What to Do Before the Day After in Israel and Palestine
“Untitled,” original collage by Maia Zasler, July 29, 2024.
“NJ: Synagogue Hosts Event to Sell West Bank Land.”
In March 2024, the Council on American-Islamic Relations (CAIR) reported on a disturbing incident involving a U.S. synagogue encouraging the sale of “stolen land” in the West Bank, Palestine. The Amana Settlement Movement promoted the event in Teaneck, New Jersey, with the tagline: “Come learn how you, a group of friends or even a community can own a home and strengthen the Zionist dream.”
I first encountered such disgusting displays of materialized expansionist, ultranationalist rhetoric on TikTok. During one featured interview, I heard the chant “am yisrael chai” (“the people of Israel live”) in the background—a traditionally beautiful sentiment expressing solidarity among the Jewish community, honoring and highlighting the unity in a diasporic people. As I watched, I could feel my heart breaking. It pained me to see a fellow American Jew so blindly and boldly appropriate Jewish self-determination in a shared homeland and to witness words such as “Zionism” take on a perverse meaning among extremists.
“Zionists don’t deserve to live.”
Thousands of miles from New York City, within the relatively peaceful confines of the Sciences Po campus, I watched the now infamous video of Khymani James. I sat shocked and perplexed as a self-proclaimed spokesperson for the pro-Palestinian encampment at Columbia University calmly drew parallels between Adolf Hitler, Haitian slave masters, and Zionists. “There should not be Zionists anywhere … Zionists or Nazis,” he said.
I’ve understood—and admittedly shared in—the anger James directed at the Israeli government’s escalation of the current war in Gaza, spurred by the horrific attacks of October 7. I’ve searched for outlets to express my antiwar and anti-occupation calls to Israel. But to see a member of the pro-Palestinian activist movement so brazenly solicit violence against the “other side,” to watch someone use human suffering as an impetus to incite further hatred, appalled me.
The Question
As I write this article, I am cognizant of the terms I use. I have paused on many occasions. Do I write “Israel-Hamas” war or “Israel-Gaza” war? Is “massacre” more apt? Will some readers dismiss my perspective if I don’t refer to the unfolding events as a “genocide”? If I employ the words “Zionist” and “anti-Zionist,” will my readers share in how I understand such terms, or will I facilitate further upset? If I refer to “antisemitism,” will I provoke eye rolls or head nods? I can’t claim to have all the answers. I can’t create a shared language that will somehow inspire productive dialogue. What I can do is observe and insist that, as it concerns both the public approach to pro-Palestine and pro-Israel activism in the United States, something has to change. Allowing this mutated version of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict to extend to the U.S. does not help anyone. A ceasefire may effectively end the immediate physical violence, but the underlying conflict will remain, which ultimately forces the question: What can those of us outside of Israel and Palestine—of Gaza and the West Bank—do before the day after arrives? How can we responsibly and effectively advocate for peace when we can’t even come to a consensus on what “peace” actually means?
A Way Forward
The first step in paving a productive path forward involves embracing recognition, attempting to “know again” something or someone that was never known to us in the first place. Solidarity, an often intangible sense of unity, grounds us in recognizing struggles or suffering foreign to us at varying degrees. It is a powerful force, but it is prone to being overpowered by selective humanism. We feel most compelled to recognize the humanity in the group(s) to which we belong but fall short in this application of both sympathy and empathy to other groups. For future U.S. activism aimed at aid, peacebuilding, and liberation efforts spearheaded by students at leading universities to actually succeed, we must first address the fractures in the foundation of our discussions and perceptions. Our collective inability to recognize different truths lies at the root of the problem of counterproductive and harmful discourse. This is not an endorsement of a simplified “there’s pain on both sides” rhetoric but an acknowledgement of the disconnect between intent and understanding of action.
We must be able to recognize the pervasiveness of discrimination: antisemitism and Islamophobia. Failing to recognize the hatred faced by Jewish students or levied against student protestors only deepens divides. These actors feel different pains. The pains may not be equal—to the extent that they are quantifiable—but the feelings are genuine. The heated nature endemic to our discussions on suffering is fixed in our difficulty discarding single binaries.
Acceptance of these multiple truths must follow recognition. This acknowledgement does not imply complacency. We cannot forget or forgo our anger at the war, especially the pain that we have felt as news alert follows news alert of a growing Gaza death toll, torn-up bodies, Houthi attacks, and tensions with Iran. Acceptance of different understandings of realities and definitions is a mechanism to stave off discouragement associated with protest frustration and fatigue. Although we may see increased buzz in the media when bombs are dropped, when attacks are reciprocated—whether in 2007, 2014, 2018, 2021, or 2023—the conflict does not dissipate when the related posts on our feed disappear.
We must accept that those around us may be hurting, and thus the perception of our actions are amplified, leading to potentially disproportionate reactions. Many Jewish students on American college campuses remember the vigils for lives lost during the week following October 7, with the rhythmic echoes of, “There is only one solution: Intifada, Revolution!” and “Globalize the Intifada!” persistent in the background. Many students involved in pro-Palestinian movements feel that their demands have been trivialized or dismissed by their university’s administration and by the general public while tens of thousands of Palestinians are dead and continue to die.
By consciously ignoring the optics of our words and actions, the reconciliatory processes of recognition and acceptance become more difficult to achieve. Productive dialogue necessitates specific, actionable steps. All engaged parties bear the responsibility of realizing a new norm of conversation, of constructive participation. This approach begins with studying and analyzing our vocabulary. A few salient terms we must understand include “Zionism,” “anti-Zionism,” “antisemitism,” and “intifada.”
