“That which is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow. That is the entire Torah, and the rest is its commentary. Now go and study.” –Hillel the Elder, Talmud Shabbat 31a

I. on the map in my second grade sunday school class, there was a map of israel that was whole. i did not know the words gaza, west bank, genocide. my classmates were won over by stories that their ancestors came from there, their fair skin and blonde hair and freckles. i was not included, and neither was my friend. we knew where our ancestors really came from, jewish in less than 5 generations, not over 500. we asked one day where the palestinians were. my mom had told me a story about a place called palestine, a land that didn’t exist on a map, but the people there were dying in the thousands. my friend knew more than i did. when we asked, we were scolded and told not to mention that word. how cruel to scold the curiosity of children.

II. i am alone in a group of people alone in the universe. i am crushed with the burden of misplaced vengeance, learned self-hatred, trained fear tutored by a propaganda state. we are taught to weaponize solitude, turn our words to ploughshares, our ploughshares to swords. i can hardly speak with another jew without hearing a rehearsed script of anger and fear and weaponized disinformation. i am esther, i am moses, i am jacob. i am hiding in plain sight, a righteous traitor. my people have rarely been good to me, because they are not good to themselves. a jew must always change, can never be just a jew. a jew must be part jew, part goy. you must blend in, but only when it counts. you must defend a land that you have never visited because the enemy can see you for who you are and hates you. you must only be yourself around the enemy to trap them. a muslim will treat a jew better than a jew will treat another jew.

III. i am not a chameleon. i have never been what the zionist archetype demands, half-jew and half-goy. many of my public experiences are memorable only because i am stopped by strangers to comment on my visible jewishness. an older woman earnestly telling myself and my brother that she is praying for israel as we are waiting for our meal at a pizza restaurant. a man sitting next to me at my girlfriend’s job to harass me about what i think “should be done” because he saw the handala sticker on my laptop and the kippah on my head. a college student awkwardly asking me if i am jewish to apologize for something he did not elaborate on while i was riding the train to my girlfriend’s house. i am not a chameleon. i am not esther, i am not moses, i am not jacob.