*Note:brInterviews for this story took place between October 24 and November 11 andbrreflect information available at the time.
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“A river flowed out of Eden to water the garden,brand there it divided and became four rivers.” (Genesis 2:10)
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The roaring Tigris andbrmurmuring Euphrates flare from the Taurus Mountains, carving distant yetbrparallel paths before reuniting at the Persian Gulf; along the banks of thebrnorth-flowing Nile, sacred ibis wade through the branches of a fanning delta.
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Silt-rich arteriesbrflowed into placental basins, nourishing a new mode of life. Approximatelybr10,000 years ago, twin “cradles of civilization” swayed with agriculturalbrbreakthrough, fixed settlement, material culture, and over the proceedingbrmillennia, expansionist ambition: Mesopotamia (“Land Between Two Rivers”) andbrEgypt (“Black Land,” for its dark, fertile soil).
By the lifeblood ofbrthese rivers, the successive dynasties of ancient Egypt and empires ofbrMesopotamia vied for influence over the contemporary Middle East. At thebrgrinding edges of these regional powers, another culture broke from the craggybrhills and gorges straddling the River Jordan and eastern Mediterraneanbrshoreline. A nexus of trade connecting North Africa, West Asia, and Anatolia,brits peoples benefited materially and technologically from their powerfulbrneighbors—and invariably, suffered under their armies for control of saidbrtrade. The kingdoms and city-states of historical Canaan (“The Subjugated,” inbrancient Egyptian) and their Levantine descendants were fated to be conquered;brdoomed, time and again, by their own geography.
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Yet, their legacy castsbra sheen on history more luminous than any Pharaoh’s sarcophagus or Babylonianbrcrown. From this anvil of empires, the Semitic languages, survived today bybrmodern Hebrew and Arabic, among others, were forged. Hammered by endless conquest,brthe nascent Abrahamic tradition at the heart of Judaism, Christianity, andbrIslam not only endured, but radiated across the globe.
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Fatefully, thisbrresilience of language and tradition is only matched by the strife andbrbloodshed that attended their birth. After more than 4,000 years, territorialbrdisputes continue to smolder; the “Promised Land” still burns.
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On October 7, 2023,brarmed militants stormed the walls between Israel and the Gaza Strip as salvosbrof rocket fire thundered overhead. Under the command of Gaza’s de facto rulingbrparty—the Sunni fundamentalist Islamic Resistance Movement, or Hamas—insurgentsbrsystematically targeted Israeli defenses in a surprise attack, overwhelmingbrthem.
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Tragically, the truebrhorrors of that day were yet to unfold. At frontier towns and kibbutzim inbrSouthern Israel, rocket sirens blared. What began as confused murmurs amongbrtheir residents steadily, then very suddenly, rose in pitch, until only screamsbrand desperate pleas for life—cut short by bursts of gunfire—shattered the air.brActs of Bronze Age brutality, including abduction, mutilation, immolation, andbrreports of sexual assault, took place. In total, Hamas’ onslaught claimed thebrlives of more than 1,200 Israelis, including men, women, and children; anbradditional 240 were taken captive.
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In the immediatebraftermath of the attack, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin “Bibi” Netanyahubrissued a stark warning, invoking the rulers of antiquity in his diction: “Webrwill take mighty vengeance for this black day. All the places where Hamasbrhides, operates from—we will turn them into cities of ruin.”
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At time of writing,brit’s been over 60 days since the October 7 terror attack on Israeli soil. Asbrthe rubble piles up, and the death toll climbs, it becomes clear: the PrimebrMinister’s words were no empty threat. According to Israel’s defense minister,brYoav Gallant, the Israeli Air Force (IAF) has jettisoned at least 10,000brexplosives over Gaza City alone; according to Gaza’s Ministry of Health, morebrthan 17,000 Palestinians, 4,600 of which are reported to be children, havebrperished.
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Water, food, fuel,brmedicine, and telecommunication services have been substantially reduced orbrsevered; dehydration, illness, and mass displacement plague the bomb-crateredbrremains of the Gaza Strip. Members of the United Nations Security Council,brincluding Secretary General Antonio Guterres, have accused Israel of violatingbrinternational law as chartered by the Geneva Conventions. Numerous humanitarianbraid organizations have designated the fallout in Gaza a “humanitarianbrcatastrophe,” calling for an immediate ceasefire.
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Half a world a way, thebrdenizens of another river-born community grapple with the carnage. On thebrwestern banks of the Missouri, the city of Omaha (“Against the Current,” inbrnative Umoⁿhoⁿ) wade through the historical,brpolitical, religious, and ethical ambiguities surfaced by a distant war. Thoughbrreactions vary, a fundamentally human condition binds them, one that transcendsbrboth time and place: tears for what’s been lost, and compassion where theybrconverge.
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These are theirbrstories.
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Demonstration |brCommunication
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At the intersection ofbr72nd and Dodge Streets, banners unfurl in the October breeze. Chants of “Frombrthe river to the sea, Palestine will be free!” carry across Omaha’s busiestbrintersection, met with intermittent honks from passing motorists. Far from anybrraided kibbutz or bombed-out hospital, dissenters stake their claim andbrexercise their right to protest—organized by Nebraskans for Peace (NFP), abrstatewide, progressive organization broadly focused on issues of socialbrjustice. Amid the outcry, a young woman outlines her case in no uncertainbrterms.
