Is the Genocide Case Urgent?

Is the Genocide Case Urgent?

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Is the Genocide Case Urgent?

South Africa: We need 18 months to prepare a thorough response to Israel’s utterly absurd rebuttal of our evidence that they are guilty of genocide.

Judge: But two years have already gone by. . .

Israel: If the evidence is so clear, why do you need another 18 months?

South Africa: To do a thorough job.

Judge: Fine. You have until November 2027.

Israel: Then we should get 18 months to write our response.

Judge: Fine. You have until May 2029.

South Africa: But this case is urgent!

Israel: So why don’t you let the judges decide today based on the evidence you’ve already submitted?

South Africa: No thanks, we’d rather not.

Based on a May 21, 2026 ruling of the ICJ giving South Africa 18 months to submit an additional brief, then Israel 18 months to reply.

weapons only for defense?

Weapons Only for Defense?

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Weapons Only for Defense?

Maryland Senator Chris Van Hollen wrote an essay in the NY Times saying that Israel has used U.S. weapons not just for defense but also ‘as a sword to bury the two state solution,’ and the U.S. should therefore end Israel’s weapon supply. But what does the U.S. use its own weapons for? Shalzed watches as an Israeli ambassador asks this question.

how do you treat people arriving by boat

How do you treat people arriving by boat?

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A conversation between unnamed Israeli and European diplomats overheard by Shalzed:

European: What Ben-Gvir did to the flotilla activists is absolutely unacceptable.

Israeli: You’re right, it should never have happened.

European: I demand he be removed from the government. Israel should pay compensation.

Israeli: How does Europe treat people attempting to enter illegally by boat?

European: Huh?

Israeli: Don’t you let them drown in the Mediterranean, and make rescue a crime?

European: That’s totally different.

Israeli: Oh, okay.

Jerusalem interfaith march

Why Are We So Few?

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Why Are We So Few?

“There are at least a few hundred of us.”

“Yeah, but thousands just came on Jerusalem Day to chant ‘Death to Arabs.’”

“It’s easier to get people to turn out when they’re against something.”

“Well, we’re against hate. We’re against war. Doesn’t that matter?”

— A conversation Shalzed overheard at an interfaith “human rights and peace” march in Jerusalem, May 19 2026.

Shalzed test in progress

Can a State Fund What it Doesn’t Believe?

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Can a State Fund What it Doesn’t Believe?

Shalzed thought tests were about knowledge—until three women weren’t allowed to take one

After years of wrangling, the Israeli Supreme Court ordered the Chief Rabbinate to allow women to take its rabbinical exams. When three women recently came to become the first ever to take Israel’s rabbinic tests, they were sent to a separate building and made to wait for hours. Shalzed tries to understand why a test about knowledge isn’t only about knowledge.

Can a State Fund What it Doesn’t Believe?

              I was almost done grading my 8th graders’ homework when Shalzed called. “Why aren’t women being allowed to take tests?” he asked. “Doesn’t Israel believe in equal rights?”

              “What are you talking about?” I asked.

              “Three women are being denied the right to take rabbinical exams administered by the Chief Rabbinate.”

              “Well that’s different,” I told him. My kitchen table seemed to wobble. “According to Jewish tradition, only men can be rabbis.”

              “But I thought tests are just about knowledge,” Shalzed said. My kitchen seemed slanted, then farther away. There was darkness for a moment, and then I was standing next to Shalzed in a plain room set up with small tables and folding chairs. Three women, dressed in skirts, with their heads covered, were sitting together sharing a bag of chips. They looked anxiously at us.

              “So do you have the exams?” one of them asked.

              I looked around, feeling uncertain. “Of course not,” I said. “We don’t have anything at all.”

              “We’ve been waiting more than four hours,” she said.

              “There was already an appeal to the Supreme Court. The Rabbanut either has to give us the exam, or cancel the men’s exam as well,” the woman next to her added.

              “I don’t understand. . .” Shalzed began.

              This, I could explain. “In Israel, the Rabbanut controls marriage, divorce, kosher certificates, and stuff like that. And since they’re Orthodox, they won’t allow women to be rabbis.”

              “But we aren’t asking to be called rabbis,” the three women said together. They were so in unison that I almost laughed.

Shalzed looked perplexed. “Well, if you pass the rabbinic exams, why wouldn’t you be rabbis?”

“For women to become rabbis would be too much of a change,” one of them said.

