A letter to my Jewish friends who support the Zionist cause

Note: Since writing the below piece, my views have drastically changed. I am no longer interested in appealing to those who support the genocide of the Palestinian people. We are not responsible for evoking your humanity. If you have not found it yet, then you are the problem. Over 20,000 Palestinians have died since October 7th, Northern Gaza has been flattened by the Israeli government, and surviving Palestinians are homeless. The decision to speak up and end the massacre is now yours.

I want to start this letter by saying I am sorry for what happened on October 7th to your Jewish brothers and sisters. I am sorry that innocent lives were killed and more innocent people were kidnapped and taken as hostages. I am firm in my humanitarian beliefs that these acts should be condemned.

To anyone else who may read this, please know that I am not using this letter to engage in political discourse or evoke an argument. This letter purely serves to remind my pro-Zionist Jewish friends that even if we are on completely opposite sides of the political spectrum, that I am carrying them with me in my journey for Palestinian liberation. I would also like to state that I am aware not all members of the Jewish community are pro-Zionist and this blanket assumption should not be made.

During the past few weeks, I have been grieving the wounds that have been inflicted upon our friendship. A war that is across an entire ocean is happening and has created hostility between you and me. I have likely known you since I was 12 years old or I met you during my years immersed at a yoga center I worked for when I was 26.

In Texas, where I grew up, my closest friends were Jewish. It was a time before our implicit political beliefs were formed.

I would go to my friend Taylor’s home and her mom would make us the best potato latkes that I have ever had. I went to her Bat Mitzvah when she 13 years old and danced with our middle school friends to Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, and Nsync. I remember listening to Taylor read the Torah in Hebrew, catching glimpses of words like “ktaab” (book), “bait” (house), or “zayt” (olive) and thought to myself, “wow, being Jewish and Muslim are so similar”. Please remember that I was only 13 years old.

I remember going to my friend Sivan’s house almost every weekend. Her family is Israeli and they always welcomed me into their home. I loved her parents and her two brothers. Sivan would play Israeli pop songs for us to dance to in her bedroom, dress up, and put on too much make-up. People used to get Sivan and myself mixed up for several reasons. Our names “Sivan” and “Seham” sounded similar. We both had long, brown hair, similar skin tone, brown eyes, and were the exact same height. In our school full of girls with blonde hair and blue eyes, the two of us could have passed as cousins at the very least. Throughout high school, our friendship fizzled and we drifted apart.

My homecoming date, Michael, was also Jewish. He was Taylor’s half-brother. On homecoming, I wore a strapless black dress with a blush satin bow in the back. I still have that dress as a memory and sometimes daydream about a daughter or a niece who would be willing to wear it. Michael wore a black suit with a matching blush tie. In my opinion, we were two very good looking 17 year olds. I never imagined that a Muslim girl and a Jewish boy going to homecoming would suddenly seem so progressive. At the time, his religious identity had no bearing on my choice to go with him. I just thought he was a cute, funny boy — the same way I imagine many teenagers think in high school.

Shelly was like my little school sister because she was two years younger than me. Shelly also is Israeli and we would catch-up over lunch every summer in between academic years once we were in college. We would exchange our stories vacationing in Israel and Egypt. I remember that she was a phenomenal dancer and loved watching her videos.

As I grew older, I was increasingly becoming committed to Palestinian liberation. But I was adamant that the Israel-Palestine conflict should not drive a wedge into my friendships.

But overtime, it did. My friends who became pro-Zionist and I would look at each other’s social media posts and have unsettling feelings about the messages we were putting out into the world. We would ask ourselves, “How can they think this way?”

When I moved back to Dallas in 2017, I attended many events hosted by the Jewish community. I was invited to teach a meditation class at the Moishe House, a space where young Jewish adults gather together for events. I did a yoga class at Temple Emanu-el and was truly fond of the community space they provided for Jewish people in Dallas. I was welcomed to many Shabbhat dinners. However, politics was always a subject we steered clear of. We didn’t need to say what our beliefs were. As long as mutual respect was maintained, we were welcomed into each other’s spaces.

Today, I do not know if that would be the case. Not because the Jewish community in Dallas is not hospitable, but because I don’t know if I represent a sense of safety to them anymore. What pains me in all this is that I stand firm in my belief that I do not want to harm anyone. My call for a Free Palestine does not equate to the harm of the Jewish community. My call for a Free Palestine is in hope that one day Palestinians and Jews will be able to overcome the violence that is now happening. I do not know how we will overcome what is happening, but I will continue my efforts to figure out a way.

To close this letter, I wish to share a few final thoughts:

I do believe that you deserve safety and security after the horrific atrocities your ancestors experienced in the Holocaust. The generational trauma your family faced and may even continue to face is beyond my comprehension. Since September 2001, my Afghan+Egyptian family and I have had to also endure longstanding Islamophobia and anti-Arabism. I am hearing you, though, when you say “Never Again” means no one should ever face another genocide.

I hope you will understand that I must also fight for the safety and security of my Palestinian brothers and sisters. And right now, they are in danger. To date, 23,000 Palestinians have been unjustifiably killed with thousands more trapped under rubble. I am sure we disagree on the source of their danger, but we can agree that Palestinians are victims. My demands for Palestinian liberation do not come at the cost of the rights for Jewish people. My criticism of the U.S. and the Israeli government does not equate to hatred.

My criticism is actually a cry for humanity to do better, and be better. What is the use of our compassion if not to improve the livelihood of human beings?

While I engage in my advocacy, I will continue to call out antisemitism and condemn harm against the Jewish community. I hope you will do the same for me and my family. I hope you will also call out anti-Arabism and Islamophobia as you see it.

As we watch politicians and peace makers attempt to find a resolution to this war, I hope, too, that our friendships will recover. Your hospitality, kindness, and warm embraces have not been forgotten.

Your Arab Muslim sister,

Seham