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“The reason I’m herebrtoday is because I view Palestine as one of the places on earth where the mostbrhorrific things are happening,” said 26-year-old Maria Hill, a universitybrstudent and member of NFP’s Nebraskans for Palestinian Rights Task Force.br“Oftentimes, when people think about tragic times in history, they think, ‘Ibrwould’ve acted differently, I would’ve been one of the people who went againstbrthis.’ And now, when people are going against this, they’re facing backlash […]brto consider myself a progressive and a person who believes in human rights,brsupporting Palestine is one of the most basic things I can do.”
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Hill’s stance is sharedbrin classrooms across the nation, where a simple thought experiment is issuedbracross a spectrum of moral quandaries: “What would you have done?” Her nextbrassertion, however, is a bit thornier.
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“I think that Palestinebris doing what it needs to survive. They are refusing to be cleansed from thisbrearth,” she continued, “and if that requires resistance—if that requires doingbrthe same things Israel has done, which is violence—then Palestine will speakbrthe same language that Israel understands.”
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The ‘eye for an eye’brpolemic notwithstanding, Hills’ stance sums up a Hegelian pull-string that’sbrcome to animate progressive thought in academia, pockets of Western media, andbrin ever-growing numbers, the outlook of youth toward statecraft: power dynamicsbrframed by the dichotomy of the “exploiter” and “exploited.” In the context ofbrthis conflict, terms like “colonizer,” and “apartheid state” are commonbrparlance among those who view Israel as an imperialist, occupying power,brharkening all the way back to the displacement of Palestinian Arabs and thebrdeclaration of the Jewish State in 1948.
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Granted, Israel’sbrongoing joint-blockade of Gaza with Egypt in response to Hamas’ narrow electionbrvictory in 2006, the partitioning of the occupied West Bank into thebrfragmentary ‘Palestinian Archipelago,’ and the destruction of criticalbrinfrastructure during Israeli offensives and counteroffensives have drawnbrscrutiny prior to today’s hostilities. While prone to oversimplification andbroften dismissive of Israel’s existential concerns, progressive critique findsbreasy purchase among these scenes of unilateral strength, informed or otherwise.
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Such sociopoliticalbrleanings, along with the democratization of content via social media, are twobrof the largest wedges dividing generational views of the war.
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“When I was highbrschool, we were taught that this was a complicated issue. We were taught thatbrit’s difficult to learn about, and the people that should be talking about thisbrare those who are deeply educated on it,” Hill recalled. “But now thatbrinformation is accessible, people are able to see the things that are happeningbrin Palestine; people are able to see the bombings, they’re able to seebrfirsthand accounts, they’re able to see children dead rather than a news outletbrsaying children are dead […] people are able to learn about it in a way thatbrisn’t gate-kept.
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“We’re able to accessbrthe knowledge required to know that Palestine should be free.”
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____
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Overlooking a campus ofbrrolling greenery, walking paths, and a placid lake, the Tri-Faith Centerbrinvites a sense of calm and practitioners of all three Abrahamic faiths tobrworship in harmony. At the crossroads of Temple Israel, Countryside CommunitybrChurch, and the American Muslim Institute, Tri-Faith Executive Director WendybrGoldberg is well-versed in matters of ideological difference. It’s a languagebrshe encourages everyone to practice.
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“It’s not surprising tobrme; we all get our information differently,” she said of the generationalbrdivide. “If you’re watching TikTok, you’re going to a have a different responsebrthan if you’re watching CNN or Fox, right? We curate our own feeds, we read withbrour own affinity groups…and what we’re trying to do is counter that and to helpbrpeople understand that it’s hard to hate people up close. We want to make thisbrpersonal; we want to make it local.
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“We want to counter thebrmedia feed that is, ‘everything is on fire,’ and ‘everything is broken,’ andbrremind you that peaceful proximity is possible—that’s what we’re doing here.”
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A fourth-generationbrOmaha native, Goldberg cofounded the Tri-Faith Initative in 2006 and was presentbrat the signing of the nonprofit’s founding memorandum. She has served as itsbrexecutive director since 2019.
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“The Tri-FaithbrInitiative grew out a response to 9/11, where some members of Temple Israel,brthe reformed Jewish congregation in Omaha, showed up at a local mosque,” shebrsaid. “Not necessarily to pray or solve the issue of 9/11, but to stand withbrpeople who were people of faith and to honor that they had no part in thebratrocities of 9/11—to stand in solidarity.”
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From this place ofbrcompassion, potlucks and picnics brought Omaha’s Muslim and Jewish communitiesbrcloser together. After a time, mutual appreciation would contour the pages of abrland agreement and the thesis of a grand experiment: The Tri-Faith Initiative.brSeventeen years and a Daily Show appearance later, the project has beenbrlauded as an international model of success. Goldberg takes pride in thisbrtriumph, but acknowledges it hasn’t always been easy. Indeed, the events ofbrOctober 7 and its aftermath have tested Omaha’s interfaith community like neverbrbefore.
