I want to tell you a story about a people. A story about a people and an occupation. A story about a people living peacefully for hundreds of years. Living in lands to which they are indigenous; an expansive region of the middle east. Living simply. Farming their lands and plowing their fields. Herding their sheep and raising their families. A people who now desperately flees. A people that now flees an occupying force fiercer than any that precedes her. A force intent on the annihilation of this people. A force intent on destruction and passionately driven by an errant faith and a bloody doctrine. A force who awards no value to a human life. A force whose only sentiment is that of destruction. A force whose aggression and deeply seated evil challenges any this region has ever known. I want to tell you about a people who will never return to their homes. About a people whose children were ripped crying from their arms. Unarmed innocents, civilians, Viciously murdered by an occupying soldier seething with hate. Viciously murdered in cold blood.
I want to tell you about a people who are desperate for your help. About a people now wandering, Scavenging for food and hoping to find some solace. I want to tell you about a people collectively left with nothing of material value, About a family photo peppered with menacing voids, Where people once smiling stood. But the smiles are gone. The smiles are gone for the people are gone. The few who survive have not the energy to smile.
I want to tell you a story about this occupation and of these desperate fleeing people, who scream for your help and beg for their deaths to be worthy of your headlines. I want to tell you this story but I fear that you will not listen. I fear that you will not listen because you presume to know of whom I tell. You nodded with every line, and you thought ‘Yes, Yes, I have heard this story before!” You nodded with your red and black and white and green battle paint. That Palestinian flag staining your skin. You nod with every line, and you think “Free Palestine!” Because you think that you have heard this story before. You have indeed heard this story before, but you heard this story wrong. You heard this story wrong because you think that this occupying force is a Zionist one. You think this story was about Israel. You think this was about Israel because someone, somewhere, forgot what the term “ethnic cleansing” means. You think this story was about Israel but it was not. For Israel has no bloody doctrine, And Israel does not kill for an errant faith. This story is not about your Palestine. This tells of real genocide. This story is of genuine ethnic cleansing, Because for every lost life you called “genocide”, 100 lives are lost here every day. For months, these people cried and died. But you did not give a damn. You did not care when it was 100; you did not care when it was 1,000. When it was 100,000, you paused long enough to click your tongue in disapproval. You did not take to the streets when photos of bloodied headless bodies finally made it through the biased annals of the beast you call the media. You did not march for the people of Iraq or of Syria. You signed petitions and you promoted your BDS movement. You called me Zionist scum when I tried to tell you. You did not want to listen because you could not blame my Israel. I may be Zionist scum, but for the thousands of dollars you gave to Gaza, you gave not a one to the people of Iraq or Syria. So don’t you tell me that this is about what is fair. You presume to care. But you do not care. You caved to the propaganda. You betrayed the truth. You betrayed the truth to appease your conscience. You betrayed the truth because Russell Brand told you to. You betrayed the truth because you believed the lies. But your truth is full of lies. Your truth is full of lies and you must live with your conscience. You must live with your conscience, knowing that you are not a person of honor or worthy of respect. You are simply an impressionable human who relied on the media’s evocation of desperation. You are nothing more than a pawn. Told what to think. Told what to feel. Told what to “share”. Told when to care.
About the Author: Ariela Aharon is a patriotic American expat currently residing in Jerusalem, Israel and studying Psychology. When she is not volunteering for Magen David Adom, stressing about the MCAT, or passionately questioning everything, she likes to spend time with her friends and family. She can usually make it a few hours without entering into a heated debate about things that have little to no bearing on her life. Yalla.The author's opinion does not necessarily reflect the opinion of The Jewish Press.
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