This piece is part of a series of brief essays by Northern California high school and college students who describe themselves as pro-Israel. As Yom HaAtzmaut (Israel’s independence day) approaches, J. asked them to write about their experiences since the Oct. 7, 2023, Hamas massacre in Israel that started the ongoing war.
“You’re lying!” he shouted from the audience. “This is a disgrace!”
Midway through the panel I organized in late October 2023 on the Israel-Hamas war, his voice rang out. Even from the stage, I could see the rage written on his face — his scowl, his head-shaking. After a few moments, I realized that he was the father of my school’s Muslim Student Association president.
The panelist he was addressing — Sophia, a Bedouin Arab-Israeli activist — had just begun explaining her connection to Israel. The heaviness in the room, already thick, became suffocating.
On the evening of Oct. 6, I was celebrating Simchat Torah in the Bay Area with family members visiting from Israel when the alerts started to come in: Hamas had launched a brutal surprise attack. What began as a joyful dinner became a night of fear and silence. But in the days that followed, my grief was outmatched by accusations, outrage and instant judgment.
In the ultra-liberal Silicon Valley, it felt especially dangerous to express any support for Israel. “You should be ashamed of yourself if you support Israel,” classmates would tell me.
Yet at home the opposite was true about publicly backing Israel. “We’d be incredibly disappointed in you if you didn’t,” my parents told me.
I felt stuck between worlds. I didn’t want to echo either side blindly — I wanted to understand. So I began reading, listening and questioning. I studied the history of Zionism, the wars that shaped modern-day Israel and the complexities of occupation. I consumed lectures and policy papers, not propaganda. The more I learned, the more I understood why I believed in Israel’s right to exist and defend itself — and the more confident I became in calling myself pro-Israel.
This wasn’t a simple stance. Developing it came with discomfort. It came with caveats. And it came with a responsibility: to be informed, to be compassionate and to be willing — enthusiastic, in fact — to engage with people who disagreed.
That’s what led me to organize the late October panel. I didn’t want to immerse myself in an echo chamber. I wanted real conversation, even if it meant moments like the one with that father.
After the event, I approached him. We shook hands, and we spoke briefly. Not to agree — but maybe to start to understand.
That conversation, like my journey itself, taught me that conviction means little without context — and that the best way to refine your beliefs is by challenging them.
It’s the approach I’ll carry forward: rooted in truth, open to dialogue and never taken lightly. With the confidence that comes from knowledge, deep research and critical questioning, I proudly and thoughtfully stand as a supporter of Israel.