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“There is no questionbrthat the last few weeks have been the hardest in terms of putting tension onbrthe threads that connect us,” she said. “And I’m pleased to report that we arebrwithstanding the stress. It’s potentially stretching us to some limits, but whatbrI’m learning is that public statements are hurtful and privatebrconversations are hopeful. And I am witnessing Jews and Muslims, and inbrsome contexts Christians as well, disagree and maintain deep, trustingbrfriendships.”
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Jewish identity isbrmultifaceted and deeply personal, encompassing religion, ethnicity, heritage,brand community. For Goldberg, her anguish as a Jewish woman is both embraced andbrdistanced from her leadership position at Tri-Faith.
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“The hardest part forbrme as an interfaith leader is walking between those narratives—separatingbrmyself from my religious identity and prioritizing peaceful coexistence,”brGoldberg confessed. “It’s also the most beautiful part of my life, having thebrprivilege to see the nuance and the complexity of what Jewish people are sayingbrand want to hear balanced with what Palestinian people are saying and want tobrhear. It’s my goal to understand the breadth of that, to not take sides but tobrunderstand and help others understand why people are taking sides and how andbrwhy it impacts our life in Omaha, Nebraska.”
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Goldberg flashed abrweary smile, then shared an anecdote:
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“I have a close friendbrin the mosque who is Muslim, and she was at one rally and I’m at another rally,brand her mom wrote me a beautiful note about one of the messages that webr(Tri-Faith) put out [about the conflict],” she recalled. “And I said, ‘I want mybrmom to meet your mom.’ So, last Saturday, the four of us went to lunch. So, youbrknow, we’re in the middle of a war and we’re showing up for our ownbrcommunities, but in between that? Oh, well, we went to lunch together. And ourbrmoms, who had never met before, said: ‘We have so much in common. We bothbrraised peace builders.’”
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Destructive acts arebrswift and thoughtless. Building peace, meanwhile, is an arduous, oftenbrthankless task. The raw materials—patience, humility, and most precious of all,brempathy—demand a special temperance of mind and heart to reach. While Goldbergbrendorses a “path to peace and a two-state solution” as a potential fix to thebrbroader conflict, she reiterates the value of interpersonal and communalbrdiscourse when and wherever generalizations foster hatred. She encouragesbrpeople on all sides to dig deep.
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“We don’t have thebrability to lead in the Middle East, but we do have the ability to see and knowbreach other in Omaha, Nebraska,” she said. “How do we invite people into abrcommunity of care? To open themselves to narratives other than their own? Tobrget curious and courageous to change the paradigm?
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“Could we change thebrparadigm of responding with violence to responding with love?”
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Life | Taken
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“That’s him, that’sbrOmer…from my youth group” said 22-year-old Mika Mizrahi, pointing to a portraitbrof a young man.
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Above the portrait, redbrletters display his age and name in English and Hebrew: “Omer Wenkert (22).”brHis smiling eyes are among the hundreds gazing upon the reception hall ofbrOmaha’s Jewish Community Center, silent faces, young and old.
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Below, a clarion call: “BRINGbrHIM HOME NOW!”
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On October 7, Mizrahibrwas far from home. As part of a program facilitated by the Jewish Agency ofbrIsrael and the Jewish Federation of Omaha, she traveled from her village in thebrGolan Heights to Omaha, claiming her post as a community Schlicha, orbremissary, this past September.
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“It’s a really smallbrplace with nature all around, I can see the Keneret (Sea of Galilee) from mybrbalcony. Horses and cows everywhere, and everyone has a dog or two,” Mizrahibrsaid of her kibbutz, where her father owns and operates an ice cream parlor. “Everyonebrknows each other, if not by name then by face. We celebrate everythingbrtogether.
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“I really like Omaha.brIt’s a really big city…really loving and warm people,” she added, the metro herbrresidence for two more years to come.
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One of roughly 10,000brIsraeli youth selected annually to participate, Mizrahi’s excitement wouldbrcalcify into dread, despair, and heartache as bulletins and panicked messagesbrfrom friends and family flooded her phone on the 7th. Though Israel’s Jewish communitybris the largest in the world at just over 7 million, the nation’s borders hardlybrexceed those of New Jersey in terms of square mileage. For Jews in Israel, andbreven for many abroad, degrees of separation are slim; when adjusted forbrpopulation, the death toll of the 9/11 terror attacks would tally 40,000 lossesbrrelative to the United States.
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“My neighbor wasbrmurdered, and his partner is dead. Someone I know from the youth movement isbrdead and so is another person from my past. And another person (Omer Wenkert) Ibrknow from the youth movement was kidnapped,” Mizrahi said, eyes wide andbrsearching behind wireframe glasses.
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“It’s hard…it’s hard nobrmatter where you are. I’m here in the United States, but I don’t feel like I’mbrhere. It’s already a month after and my emotions are a big rollercoaster—you’rebrbreaking down and then you need to hold yourself together to continue, and evenbrbe strong, for the community and your family.”
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To Mizrahi’s view, thebrscale and malice of the attack represents a revision of hostile intent towardbrIsraelis by Palestinians inhabiting the Gaza Strip, spurred by religious hatredbrrather than nationalistic ambition.