              Shalzed blinked three times. “But if you agree that you’re not allowed to be rabbis, then why do you want to take the rabbinic exams?” he asked.

The woman who hadn’t spoken yet let out a loud sigh. “We want to be able to fill roles that halacha does allow,” she said.

              “There are other jobs we can do. Like kosher supervising. And the tests should finally put us on an equal pay scale with rabbis if we teach in religious school,” the first one added. “And the Rabbanut has to let us, since they are funded by the Israeli government.”

              Another woman, also modestly dressed, entered the room. “The tests are on their way,” she said. The three women clapped. “We just have to wait for the other proctors to arrive.”

              “So you want to pass the rabbinical exam in order to get jobs usually done by rabbis but not be called rabbis yourselves?” Shalzed asked again.

              “Just for now,” the proctor said before any of the three could respond.

              “Not true,” one of the three said back.

              The proctor turned to Shalzed and me. “That’s the problem,” she said. “Today, they say they don’t want to become rabbis. But eventually, they will.”

              “And what’s wrong with that?” Shalzed asked. “Aren’t men and women equal?”

              “Because the Chief Rabbinate is Orthodox, and it’s up to them,” one of the women said.

              “Even though the Chief Rabbinate is funded by the government,” I added.

              A man, clearly a rabbi, came into the room. He was wearing a black suit jacket, black hat, had tzitzit hanging out, and was carrying a large briefcase. He was accompanied by another woman proctor. “We’re ready to begin,” he said. The three women quickly sat at separate tables and put away their snacks.

              “Who are you?” the rabbi asked, noticing us.

              “Can you explain why the government of Israel funds the Chief Rabbinate if the Rabbinate doesn’t believe in equality for men and women?” Shalzed asked.

              He gave Shalzed a funny look. “That’s clear- Israel is a Jewish state, so it needs the Rabbinate to maintain the state’s Jewish character.”

              “But if the Rabbinate doesn’t treat men and women equally, it’s not compatible with the state,” I added.

              The rabbi shrugged. “Even though it’s government funding, the Chief Rabbis are completely independent,” he said.

              “So they want the state’s funding, but to still be free to go against its values,” I said.

              The three women looked impatiently at the rabbi’s briefcase. “We need to get started,” one of the proctors said.

              The rabbi looked at me. “Obviously, the Rabbinate are the only ones who can decide matters of Jewish law. The government has no business in that.”

              The room started to feel more distant.

              “Good luck on the test,” I said to the women as I felt myself drawn into the familiar blackness, then a moment later I was back in my apartment. I put a hand on the kitchen table to steady myself. I looked around, but Shalzed wasn’t with me.

              I took a moment to catch my breath, then noticed the pile of homework still on the table. Shira Tavor’s paper was the only one left. I was happy that my day school taught boys and girls together. But that was our decision, not because of the government. If the government tried to change our religious curriculum, I wondered what we’d do.  

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Sources:

An account of how the women were initially not allowed to take the test, then given the tests four hours later from Times of Israel.

News coverage from the Jerusalem Post.

Shalzed waits for ben gvir

Shalzed stopped me on my way to buy a post-Passover pizza to ask about Israel’s death penalty law.

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Shalzed stopped me on my way to buy a post-Passover pizza to ask about Israel’s death penalty law.

If the same crime gets different punishments, is it still justice?

As soon as Passover was over, I started walking over to Stop’n Shop to buy a frozen pizza. The truth is, it took nearly the whole holiday to finish leftovers from the seder, and I loved my mom’s brisket and sweet potatoes. But I was ready for some chametz. As I got to the parking lot, Shalzed called.

“Did you hear that Israel passed a law giving the death penalty for Palestinian terrorists, while exempting Israelis?” he asked.

“I heard.” There had been lots of talk about it at shul.

“So the same crime gets different punishments depending on who does it?” Shalzed asked.

That made me feel uncomfortable, but Israel also has special security challenges to deal with. “It’s to deter terrorists,” I said.

“But there can be terrorists on both sides.” The Stop’n Shop sign began to look twisted, and the grocery store seemed to be getting farther away. “Punishments should be the same, no matter who commits the crime.”

