Higher Than Me

As Israel’s military campaign against the terrorist regime of Hamas carries on with no clear end in sight, my thoughts keep returning to the children of Gaza.

These children are victims on so many different levels. They are victims of the wicked and oppressive Hamas regime that governs their land and cares nothing for their lives, deliberately putting them in harm’s way to generate international publicity. They are victims of parents with Hamas sympathies who agree to use their bedrooms and school bags to store weapons. They are victims of Israeli military strikes intended to root out Hamas. They are victims of brainwashing and misinformation. They are victims of Hamas’ exploitative journalism that documents their suffering and photographs their injuries to serve a political agenda that is not in their own best interests.

Those of us living in Israel sometimes struggle to engage with the plight of Gaza’s children. Many feel that we have enough trauma within our own borders. We never asked for this war. It was thrust upon us by bloodthirsty terrorists who didn’t think twice about taking the lives of our own children in the most horrific ways. Why should we care about the people of Gaza when they brought this whole catastrophe upon themselves?

Even more, some Israelis wonder why we should be taken for fools and allow our hearts to be broken over images of suffering Gazan children when we know full well that Hamas only takes these pictures to turn the world against Israel. Besides, we all know about the dubious quality of some of this photo-journalism… scenes of dead children that turn out to be staged, or images that are found to have been taken in other war zones that have nothing to do with Gaza.

The suffering of Gaza’s children has been cynically exploited by anti-Semites and Hamas sympathisers across the world to justify the most hideous expressions of Jew-hatred and violence against Jewish people and property.

Israelis have looked on in horror and bewilderment as tens of thousands of people have taken to the streets around the world, parading dolls smeared with red paint, blaming Israel for the death of Gazan children and chanting, “Free Palestine.” Bolstered by this false narrative of a Jewish blood libel, protesters feel justified calling for an end to Israel and death to the Jews.

Just last week, a young Israeli Messianic Jewish couple serving in the Israeli Embassy in Washington DC were shot dead outside a Jewish museum by a gunman shouting, “Free Palestine.”

If Israeli people appear to be unmoved by the suffering of Gazan children, it’s not because their hearts are made of stone. Rather, it’s because we are a nation in deep trauma and this particular issue has been weaponised against us in a very painful way.

I know for me personally, when I am in a conversation with someone – especially someone not living in Israel – and they mention the plight of Gaza’s children, I immediately feel a tension in my stomach and a foreboding sense of dread even before my brain catches up with what’s going on. In these moments, I feel my defences going up automatically as I anticipate where the conversation is going and I expect an attack. This state of defensiveness that happens outside my conscious control blocks my emotional capacity to feel compassion for the children I am talking about.

The plight of Gazan children is a complex and thorny topic for many Israelis.

But somehow, right now, I feel like we need to find a way through all the lies and propaganda to engage our hearts with the human suffering that is happening on the other side of the border. The children in Gaza didn’t choose to be born into this nightmare. There may be legitimate debate about the age at which children become responsible for their own actions, and a case could be made that some of the children in Gaza are not really so innocent as they themselves have participated in acts of terror. But even so, there are babies and pre-school children caught up in the chaos and destruction. They can certainly not be held responsible for the hell they find themselves living in.

Over recent months, some sections of Israeli society have begun to express grief and horror over the suffering of Gaza’s children. Anti-war protesters in Tel Aviv are enacting vigils for children killed in Gaza, holding candles and photographs of the deceased. These expressions are misunderstood and condemned by other sections of Israeli society.

Mainstream politicians are also beginning to speak out on the issue of Gaza’s children, generating both backlash and applause. Last week, Yair Golan, ex IDF deputy chief of staff, sharply criticised the current government, saying that it kills babies for a hobby. He later clarified that he didn’t actually mean that the Israeli military purposefully kills Gazan children, but rather that the war is being prolonged by the Israeli government for political reasons when it should be drawing to a close.

There are many things I don’t understand about this war. I am not privy to all the details. I don’t know why our government is making the decisions it is. Maybe it has good reasons. I do know that we are fighting a wicked and devious enemy that has already committed mass terror and plans to commit more. Launching a military campaign against Hamas after the events of October 7th was, without doubt, the right thing to do.

But despite all this, I have a growing sense of unease the longer the war goes on. As I see images of Gazan neighbourhoods reduced to rubble, their inhabitants living in flimsy tents, and as I hear news of Israel expanding its military campaign – whatever the rights and wrongs of this are – I can’t help but think about the children of Gaza.

I know how terrified my own children were when Hezbollah was firing rockets into our neighbourhood here in the north of Israel. Whenever the sirens sounded, warning us that we had one minute to make it to the bomb shelter, our two children turned white as sheets. As we heard thuds and booms outside, and the windows of our apartment rattled, my son trembled with fear. Sometimes, even hours after the siren, he would still be shaking.

I simply can’t imagine how it must be for young children living in Gaza right now. They don’t even have the luxury of bomb shelters, sirens and anti-missile systems because their government isn’t interested in protecting the civilian population. When there’s a missile strike, the first thing they know of it is a deafening explosion, followed by the sound of buildings collapsing around them. Their lives must have become a terrifying sequence of trauma upon trauma with little sense of predictability or continuity.

In order to grow up with an inner sense of stability and coherence, children need to feel that the world around them has some sort of logic and that they have control over certain aspects of their environment. I can’t begin to imagine what the lasting effects of this trauma will be on the current generation of Gazan children. It feels too overwhelming to even think about. I would rather turn my face away and pretend it’s not happening.

Except for God. Deep in my spirit, I know that God’s heart is breaking for these lost and frightened children on the other side of the Gaza border. I know that He loves them passionately and cares deeply about their suffering. And I know that He is calling me to care about them too.