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“People think thisbrabout the land, right? But the war is now about religion,” she said. “Theybr(Hamas) changed it—they just want to murder as many Jews as they can, and evenbrArabs [that associate with Jews]. Before October 7, I was more optimistic.brAfter October 7, I have little faith that peace can happen…not because we don’tbrwant it, but when the other side just wants to kill you, you don’t have abrchance with peace.
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“When his mission is tobrkill you, how can you share the land? How can you have peace?”
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Religion has played anbrunderstandably outsized and inflammatory role throughout Israeli-Palestinianbrrelations, and the ascent of Hamas over the secular Fatah party in 2006brprovided fresh kindling for archaic animus. Regardless, it should be noted thatbrreligious zealotry has manifested on both sides of the ‘Green Line’ and wellbrbefore Hamas emerged as the dominant faction in Gaza.
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Centered around thebrgradual implementation of a two-state solution, the signing of thebrU.S.-mediated Oslo Accord (I) in 1993 marked the greatest breakthrough towardbrstabilizing Israeli-Palestinian relations to date. Once sworn enemies, itsbrsignatories—Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin and Palestinian LiberationbrOrganization (PLO) leader Yasser Arafat—were each awarded the Nobel Peace Prizebrthe following year “for their efforts to create peace in the Middle East.”
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For averagebrPalestinians and Israelis alike, peaceful coexistence seemed a genuinebrpossibility; for others, it was never an option. Following the historicbrhandshake over the South Lawn of the Whitehouse, Hamas and other Islamicbrterrorist groups unleashed a campaign of suicide bombings and raids targetingbrIsraeli civilians. In 1995, Rabin was assassinated by Yigal Amir, a far-right,brultra-Orthodox Israeli extremist who opposed territorial concessions and actedbr“on the orders of God.” Peace talks floundered, and disagreement over Jerusalembrand its holy sites stymied the final stages of the ‘Oslo Process,’ with Arafatbrnotoriously forfeiting generous terms at the Camp David Summit in 2000 andbragain at the Taba Summit in 2001.
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With promises of formalbrstatehood dashed, the Second Intifada (Arabic for “Revolt”) erupted, Hamas’ muhajideenbrguerrilla influence more brazen and lethal than ever. The PLO’s reputationbrplummeted in the Palestinian Territories, and national security resumed topbrpriority status in Israel. Tellingly, Hamas, a fanatical terroristbrorganization, and Netanyahu’s coalition governments—buoyed by increasinglybrmaximalist, supremacist, and theocratic contingents—have largely definedbrIsraeli-Palestinian relations since.
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Whether the overturesbrof the ’90s and early 2000s were made in good faith by the parties involved—bybrArafat, who seemed unwilling or incapable of trading his revolutionary ethosbrfor that of a statesman when it mattered most, or by Israeli Prime Ministers,brwhose reticence to take a hard line on illegal settlements sewed distrustbracross the aisle—it represented the last time a majority of everyday Israelisbrand Palestinians actually believed in peace over empty platitudes orbrforeign pampering.
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As for Mizrahi’sbrgeneration, Prime Minister Rabin’s declaration that “peace is not just abrprayer” mere hours before his assassination isn’t a living memory, but abrnational myth—and sadly, a cautionary one at that.
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“All my life when Ibrlived in Israel, I heard about [pro-Palestine protests] but I’d never seenbrthem. And this is my first, no, second time that I’ve really seen them with mybrown eyes. It’s really weird to for me to see it here…I was thinking Omaha wasbrfar from all this. I cannot tell people not to protest, but I can ask people tobrunderstand what they’re saying,” she urged. “People don’t understand, theybrdon’t how many times we’ve said, ‘We want to do this, we want to have peace,’brover the years.”
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Mizrahi stressed thatbrfew can relate to sharing territory with an organization who’s stated purposebris to destroy them. For context, Hamas’ founding covenant describes “so-calledbrpeaceful solutions and international conferences […] in contradiction to thebrprinciples of the Islamic Resistance Movement,” and that “the Day of Judgementbrwill not come until Moslems fight Jews and kill them.” She also implores peoplebrabroad to visualize the paralyzing reality of seeing loved ones suffer at thebrhands of masked, armed extremists, especially from afar.
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“I just want to bebrthere and help everyone, and be there for my friends whose families werebrmurdered and be at those funerals,” she said. “I want to tell [Omer] that webrwill not forget him even for a second, and he needs to stay strong, and we willbrget him back.
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“And even the simplebrthings, I just want a hug from my mom…and for her to tell me that everything isbrgoing to be okay.”
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Dr. Rula Jabbour leanedbrforward in her chair, a silver cross shimmering at her throat. Her husband,brAwad Qumsaya, idled a knowing glance before placing a gentle hand at her back;brthe bustle of the West Omaha cafe carried on.
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“I’m turning into thisbrintense, tough mother with my daughters. My daughter got a minus on her mathbrlast Friday. ‘Why would you get a minus? Look at Gaza, look at the kids—theybrare dying. They have nothing and you have everything,’” recalledbrJabbour, describing the strain the crisis in Gaza has put on her family. “Mybrdaughter shouldn’t have to live by that comparison…but I’m not able to help it.brI’m seeing the mothers who are hugging their kids while they are dead for hoursbrin their arms. And I cannot help it to hug my daughter as if I’m never going tobrsee her again, you know?”
