The question of Israel's right to exist isn't an abstract debate—it's written in the ashes of six million souls, in the tears of generations, and in the fierce determination of a people who refuse to let their story end in darkness. Any questioning of Israel's right to exist is to whisper that the Jewish people's centuries-long journey of survival, resilience, and hope, somehow matters less than others. As a Black American, I know too well how systems of oppression work to deny people their fundamental humanity.
When Hamas' charter calls for Israel's destruction, it echoes the same dehumanizing logic that has justified countless atrocities past and present. However, there is an inconvenient truth one must remain answerable to. Israel's right to exist doesn't permit any of us to look away from Palestinian suffering. Personal experiences with injustice inform the understanding that pain doesn't cancel out pain. Trauma doesn't negate trauma. The Jewish people have a right to security and self-determination in their uniquely established territorial homeland alongside—not in opposition to—the Palestinian people's right to dignity and self determination in their ancestral homeland.
The evidence of Jewish connection to this land runs deeper than politics. It's etched in stone, written on scrolls, and woven into daily prayers that have been lifted across the diaspora. For three millennia, every Jewish heart has turned toward Jerusalem in prayer; every wedding remembers its destruction, and every Passover ends with the promise: "Next year in Jerusalem." The mantra isn't just ancient poetry—it's identity, memory, and hope, braided together across generations.
Israel's existence isn't validated solely by ancient claims or religious canon. The modern State of Israel emerged in 1948 as the world's belated answer to centuries of persecution, culminating in the Holocaust's unprecedented horror. The United Nations' recognition wasn't charity—it was the international community's acknowledgment that the Jewish people needed and deserved safety to live and thrive.
Today, Israel stands as one of the Middle East's leading expressions of democracy, however imperfect. It's a nation that has absorbed Jewish refugees from Ethiopia to Ukraine, from Yemen to Russia, not without controversy. In a time when antisemitism is surging again—where Jewish students feel unsafe on college campuses and synagogues need armed guards—Israel's existence as a haven isn't a luxury. It's a necessity. And yet, Israel's security cannot come at the cost of Palestinian dignity. Moreover, no individual or nation's security, prosperity, or inalienable rightness should be at the cost of another's! I have stood at the fortified divide of the West Bank, reminded of the visible and invisible barriers that have divided communities globally over the years. When I hear of Palestinian family displacement, I immediately think of the many acts of segregation and forced relocations exacted in America.
The moral challenge of our time isn't choosing sides—it's choosing humanity. It's recognizing that supporting Israel's right to exist doesn't require us to endorse every Israeli policy, just as supporting Palestinian rights doesn't mean accepting violence against civilians brought on by Hamas. We can and must hold space for both and all peoples' legitimate aspirations.
The path forward demands what theologian Reinhold Niebuhr called "moral imagination"—the ability to envision a future and ethics different from the past. All people deserve to live free from fear, raise their children in peace, and build communities where hope outweighs hatred. Israel's right to exist is non-negotiable. Not because it's perfect, again, no nation is. This premise should not diminish Palestinian rights; rather, it sets the stage for genuine dialogue about how both peoples can flourish.
In the end, this isn't just about Israel and Palestine—it's about who we are as a human family. Can we build a world where "never again" means never again for everyone? The answer lies not in choosing between rights but expanding our circle of moral concern until it encompasses all who seek to live in dignity and peace.
NECHAMA volunteers work alongside local residents during recovery efforts in Western North Carolina.