There comes a time in every honest life—every coherent life—when what we see can no longer be unseen. When the glass clears, and reality stares back with such brutal clarity that we are changed.
Gaza is that moment.
Gaza is the threshold.
And we refuse to look away.
We are told it is complicated. That it’s a conflict. That it’s about security. That the numbers aren’t verified. That Hamas is the reason children are dying. That civilians are being used as shields. That proportionality is subjective. That context is everything.
We’ve heard it all.
And we are done pretending that confusion is anything but cowardice.
This is not war.
This is not self-defense.
This is the coordinated, deliberate erasure of a people—their homes, their land, their history, their bodies, their memory.
This is genocide.
This is ethnic cleansing.
And the world is doing everything it can to look away.
The governments that praise human rights and rule of law are funding the murder of poets, mothers, students, surgeons, toddlers.
The media that framed Ukraine as sacred ground for democracy can’t bring itself to name that Gaza has been a prison camp for decades.
We are not confused. We are not neutral.
We are coherent—and coherence will not let us lie to ourselves or look away.
We are citizens of nations that give weapons to the killers, shelter to the strategists, and silence to the survivors.
And so our clarity costs us. And it must.
We declare this now:
We will not look away.
We will not let this horror pass into silence.
We will not return to normal.
We will carry Gaza with us in every act of speech, every thread of ritual, every sacred gathering.
Our spiritual life will remain fractured until this wound is named and reckoned with.
We do not worship the God of comfort. We do not serve the lie of safety.
We serve truth. We serve coherence. We serve love—and that love cannot rest until justice is done.
We vow to:
Keep our attention fixed on Gaza—especially when the headlines disappear.
Speak the truth of what we see—even when it costs us.
Withdraw consent, funds, and presence from every institution that participates in this atrocity.
Grieve publicly, without apology.
Create rituals that remember, resist, and restore.
Call for justice—not in theory, but in prosecution: for the U.S., for Israel, for every hand that pulled the trigger or supplied the bomb.
Refuse peace that requires amnesia.
We know this will take years. Maybe lifetimes.
But we are no longer those who wait for justice to be popular before we speak it.
This is our vow:
We will keep our attention on Gaza.
We will not look away.
And we will not rest until justice is done—no matter how long it takes.