For me, this war didn’t start on Oct 7th 2023. For me I t started on Oct 4th 2003. That was the day Hamas and Palestinian Islamic Jihad sent a young suicide bomber to Haifa and my entire family was lost. I became an orphan in an instant because they chose to hate us by decree of their religion. They took everything away from me. Or so I thought.
On Saturday Oct 7, when Hamas raped and tortured and massacred over a thousand of our men, women and children, innocent unarmed people, I felt every ounce of the pain those people felt burning through my veins, tearing me apart. When I saw the images of the terrified young students being slaughtered at the Nova festival, I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t control my tears, my emotions, my rage. When I heard the joy in the voices of those murderers, it destroyed every part of my being and every ounce of my humanity. In a split second, everything changed. And I am no longer that person I was on Oct 6.
Now? Well now is the time we stop hoping for change. Now is the time we stop believing that they may want peace. Now is the time we stop pretending this is normal and that it’s ok. Now is the time we stop waiting and expecting for the world to finally do something different.
There comes a time when you have to not just stand strong, but stand strongest. There comes a time when you have to not just fight hard, but fight hardest.
That time is now.
There can be no more negotiation.
There can be no more diplomacy.
There can be no more ceasefire.
Hamas brought this war on us. And they had prepared for what we might do by knowing that the world would be weak and will come to save THEIR “innocent children”. The world chose to betray our raped women. The world chose to ignore our cries, our pain, our suffering that Hamas brought upon us.
And so there comes a time when we must go all in, all the way, and finish it.
That. Time. Is. Now.
There can be no more pain. There can be no more suffering.
There can be no more rockets fired at our cities.
There can be no more murder of our people.
There can be no more Hamas.
On Saturday Oct 7, when Hamas raped and tortured and massacred over a thousand of our men, women and children, innocent unarmed people, I felt every ounce of the pain those people felt burning through my veins, tearing me apart. When I saw the images of the terrified young students being slaughtered at the Nova festival, I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t control my tears, my emotions, my rage. When I heard the joy in the voices of those murderers, it destroyed every part of my being and every ounce of my humanity. In a split second, everything changed. And I am no longer that person I was on Oct 6.
Now? Well now is the time we stop hoping for change. Now is the time we stop believing that they may want peace. Now is the time we stop pretending this is normal and that it’s ok. Now is the time we stop waiting and expecting for the world to finally do something different.
There comes a time when you have to not just stand strong, but stand strongest. There comes a time when you have to not just fight hard, but fight hardest.
That time is now.
There can be no more negotiation.
There can be no more diplomacy.
There can be no more ceasefire.
Hamas brought this war on us. And they had prepared for what we might do by knowing that the world would be weak and will come to save THEIR “innocent children”. The world chose to betray our raped women. The world chose to ignore our cries, our pain, our suffering that Hamas brought upon us.
And so there comes a time when we must go all in, all the way, and finish it.
That. Time. Is. Now.
There can be no more pain. There can be no more suffering.
There can be no more rockets fired at our cities.
There can be no more murder of our people.
There can be no more Hamas.
My eldest daughter wants to be an author. She’s 11, but the way she controls her words, creating vivid imagery that makes the reader feel as if they’re a character in her stories, is a gift beyond her tender age.
A few days ago, I sat with my youngest whilst making breakfast in the kitchen, and we casually began to discuss what she’d want to be when she grew up.
“I want to be a soldier just like Abba”. When she uttered the words, I just froze. I felt as if I was having the most severe panic attack. The fruit tray dropped to the floor as I tried desperately to contain my tears. “I want to protect you and everybody Imaleh”.
She stopped as she watched my tears slowly weaving their way down my cheeks, and she asked if she’d said something wrong. At that moment I held her so tightly in my arms then whispered to her “No… No you didn’t say anything wrong baby, and No you will never grow up to be a soldier”.
The tears began to flow and I felt the anger and anguish building inside me. She’s 7 bloody years old. What the hell is she thinking? Why would my 7 year old, any 7 year old for that matter, have to even be thinking of wanting to fight a war to protect her family and her country. We’ve been fighting for so long, since the very rebirth of our country, and our people know nothing other than having to constantly defend themselves and those around them from enemies who will never stop wanting to fight us. She has her entire life ahead of her.
I’ve lived through my experiences. I barely survived them, and so often I honestly wished I hadn’t. The last thing I, or any parent, wants for their child is to have to go through the pain that we had to endure. Our enemies may exist to have children only to manipulate them to hate us and murder us. This is their way. But it’s not ours. That’s not what I want for my children.
We’re not like our enemies. I want my kids at their young ages to be kids, to live life, to experience good things, travel, learn about the world, play with their friends. I don’t want my children to have even the faintest thought of having to fight to survive. Have we failed our children so badly that this is the life that awaits them? That they must fight so that their children can survive simply for their children to fight for their own children to survive?