If “Zionism” is defined by American Jews endorsing and facilitating the sale of Palestinian land—if it in fact refers to a belief that all of the Holy Land belongs to the Jewish people and solely the Jewish people—then yes, it becomes difficult to argue that the ideology is anything but problematic and dangerous. Gadi Taub, an Israeli historian and political commentator, for instance remarked that the settlements outside of Israel actually undermine Zionism politically and ideologically. Taub makes the distinction between “Zionism of Land” and “Zionism of Liberty.” He illustrates the dichotomous relationship between a “blood and soil” Zionism, restricted to a territory, and Zionism as an ethos of self-determination. Perhaps Zionism, then, is also (inaccurately) presented with an asterisk. A Zionist must forever support the actions of the State of Israel and its government. However, when left to many scholars, historians, and laypeople, Zionism may lead to myriad interpretations—as ideologies often do—but ultimately retains the conviction that the Jewish nation maintains the right to self-determination, and for many Jews, it simply refers to Jewish freedom and liberation.
“Anti-Zionism” is frequently assumed to be antisemitic. Antisemitism is a form of discrimination directed at Jewish people that draws upon ancient tropes or is zhuzhed up by modern microaggressions and ignorance. So ultimately, whether anti-Zionism is antisemitic often depends on which operating definition of anti-Zionism is being used. Is the anti-Zionism at issue simply in opposition to land expansion and imperial rhetoric, or animus against Jewish self-determination in a shared homeland? We should aim to harness an understanding of such a loaded term in topical conversations to improve our communication.
Similarly, “intifada” carries different meanings. The Arabic origin of the word refers to a “shaking off.” In contemporary Arabic, it denotes an uprising. There have been many intifadas. Some people interpret “intifada” as an anti-occupation spirit, a drive to persist under oppressive conditions—whether it be in Palestine or Iraq. However, for many of us non-Arabic speakers or those of us who did not grow up in an Arab country, the word “intifada” is more often connected to the historical First and Second Intifadas, which took place between 1987–1993 and 2000–2005, respectively. The Second Intifada, in particular, received so much global attention and news coverage that it has become practically impossible to separate the violent memories the event evokes from the word itself. In this sense, calls for an intifada are a reminder of a brutal and chilling time for Israelis, Jewish people, and Palestinians. This sensitivity to how the word is received by people—our peers, parents, administration, or a global audience—is important to keep in mind—if not to foster more effective activism, then at least to better understand public reception to pro-Palestinian demonstrations.
When faced with so many varying definitions of key terms, productive dialogue feels forever out of reach. But we can combat feelings of helplessness with knowledge. Access to organizations and various networks is integral. Despite the reluctance or refusal of university administrations, students may channel resources into hosting conference forums led by experts in legal, historical, and theological fields. Organizations on the ground in Israel and Palestine such as Combatants for Peace or Parents Circle Families Forum host events that can be streamed abroad. Many of these pro-dialogue, pro-peace, and anti-occupation and anti-apartheid groups have been operating for decades. The coalitions of Jewish and Palestinian Israelis work politically within Israel, trying to advocate and realize legal change. Others work directly with afflicted families, facilitating conversations, nursing unfathomable grief, and sowing seeds of hope. Cultural events function as yet another means of allowing a flow and exchange of ideas in an approachable manner.
To foster inclusive campuses, universities should institute antidiscrimination task forces rather than forming task forces dedicated entirely to combating antisemitism. These teams would be responsible for the regular review of administration policy related to discrimination and harassment, ensuring rules are unambiguous and implementable. They would also be charged with possible interdepartmental collaboration, organizing relevant workshops and creating data-driven recommendations for improving campus inclusivity. Universities can implement modules to be completed before the start of the year similar to Columbia’s Gender & Sex Based Violence training. These modules would identify what such discrimination looks like—antisemitism, Islamophobia, racism, etc.—and include case study examples. Another interesting activity relevant for in-person training is listening to someone speak for some number of minutes with an opinion on a topic with which one disagrees, almost a form of “exposure therapy” as a catalyst to deepened empathy. Additionally, requiring all registered campus organization leaders to complete specific antidiscrimination training modules or sessions at the beginning of each semester could serve as yet another implementable avenue forward. These training sessions would include information that stipulates legal limitations to protest, as international students come from different backgrounds with different laws on speech and assembly; the standardization of expectations would be extremely valuable.
Throughout the coming months, as we wait for the day after this wretched war, we have to be willing to negotiate—not to give in, but to talk; not to let go of our indignance at the war or the past, but to channel our feelings productively. Once this war ends, it will not really be over. There is no replacing the damage or filling the holes left for those ravaged by the violence and for those who have lost their loved ones, for the hostages who have been separated from their family members for almost a year, and for the Palestinians who managed to escape the bombs but have no home to which they can return. But there is work that must be done—creating a governable Gaza and working toward a political solution. We can work to provide aid and call on our universities and government not only to support a ceasefire but also to engage with Israeli universities, Palestinian citizens, and activists. We can help to shape a future that includes freedom, homeland, and self-determination for all who share the land.
Maia Zasler (GS ’27) is a staff writer at CPR pursuing degrees in government & politics and sustainable development. She is interested in climate policy, water conservation, and peacebuilding in the Middle East region. She can be reached at msz2127@columbia.edu.