Melanie Phillips: After the October 7 pogrom
Writing the Jews out of their own unique suffering like this — and even blaming them for it — is another ancient trope of Jew-hatred. But O’Neill doesn’t stop there. He probes yet more profoundly into the sickness — and discovers a truth that few have identified. This is that antisemitism causes jealousy.Seth Mandel: Defining October 7
I have myself written about this — that people complain “the Jews have sucked up all the victimhood in the world and left none for anyone else”. Crazy, or what? But as I wrote, faced with the Nazi genocide of the Jews and the complicity or indifference of the west in enabling it to happen, there are people who respond by wanting what, in their warped view, the Jews were given in response — an apparent shield, provided by the charge of antisemitism, against being blamed for anything bad they actually do.
These Jew-haters believe that antisemitism lets the Jews get away with it.
Get away with what, precisely? Well, all the things that antisemites believe about the Jews but aren’t allowed to say and, they believe, are true — for example, that the Jews hurt others in their own interests but hide it behind the charge of antisemitism. The Jew-haters (who purport merely to hate Israel) want that get-out-of-jail-free card for themselves. In other words, as I concluded, rampant Jew-hatred isn’t just an outcome of intersectional victim culture. It squats at its very core.
O’Neill writes:
We are living in an era of Holocaust envy. The ascendancy of the politics of victimhood has nurtured a palpable hostility towards the idea that the Holocaust was uniquely barbarous. In an era in which victimhood confers moral authority, when the way you secure both social sympathy and state resources is by claiming to suffer “structural oppression”, it simply won’t do that the Jews have a singular claim over the gravest instance of victimisation in history. And so their claim on the Holocaust must be questioned, weakened, loosened. What about the other victims of Nazi murder? What about other genocides? Challenging the distinctive nature of the Holocaust, even demoting the Holocaust further down the pecking order of human agony, is the grim inevitable consequence of a cult of competitive grievance in which accruing ever-more tales of pain is the way you move ahead.
There’s much else in O’Neill’s savage analysis of the west’s reaction to the October 7 pogrom — the betrayal of feminism by the refusal to acknowledge the rapes of the female Israeli victims, the cult of “keffiyeh chic” as the ultimate cultural appropriation, and the genocidal streak of the student “snowflakes” who preposterously claim they endure trauma from “micro-aggressions” such as the failure to use their preferred pronouns.
O’Neill views the moral obscenity of the reaction to October 7 as the confluence of Islamist and radical western thought — an alliance between one of the most barbarous and reactionary creeds on the planet with the ideologies of “decolonisation” and critical race theory to seek the destruction of the Jewish state as the forward salient of a war against civilisation and humanity itself.
Brendan O’Neill hasn’t just provided a valuable analysis of the west’s cultural meltdown. He is in himself a health-giving antidote to the poison coursing through the cultural elites of Britain and the west. Bravo.
What was October 7, 2023?Bari Weiss: A Year of Revelations ‘We expected Hamas to kill Jews. We didn’t expect Americans to celebrate it.’
In a sane world, the question would be unnecessary. Unfortunately, we live in a world in which Amnesty International—one of the leading “human rights for everyone but the Jews” organizations around the globe—marked the first anniversary of the Hamas attacks with a video that is perhaps the best single example of why we are in a battle to define the deadliest day for the Jewish people since the Holocaust.
In the video, a woman who’s speaking for a group of marching anti-Israel protesters says: “Don’t let anyone tell you this all started on the seventh of October 2023.”
What is “this”? Believe it or not, she never says. Rather, she launches into a diatribe against Israel’s founding 76 years ago and its continued existence. Later, she says: “And when there is no accountability, there is no reason to change, or to stop. And that’s why, one year on, Israel has escalated its attacks on Lebanon leading to more devastation and death.”
One year on from what, exactly? Where did Lebanon come into the mix? Again, she never says. And on some level, we understand: Her implicit defense of the barbarism of that day is genuinely evil, but as long as she doesn’t say it explicitly she can still look herself in the mirror.
The coopting of Oct. 7 by Hamas’s supporters around the world is why we have to say, and keep saying, what exactly happened that day. It’s what motivates one of the many worthwhile documentaries about Oct. 7, 2023, Pierre Rehov’s Pogrom(s).