Stop’n Shop seemed to dissolve into thin air. It felt like I was in a thick fog. I extended my arms but couldn’t feel anything around me. Then I was in what I could tell at once was an Israeli settlement due to the rows of red-roofed houses rising against the dry, hilly landscape. Shalzed was next to me, and he immediately stepped forward and called to a heavyset man wearing a suit and large kippah who was about to get into the back seat of a large, black car that was waiting in the driveway. “Why should the death penalty be only for Palestinians, but not Israelis?” Shalzed asked.

It was easy to recognize that he was talking to was Itamar Ben Gvir, since his picture was in the news so often. He gave Shalzed a long look. “It’s not just about Palestinians, the new law applies to anyone who’s goal is to destroy the state of Israel,” he said.

“So why doesn’t it apply to Israelis who kill Palestinians?” Shalzed asked.

I really hoped Ben Gvir wouldn’t respond with something about how the Torah regards killing Jews as more severe than killing people who aren’t Jewish. “Thou shalt not murder applies to everybody,” I added.

A woman came out of the house, holding something in her hand. As soon as she saw us she stepped back inside, behind the door, probably because her head was uncovered. “Itamar, you forgot something,” she yelled.

Ben Gvir seemed annoyed, but went back. Then he smiled when he saw what was in her hand.  It was a pin with an image of a noose that he promptly put on his jacket. It made me upset how he celebrated the death penalty like that. “What’s discriminatory is calling Palestinian terrorists freedom fighters and saying that Palestinians who have killed Jews are somehow political prisoners who should be set free,” Ben Gvir said as he reapproached the car.

“What does that have to do with the death penalty?” I asked.

He turned to face me, hands on hips. He seemed so adamant that I almost felt frightened and took a step back. “The human rights groups are so racist and biased that they want every Palestinian prisoner released, no matter their crimes. If we don’t use the death penalty, they’ll keep trying to force us to set them free.”

Shalzed frowned. “There are Palestinians Israel has held in prison for years,” he said.

Ben Gvir shook his head. “Look at how many we had to free to get the hostages from Gaza. Every minute we keep Palestinians alive in jail, it’s an incentive for them to take hostages to trade. And the world encourages it.”

He was certainly right about that. I thought back on when Israel released over a thousand prisoners in return for Gilad Shalit. “But will it really work?” I asked. “Even if Israel executes Palestinians guilty of murder, there will still be lots more in jail.”

“It’ll be a deterrent,” Ben Gvir said. His phone rang. He listened for a moment, then said b’seder. “Bibi wants to talk to me, and he’s coming on the line in a minute.”

“Haven’t most Earth countries stopped using the death penalty altogether?” Shalzed asked.

Ben Gvir gave him a funny look. “Not Iran. Not Saudi Arabia- they carry out executions at a rate of one person per day. Hamas executes anyone they believe is a traitor. And the world is all up in arms because we want to kill terrorists.” Ben Gvir raised his palms in the air.

“The Jewish tradition is very hesitant about the death penalty,” I said. Last year, in my 8th grade  class, I had the kids read the Mishnah which says that a beit din which carries out the death penalty more than once in seventy years is a killer court.

“That’s in normal times,” Ben Gvir said. “Today we have a whole Palestinian society trying to destroy us, while most of the world applauds.”

I heard a voice that sounded like Bibi come from Ben Gvir’s phone. He gave us a wave, then jumped into the back seat of the car as he put the phone to his ear. The driveway started to look curved, and then wavy, as the car sped off. A moment later I was back outside Stop’n Shop.

When I got to the entrance, a guy wearing a store apron was opening the door to let people out. “We’re closed,” he called at me.

I decided to try 7 Eleven. On the way, I passed a house with signs that said ‘End Israel Apartheid’ and ‘Equal Rights for Equal People’ in every window. I understood why Israel wanted the death penalty. But if the same crime leads to death for Palestinians but not Israelis, is there really equal justice?

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For more background on Israel’s new death penalty law from CNN, click here.

Shalzed and Simon outside embassy of Belgium

The Passport Belgium Won’t Replace

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The Passport Belgium Won’t Replace

Shalzed confronts an embassy that won’t help citizens living in the West Bank

Shalzed and Simon outside embassy of Belgium
Shalzed and Simon outside Cafe Maya, next to Amnesty International Headquarters in London

Belgium recently cut off consular services to Israelis living in what it calls “illegal settlements.”  This week Shalzed and Simon head to the Belgian embassy to ask whether this is principled diplomacy—or discrimination based on where you live.

The Passport Belgium Won’t Replace

After school I got a call from Yehudah, a friend from high school who now teaches at a yeshiva in Gush Etzion. He told me that one of his Belgian students had ruined his passport in the washing machine, and his embassy refused to replace it.