With those few words she spoke I realized her innocence and purity will forever be burdened with the sacrifices we ourselves are making, and our parents and grandparents before us. How many children had to grow up not knowing one or both of their parents because of the wars forced upon us by those who simply exist to ingrain sheer hatred and death upon their own children.
And this is why I know for myself that this war, this war we are fighting now to again stave off our extermination, must be the last. I’d sacrifice my life in an instant so that my children don’t have to. This cannot be the never ending fate of our people. There must come a time when the Jewish nation is able to exist without having to simply survive the next war inflicted upon us. Whatever the sacrifice we must make now, we must make it. Whatever we need to do, however harsh, we must do it. Because if we fail, then we’ve failed our children, and their children.
We are not our enemy. We are stronger because we value life and we value the lives of our children more than anything. Israel today is no longer about us. It’s about our next generation, our children, who will either inherit a future filled with hope and creation and life, or they too will be cursed to never stop having to defend themselves from our depraved enemies and the burden we failed to vanquish.
Now it’s the time for war, a war we did not want nor one we had ever wanted over the past 75 years. But it’s more imperative now than ever before in our history that this war be our last. We must finish our enemies entirely so that our children don’t need to ever know the taste of war. We have to finish this, forever.
A few days ago, I sat with my youngest whilst making breakfast in the kitchen, and we casually began to discuss what she’d want to be when she grew up.
“I want to be a soldier just like Abba”. When she uttered the words, I just froze. I felt as if I was having the most severe panic attack. The fruit tray dropped to the floor as I tried desperately to contain my tears. “I want to protect you and everybody Imaleh”.
She stopped as she watched my tears slowly weaving their way down my cheeks, and she asked if she’d said something wrong. At that moment I held her so tightly in my arms then whispered to her “No… No you didn’t say anything wrong baby, and No you will never grow up to be a soldier”.
The tears began to flow and I felt the anger and anguish building inside me. She’s 7 bloody years old. What the hell is she thinking? Why would my 7 year old, any 7 year old for that matter, have to even be thinking of wanting to fight a war to protect her family and her country. We’ve been fighting for so long, since the very rebirth of our country, and our people know nothing other than having to constantly defend themselves and those around them from enemies who will never stop wanting to fight us. She has her entire life ahead of her.
I’ve lived through my experiences. I barely survived them, and so often I honestly wished I hadn’t. The last thing I, or any parent, wants for their child is to have to go through the pain that we had to endure. Our enemies may exist to have children only to manipulate them to hate us and murder us. This is their way. But it’s not ours. That’s not what I want for my children.
We’re not like our enemies. I want my kids at their young ages to be kids, to live life, to experience good things, travel, learn about the world, play with their friends. I don’t want my children to have even the faintest thought of having to fight to survive. Have we failed our children so badly that this is the life that awaits them? That they must fight so that their children can survive simply for their children to fight for their own children to survive?
With those few words she spoke I realized her innocence and purity will forever be burdened with the sacrifices we ourselves are making, and our parents and grandparents before us. How many children had to grow up not knowing one or both of their parents because of the wars forced upon us by those who simply exist to ingrain sheer hatred and death upon their own children.
And this is why I know for myself that this war, this war we are fighting now to again stave off our extermination, must be the last. I’d sacrifice my life in an instant so that my children don’t have to. This cannot be the never ending fate of our people. There must come a time when the Jewish nation is able to exist without having to simply survive the next war inflicted upon us. Whatever the sacrifice we must make now, we must make it. Whatever we need to do, however harsh, we must do it. Because if we fail, then we’ve failed our children, and their children.
We are not our enemy. We are stronger because we value life and we value the lives of our children more than anything. Israel today is no longer about us. It’s about our next generation, our children, who will either inherit a future filled with hope and creation and life, or they too will be cursed to never stop having to defend themselves from our depraved enemies and the burden we failed to vanquish.
Now it’s the time for war, a war we did not want nor one we had ever wanted over the past 75 years. But it’s more imperative now than ever before in our history that this war be our last. We must finish our enemies entirely so that our children don’t need to ever know the taste of war. We have to finish this, forever.
No words could ever express how much writing on here means to me, whether I had no followers or ten million.
Being on Twitter for me isn’t just about writing posts or poetry, or sharing thoughts. It’s far more than that.
The day my family died, I was there. I had just walked in and waved at my father and sisters sitting halfway towards the back when she detonated her belt, and I only remember an instantaneous flash of fire and deafening thunder. That was the last day I ever uttered even a single word.
The explosion sent me flying back. I don’t even know what I’d hit as I was thrust backwards. Glass and shrapnel had torn through my chest, shoulders and neck, almost totally mutilating my larynx and ripping one side of my face. It took me a little over a year and several surgeries to recover physically as much as would be possible. Whether surviving was by the hands of fate, destiny, luck, or a dark curse, it didn’t matter then, and it doesn’t matter to me now. For many years after, all I wished was that I hadn’t survived. And yet now, I’m happy.
