Yalla

The Ministry of Foreign Affairs has invited to me to Israel this week to continue the work of advocating for Jewish survival against a tidal wave of antisemitic propaganda. I'm in the air right now. It's my third delegation since the war began. When I went to Israel only two months after October 7, it was like stepping into the unknown. A place I had always considered a home from home had become a triage unit for survivors, families of those who remain in captivity, and Jews who couldn't believe that their security had been breached in the worst way since the Holocaust. Others cannot understand what we have endured if they aren’t us. They can try asking.

The promise of Israel was that this would never again be the case. And that was taken for granted. The results have been unspeakably devastating, and yet Israel lives. It really lives. I am now accustomed to the reactions of loved ones while I'm in an active war zone; whether that's relentless communications or a disappointing silence. Being in an active war zone feels like something Jews were born to do. It feels better being at the center of the action, where I can look at a survivor in the eye and hear their story, and find a way to retell it. I never chose this path. It is my path. This is what I do. This has become my value. I don't need recognition for it. I just want to do it. I want to help rebuild from the shattered parts of our hearts and the screaming distortion of our collective terrified brain. Putting words to the indescribable to make sense of the senseless is what I can contribute, and taking that work and purpose and drive and ability away from me is like cutting me off at my knees. This is my power. This is my voice.

I'm like Batman. I live in my cave and I do my fighting under veil of night when nobody else is watching. I have toiled in private for years in ways that nobody sees. I have committed myself to acts of service for which my name will never be mentioned. Some will never see the light of day. I know that, but that doesn't stop me from dedicating my life to it – to others. I don't need to be at the ball. I don't need you to like everything I say. I don't need you to see me as a hero. I don't need any of that. I'm doing this because I have to. I'm not taking back anything I said or explaining who I am or why I'm different. If you're lucky enough to see behind my mask then you can figure some of that out for yourself, but you'll probably never figure it all out. I don't trust most people. But I think this is how it’s done.

In the Diaspora, I disagree with a lot of the efforts being made and the voices chosen to represent this cause. I see in the Jewish activist space an echo chamber of a popularity hierarchy that existed even in the microcosm of my tiny Jewish community growing up. Truth be told, the world of celebrity activism that I exist in now – and don't relate to – is nothing more than a magnified over-saturated version of a nonsense that exists in all communities at every level. There are those that use their power and money to appear the leaders or do-gooders of the moment, taking credit for work they're not doing. There are those who are chosen as the esteemed guests of these machers. There are those who are never missing an opportunity to take up air when often there is nothing to say. There are those who are put on a pedestal with fake following and a lot of investment who don't speak to the non-Jewish world and/or the middle ground at all. There are cookie-cutter made-to-order celebrities who do not bear relevance outside our echo chamber, and often make tasteless, ill-considered decisions, like doing photo shoots at massacre sites, and tagging the designers. Nothing screams fashion (!) or sex (!) like standing where young kids perished dancing. (Do these people have any advisors around them?) I don't care how well-intentioned all this is, it's wrong. It's also counterproductive. So hey – I'm already dealing with enough trolling – and I can take being attacked by our own for being the person who says what everyone is thinking. And I know it's what everyone is thinking because they're texting in group chats about it all day, but never saying it out loud. People are embarrassed. It’s making it harder. Don’t shoot the messenger.

It exists and it will always exist. I saw a non-Jewish activist at a Shabbat dinner post a group shot while telling the social media acolytes not to worry about the existential threat to our existence because they're “working overtime to fix it”. I laughed out loud. Look, we've all been buzzed from the vino at 11pm and felt a little over enthusiastic, but this is serious work for serious people, who are committed to the work. People spring up overnight and suddenly it's a brand cosplaying as a “message”, and what do they want? I never take not being invited to another thing personally. There are events every night of the week. Enough with the events. What I take personally is people acting like dicks, promoting themselves off the backs of other people's pain, and taking advantage of vulnerable communities. You don't go to a massacre site to tell survivors' stories, while standing half dressed in PVC for photos. It's not about you. It's about the truth of what happened there. It's about the story. Don’t get in the way of the story. You are the vessel, not the main character.

Of course, this is not unique to the Jewish community. It's rife in many others, including feminist spaces, of which I'm still well ensconced. Watching women build their names off other women's trauma fills me with a very special kind of rage. Especially when they're women who failed other women; failed to support them, to represent them, to prepare them. Who disappeared in the thick of it, and returned when there was something to be gained. And it’s the same in the Jewish community. It doesn’t benefit me to speak out, but there are those who will make it beneficial to them, and most of them are not Jewish, or have a way of operating that is minimum risk. A tsunami happens, and there are those of us caught in the undertow, and others just surfing atop the tsunami until they get to wherever they’re going. I see them. You know, I have a lot of survivor's guilt. We screamed from the rooftops for years, and October 7 still happened. I'm not here trying to make myself famous over the names of the dead. This isn't an opportunity; this is an emergency. I don't personally take confidence and security from the posers in front of the camera. I take my strength from the people I know are writing into the wee hours when there’s nothing to capture.

Anygay, just had to get that off my chest.

As I say, I'm on a flight to Israel. I'll be going back to the South, to the North, and spending a day with the Ministry in Jerusalem, and reporting back. There are no breaks during these delegations so I’m sorry in advance that I cannot meet your third cousin once removed for coffee, even though I would obviously love to. I guess we're working overtime to fix it.