“Why?” I asked. “Doesn’t he have some other ID?”

“It’s because Belgium considers Gush Etzion to be occupied territory.”

I sensed someone behind me and turned. Of course it was Shalzed. I still had no idea how he kept finding me. “One second,” I said into the phone. “I’ll call you back.”

Yehudah seemed surprised but said okay. I think Shalzed sensed something was on my mind, so I told him what Yehudah and I had been talking about. “Can an embassy do that?” Shalzed said. “Refuse their own citizens?”

I was suddenly in the black tunnel, with Shalzed next to me. I watched carefully, but didn’t see him turning any knobs or controls. Someday I would either get him to tell me how it works or figure it out. Then we were standing outside a security booth beneath a black, yellow, and red flag. There was a sign that said ‘Embassy of Belgium’, and from Hebrew up and down the street I could tell that we were in Tel Aviv.

A middle aged man in a suit and tie stepped out of the embassy. Shalzed called after him. “Ambassador Thijs, can you explain why you won’t replace the passport of a Belgian citizen studying at a yeshiva?” he asked.

The ambassador stopped and stared at him. “Consular services are only in the mornings,” he said.

A woman ran up, dragging a child along behind her. “My son put finger paint all over my passport,” she said, pulling a passport with red all over the cover from her purse. “You have to help me.”

“We do passports between eight and eleven AM,” the ambassador said again.

“But I have a flight back to Belgium at ten tonight. I have to go, it’s for my sister’s wedding,” the woman pleaded.

The ambassador asked for the passport and looked it over. “Perhaps someday your son will be a  famous artist, but in the meantime this passport can’t be used,” he said. Just then, a man wearing suit pants and an elegant purple shirt came out of the embassy. The ambassador showed him the passport and asked a question in Dutch. The woman with the little boy gave him a pleading look.

“I can do it,” the man that had just come out from the embassy said. “As long as you have another valid form of ID, it shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes.” The woman started to say thank you. “But first,” the man continued, “I have to make sure where you live.”

The woman paused. “I live here, I made aliya 14 years ago,” she said. “But I still have a lot of family back in Antwerp.” She pursed her lips and looked back and forth between the man and the ambassador.

“He means what city?” the ambassador said. “Because we are no longer able to serve anyone residing in an illegal settlement.”

The woman frowned. “You mean Yehudah and Shomron?” The ambassador nodded. “I used to live in Ma’aleh Adumin, but we just recently moved to Netanya. I don’t understand why that should make any difference.”

The ambassador smiled, then directed her to the booth to go through security. She hurried to oblige.

“Even if you oppose Israel’s policies, what does that have to do with her?” Shalzed asked as the woman went inside. “Does she run the government? Does she command the army? Did she seize land?”

“And the kid in my friend’s yeshiva probably picked it based on the program, where his friends were going, and the price. He might not even know anything about the ’67 borders,” I added.

The ambassador held up a palm, signalling for me to stop. “Living in a settlement displaces Palestinians. Anyone who chooses to live there is complicit and has to face the consequences,” he said.

That made my stomach tighten. “I have a good friend named Yehudah who lives in Gush Etzion,” I told him. “He volunteers for an organization that works to facilitate dialogue between Israelis and Palestinians. . .”

The ambassador interrupted. “I very much support that type of activity, but it does not justify living on occupied land.”

“So are you also going to put Belgian citizens who live in settlements in jail if they return to your country?” Shalzed asked.

Thijs sighed. “Of course not. But the current situation calls for strong action. If we make life in the settlements harder, then fewer of our citizens will move there. This is my government’s way of making a statement.”

“So you are punishing your own citizens simply to make a statement?” Shalzed asked.

The ambassador shrugged. “It’s our only leverage. Now please excuse me,” he said. A black sedan was pulling up by the curb and he quickly got inside, and then Shalzed and I were back in the dark tunnel. I didn’t bother this time looking for more information about how Shalzed made it work because I was upset about the ambassador. He probably imagined that everyone who lived in the settlements was a violent extremist, and I knew very well that wasn’t the case.

A moment later I was back in the park across from my house, with Shalzed nowhere in sight. My phone rang, and I saw it was Yehudah calling back.

I swiped to answer. “Sorry,” I said. “I was away a bit longer than I thought.”

