The feeling on the street in Israel
The media accuses us of genocide, but it's simply not in our upbringing or our military training.
Life in Israel continues to be characterised by disbelief. When the rulers of Gaza brutally attacked Israeli innocents in 2023 and retreated to their tunnels, we entered a psychological tunnel of our own, from which we have yet to emerge.
Local news reports announce the number of days since the war began. At the time of writing, Israeli hostages remain in Hamas captivity. Released hostages testify to starvation, torture and sexual abuse at the hands of Hamas. Yellow ribbons are everywhere. Daily rallies countrywide demand a deal, any deal, for the safe return of the hostages and the soldiers sent to Gaza to find them.
We feel betrayed by the international media. Attacks on Israelis are presented as justified while Israeli suffering is ignored. The media accuses us of genocide, but it’s simply not in our upbringing or our military training. The same cannot be said of Gazans; every soldier I’ve spoken to has told of bedrooms in Gaza with weapons and children’s books inciting the murder of Jews.
Genuine Palestinian distress is devalued by media fabrications: a syndicated picture of “starvation” in Gaza showed a child with cerebral palsy and hypoxemia. There is a mountain of similar false reporting.
Accusations of apartheid rile me. As a lawyer, I worked with Arab attorneys and appeared before Muslim judges in Israel. In Edinburgh, I asked a protester if and where he had seen segregation in Israel, which he insisted was endemic. It was clear he’d never been. “Ach, you’ve been brainwashed by the Zionists!” he responded. And there’s the rub. People believe whatever supports their preconceptions, which often come from the media. They are unaware that many Palestinians are Israeli citizens, that Arabs, Muslims, Druze and Bedouins serve in the IDF, that numerous Arab countries are allied with and support Israel in its fight against Hamas. But they equally refuse to see that disruptions and violence in their own societies are caused by mobs crying Free Palestine, and not by Israelis or Jews.
This is especially true in Australia.
Hamas took over Gaza in 2005. Billions in international aid, earmarked to create a Palestinian state, was secretly redirected to create 500km of reinforced tunnels underneath the Strip – an area 40km long and 10km wide. That’s why most Gazan residents live near the poverty line; the underground city that was built, below civilian neighbourhoods and facilities, is off-limits to them.
For decades, Iran spent billions on proxy armies surrounding Israel, its first intended conquest on the road to a world caliphate. This included Hamas and the Houthis in the south and Hezbollah in the north, which fired thousands of missiles at Israeli cities.
Israelis spent much of the last year in bomb shelters; thousands were evacuated from their homes. Israel’s subsequent campaign to end attacks in the north led to a fundamental change in the regional power dynamic. With a weakened Hezbollah, Syria’s Assad regime, an Iranian ally, fell.
On one single night, Iran fired 300 ballistic and other missiles at Israeli cities. In the middle of the night, I sat huddled with my neighbours as firepower equivalent to that of the nuclear bomb dropped on Hiroshima was launched at me. The lack of international protest against this very real, genocidal act exposed the international protest agenda for what it is.
Over the last 12 months, I’ve given talks around the world about the realities of life here. I was approached and blessed by Persian expats everywhere. “Israel is the hand of God,” said Sayeed in Melbourne. “Ayatollah extremists have destroyed my country and want to take the world. But the IDF is like a surgeon, cutting out a cancer to save the body. Part of the body will be damaged, but to save the body, you have no choice.”
In Abu Dhabi, I was showered with sweets from a Persian candy seller, who insisted we were brothers. And yes, I was similarly received by Persians living in Edinburgh and London. In May, I visited Jordan, most of whose citizens are Palestinian. I was received as an Israeli with open arms.
Society here is stretched to its limits. There is little faith in the government, which is struggling for supremacy over the courts, bickering to prevent the recruitment of ultra-Orthodox students, and refusing to investigate the failures of October 7. Many feel the government’s agenda is political self-preservation above all else.
We are exhausted and confused. We want protesters worldwide to see they’re being manipulated. We want our pain to be seen. We want it to be over. For our sakes. For the Gazans’ sake.
This is a beautiful country with resilient people. Recently, I drove a friend to En Rafa, an Arab village on the outskirts of Jerusalem. We sat in a lovely restaurant overlooking the local mosque, eating a delicious salad and drinking Arab coffee. Israeli Muslims, Christians and Jews sat side by side, enjoying the laid-back Friday atmosphere. Some of us continued on to a spring at the edge of the village and refreshed ourselves in the cool waters. I marvelled at this reality.
If only the media would be honest. If only the world would see.
Alan Meerkin is an Australian/Israeli photojournalist based in Jerusalem.