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Last year, Jabbourbrearned her doctorate in international relations, strategic studies, and MiddlebrEastern studies at the University of Nebraska Omaha. She’s taught a range ofbrrelated courses throughout Nebraska, including at UNO, Midland University, and WesleyanbrUniversity; she’s currently drafting two books on the “the lifecycle ofbrinsurgency” and the “role of the military in the Arab Spring.” While Jabbour’sbracademic credentials are impressive, she draws much of her insight frombrfirst-hand experience.
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“Nobody loves war. Mybrparents have been disposed of their country for 12 years now because of war,brbecause they are Christian,” she said, her family forced to flee their homebrvillage, Kinsabba, Syria, after falling to ISIS occupation in 2012.
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Meanwhile, Qumsayabrtraces his roots to Bethlehem in the Palestinian West Bank, where his sisters,brnieces, and nephews still reside. Jabbour, at once displaced from and connectedbrto the region’s tumult, juggles personal loss with scholarly detachment—no easybrtask, given the circumstances.
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“We are the people ofbrthat region. We’ve had many civilizations occupy it. Anywhere from 1,000 years,br100 years, 80 years, all of these occupations went away,” Jabbour said. “ThebrRomans, the Byzantines, the Islamic Caliphate all withered away. And after that,brthe Ottoman Empire remained for 400 years in the region and also dissolved.brThis is a point for all the great powers because it connects three continents.brBut always, the locals pay the price. The Ottoman Empire didn’t just rule anbrempty land, right? And you cannot just wipe the name of the Palestinians frombrhistory to establish the Israeli nation…and accordingly, that’s where thisbrdrama started.”
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For Jabbour andbrQumsaya, Hamas reflects the desperation, not the will, of Gaza’s oft-neglectedbrpopulace—an evil not born of spiritual corruption, but harsh economic andbrpolitical realities. In this regard, the PLO, the Israeli Government, and U.S.brforeign policy have all played roles, well-intended or otherwise, in fanningbrHamas’ influence.
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By 2006, thebrPalestinian Authority (the administrative branch of the PLO, represented by thebrFatah party in Gaza) had been ousted as diplomatically ineffectual,bradministratively inept, and most damning of all, financially corrupt, siphoningbrmillions of dollars in taxes and foreign aid into private, off-shore accountsbrheld by Arafat and his closest supporters before his death in 2004.
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Israeli Prime MinisterbrAriel Sharon, outwardly wary of the PLO, declared: “there exists no Palestinianbrpartner with whom to advance peacefully toward a settlement.” Sharon revealedbrhis plan to unilaterally disengage from Gaza in 2003, fulfilled by the dismantlingbrof 23 Jewish settlements and the withdrawal of Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) twobryears later.
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In hindsight, thebrtiming couldn’t have been worse; Arafat’s successor, the relatively moderatebrMahmoud Abbas, had yet to consolidate power and his exclusion from the terms ofbrdisengagement undermined his already precarious standing. Hamas leadershipbrpounced on the opportunity, championing the idea that armed resistance, notbrpeace talks, had secured an autonomous Gaza—“three years of resistance producedbrmore than 10 years of negotiation,” read a popular slogan at the time.
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Finally, despite thebrurging of both PLO and Israeli advisors to withdraw Hamas from the ballot, thebrBush administration clung to a starry-eyed view of democracy and allowed itsbrrepresentatives to run. Far from the coalition that boycotted Palestine’s firstbrgeneral election in 1996, Hamas presented itself as a moderate, grassrootsbralternative to the bloated and ostensibly powerless PLO, constructing andbrrunning hospitals, schools, and other social welfare institutions leading up tobrthe 2006 race. The makeover proved effective, and Hamas (running under thebr“Change and Reform” party) was duly elected—44.45% to Fatah’s 41.43%—as thebrparliamentary majority.
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A violent chainbrreaction followed, and the Palestinian delegation erupted into bloody civilbrwar—the Palestinian Authority eventually governing the West Bank, and Hamas thebrGaza Strip—followed by an Israeli/Egyptian blockade that’s all but smotheredbrthe latter for 16 years and counting. Compounded by Hamas’ gross mismanagementbrof funds, poverty levels doubled from 40% in 2005 to 80% by 2023. Electionsbrhaven’t been held since.
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“Yesterday, mybrfather-in-law was asking me why the West Bank is not exploding [like the GazabrStrip]. I said, ‘Simply because the economic situation in the West Bank is muchbrbetter than it is there.’ People there are not as interested in violence,”brQumsaya explained. “Even though it’s not a perfect life, they’re still livingbrgood to some extent. So, they are not willing to go into all-out war at thisbrpoint. But who knows? If the Israeli government keeps strangling them furtherbrand further…”
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Qumsaya posits thatbrboth Palestinian and Israeli civilians are not only failed by their governingbrbodies, but in many ways, manipulated by them for political and fiscal gain.
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“Many of the Israelisbrare just regular citizens—they want to have a good life, they want to raisebrtheir kids. It’s the same thing on the Palestinian side. The idea thatbrPalestinians love death is not true in any way or shape,” he continued.