“No problem,” he said. “I just heard one of the rabbis here has connections with a member of the Knesset. He’s going to try to get help with that passport. But don’t you think withholding passports violates people’s rights?

I didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure Belgium would, either.

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Sources:

Coverage of Belgium’s new policy from The Algemeiner

Protest press release from the Jewish Documentation and Information Center

shalzed with Doctors Without Borders in Gaza

Who Decides Who’s Neutral? Can Doctors Without Borders Stay in Gaza?

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Who Decides Who’s Neutral?

Can Doctors Without Borders Stay in Gaza?

Shalzed speaks with Doctors Without Borders Emergency Coordinator for Palestine Claire San Felippo

What starts as a Bumble match turns into a sudden trip to a Doctors Without Borders field hospital in Gaza, as Shalzed asks who gets to decide what “neutral” means when humanitarian aid meets war.

Who Decides Who’s Neutral?

I got a match on Bumble for the first time in two weeks. Her name was Rose, and I really liked her profile. As an ‘opening move question’ she asked, ‘What’s your ideal first date,’ so I responded, ‘Holding hands while sky diving- although that’s definitely not happening on our first date!’ Then I sat in the living room watching NBA highlights, hoping she would reply.

I grabbed my phone as soon as it chimed, but instead of Rose it was Shalzed. “Doctors Without Borders is planning to stop working in Gaza,” he said.

“Okay,” I replied, checking if maybe by chance Rose had also messaged at the same time.

“I can’t understand it,” Shalzed continued. “Israel is just asking basic questions for its own security. How could an organization devoted to helping victims of conflict pick up and leave because of that?”

Suddenly, I was in the black tunnel with points of light. I wished I had my phone with me, but it was no longer in my hand. It might not even work wherever Shalzed was taking me. Then I was outside a large, white medical tent. It had rows of folding chairs, filled with people waiting. Children were running and crawling around on the floor. There was a row of smaller tents with examining tables outside. Doctors and nurses wearing white scrubs with the Doctors Without Borders logo hurried about.

Shalzed was next to me, looking around. “Gaza city,” he said. Then he caught site of a woman with short hair and large, round glasses walking towards the road. He strode towards her, and so I followed.

“Excuse me,” Shalzed called. “Can you explain why Doctors Without Borders is threatening to leave?”

The woman turned, and I saw she was wearing an ID that said ‘Claire San Felippo, Emergency Coordinator for Palestine.’

“Are you with Israel?” she asked, looking at Shalzed suspiciously. “If so, you can’t be here.” She put her hands on her hips.

Even though I wasn’t an Israeli citizen, I still felt uncomfortable being in Gaza. I moved closer to Shalzed.

Shalzed shook his head. “I just want to understand why you are threatening to leave rather than complete the simple registration process the Israeli government now requires.”

San Felippo glanced towards the road, where a man holding a clipboard was waiting. “Simple process?” she asked. “They want to know the identities of all our staff, Palestinian and international. What if Israel uses the information to target them? Do you know how many humanitarian workers have already been killed by the Israeli army?”

“A lot of so-called humanitarian workers are also Hamas,” I told her.

“We would never knowingly employ anyone engaged in military activity,” she shot back.

To my surprise, Shalzed interrupted. “Israel says you have.”

San Felippo shook her head. “It was just a few isolated incidents. We dealt with it right away.”

A woman in her early twenties wearing a badge identifying her as a nurse passed by. “I don’t want you giving my name to the genocide army,” she said.

One of my brothers moved to Haifa and is in IDF reserves, and I have several cousins also in the army. It makes me mad to hear people say that.

“We won’t do anything without your consent,” San Felippo told to the nurse. Then she turned to Shalzed. “That’s what this is really about, Israel is trying to scare away all our employees to force us out.”

“If you go around accusing Israel of genocide, why would you expect its government to cooperate?” I asked San Felippo.

She turned to me. “Bearing witness is one of our key principles, no matter where we work. We see genocide with our own eyes as we struggle to treat the wounded. Our mission requires us to speak up.”

“You can’t see genocide,” I told her. “That’s just your opinion. Israel believes everything it does is necessary in self-defense.”

“Isn’t neutrality one of your core principles also?” Shalzed asked her. “Accusing Israel of genocide, along with calling for boycotts and arms embargoes, hardly seems neutral.”

I heard a siren in the distance. All three of us turned, and I saw what looked like an ambulance approaching.

