But in reality, none of it is a story. None of it is a show. And none of it is theory. 

It’s human. It’s raw. It’s real. It’s painful. It’s horrific. 

This war isn’t being fought by politicians or polished debaters. It’s being fought by real people.

By 19-year-olds. By fathers. By women who were supposed to be planning weddings, not funerals. By people who didn’t sign up to be warriors — but were thrown into it.

In Israel, you don’t have the luxury of debating it. You can’t say, “It’s their war, not mine” — because it is yours. 

And that’s the thing about Israel — it’s small. So small that when a soldier falls, it’s never just a headline. It’s a friend. A neighbor. A cousin.

A community is left to grieve.

You go to a shiva, and half the town is there because everyone knew him.

He was at your kid’s bar mitzvah. He sat behind you in synagogue. He coached soccer on Sundays.

And while that pain is raw and fresh, people around the world go right back to their “debates.”

Debating whether their grief is valid. Whether their defense is justified. Whether their survival is acceptable.

Do you know what it’s like to live like this?

To send a young son off in uniform and not know if you’ll ever see him again?

To pack a husband’s gear and pretend you’re strong for the kids, even though your hands are shaking?

To watch a daughter put on body armor and disappear into the battlefield?

Do you know what it’s like to count the minutes during the day and pray through the night?

To stare at your phone, dreading every unknown number — wondering if this is the call that will change your life?

To open the door and see officers standing there with news you never wanted to hear, but secretly expected?

Do you know what it’s like to bury someone who still had plans?

Still had dreams? Still had their whole life ahead of them?

While you debate, these people mourn.

While you argue over maps and talking points, they’re holding funerals and wiping tears off their kids’ faces.

You talk about justice. They talk about survival. You talk about occupation. They’re just trying to make it to tomorrow. They’re not out for revenge. They just want to live. To see their families again. To come home.

And yet, they’re called monsters. Murderers. Oppressors.

As if they chose this. As if they asked for it. No one in Israel wants war. They want to work.

To raise their children. To build lives.

But when rockets fly and murderers cross the border, they don’t get to debate.

They have to fight. Because no one else will do it for them.

So you can keep your conversations about “balance” and “dialogue.”

But just know: while you’re talking, they’re bleeding.

While you’re analyzing, they’re breaking the news to mothers.

While you’re shouting “morality,” they’re holding funerals for kids who never got to be anything but soldiers.

This isn’t politics. This isn’t theories. This is Israel.

And this is what it means to survive there.”