Forgive Me, Gaza…
Jamal Kanj
April 21, 2025
Image by Mohammed Ibrahim.
I write forgive me, not forgive us, because this guilt is deeply personal. It’s a burden I carry in the comfort of my home, sipping clean water while the children of Gaza drink from brine water wells mixed in sewage—their small bodies wracked with dehydration and disease—if they even find water at all.
I can pluck wild mallow leaves from my backyard—not to satisfy hunger, but for the luxury of a healthy diet. I’m guilty of throwing away leftovers, when fathers and mothers in Gaza search through the rubble of demolished homes for a can of food that might have survived an Israeli bomb. Or they dare crawling through cratered fields, scavenging for wild greens to silence their children’s growling stomachs—only to become moving targets under the cold gaze of Israeli drones.
Forgive me—I have a home, a heater and blankets to keep my children warm. While in Gaza, parents lie awake—not just from the cold, but from the torment of being unable to warm their children’s tiny, freezing feet.
Forgive me when I kiss my daughter on her birthday and her laughter rings in my ears—while only the buzzing of Israeli drones rings in yours. She blows out her candles in a breath of joy, while you light a candle to push back the darkness, wheezing for air in a world that denies you breath.
I can hold my daughter, while you can’t even retrieve yours from beneath the rubble—can’t gather enough of her remains for one final embrace. American-made Israeli bombs scattered her flesh like sand in the wind, leaving you empty, aching with grief and dust.
Your hospitals, doctors, medics, and first responders who chose their professions to save lives—but became targets, because saving a Palestinian life is deemed existential threat for Israel. I beg forgiveness from every journalist whose words to expose war crimes became bullets, and whose cameras were more dangerous to Israel than cannons.
Forgive the world that calls your starvation, the destruction of schools and universities—and the murder of your educators—Israel’s “self-defense.”
Dear people of Gaza, forgive them if you once believed humanity had learned from the sins of African enslavement, the genocide of Indigenous peoples, and the European Holocaust. I repent, Gaza, if you believed that “Never Again” included you.
I’m sorry that the progeny of the victims of “Never Again” have organized under the agency of ADL, AIPAC, and Political Zionism to kosher a genocide—carried out in the name of Judaism. “Never Again” is not for everyone, dear Gaza; it is only for the white West and the self-chosen.
The ideological antisemites are now Israel’s closest allies. Today, “antisemite” no longer means those who hate Jews, but it is those who protest Israeli genocide. “Never Again” is monopolized by the professional victims—licensed by a god using past European cruelty to justify present Israeli injustice in Palestine.
I’m sorry, Gaza, the Palestinian Authority (PA) has betrayed you. Instead of shielding you, it became an arm of your oppressor. When the refugee camps of Jenin, Nur Shams, and Balata rose to support you, they faced not just Israeli force, but PA bullets and batons. And in cities and towns that didn’t rebel, the PA still failed to protect them from Jewish settler rampages—burning homes and groves, killing livestock, and shooting farmers.
Forgive me, Gaza, for believing in the illusion of Arab unity—that you were part of a greater Arab nation. That the rulers of Cairo, Amman, Damascus, Baghdad, Riyadh, and others would rise for you. I believed we shared a common pain, a common struggle. I believed the Arab world would never let you starve. I was wrong.
Instead, they became part of your siege. Rafah is sealed not only by Israeli soldiers but by Egyptian concrete walls and watchtowers. Arab dictators shake hands with those who bomb your hospitals. Rulers from the rich Arab Gulf buy Israeli technology—tested first on your neighborhoods.
Forgive me, Gaza, for believing the rulers who betrayed Palestine in 1948 would ever defend you. Like their ancestors who opened the gates to the Crusaders 900 years ago—trading Palestinian blood for their survival—they do so again today.
History repeats itself, Gaza. The same kings and emirs who welcomed invaders then, embrace Israel now—gorging themselves on roasted camels while your children wither from hunger. Their capitals glow with the lights of music festival, while Gaza’s nights are set ablaze by the flares of American-made 2,000-pound bombs.