“Neutrality means we give medical treatment to anyone in need without conditions,” San Felippo said. “But neutrality doesn’t stop us from speaking out about what we are witnessing here on the ground.”

A nurse went to the waiting tent and called a name. A boy who seemed like eight or nine got up. His left foot was in a bandage, and he hopped along by leaning on what looked like a broomstick under his armpit. The siren was getting louder. A man came by, pushing an empty wheelchair towards the road. “Just in case,” he said to San Felippo.

“Do you know what it is?” she asked.

The man shook his head. “Electricity is out, so there’s no internet. I know nothing.”

San Felippo turned to Shalzed as soon as the man passed by. “The security concerns are just lies Israel is using to try to push us out and deny Gaza residents medical care. And if we leave, they know exactly what will happen,” she said.

“Rather than address Israel’s concerns, you’re trying to stir up global outrage about hundreds of thousands of people left without medical care so you can keep doing everything exactly the way you want,” I told her.

“Look at the Red Cross,” Shalzed added. “They don’t go on social media campaigning for embargoes or boycotts, and Israel has never threatened to kick them out.”

“That’s their choice,” San Felippo said. “The Red Cross stays silent in order to preserve access. Our values are different than theirs.”

A Red Crescent ambulance pulled up and several people got out. The driver immediately started arguing with the man who had brought the wheelchair, who was helping an elderly man who was clutching both hands to his chest out the back. They spoke in Arabic, so I couldn’t understand them.

“I’ve got to go,” San Felippo said, starting towards the road. “But just to let you know, in the end we are planning to comply with Israel’s requirements. They’ll probably still try to kick us out anyway.”

The man with the wheelchair smiled when he saw her, and she said something to the driver that seemed to calm him down. Then I was back in the black tunnel, and a moment later in my apartment. It took me a moment to orient myself to being back home. I suddenly felt thankful that I lived in the United States, where we have electricity and health care, rather than Gaza.

My phone chimed. I looked around and Shalzed wasn’t with me, so I thought maybe he was calling. But instead it was a message from Rose. It said, ‘Ha ha. I’d rather donate the money we’d spend on sky diving to an organization that helps people in need, like Doctors Without Borderes. What about you?”

I chuckled. I’m all for helping people in need, but I’d prefer an organization that isn’t so anti-Israel. I wondered whether I should try to explain that to Rose, or if that would end our relationship before it even had a chance to get started.

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Sources:

Israel Tells Doctors Without Borders to End Its Work in Gaza- New York Times article click here.

Text of Israel’s new requirements law, click here.

Israel’s report on Doctors Without Borders non-compliance, click here.

Doctors Without Borders press release protesting Israel’s requirements, click here.

Doctors Without Borders Jan. 24th statement agreeing to comply with Israeli requests, click here.

shalzed and simon at South African airport

Gaza Refugees on the Runway: Free Choice or Forced Out?

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Gaza Refugees on the Runway: Free Choice or Forced Out?

Shalzed and Simon at the Johannesburg airport
shalzed and simon at South African airport

Why Did South Africa Hesitate?

Shalzed and Simon go to South Africa, where on Nov. 17th the government would not allow a plane filled with Gaza refugees to unload. South Africa says accepting refugees allows Israel to take over Palestinian lands. But don’t Gaza residents have the right to leave and attempt to rebuild their lives somewhere more secure? Shalzed investigates. For more background on Shalzed and Simon click here.

I was at home grading Mishnah tests when Shalzed contacted me. He said he saw on the news that a plane filled with Gaza refugees had landed in South Africa. Even though South Africa has been extremely critical of Israel and supportive of Palestine, its government wasn’t allowing them to enter. “What’s the problem?” he asked. “It says in your Universal Declaration of Human Rights that everyone can leave and return to their country whenever they wish.”

I decided to give a kid half credit for writing ‘The Torah’ as her answer to ‘What is the reason we fast on Yom Kippur?’ before replying. “It’s complicated,” I told Shalzed. “But I agree with you. South Africa should let them settle there if they want.”

“I need you to help me understand what’s happening,” he said. Then, before I could say anything else, there was light all around me and I felt like I was floating. Then I was standing next to Shalzed on an airport tarmac in Johannesburg, where an old yellow school bus was driving towards the stairs leading down from a plane.

“How did you. . .” I began.

Shalzed shook his head.

“But it’s not possible to get somewhere this quickly!”

