I am Israel. I never miss a chance to claim victimhood while inflicting violence.
In 1947, the United Nations handed me more than half of someone else’s land. A gift I didn’t earn, from colonial powers who didn’t own it. I accepted. My neighbors objected. I called it war—and in the chaos, I began my cleansing. Over 700,000 Palestinians were driven from their homes—some fled, yes—but many were forced out at gunpoint, their villages razed, their names erased.
Then I planted pine trees over the ruins—to hide the memory. Forests where homes once stood. Parks over cemeteries. I made it green so the world wouldn’t see the black underneath. I called it “reforestation.” They called it erasure.
I am Israel. I have never chosen peace—only dominance.
In 1967, I launched a pre-emptive war and seized Gaza, the West Bank, East Jerusalem, the Golan Heights, and Sinai. I claimed it was for security. I held onto it for power. I built settlements, one by one, choking Palestinian towns. International law said it was illegal. I ignored it. My map grew. Their freedom shrank.
I am Israel. I could have ended the occupation. Many times. But I always said no.
In 2000, at Camp David, I offered a patchwork of disconnected enclaves surrounded by walls, checkpoints, and soldiers. I called it peace. Palestinians walked away. I called them extremists. Then I built a wall, not on my border—but deep in theirs. I called it security. They called it theft.
I am Israel. I glorify militarism. I raise children to believe they are chosen.
My textbooks erase Palestine. My soldiers patrol streets with rifles pointed at teenagers. My media justifies bombings. My politicians joke about flattening Gaza. I send airstrikes to refugee camps, schools, and hospitals. Then I say they were human shields.
I am Israel. I elected Netanyahu. Again and again.
Not once, by mistake. But knowingly. I voted for leaders who vowed to crush the Palestinians, to expand settlements, to never allow a Palestinian state. My ministers speak of “the Arabs” as a demographic threat. My settlers burn olive trees. My mobs chant “Death to Arabs.” I call it patriotism.
I am Israel. I speak of democracy—but deny it to millions under my control.
I rule over millions who cannot vote in the country that controls their lives. I build roads they cannot drive on. I issue permits for them to breathe, to move, to live. I bomb Gaza, then seal it off and say it’s their fault. I say I left Gaza—but I control its air, sea, and borders. I say they are free—then I starve them.
I am Israel. I demand recognition—but give none in return.
I demand that Palestinians accept me as a Jewish state—while refusing to even say the word “Nakba.” I ignore the homes, lands, and history of those I displaced. I hold their keys in museums, not their hands. I deny the refugees their right to return. I make laws that call them “absentees,” even when they’re just over the hill.
I am Israel. I cry antisemitism—when what I fear is accountability.
I call any critic a hater. I blur the line between Judaism and Zionism, using one to shield the crimes of the other. I weaponize history to excuse apartheid. I manipulate trauma to justify conquest. I say “Never again”—but let it happen to others, by my own hand.