To the Arab tyrants who still bow to their colonial masters, I say: the European Crusaders did not spare your ancestors once they conquered Palestine. They turned their swords on the very rulers who helped them, devouring their mini kingdoms one by one.
I’m sorry, Gaza, that when the people of Yemen stood for you—blocking shipments to an Israeli port to demand food for your children—their own children were murdered in an Israeli-American proxy war. Like yours, their suffering is silent, and their pain earns no headlines.
Forgive me that only the Lebanese Resistance—unyielding under Israeli bombardment—steadfast, while other Arabs profited from your agony. Yemen and the Lebanese Resistance sought not applause, but to let you know you are not alone. Though the Arab world and much of humanity turned their backs, they did not waver. Yemen and the Lebanese Resistance traded neither dignity nor principle with the forces of evil.
Gaza, your blood is a mirror the world dares not face. But I will not look away.
Forgive me for my helplessness.
Forgive me for every sip of water, every bite of food, every breath I take while you suffocate.
Forgive me, if those I met in Gaza years ago ever thought I’d forgotten them.
Forgive me if I couldn’t help everyone who asked.
Forgive my comfort.
Forgive my peace.
I seek not your absolution—
Only that you know:
You are not forgotten.
Jamal Kanj is the author of Children of Catastrophe: Journey from a Palestinian Refugee Camp to America, and other books. He writes frequently on Arab world issues for various national and international commentaries.
April 21, 2025
Image by Mohammed Ibrahim.
I write forgive me, not forgive us, because this guilt is deeply personal. It’s a burden I carry in the comfort of my home, sipping clean water while the children of Gaza drink from brine water wells mixed in sewage—their small bodies wracked with dehydration and disease—if they even find water at all.
I can pluck wild mallow leaves from my backyard—not to satisfy hunger, but for the luxury of a healthy diet. I’m guilty of throwing away leftovers, when fathers and mothers in Gaza search through the rubble of demolished homes for a can of food that might have survived an Israeli bomb. Or they dare crawling through cratered fields, scavenging for wild greens to silence their children’s growling stomachs—only to become moving targets under the cold gaze of Israeli drones.
Forgive me—I have a home, a heater and blankets to keep my children warm. While in Gaza, parents lie awake—not just from the cold, but from the torment of being unable to warm their children’s tiny, freezing feet.
Forgive me when I kiss my daughter on her birthday and her laughter rings in my ears—while only the buzzing of Israeli drones rings in yours. She blows out her candles in a breath of joy, while you light a candle to push back the darkness, wheezing for air in a world that denies you breath.
I can hold my daughter, while you can’t even retrieve yours from beneath the rubble—can’t gather enough of her remains for one final embrace. American-made Israeli bombs scattered her flesh like sand in the wind, leaving you empty, aching with grief and dust.
Your hospitals, doctors, medics, and first responders who chose their professions to save lives—but became targets, because saving a Palestinian life is deemed existential threat for Israel. I beg forgiveness from every journalist whose words to expose war crimes became bullets, and whose cameras were more dangerous to Israel than cannons.
Forgive the world that calls your starvation, the destruction of schools and universities—and the murder of your educators—Israel’s “self-defense.”
Dear people of Gaza, forgive them if you once believed humanity had learned from the sins of African enslavement, the genocide of Indigenous peoples, and the European Holocaust. I repent, Gaza, if you believed that “Never Again” included you.
I’m sorry that the progeny of the victims of “Never Again” have organized under the agency of ADL, AIPAC, and Political Zionism to kosher a genocide—carried out in the name of Judaism. “Never Again” is not for everyone, dear Gaza; it is only for the white West and the self-chosen.
The ideological antisemites are now Israel’s closest allies. Today, “antisemite” no longer means those who hate Jews, but it is those who protest Israeli genocide. “Never Again” is monopolized by the professional victims—licensed by a god using past European cruelty to justify present Israeli injustice in Palestine.
