“Zionism,” she said, “a nice idea.” She laughed in that recognizable way she had. A stranger would mistakenly accept her laugh as genuine. But not a stranger, I was not sadly surprised by her next sentence, “It failed.”

If I were writing fiction, her words could work in the novel I’m not writing. She repeated it in several conversations. Real life. This past week, she voiced another thought of mine: “It’s like we’re right back in 1948.”

Except. Except in 1948, the world was far more sympathetic to the plight of the Jewish people. Except in 1948, Breaking the Silence didn’t exist. Not because there wasn’t silence, silencing. It doesn’t improve when you look at 1967.

If I were Gazan, such thoughts might give me cause to stay in place. Not to abandon the ruins. Because if I were Gazan, in 1948 I might have been deported from Beer Sheva, or Ashkelon, or Lod. I might not want my grandchildren remembering deportation from Gaza. Imposing wishful thinking, I’d want them to remember rebuilding. Although Gaza after 1967 and until 2023, is not........

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