I looked down at my phone screen, shocked that I had done it. I had just referred to myself openly on Twitter as a Pro-Palestinian Zionist. I immediately questioned myself. Should I delete it? Should I explain it? Should I insert the normal 20 stipulations that seem to be necessary for any conversation about Israel and Zionism, but fail to fit into a 140-character format? Would I, as a thirty-something leader within Jewish organizations, get kicked out of the proverbial tent for this admission? Instead, I took a big breath and hoped that my hundred-something followers on Twitter wouldn't raise much of a fuss.
The impetus to "come out" actually came -- unknowingly -- from two Muslim women. I had listened to the first, Zehra Naqvi, relate a story about the misconceptions we face during interfaith engagement. The second, Irshad Manji, has taught about moral courage, reminding us that "Moral courage is doing the right thing in the face of your fears." In talking openly about Israel, there is seemingly much to fear for those engaged in interfaith work. To talk openly about one's Zionism may risk alienating Muslim friends and allies who support the Palestinian aspiration for statehood. To talk openly about being Pro-Palestinian may risk alienating those within the Jewish community who may define their Zionism differently than I define my own.
In reality, to be Pro-Palestinian and to be Zionist are not mutually exclusive. But these words are poor placeholders for complex and nuanced ideas that lay behind them. Frequently, when each "side" (another poor placeholder in this complicated scenario) hears these words, they overlay their own definitions and meanings, no matter what the intention.
When I say I am Zionist, I mean that I support the existence of a homeland for the Jewish people. When I say I am Pro-Palestinian, I mean that I support the existence of a homeland for the Palestinian people. To be clear, the number of people that were killed and displaced in the War for Independence/Nakba is a tragedy. The number of people that were killed and displaced in the subsequent years is a tragedy. The number of innocent Jews that have been killed during the intifadas is a tragedy. The number of innocent Palestinians that have been killed during the wars in Gaza since Israeli disengagement is a tragedy. Acknowledging these tragedies does not lessen my Zionism. It does not erase my belief in the right of the Jewish people, who have seemingly wandered the desert from place to place since biblical times, to a home. It also does not lessen my belief in Palestinian statehood. It does make me pray that the future may be kinder to our two peoples than the past has been tragic.
But why "come out"? Why risk the barbs thrown on Twitter or in the comments section of the Huffington Post? Why risk being told by seemingly all sides why you are wrong and why you do not understand the situation or have a right to comment on the situation? The answer is because I care both about my Zionism and the future of the Jewish people as well as the future of the Palestinian people. But the answer is mostly because I care about the Muslim-Jewish relationship that is forming here in the United States. If I, someone who is deeply invested in pushing this relationship forward, feel the need to hide behind slogans and sayings, behind organizations and op-eds, then what future can this relationship truly have? But if we can be honest and allow ourselves to embrace the nuance and complexity of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, then perhaps those of us in the interfaith work will not feel the need to avoid our own identities and instead can embrace each other with our labels and complexity.
I am a Pro-Palestinian Zionist. I believe in a homeland for the Jewish people. I believe in a homeland for the Palestinian people. What do you believe?