I’m sorry, Gaza, the Palestinian Authority (PA) has betrayed you. Instead of shielding you, it became an arm of your oppressor. When the refugee camps of Jenin, Nur Shams, and Balata rose to support you, they faced not just Israeli force, but PA bullets and batons. And in cities and towns that didn’t rebel, the PA still failed to protect them from Jewish settler rampages—burning homes and groves, killing livestock, and shooting farmers.
Forgive me, Gaza, for believing in the illusion of Arab unity—that you were part of a greater Arab nation. That the rulers of Cairo, Amman, Damascus, Baghdad, Riyadh, and others would rise for you. I believed we shared a common pain, a common struggle. I believed the Arab world would never let you starve. I was wrong.
Instead, they became part of your siege. Rafah is sealed not only by Israeli soldiers but by Egyptian concrete walls and watchtowers. Arab dictators shake hands with those who bomb your hospitals. Rulers from the rich Arab Gulf buy Israeli technology—tested first on your neighborhoods.
Forgive me, Gaza, for believing the rulers who betrayed Palestine in 1948 would ever defend you. Like their ancestors who opened the gates to the Crusaders 900 years ago—trading Palestinian blood for their survival—they do so again today.
History repeats itself, Gaza. The same kings and emirs who welcomed invaders then, embrace Israel now—gorging themselves on roasted camels while your children wither from hunger. Their capitals glow with the lights of music festival, while Gaza’s nights are set ablaze by the flares of American-made 2,000-pound bombs.
To the Arab tyrants who still bow to their colonial masters, I say: the European Crusaders did not spare your ancestors once they conquered Palestine. They turned their swords on the very rulers who helped them, devouring their mini kingdoms one by one.
I’m sorry, Gaza, that when the people of Yemen stood for you—blocking shipments to an Israeli port to demand food for your children—their own children were murdered in an Israeli-American proxy war. Like yours, their suffering is silent, and their pain earns no headlines.
Forgive me that only the Lebanese Resistance—unyielding under Israeli bombardment—steadfast, while other Arabs profited from your agony. Yemen and the Lebanese Resistance sought not applause, but to let you know you are not alone. Though the Arab world and much of humanity turned their backs, they did not waver. Yemen and the Lebanese Resistance traded neither dignity nor principle with the forces of evil.
Gaza, your blood is a mirror the world dares not face. But I will not look away.
Forgive me for my helplessness.
Forgive me for every sip of water, every bite of food, every breath I take while you suffocate.
Forgive me, if those I met in Gaza years ago ever thought I’d forgotten them.
Forgive me if I couldn’t help everyone who asked.
Forgive my comfort.
Forgive my peace.
I seek not your absolution—
Only that you know:
You are not forgotten.
Jamal Kanj is the author of Children of Catastrophe: Journey from a Palestinian Refugee Camp to America, and other books. He writes frequently on Arab world issues for various national and international commentaries.
De Facto Occupation: Israel’s Security Zone Strategy
Binoy Kampmark
April 21, 2025
Photograph Source: User:שועל, modified by User:MathKnight – File:IDF Caterpillar D9 in action.JPG – CC BY-SA 3.0
In recent months, the Israeli Defense Forces have been much taken by a term that augurs poorly for peaceful accord in the Middle East. “Security zones” are being seized in the Gaza Strip, Lebanon and Syria. Land is, for claimed reasons of self-defence, being appropriated with brazen assuredness.It is hard, however, to see this latest turn as anything other than a de facto military occupation, a situation that will prolong the crisis of vulnerability the Jewish state so wishes to overcome. Israel’s insecurities are much the result of various expansions since 1948 that have only imperilled it to future attack and simmering acrimony. The pattern threatens to repeat itself.
