The past week since the horrific terrorist attacks in Israel by Hamas and the ensuing war in Gaza have been extraordinarily difficult. As distraught as I feel, I cannot begin to fathom the shock, grief, and pain of those directly affected. Yet I have been profoundly affected emotionally, both as a longtime peace activist and as an American Jew born to an Israeli parent.

As a Buddhist meditation teacher, I rarely speak about my Jewishness. I’ve yet to come to terms with the pain of my people’s history, or with the complexity of being white and Jewish in the United States. I’ve avoided entering the thicket of debates regarding Israel-Palestine, knowing how they can call up such strong emotions, stimulate profound trauma, and make it harder to build community and practice across the lines that divide us. 

But today my heart is breaking, out of universal values for peace, dignity, and respect, my commitment to nonviolence, the particular pain of my people, and of all those affected by these recent events.

Though I was born in the US, I hold dual citizenship here and in Israel. I grew up visiting my extended family there and—though I am not a practicing Jew—feel a strong connection to my ancestors, the land, and all those who live there. 

My father, who was born in what was then British Palestine, fought in the Yom Kippur war 50 years ago. He never fully recovered from losing a younger brother there. Seeing how heavily it weighed on him for the rest of his years, I shudder to think of the trauma that will echo through the generations from what has already unfolded this past week in both Israel and Gaza—and what is yet to come if this war continues on its current path.

[Content warning: this paragraph contains violent imagery. Please choose consciously if you want to read it or skip to the next paragraph.] There are the unthinkable, horrifying ways in which Israeli civilians were targeted: grandmothers murdered in their homes, toddlers witnessing their parents shot before being kidnapped as ransom, over 200 killed at a music festival, the naked bodies of victims paraded in front of cheering crowds. And there are the devastating conditions unfolding in Gaza: hospitals under siege, unable to function or care for newborns and the elderly, innocent children killed in airstrikes, families buried under the rubble of their homes, and a humanitarian crisis with dwindling access to power, food, and water. 

The past week, daily activities like grocery shopping or visiting the playground with my son have taken on a surreal quality. I find it hard to focus, waves of grief come, and it’s easy to feel overwhelmed. Holding our one-year-old in my arms as I put him down for a nap, my heart breaks for all those who have lost their beloveds—parents, children, siblings, friends, grandparents.

There aren’t really words for the grief of what’s unfolding. It’s okay to feel like it’s too much to hold—because it is too much to hold.

Even so, the Buddha’s teachings remind me to turn toward what is happening, and to let it be hard. Paraphrasing a good friend: it’s okay just to hurt. The pain I feel is a reflection of my deep love for this world. 

When I open to suffering, I feel committed to the safety and security not only of my Israeli brothers, sisters, and siblings, but also of the Palestinians as well, because we are all human.

If we can turn toward and learn to be with our own suffering, we can recognize it in others as well, and commit to reducing it. To create the conditions for peace begins with opening the heart to all we feel inside—including numbness, confusion, fear, pain, and anger. 

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Author’s note:

(The full version of this post was written with the input of several colleagues, close friends, and family. It is in many ways incomplete, due in part to the constraints of time and space, as well as the limits of my own understanding of the complex history and current situation. Because I am actively grieving, I am not currently available to engage in debate or respond directly to feedback. Thank you for your understanding and support during this difficult time.)

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