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“Unfortunately, we havebrwarlords. Netanyahu is as hated by the Israelis as the Palestinians […] therebrwere many riots in the streets against him because he’s trying to take powerbrout of the judicial system, basically planning a way for another dictatorshipbrin the region. Netanyahu seems to be like many, unfortunately these days,brgovernments who are not acting for the benefit of the people, and it’s the samebron the Hamas side.
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“War makes them money.”
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While Jabbour andbrQumsaya’s relatives hail from the West Bank, they have ties to Gaza as well.brSome, including the most innocent, have been severed.
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“Yesterday, there was abrwoman who gave birth; she is the sister of my friend, she’s in the Gaza Strip,”brJabbour said. “She gave birth in the parking lot of a hospital to abrbaby…because there are no beds for her in the hospital. The doctor told her,br‘You are not bleeding, you can take the baby and go home.’ You cannot hold thebrdoctor as responsible because he’s trying to save lives. So, she took her babybrhome, and her siblings were asleep. A rocket hit their house…and they woke upbrin the hospital, and the baby is dead. They weren’t able to see their newbornbrbaby. You’re going to tell me this was Hamas?”
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Qumsaya believes thatbrHamas “is an ideology,” and eliminating them will likely lead to “somebody evenbrworse and more fundamental” taking their stead. He alludes to thebr“whack-a-mole” counterterrorism strategy, an analogy expressed by U.S.brgenerals, senators, and most famously, President Barack Obama, to describe thebrseemingly endless cycle of neutralizing terroristic threats only for the powerbrvacuum to be filled by equivalent, if not more radical, entities.
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The strategy is oftenbrcriticized for ignoring the underlying issues that breed extremist elements inbrthe first place. In Israel, the policy has been described as “mowing the lawn.”
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“Blood is the waterbrthat supplies the roots of fundamentalism,” Qumsaya noted.
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Qumsaya recalls growingbrup in the West Bank, his childhood spanning the First Intifada which took placebrbetween 1987 and 1994—a comparatively less violent era, wherein acts of civilbrdisobedience outpaced bullets and shrapnel.
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“In 1987, thebrPalestinian Civil Intifada started against Israeli occupation, which then wasbrvery subtle. We didn’t want to pay taxes [or] to deal with the government whenbrwe didn’t have rights. And one of the things was, ‘We’re not going to buybranything Israeli made.’ Products and food and whatnot,” Qumsaya recalled.
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“And for me, as a kid,brI used to drink chocolate milk that was made by an Israeli company. It’s calledbr‘Awesome,’ which is owned by Nestlé. So,brthe most important thing for me [when the protest ended], I was 10 at the time,brwas that now I can buy chocolate milk again. I swear, that was a big issue forbrme. What I’m trying to say is, regular people have small dreams, and they justbrwant to live and enjoy living. Nobody enjoys fighting for no reason, right?”
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As for Jabbour, shebrprays for a peace shaped by opportunity, however distant or tenuous.
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“My dream is to makebrlife precious and that people will not choose death over it. And to make itbrprecious means to open the borders, open the room, let the sun shine in,” shebrsaid. “And the people, once they try the precious life, the prosperous life, believebrme, they will not choose death.”
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Isaac | Ishmael
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Behind abrtapestry-draped folding table, headphones hugged the ears and taqiyah skullcapbrof Imam Muhammad Sackor. A repeating pattern of olive green, beige, andbroff-white threads shaped the mihrab niches beneath his shoeless feet, accentedbrby arabesque vines winding toward Mecca. With a tap of the space bar, hisbrpresentation commenced.
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“Islam and Injustice”brread the opening slide, projected on the wall behind Sackor. A dozen or sobrattendees sat fixed from inside the Islamic Center of Omaha’s mosque; dozensbrmore filled the lobby of a livestream hosted from his laptop.
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“First, the concept ofbrinjustice, the cause of injustice in Islam,” Sackor began. “Anything that willbrcause other people harm, pain—innocent life—pain encroaching upon them, theirbrrights. We have a lot of examples of injustice in human history. We have colonialbrexpansion, we have slavery, we have maltreatment of animals, maltreatment ofbrprisoners of war…inequality in education and social justice. All of thesebrthings fall under the concept of injustice from the standpoint of Islam.”
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Throughout his lecture,brSackor tied modern sociological and philosophical concepts, such as collectivebrpunishment and utilitarianism, to Quranic scripture.
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“God commands justice,brdoing good, and generosity towards relatives, and forbids what is shameful,brblame-worthy, and oppressive,” he said, referencing chapter 16, verse 90 of thebrQuran. “The Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon, said: ‘Do not make me to be a witnessbrof injustice.’”
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He also denounced thebrmisappropriation of the Quran by so-called ‘jihadists’—a concept he describesbras conquering oneself, not others—emphasizing that “the attack that happened inbrIsrael […] the deliberate killing of innocent civilians has no place in Islam,”brand that “the killing of innocent souls, whether Muslims or non-Muslims, isbrcondemned by Islamic scholars both past and present.”
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A sequence ofbrinterviews held with renowned Imams and Islamic intellectuals, each repudiatingbrthe auspices of extremism, underscored his message. While denouncing thebractions of Hamas and all those who justify acts of violence on the basis ofbrreligion, the focus of the address soon turned to the proportionality ofbrIsrael’s response.