In Syria, Israel rapidly capitalised on the fall of the Assad regime by shredding the status quo. Within a matter of 11 days after the fleeing of the former President Bashar Al-Assad to Moscow, and again on February 1 this year, satellite images showed six military sites being constructed within what is nominally the UN-supervised demilitarised zone, otherwise known as the Area of Separation. A seventh is being constructed outside the zone and in Syria proper. Such busy feats of construction have also accompanied Israeli encroachment on the land of Syrian civilians, coupled with vexing housing raids, road closures and unsanctioned arrests.
All this has taken place despite undertakings from Syria’s transitional President Ahmed al-Sharaa that he would recognise the 1974 agreement made with Israel, one which prohibits Israel from crossing the Alpha Line on the western edge of the Area of Separation. “Syria’s war-weary condition, after years of conflict and war, does not allow for new confrontations,” admitted the new leader on December 14, 2024. Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu was only scornful, regarding the 1974 agreement between the two countries as a dead letter buried by history. “We will not allow any hostile force to establish itself on our border,” he snottily declared.
Lebanon is also facing a stubborn IDF, one that refuses to abide by the Israel-Hezbollah agreement last November which promised the withdrawal of both forces from southern Lebanon, leaving the Lebanese army to take over the supervising reins. Lebanese President Joseph Aoun, who faces the herculean task of removing Hezbollah’s weapons while potentially integrating members of its group into the Lebanese army, has found his task needlessly onerous. In recent discussions with US deputy Mideast envoy Morgan Ortagus, the Lebanese leader reasoned “that Israel’s presence in the five disputed points gives Hezbollah a pretext to keep its weapons.”
On April 16, Israeli Defence Minister Israel Katz promised that such security zones would provide relevant buffers to shield Israeli communities.Ominously, the IDF would “Unlike in the past [not evacuate] areas that have been cleared and seized”. They would “remain in the security zones as a buffer between the enemy and [Israeli] communities in any temporary or permanent situation in Gaza – as in Lebanon and Syria.”
In Gaza, it is becoming increasingly clear that any prospect of Palestinian autonomy or political independence is to be strangled and snuffed out. Israel has already arbitrarily created the “Morag Corridor”, which excises Rafah from the Strip, and the Netzarim Corridor, which severs Gaza in half. Katz has also promised that the policy of blocking all food, medicine and other vital supplies to Gaza implemented on March 2 will continue, as it “is one of the main pressure levers preventing Hamas from using it as a tool with the population”.
Displacement orders, euphemised as “evacuation orders”, have become the staple of operating doctrine, the means of creating buffers of guns and steel. On April 11, Israeli authorities issued two such orders, effectively “covering vast areas in northern and southern Gaza”, according to UN spokesperson Stéphane Dujarric. “Together, these areas span more than 24 square kilometres – roughly the size of everything south of Central Park here in Manhattan.” Within these zones of military seizure lie medical facilities and storage sites filled with vital supplies.
The UN Human Rights office also expressed its concerns about Israel seemingly “inflicting on Palestinians in Gaza conditions of life increasingly incompatible with their continued existence as a group in Gaza.” The population was being “forcibly transferred into ever shrinking spaces with little or no access to life-saving services, including water, food, and shelter, and whey they continue to be subject to attacks.” Engaging in such conduct against a civilian population within an occupied territory, the office pointedly observes, satisfies the definition of a forcible transfer, being both a violation of the Fourth Geneva Convention and a crime against humanity under the Rome Statute of 1998.
The latest doctrine of appropriation and indeterminate occupation adopted by Katz and the IDF has not impressed the Hostages and Missing Families Forum in Israel, long advocating for the release of Israeli hostages still being held in Gaza by Hamas. “They promised that the hostages come before everything,” came the organisation’s aggrieved observation. “In practice, however, Israel is choosing to seize territory before the hostages.” In doing so, the prerogatives of permanent conflict and habitual predation have displaced the more humane prerogatives of peace.
Binoy Kampmark was a Commonwealth Scholar at Selwyn College, Cambridge. He lectures at RMIT University, Melbourne. Email: bkampmark@gmail.com
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