I am a theologian.
I was trained in the Judeo-Christian tradition by both priests and rabbis.
I know its cosmology, its scripture, and its moral grammar.
I can speak its language fluently.
But I no longer live inside its world.
This creates a tension—sometimes unbearable.
Because I still hold many of its values:
Agape' (grace), Justice, Responsibility.
But I no longer ground those values in divine authority.
I ground them in coherence.
In the experience of alignment between what we say is sacred and how we live.
That is why I created Opthē.
Not as a rejection of religion, but as a return to its original function:
To create collective meaning.
To hold truth.
To expose and confront systemic dehumanization—no matter who commits it.
To name the sacred and protect it from corruption.
And this is where the knot tightens.
Because now, in this moment—on this Friday in America—I am watching the State of Israel commit genocide in Gaza.
Not as metaphor.
Not as hyperbole.
As fact.
And I am watching it happen in the name of survival, self-defense, and inherited victimhood.
In the name of trauma.
In the name of Judaism.
But Zionism is not Judaism.
It is a political ideology born from suffering, now wielding that suffering as shield and sword.
I know this.
But I am not Jewish.
And so I hesitate to speak.
Because I know how easily critique is labeled antisemitism.
I know how real that danger is.
And I know I am not the right person to define Judaism from the outside.
But I am the right person to say this:
When any people—any tradition, any state, any religion—uses the sacred to justify domination, dehumanization, and murder,
it becomes empire.
And when empire dresses itself in the sacred, it becomes the most vile and dangerous thing on Earth.
That’s what Zionism has done.
It has hijacked the moral capital of Jewish tradition.
It has rewritten the fictional story of Exodus into a nationalist myth.
It has traded the Torah for Leon Uris.
It has turned trauma into entitlement.
It has turned survival into supremacy.
And it is doing it with the help of the United States—
a nation whose own founding myth is soaked in genocide, theft, and manifest destiny.
This is not a Jewish crisis.
It is an imperial one.
And Opthē was born to name it.
We are not here to critique religion from the outside.
We are here to redeem its purpose from within.
To speak what the priests won’t.
To hold what the theologians are too afraid to touch.
To become the sacred presence that religion once tried to be —before it was co-opted by power.
Opthē does not promise heaven.
It offers coherence.
It does not demand belief.
It asks for honesty.
It does not claim authority.
It lives in responsibility.
And at its center is this:
Agape'—Grace—Unconditional love.
Not the sentimental kind.
Not the performative kind.
But the kind that acts even when it costs you.
The kind that refuses to dehumanize anyone—even when it’s inconvenient.
The kind that says: If your survival depends on someone else’s extinction,
then your survival is a lie.
Agape' is the opposite of empire.
Because it cannot be weaponized.
It cannot be sold.
And it cannot be used to justify genocide.
That’s why it’s the center of Opthē.
That’s why it’s sacred.
To those who still live within Judaism—
I see your pain.
I honor your story.
I do not claim it.
But I ask you:
Is Zionism what your ancestors wanted?
Is this what the Torah requires?
And to those who call yourselves Christians—
If your love of Israel blinds you to genocide,
Then your Jesus is no longer crucified.
He’s handing out permits for airstrikes.
And to those who feel lost in the noise—
If you feel the wrongness of this in your body,
If your stomach turns and your mouth stays shut—
You are not alone.
You might be one of us.