He smiled like I was a little kid asking to be let in on some adult secret. “Eventually, humans will invent better means of transportation,” he said. Then he pointed at two people standing at the foot of the airplane stairs. “I recognize the man on the left- Ronald Lamola, South Africa’s foreign minister. Who’s the other one?” he asked.

Lamola was wearing a fancy suit and tie, while the guy next to him was dressed in jeans and a wrinkled shirt that looked like it had just been picked up from a second-hand store. “Not sure,” I said, still trying to think of a way to get Shalzed to tell me how he got us here.

The bus brakes squealed as it came to a stop, and the driver turned off the engine and opened the door. Lamola gestured up towards the aircraft, and a man in military uniform stepped aside from the exit. A man, holding the hands of two young children, started down the stairs. He looked relieved but also very tired.

“We wouldn’t need airplanes if you’d just tell us how you transport,” I said to Shalzed.

He ignored me and headed towards the stairs, so I followed. “Welcome,” the fellow in jeans said as the man got off the airplane. He was wearing a large ID saying he was with the charity ‘Gift of the Givers’. “The bus will take you to the place we’ve arranged for you to stay for the next week.”

The man from the airplane smiled. I had a feeling he didn’t speak much English. He went right to the bus.

“Why just a week?” Shalzed asked. “Aren’t they resettling?”

Both Lamola and the charity guy gave us funny looks, probably trying to figure out who we were. Lamola answered. “They should be returned to Gaza. South Africa will not help facilitate ethnic cleansing of Palestinian lands.”

The guy in jeans sighed. “He’s only letting them off the plane because Gift of the Givers agreed to take full responsibility for their care.”

“How can you say ethnic cleansing? These people are freely choosing to relocate. . .” Shalzed began.

The second man off the plane had just reached us. “I paid $2000 for this ticket,” he said with a thick Arabic accent. He raised his right hand and rubbed his fingers together, looking directly at Lamola. “Please, sir, please do not make me go back to Gaza. I have nothing left there, none of us do. Please, please let us stay.”

Lamola made a half-smile and nodded the way diplomats do when they want to appear to agree while remaining noncommittal. The man grabbed the hand of a boy who had come down the stairs behind him and went to the bus.

“After everything you know about living conditions in Gaza, how could you even consider not accepting them here?” the charity guy asked.

Lamola crossed his arms. “If countries agree to accept Gaza refugees, Israel will get away with stealing their land.”

“Did you forget already about Oct. 7th?” I chimed in. “The purpose of this war was for Israel to defend itself from Hamas, not to drive people away.”

A woman carrying an infant was next off the plane. The man from the charity welcomed her, but she rushed right past him, like she was afraid the bus might leave without her.

“They didn’t freely choose to leave,” Lamola said to Shalzed. “They are only coming because of Israel’s bombardment.”

“And Hamas oppresses them,” I added.

Shalzed wrinkled his forehead. “Sometimes humans are hard to comprehend,” he mumbled to me. Then he turned back to Lamola. “That is exactly what I just said. They have freely chosen to leave Gaza, because of the difficult conditions there caused by the war and perhaps to escape Hamas also.

“The problem is that while South Africa loves to issue statements supporting Palestine, it doesn’t want to have to pay to take in refugees,” the charity guy said.

“And why should South Africa foot the bill?” Lamola asked.

The guy from Gift of the Givers interrupted. “What does it matter who is at fault in a conflict thousands of miles away? These people are here now, and they are entitled to food, clothing, and shelter. That’s all that matters”

Next off the airplane were a man and a woman, with a little girl between them, her hand inside the back pocket of her father’s pants. The woman looked at all four of us. “Water?” She asked, also in a thick accent. She made a drinking gesture with her arm.

“There are water bottles on the bus,” the charity guy said, motioning her along. Then he turned to Shalzed and me. “They were stuck on the plane for ten hours while the government decided whether or not to let them off. I’m sure they need water and food.”

“We gave them some supplies to have on the airplane,” Lamola interjected. Then he put his hands on his hips. “And who are you two?”

Shalzed smiled. “I’m just trying to understand more about human rights,” he said.

“Well how did you get in here?” Lamola asked. “And I think maybe you’d better get going.” He glanced towards a police car waiting off to the side.

I started to worry. Could we be arrested? But just then I saw the same lights that were by now becoming familiar. I felt for a moment like I was in some sort of tunnel, or on a path, and then I was standing next to Shalzed right in front of my apartment building.

