“Zionism,” she said, “a nice idea.” She laughed in that recognizable way she had. A stranger would mistakenly accept her laugh as genuine. But not a stranger, I was not sadly surprised by her next sentence, “It failed.”
If I were writing fiction, her words could work in the novel I’m not writing. She repeated it in several conversations. Real life. This past week, she voiced another thought of mine: “It’s like we’re right back in 1948.”
Except. Except in 1948, the world was far more sympathetic to the plight of the Jewish people. Except in 1948, Breaking the Silence didn’t exist. Not because there wasn’t silence, silencing. It doesn’t improve when you look at 1967.
If I were Gazan, such thoughts might give me cause to stay in place. Not to abandon the ruins. Because if I were Gazan, in 1948 I might have been deported from Beer Sheva, or Ashkelon, or Lod. I might not want my grandchildren remembering deportation from Gaza. Imposing wishful thinking, I’d want them to remember rebuilding. Although Gaza after 1967 and until 2023, is not rebuilding in which I’d anchor hope. A winding road of misconceptions, and “conceptions,” become evil in their own right.
Nine months after the ceasefire, rebuilding seems a forgotten concept. I suspect the world has largely lost interest. Iran is the headline. The current preoccupation, even Israel-blaming at low tide. No demands from the UAE or Qatar. No efforts of the Palestinian Authority. Hamas regaining power. Only the latter warrants attention in Israeli media.
Antisemitism is newsworthy. Israeli media report its escalation in the US. Conversations with family and friends in the US corroborate.
An Israeli-born contemporary recently asked if I experienced antisemitism as a child. Cautiously responding, I mentioned an incident. Other incidents might have been antisemitic, or perhaps deceptive, me programmed with explicit concerns and subtexts conveyed by my parents, so I wouldn’t be surprised when attacked for the very identity they were teaching me to take pride in.
In second grade, I told my Christian classmate, “There is no real Santa Claus.” That evening, before my dad returned from work, her dad knocked on our door, entered our living room, screamed at my mother. A vivid memory. He called her a “dirty Jew,” after venting his anger that I had spoiled his daughter’s fantasy prematurely. Silence – protecting our fantasies.
Thoughts revert to Zionism – preached in 1948 and past 1967, beyond 1973, with wars in Lebanon and Intifadas which led to more rapid breaches in the silence – dissent from the consensus that Israel’s every military move, every act in the name of defense justifiable, and held to a higher moral standard.
Uninvited, disruptive thoughts pierce my mind, like magnets drawn together: Dissent from consensus silenced. Israeli icons. Perhaps resigned to silence. Perhaps rationalizing indefensible actions – the price guaranteeing a better future for their children. Different reasons for acquiescence. Recalling institutional Israeli silencing of Palestinian citizens following October 7. Those loyal to Israel, with Gazan family members and West Bank relatives.
This past week, Rahm Emanuel spoke at Tel Aviv University, his remarks making the evening news. During this same week, Arad Nir, Head of Foreign News Desk and International Commentator, Channel 12, reported on Gaza, matter-of-factly noting disproportionate Israeli attacks, to the best of my recollection. It went unnoticed. Because we know we can’t deny it, or because we are so numbed that it just doesn’t strike the naïve public majority as warranting refutation attempts?
But Rahm Emanuel may have made the idea of the 23-state solution penetrate the Israeli mindset. It’s like when orange was plugged as the new black. Orange? For Israelis, the color of the struggle against Israeli evacuation of Gaza in 2006. Not my color. But it has colored Israel ever since.
I’ll go back to black – with accessories. The only solution involves two states. It would look better backed by another 21 states. And the painful recognition that silencing and solutions don’t change history, but solutions remain the only hope for the future for two peoples with legitimate claims to this disputed land.
Harriet Gimpel – July 11, 2026
Born and raised in Philadelphia, earned a B.A. in Near Eastern and Judaic Studies from Brandeis University in 1980, followed by an M.A. in Political Science from The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Harriet has worked in the non-profit world throughout her career. She is a freelance translator and editor, writes poetry in Hebrew and essays in English, and continues to work for NGOs committed to human rights and democracy.