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“Collective punishment,bras we’ll see, occurs when a person is punished for an act that he or she didbrnot commit…but they all will be punished for being associated with thebrcriminals or perpetrators,” Sackor continued. “So, we have the case of Gazabrnow. More than 12,000 innocents have been killed. More than 1,500 families, thebrentire family has been wiped out—mom, dad, son, daughter, granddaughter, all ofbrthem. Entire family units. Collective punishment constitutes a war crime underbrthe Hague Convention, article 50, and the Geneva Convention, articles 33 andbr53.”
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In light of thesebrfigures, Sackor called on the audience to submit letters to theirbrrepresentatives demanding an immediate ceasefire, the establishment of abrhumanitarian corridor into Gaza, and to hold both Israel and Hamas accountablebrfor the “genocide and collective punishment going on in this part of thebrworld.”
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“People who love peacebrall around the world, regardless of faith—Muslims, Jews, Christians—we all havebrto come together and seek a solution,” he affirmed.
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Beyond the staggeringbrcasualties abroad, Sackor highlighted the victims of Islamophobia in directbrconsequence of the war: the description of Muslims as “savage” and “barbaric”brby media outlets and the reckless speech of public figures, stirring deadly animosity.brA slide displaying the photo of Wadea al-Fayoume, a 6-year-old Muslim boybrfatally stabbed 26 times in a Chicago-area hate crime, rendered his appeal inbrheart-rending detail.
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“We need the support ofbrfaith-based organizations to spread the word of peace and to stop hatredbragainst Muslims in the United States. Likewise, we need the support of thebrmedia, because we’ve seen the misrepresentations […] because there a lot ofbrtimes, when things happen like this, we are the target, and we are under threatbrby some groups of people that don’t even know a single thing about Muslims.”
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The seminar ended withbra Q&A, before Sackor retired to the office he’s occupied for six years asbrthe Islamic Center of Omaha’s Imam. Numerous diplomas hang from its walls, andbrhe’s looking forward to adding another upon completing his doctorate in educationalbrleadership through Creighton University’s EdD program. As a scholar of Islambrand human behavior, Sackor isn’t one to shy away from the intricatebrrelationship between perception and practice.
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“I think the mediabrplays a role in the psychology of the Jewish community. I’m not speaking onbrtheir behalf, but this is my intuition on the dynamic. If you were to say to mebrthat those people out there, ‘They’re here to kill all of you,’ that would leavebrme with little room to condemn what’s going wrong within my community […] ‘ThebrMuslims are out there to get you.’ That creates paranoia,” Sackor said.
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“Likewise, we Muslims,bron the other hand, if we’ve been told by the media, ‘The Jews are here tobrdestroy all the interests of Muslim communities,’ there’ll be no trustbrregardless of the day-to-day destructiveness displayed by our own people. We’llbralways go back and say, ‘We prefer not to discuss this. Let us look at thebrexternal enemy.’ Right?”
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Ultimately, Sackorbrbelieves such distrust, insularity, and most of all, calls to arms, must be setbraside to address the worsening humanitarian crisis in Gaza; that appeals tobrcreed, sovereignty, and historical grievance are smokescreens that obfuscate thebrvirtue of common humanity—and ultimately, lasting peace.
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“I would like people tobrbe activists against human rights abuses and collective punishment. Wherever itbris, we should stand against it,” he said. “We should be agents of change—tobrbring happiness and joy to people around the world. I believe that we can dobrit.
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“We can do it.”
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___
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Theology, philosophy,brpsychology, modern and classic literature—all spines that support thebrbook-laden office of Rabbi Benjamin Sharff, his steady hand a recent andbrreadily embraced addition to the metro’s oldest Jewish congregation, TemplebrIsrael. Arriving in Omaha just this past July, Sharff previously servedbrcongregations in Tucson, Arizona, Baltimore, Maryland, and most recently,brNyack, New York.
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These years ofbrexperience, however invaluable in the weeks to come, couldn’t possibly havebrprepared Sharff for the impact of October 7.
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“We first learned ofbrthe news at the very end of the festival, Sukkot. So, on October 7, we werebrobserving the end of Shemini Atzeret, which is an additional festival taggedbronto the end of Sukkot. And I knew, of the Jewish communities here in Omaha, webrwere probably the first to know because there are a number of communities thatbrdon’t use electronics on holidays and festivals,” Sharff said.
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“So when I heard thebrnews, I was immediately devastated like everyone else…not exactly sure what hadbrtranspired except that terrorists had infiltrated Israel, and at that point,brslaughtered hundreds and kidnapped a few more—turns out it was over 1,000 Israelis,brand not just Jews, slaughtered—and many more were kidnapped. We were absolutelybrdevastated. And we knew that it was going to get ugly quickly and that Israelbrwas going to be forced to respond.”
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Sharff wasn’t surprisedbrby the intensity of Israel’s counteroffensive, nor was he mollified by the grimbrbut likely prospect of sustained escalation. In the preceding days, he didbreverything within his power to guide and comfort his congregation, bracing thembrfor the dark and uncertain weeks to follow.
