In The Innocents Abroad, Mark Twain recounts his impressions of the Holy Land during a 1867 visit: ‘…a silent, mournful expanse… A desolation is here; not even imagination can grace with pomp and action…’
Of course, visiting Israel today, you will encounter a land so drastically altered from Twain’s account as to be unrecognisable. Last week I travelled to the country for the wedding of a very dear friend. My personal chaos of trying to get there – multiple cancelled and rebooked flights – was surpassed by the wonderful, dynamic, and oft infuriating chaotic experience of Tel Aviv.
One single hour in this city would shatter the misconceptions that too many in the West hold about Israel. Indeed, so many of the visuals I bore witness to in Israel – the Yemenite filigree shop in Jaffa, the Black Orthodox man in Jerusalem, a Muslim woman wearing a hijab sitting next to an IDF soldier at a bus stop on the outskirts of Tel Aviv – prompted feelings of disheartenment within me about how the people of Israel have been so egregiously misunderstood in my own country of Ireland.
In some cases, particularly by the Irish establishment, they have been cynically and intentionally misrepresented. Growing up in Dublin, if you had no connection to the Jewish community, you would be forgiven for believing that Israel is a ‘white coloniser entity’: one composed of ontologically evil beings and one on the brink of destruction. Walking through the bustling streets of Tel Aviv late in the evening – filled with people of every colour – impresses upon you just how delusional this dangerous, hateful fantasy is.
I admit to experiencing intense frustration and despair regarding the enormous success of the dehumanising narrative in Ireland that positions Israelis as a whole as illegitimate settlers: irrevocably stained from birth for being born on a land that they have, in the Irish consciousness, no claim to. I often bemoan the fact that there has been such a profound failure to communicate the complexities of Israel, the diverse story of the Jews, and the Jewish connection to the land.
I also often get further irked that when I say this, I am often met with defeatism from Israeli friends: ‘The world hates us and has always hated us; nothing we do or say to educate people matters.’ This is an approach that I strongly disagree with. Antonio Gramsci wrote that his mind was pessimistic, but his will was optimistic. This is the attitude that I adopt: through this optimism of the will, I have faith that my compatriots would have less bigotry towards Israelis and Jews if they weren’t so misinformed. So why won’t Israelis just help educate them?
However, as I people-watched one night on the energetic streets of Tel Aviv, a thought struck me. These people are living the wildest dreams of their ancestors, unburdened by having to explain themselves to a world that has inflicted devastation upon the Jewish people across generations and continents. This is what sovereignty and self-determination after a millennia of persecution look like. I still maintain that Israelis and Jews need far better official communications teams, but I agree that the average Israeli should not have to turn out their pockets for a hostile world. I understand now that the most important thing that they can do is to continue to live the life that generations of Jews before them could not even have conceived of.
Panoramic view of Tel Aviv, Israel
As for myself, amidst the chaos of Tel Aviv, I felt a sense of calm and ease during my weeklong trip that I haven’t felt for a very long time. Dublin is and always will be my beloved home. However, the reality is that vicious anti-Israel sentiment – one that is most certainly not confined to legitimate criticism of the Israeli government and one that often crosses the line into antisemitism – has become a normalised and insidiously suffocating background hum. Until my trip last week, I did not realise just how much I had been looking over my shoulder in Dublin since 7 October. Candidly, I also didn’t realise how lonely and isolated my life had become until I arrived in Tel Aviv and was inundated with messages from people wanting to spend time with me. It is a sad paradox that, while my online presence grows due to my public advocacy in support of the Jewish people, my life in Dublin has become infinitely smaller. I have lost Irish friends that I have had since childhood. I perceive that as their callousness at best, antisemitism at worst, in the face of the worst massacre of Jews since the Shoah. They would, of course, have a different perception. Ultimately I think all parties would agree that there was a breakdown in understanding between us.
What a relief it was to be in Tel Aviv around people who understand. How deeply profound it was to walk through streets filled with open displays of Jewishness and Judaism. For the history, and still in so many places in the world currently, such displays are a source of danger. I looked around and thought about how Hitler lost. How, here in this moment, all the antisemites across the world don’t really matter. The Jewish people live openly and proudly as Jews in this vibrant city built by Jews.
However, most of all, I felt acutely what a tragedy it was that 58 people who should have been there in Israel at the same time as me were not. The Israeli hostages.
Israelis hold a poster of Karina Ariev as they watch the release of four hostages held by Hamas at Hostages Square in Tel Aviv, January 25, 2025 (Tomer Neuberg/Flash90)
Tel Aviv is filled with photos and banners of the hostages and graffiti calling for them to be brought home. You cannot walk three minutes without seeing something related to the Israelis who remain in Hamas captivity. The immense love for the hostages (and the raw pain that they are still not free) is ever present in the city. The hatred that caused people to rip hostage posters all across the world, including in my hometown, does not hold a candle to this overwhelming love. It is one that is expressed on every free wall space, hung from balconies, and pinned to the breasts of passers-by. Most searingly, this love is shouted by hostage deal protestors: those brave people who deserve international support but tragically get none.
As the world callously derides their suffering, Tel Aviv holds the hostages deep in its heart’s core and screams with a unified voice: Bring Them Home. Those three words echo in my own heart returning to my own home in Dublin. Bring Them Home.