I’ve spent so many nights dreaming about what my voice would sound like today. I’ve been a mother for 11 years, and I’ve never been able to say to my girls “I love you”. They’ve never heard me say their names. I never got to say “I do” to my husband. I don’t have the freedom to scream in rage or excitement. But I spent every day since I recovered my body just writing and writing and writing. I created a new way to exist and I’m happy.
Writing for me isn’t just a passion. It’s the only way I’m able to communicate. I can hear perfectly, too perfectly at times. And I see everything clearly. But for those I love the most my voice is heard through my pen.
I have no friends in the real world. Not because I can’t. And not because I’m a feisty bitch. But because I don’t allow myself to. I still don’t. It’s just who I have become. Many will think I’m a freak or just weird, and that’s ok. They’re probably right. I’m sure there will be many haters on here (I’ve really pissed some folks off🤭) who will use this post to ridicule and insult. They simply couldn’t fathom how much I’m that one person who couldn’t give a shit.
It would be pointless trying to make anybody understand. This is the only way I have found to cope and feel safe when I’m not holding a weapon. My best friends are my kids, my rifle, my pen and my books. My writing is my voice. It became easier for me to just remove myself from having to face a world I couldn’t speak to. And yet now, I’m happy.
I beg anybody reading this for no sympathy. I don’t want it nor need it. It’s not why I wrote this. And I don’t want tears… those need to be offered only to the victims of Oct 7 and their families. I wrote this for many reasons. My eldest felt it’s important for the world to understand the meaning and purpose of my writing. I wrote this because someone who became dear to me on here asked to speak with certain people as a favor, and I had to say no without ever telling them why. And mostly, I did it because I needed to. I wanted to. It’s important to me to be able to tell you all that I love you and appreciate you all for taking the time to read my words, and to share with me your own, to laugh with and encourage and support one another, and to thank you for just being there for all of us. You are my voice, and you have been vocal and inspirational to me, to each other, for the Jewish nation around the world, and for peace-loving people of all faiths everywhere.
Thank you for being my voice, and for allowing me the opportunity in a small way to have mine.
Being on Twitter for me isn’t just about writing posts or poetry, or sharing thoughts. It’s far more than that.
The day my family died, I was there. I had just walked in and waved at my father and sisters sitting halfway towards the back when she detonated her belt, and I only remember an instantaneous flash of fire and deafening thunder. That was the last day I ever uttered even a single word.
The explosion sent me flying back. I don’t even know what I’d hit as I was thrust backwards. Glass and shrapnel had torn through my chest, shoulders and neck, almost totally mutilating my larynx and ripping one side of my face. It took me a little over a year and several surgeries to recover physically as much as would be possible. Whether surviving was by the hands of fate, destiny, luck, or a dark curse, it didn’t matter then, and it doesn’t matter to me now. For many years after, all I wished was that I hadn’t survived. And yet now, I’m happy.
I’ve spent so many nights dreaming about what my voice would sound like today. I’ve been a mother for 11 years, and I’ve never been able to say to my girls “I love you”. They’ve never heard me say their names. I never got to say “I do” to my husband. I don’t have the freedom to scream in rage or excitement. But I spent every day since I recovered my body just writing and writing and writing. I created a new way to exist and I’m happy.
Writing for me isn’t just a passion. It’s the only way I’m able to communicate. I can hear perfectly, too perfectly at times. And I see everything clearly. But for those I love the most my voice is heard through my pen.
I have no friends in the real world. Not because I can’t. And not because I’m a feisty bitch. But because I don’t allow myself to. I still don’t. It’s just who I have become. Many will think I’m a freak or just weird, and that’s ok. They’re probably right. I’m sure there will be many haters on here (I’ve really pissed some folks off🤭) who will use this post to ridicule and insult. They simply couldn’t fathom how much I’m that one person who couldn’t give a shit.
It would be pointless trying to make anybody understand. This is the only way I have found to cope and feel safe when I’m not holding a weapon. My best friends are my kids, my rifle, my pen and my books. My writing is my voice. It became easier for me to just remove myself from having to face a world I couldn’t speak to. And yet now, I’m happy.
I beg anybody reading this for no sympathy. I don’t want it nor need it. It’s not why I wrote this. And I don’t want tears… those need to be offered only to the victims of Oct 7 and their families. I wrote this for many reasons. My eldest felt it’s important for the world to understand the meaning and purpose of my writing. I wrote this because someone who became dear to me on here asked to speak with certain people as a favor, and I had to say no without ever telling them why. And mostly, I did it because I needed to. I wanted to. It’s important to me to be able to tell you all that I love you and appreciate you all for taking the time to read my words, and to share with me your own, to laugh with and encourage and support one another, and to thank you for just being there for all of us. You are my voice, and you have been vocal and inspirational to me, to each other, for the Jewish nation around the world, and for peace-loving people of all faiths everywhere.
Thank you for being my voice, and for allowing me the opportunity in a small way to have mine.
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