By Sarah Victor

When I was in Israel for an exchange program two years ago, my bedroom in the center of Tel Aviv served a double function. Not only was it where I slept, it was also the apartment’s bomb shelter. It was the room where, in the event that there was a threat of rocket fire, my apartment-mates and I would crowd into for safety. I am fairly certain even my parents have no idea about this (until they read this article!), but, my apartment-mates and I once spent a tense evening scouring the news and debating the merits of venturing out. We ultimately decided to stay in – all because of rocket fire coming from Gaza.

Thankfully, we did not need to crowd into the safety of my bomb shelter bedroom that night, but it is with that personal experience in mind that I have been observing the conflict in Israel and Gaza the last few weeks. I am surprised at the nonchalance with which I hear people calculate in their own minds the human toll – not just in lives lost, but in the sense of security we believe can be expected there. I am troubled with the version of humanity we are exercising in response to the conflict.

The Covid-19 pandemic and racial tensions have meant that all of us have spent this past year concerned for the safety and well-being of our loved ones, many of whom are not near us. We have found creative ways to encourage each other’s mental well-being and sense of justice, despite the constraints of social distancing. But I have noticed the way this conflict is talked about belies the fact that the standards used to assess the conflict do not compute with the standards we have for our own societies and mental health. We sit comfortably ensconced behind our screens, posting the flippant infogram or tweet, judging people who have to live in the context of this conflict and make hard choices on a daily basis – not just when the cameras are rolling. We assert our moral clarity through protests and social media activism while the people who live its reality are not so fortunate. 

This simplistic moralizing has consequences. Consequences that are being seen in our own neighborhoods outside Israel. Supposedly peaceful protests, in the name of human rights, have targeted Jewish neighborhoods, businesses, synagogues, and restaurant-goers for abuse, epithets, and even calls to rape. This hatred is its own extremism. How is this not antisemitism just because of our feeble attempts to hide behind the fig leaf of calling it criticism of Israeli policy?  When this so-called "criticism of Israel” devolves into justifying hateful actions directed at Jewish people the world over, how can we still reasonably hide behind that euphemism? Who then is responsible for addressing the 400% increase in antisemitism since this latest conflict began?

The callousness inherent in our activism is also reflected in the way in which we use the language of human rights. Has our sense of justice and dignity been so marred that comparisons of body counts are touted as the metric of right and rights? How can this be the     metric used if we truly value human lives? Are we so jaded to the headlines of violence emanating from the Middle East that we assume human lives there are somehow worth less than our own? Why do we take for granted that people in any society have to rely on a bomb shelter, advanced aerial self-defense systems, or better judgment from their leaders to expect even the most basic of human rights – physical safety?

But perhaps the effect of the conflict is not the lens focusing our moral outrage, but rather a desire for freedom and justice. How can we then assume the premise that this conflict is about defending ethnic and religious freedom against Israeli incursions, while ignoring that it was Hamas that was indiscriminately firing rockets into urban environments with significant Arab populations and Islamic holy sites? Do we not care that it is our own governments (in the countries where protests to “Free Palestine” proliferate) that have designated Hamas, the entity governing Gaza, as a terrorist organization?  Just governance cannot be built on the foundation of a society that brazenly seeks violence against innocent civilians.

Now that a ceasefire has been signed, the headlines about the conflict will likely wane and our attention will be diverted elsewhere. We as an international community will continue to turn the other way as Hamas maintains its hold on Gaza through the use of human shields, child combatants, and intimidation of journalists reporting on these atrocities. We will be silent as this terrorist organization diverts money intended for the improvement of civilian lives and infrastructure for personal gain and militarization of the conflict. Hamas will seek to expand its influence into the West Bank in the wake of Mahmoud Abbas’s anticipated departure from leadership.

The activism of today remains entrenched in its convenient and sell-serving posture where we feel morally empowered, outraged, and righteous all in one breath. We are so wedded to our narrative that the problems in Israel and Gaza will be solved by democratic self-determination that we are lulled into ignoring the facts – namely that a "democratically-elected” Hamas and enmities on the ground are shaping the human rights situation.

The events of the past few weeks have made clear that the international community is interested in the cessation of hostilities in Israel and Gaza. But addressing the complicated issues underlying the conflict, ranging from security to statelessness to socioeconomic conditions, means changing how we envision governance structures. Our humanity requires that we affirm the inherent right of every person to live in the dignity of a peaceful environment, without fear of harm. This will involve multiple players working together, but it cannot be done by placing the onus on Israel alone. Maybe, then, one day I will visit Tel Aviv without danger of bomb shelters and worried parents. More importantly, perhaps, one day, Israeli and Palestinian children will grow up not knowing what a bomb shelter is.

Sarah Grace Victor is a graduate of Cornell University's School of Industrial and Labor Relations and Temple University Beasley School of Law. She spent additional semesters at Tsinghua University in Beijing, China, and Tel Aviv University. Sarah has also previously studied or worked in Israel, the Netherlands, Japan, and Italy during law school. Read full bio here.