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“The metaphor peoplebrhave used is: Israel’s 9/11. And there are a lot of similarities with that.brWere there failures by the Israeli government? Of course. Was this violencebrinstigated by the Palestinian people? No, it’s instigated by Hamas,” Sharffbrexplained. “So, what I’ve been working with my congregation to understand isbrthat there’s a specific group who have taken over the Gaza Strip, who have usedbrall the resources they’ve received from the world and instead of using them tobruplift their people […] they’ve taken all of that and used it to basicallybrattack Israel.
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“It’s devastating andbrheartbreaking in the sense that, how do you fight an ideology? Especially onebrthat will use its own citizens and civilians as targets to further their ownbrmission?”
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Sharff acknowledgesbrthat Israel’s far-right government is “deeply problematic,” even traveling tobrIsrael to join protests against the controversial judicial reforms proposed bybrDeputy Prime Minister and Minister of Justice, Yariv Levin, which would’ve neuteredbrIsrael’s judicial review process. Still, whatever censures may be leveled atbrthe Israeli government, or at one another, maintaining and defending thebrworld’s sole Jewish state is a unifying cause for the majority of Jewsbrworldwide.
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“We’ve seen whatbrhappens when we’re at the mercy of other states,” Sharff noted, solemnly.
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As a leader within andbrpractitioner of Reform Judaism, Sharff is highly attuned to the pluralistic, atbrtimes contradictory, facets of maintaining a spiritual existence in the modernbrage. With beliefs and political discourse more polarized than ever, he wishesbrmore were willing to tread the uncomfortable spaces between “right and wrong,”br“us verses them,” or in Sharff’s words, “David and Goliath.”
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“Up until the end ofbrthe Yom Kippur war, and really into the early ’80s, Israel was ‘David,’ becausebrwe in America love our metaphors. We always root for the underdogs, not thebrgiant. So when Israel’s existence was in doubt, there was a lot of support” Sharffbrsaid.
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“But now that Israelbrhas somewhere between the seventh and tenth largest military in the world, theybrview Israel as the aggressor and the Palestinians as the suppressed people.brThere are these false narratives about Israel, they use words like “apartheid,”br“colonialism,” and “genocide,” none of which are entirely accurate for what’sbrgoing on […] so you’re either for Israel or you’re for Palestine, and nuancebrand subtlety and gray don’t play out well in our political sphere or our newsbrsphere.
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“But we can believebrthat the Palestinians have an absolute right to sovereignty andbrself-determination just as Israel has a right to self-determination andbrself-protection—and the two should not be mutually exclusive. But we havebrpeople like Hamas and certain far-right people in Israel who believe the otherbrdoesn’t have a right to exist, and that’s become a tremendous source ofbrconflict. And when you can’t live in the shades of gray, you believe one sidebris right and the other is wrong. In reality, it’s much more complicated thanbrthat.”
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This broad-strokebrvilification is not only damaging to open discussion and progress, butbrpotentially dangerous for those who participate, willingly or otherwise. Sincebrthe outbreak of war, the Anti-Defamation League reported a 388% increase inbrantisemitic incidents in the US through October 23 as compared to same periodbrlast year. Eight days later, Federal Bureau of Investigation DirectorbrChristopher Wray warned that antisemitism is reaching “historic levels” andbrcautioned increased vigilance for hate crimes against Jews.
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While Sharff noted thatbrantisemitism displays most egregiously in far-right circles, the recentbrharassment of Jewish students across American Universities and the lack ofbraction by administrators reveals an “antisemitism on the intellectual left”brthat should also be guarded against.
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“As Dr. [Deborah]brLipstadt [a historian and diplomat] has stated, antisemitism is the world’sbroldest conspiracy theory. We Jews have been the scapegoat for many of society’sbrills for the past 2,000 years, and at the same time we’re held to a higherbrstandard than anyone else […] when we’re the victim, the worlds seems to lovebrus. But when we stand up for ourselves, the world really finds thatbrproblematic,” Sharff said.
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“People conflatebrJudaism and the State of Israel [as a governing body] and will act out inbrviolent and threatening ways. Whenever there’s an issue in the Middle East, youbrwill see a rise in antisemitic incidents, but also a rise in Islamophobia. Ibrdon’t want to leave out our Muslim brethren—they’ve also been targeted.
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“Both are wrong.”
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For now, Sharffbrrecognizes that the path to peace has been eclipsed by the terrors of October 7brand the losses under the siege that followed. He offered the following eulogybrfor both Jews and Muslims that have suffered in their wake:
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“So it was actually mybremeritus Rabbi Azriel that pointed this out with the recent Torah portion, thatbrthe religious split is tied back to the story of Abraham’s two main sons, Isaacbrand Ishmael. And he said, ‘After Ishmael was sent away, they were never in abrrelationship together. But they came together to bury Abraham,’” Sharffbrrecalled. “And you know what? This may be a time where we feel very distantbrfrom each other. But there is a history of us coming together, even in momentsbrof great sorrow, and doing something powerful.
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“Let us not forget thatbrour ancestors came together to bury Abraham. And maybe one day soon, we canbrcome together and bury our beloved dead and start to build a relationshipbragain.”
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____
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“Surely those whobrbelieve and do good will have Gardens under which rivers flow. That is thebrgreatest triumph.” (Surah Al-Buruj 85:11)