“But. . .” I began.

“Just tell me one thing,” Shalzed said, ignoring me. He scratched his chin, like he was thinking. “It seems like Palestinians as a people have the right to remain in Gaza, but any given Gaza resident should be able to leave if they so choose.”

“Right,” I said, wondering whether we had traveled in some kind of machine, or maybe he had a way of beaming, like in Star Trek?

“So what if most or all Gaza residents want to leave? Should they be able to do that, because seeking refuge elsewhere is their right? Or if everyone wants to leave, even if it’s voluntary, does that become some form of ethnic cleansing?”

I chuckled. “I don’t think anyone has to worry. Look how hard it was to get South Africa to accept even one airplane,” I told him. I checked the time. However we got to South Africa, it must have taken a while because it was already after midnight. “I have grading to finish for tomorrow,” I said.

Shalzed put his hands on his hips, and I sensed he was reluctant to let me go. “But this doesn’t make sense,” he said.

“The opposite of a correct statement is a false one. But the opposite of truth is usually just another truth,” I said. “It’s a quote from a physicist named Niels Bohr. It’s one of the only sayings I use at school that’s not from the Talmud.”

“I need you to help me understand,” Shalzed said.

I started up the stairs to my building. “Sure,” I told him. “And I wish you would help me understand how you transport us from one end of the world to the other, too.”

 

Sources:

AP coverage of the plane of Gazans landing in South Africa

Reuters coverage

BBC coverage

 

Questions:

  1. According to human rights law, Palestinians should have the right to leave Gaza if they freely choose and can find another country to accept them. They also have the right to remain in Gaza if they wish, and they cannot be forced to leave their land or homes. But how can we determine whether a decision to leave is free of compulsion in a situation with so much economic and military hardship, and also so politically charged?
  2. Is it inconsistent to condemn U.S. deportations—arguing that people shouldn’t be sent back to dangerous places—while also opposing efforts to let Gazans leave and rebuild their lives elsewhere?
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abandoning weapons

Amnesty for Atrocities?

by with No Comment question

Amnesty for Atrocities?

abandoning weapons

Paragraph 6 of Trump’s peace plan for Gaza states as follows:

Once all hostages are returned, Hamas members who commit to peaceful co-existence and to decommission their weapons will be given amnesty. Members of Hamas who wish to leave Gaza will be provided safe passage to receiving countries.

 

There does not seem to be any limitation with regards to what Hamas members are eligible to receive amnesty for. This would seem to mean, then, that even Hamas members who are guilty of torture, hostage taking, or other war crimes or crimes against humanity would be eligible for amnesty if they ‘commit to peaceful co-existence and decommission their weapons.’

This does not accord with international law. The Red Cross makes clear that while a government can grant a general amnesty to the members of groups that have rebelled or fought against it, when it comes to atrocity crimes no amnesty is possible. This is because every government has an obligation to prevent, put a stop to, and punish war crimes and crimes against humanity should that be needed. No government, or in this case coalition of governments signing the Gaza peace agreement, can bargain away this obligation. Furthermore, no amnesty is binding on the International Criminal Court, which would maintain jurisdiction and be able to prosecute atrocity crimes regardless.

The problem, of course, is that there is often a tension between justice and peace. On the one hand, peace requires some modicum of justice- any arrangement in which longstanding injustice is entrenched or ignored will not endure. But on the other hand, a single-minded focus on justice will likely get in the way of peace. If the enemy knows it faces prosecution, it will likely refuse to lay down its arms. To actually achieve peace usually requires an element of forgiveness and willingness to let go of trying to right at least some past wrongs.

It is unclear whether any Hamas members will actually try to avail themselves of this amnesty. But it still raises an important question about how far we are willing to go in offering forgiveness.

The case in favor of negotiating a ceasefire arrangement was overwhelming. If Hamas insisted on a blanket amnesty as part of the deal, was agreeing to it the right thing to do? Was it better to make an agreement that ends end suffering in the present, even if it means potentially letting Hamas members responsible for the most heinous crimes permanently evade punishment?

Or are there some crimes that cannot be forgiven, no matter what? Are there some crimes that are worth more fighting, more suffering, and more death in the here and now in order to make sure they are punished? Is amnesty for atrocity crimes actually the more dangerous path, because it increases the chances atrocity crimes will be repeated in the future? I’m interested to hear your thoughts.

 

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