Holocaust is not a verb

My first article for TJI, Dear anti-Zionist..., was published just last week. While I was blown away by the responses it received, there was one that stood out.

“It takes a true narcissist to make this about antisemitism or anti-Zionism rather than what it really is. Dead people!

This comment didn’t come from a stranger, it came from an old friend. We’d lived in the same neighbourhood and had children around the same time. We bonded over parenting and joked about the similarities between our cultures: Jewish and Iranian (not the Elica Le Bon variety of Iranian as it turns out).

She had been one of the very first people to reach out to me with genuine empathy after the October 7 attacks. She expressed heartache for what had happened in Israel. She thanked me when I posted about collective suffering and included Palestinians in Gaza.

Despite our different perspectives, we were able to come together on the most human of levels – as two mothers who just wanted the pain to end. I thanked her for her humanity and she thanked me for always answering her questions with respect.

Somewhere in the haze of this past year, her tone shifted. Israelis she had initially felt empathy for became absolute villains in a black and white narrative. There was no longer any grey in her mind.

There was no longer any room in her heart for the suffering of Israelis or diaspora Jews, even those she considered friends. She started misusing the ‘Z-word’ in sweeping statements and I reminded her that I was a Zionist. I tried to explain the true concept of Zionism, and pointed out that her generalisations were significantly inaccurate.

I asked her not to use the word in a derogatory way because I personally found it offensive. Her response: “don’t be offended by what I’m saying but rather what is happening”.

When I took issue with ‘river to the sea’ graphics or slogans, she told me that “I should care less about semantics and more about the thousands of children being bombed”.

This became the benchmark of pain and sorrow.

“Babe, children getting bombed outweighs everything.”

Apparently, nothing Israelis or Jews experienced could measure up on the barometer of human suffering.

She told me that “the only important thing is the children dying. Nothing else”.

Nothing else?

I hadn’t realised there was a limited pool of compassion available.

She brought up “dead babies”, and I asked if she truly believed the IDF were trying to kill babies?

"Yes I do," she said.

I offered her the assurance that my 18-year-old cousin who had just completed his basic training had absolutely no infanticidal tendencies.

I reminded her of the children who were taken hostage, the youngest baby Kfir, who was still being held. Did he matter?

I made the mistake of expressing relief and – how dare I – joy when four hostages were rescued by the IDF. She clapped back with “don’t you know how many innocent civilians died in that rescue operation?”.

I tried to use her own “every child counts” line of reasoning. These rescued hostages were someone’s baby, someone’s child. It still gives me goosebumps thinking that Noa Argamani’s mother died knowing she was finally safe.

(Narcissism entered the chat.)

“It's very narcissistic to be okay with tens of thousands dying for one child.”

Apparently it was a numbers game now.

At what point do I play the ‘six million’ card?

Language like “your people”, “your government” and “your motherland” started to slip in and I reminded her that I was Australian with Ashkenazi heritage.

Here’s the kicker: apparently her husband had read my article and wanted to know what my "Holocaust grandmother" (her preferred title was Buba) had to do with the modern day killings.

Wasn’t it clear that my piece wasn’t about the “modern day killings”, it was about anti-Zionism? She told me that “nothing else matters, you are making this about yourself and the Holocaust”.

I had intentionally not discussed the war itself, my view on Palestinian land rights or my personal feelings towards Netanyahu because I wouldn’t dare place myself in a position to give an opinion on something so complex – something which I admittedly don’t know enough about to comment on.

My article was a personal essay. It aimed to highlight certain hypocrisies that I had encountered in the anti-Zionist movement and in my own friendships. It was not grounded as much in fact, but in feeling.

As Bernard Kohn pointed out in the comments section: “Why must Jewish authors HAVE to mention Gaza and Palestinians every time they express hurt or grief? Do you expect Chinese-Australian writers to acknowledge the persecution of Uyghur people in every expression of dismay about racism towards them?”.

In a last ditch attempt, I tried to bring the concept of nuance to the table and explained to this friend that every war has many facets of suffering. War is horrible and messy, and sadly the effects of trauma and devastation are expansive. As we know All Too Well (The Holocaust Version), they span generations.

She accused Israel of “committing Holocaust” on Palestinians.

(Sense had left the chat.)

I’m only an occasional writer but even I know that “committing Holocaust” is not a verb. I also know that there is only one Holocaust, the one my grandparents survived.

This inversion of history, specifically Jewish history, was truly wild and I was exhausted and unwilling to take on this interpersonal challenge. For one, I’d have to start by explaining what a verb was.

(I left the chat.)