I am Jewish.
I am American.
When I was 16 years old, I went with a group of teenagers from New Orleans and Atlanta to Israel. I met families, individuals and was introduced to a country I fell in love with so easily.
When I was in my twenties, I made a plan to move to Spain because I wanted to live abroad, away from the United States and its incoming president. It seemed easy to do.
At no time, have I ever believed or condoned a government that pushed an agenda of bloodshed, turned away from its most vulnerable, and did not employ a long-game of creating a just society.
And yet, it is not easy being either Jewish or American. To say I’m Jewish implies a complicity and acceptance of a blood thirsty government gone mad. To say I’m American implies I believe in its myth of exceptionalism.
My conversations about the state of the Israel, freeing the hostages, Palestine liberation, and our current egregious administration are tortured by some who would believe that being Jewish and caring about Israelis implies condoning its government’s horrific acts of war. Or that being Jewish in and of itself implies a view of Palestinians as others.
It is possible to be an American Jew and abhor Netanyahu’s bloodlust, to want an equitable solution for Palestinians and Jews, to want the hostages freed, to want the war to end, to want safety and peace whoever and wherever you are. The same as it is possible to be from a country where half of the population believe in a myth of America that has no malice in its history. No blood on its hands.
It is possible to love Jewish people, to love Palestinian people, to love American people, and to reject what is wrong about its governing forces. James Baldwin said, “I love America more than any other country in the world and, exactly for this reason, I insist on the right to criticize her perpetually.”
[Thank you for reading my blog, I love hearing from you;
I’d appreciate your leaving your response here on my platform rather than Metta’s.]