Rehov’s documentary is a worthy expression of the horror and the sorrow and the devastation because its premise is also that none of “this” began on Oct. 7, 2023. Hence the title of the film, which not only describes the horrors but attempts to name them.
In the film, Richard Rossin, the former head of Doctors Without Borders, tells the viewer that Oct. 7 was far more than a terror attack. Dalia Ziada, a prominent pro-democracy activist in Egypt during the Arab Spring turmoil, offers: “What happened on October 7 was a genocide attack.”
Perhaps the film’s best attempt to categorize that day comes from Sarah-Masha Fainberg of Tel Aviv University: “Hamas operatives intentionally chose the modus operandi of the pogromists of tsarist Russia and of the Einsatzgruppen during World War II, to reactivate a deep sense of Jewish vulnerability.”
It’s true, Oct. 7 didn’t begin on Oct. 7, 2023. But as Fainberg notes, it also didn’t start in 1948 with Israel’s rebirth. It was the continuation of the long march of the oldest hatred.
In that sense, there is something almost mystical about it. In every generation they rise up to destroy us, and here they are rising up again. Still, Rehov’s film warns against taking that too far and thus removing from the Palestinians their agency. Rehov interviews Yuval Bitton, the former intelligence head of Israel’s prison service and a man who has spent many hours in that capacity with Hamas chief Yahya Sinwar, who masterminded Oct. 7. Bitton was also one of the Israeli doctors who helped save Sinwar’s life while he was in an Israeli prison.
“Whoever defines [Sinwar] as a psychopath gives him a gift,” Bitton says. “That’s basically saying that he didn’t know what he was doing.” But that, Bitton says, is plainly untrue. “Sinwar is not a psychopath. Sinwar knew exactly what he was doing. This is part of their worldview.”
By “this,” Bitton means: The wanton murder, by hand, of 1,200 innocents and the kidnapping of over 200 more men, women, and children. By “this” he means what another captured Hamas operative says when asked what the terror group had planned to do with women captives: “To whore them. To rape them.” By “this” he means the killing spree so savage that emergency responders found teeth and scalps at the kibbutzim that came under attack, kindergartens covered in blood, charred human remains and piles of ashes.
Someone asked me the other day how I planned to commemorate October 7. I found myself speechless, befuddled by the question.October 7: A Year of Free Press Stories
How do you offer an elegy when the war is not yet over—and 101 hostages, those still alive and the bodies of the murdered, are not yet home? How do you remember a catastrophe when it is still unfolding? How do you mark a past event that feels as though it was a prelude to a much deeper darkness, whose dimensions we are still discovering? How do you look at something with a sense of distance when it has revealed so much, so close to home?
The genocidal war launched by Iran and its proxies a year ago this morning began with rocket fire and a ground invasion by Hamas battalions who carried maps of every kibbutz and village. These maps, made by Palestinians who worked inside Israel, told them where the daycare centers were, where the weapons were stored, which families owned a dog. After several thousand terrorists, targeting civilians, had raped, murdered, and kidnapped, they were followed by waves of ordinary Gazans—to borrow Chris Browning’s phrase—who played their role in a day of slaughter with millennia-old echoes in Jewish history.
Just look at the terror on the face of Shiri Bibas, clinging to her nine-month-old baby Kfir and her four-year-old son Ariel—an image that flashes across my eyes when I put our children to sleep.
I do not mean to say that the more than 1,200 human beings murdered by Hamas terrorists on that day—at a music festival, in their beds, in shelters where they sought safety—are symbols of history or politics. Only that what happened on that day—what Hamas did—was exactly what they had always said they would do in their founding charter, which calls for the genocide of the Jewish people. In stealing the Bibas family, and in butchering and maiming and raping and burning their neighbors, the terror group was doing exactly what it promised.
The promise of America was to give “bigotry no sanction,” as our first president wrote in 1790 to the Hebrew Congregation of Newport, Rhode Island. “May the Children of the Stock of Abraham, who dwell in this land, continue to merit and enjoy the good will of the other Inhabitants; while every one shall sit in safety under his own vine and fig tree, and there shall be none to make him afraid.”
But on October 7, 2023, the enemies of Washington’s vision—of America’s founding impulse—began to reveal themselves.
As news of the scope of the slaughter was still registering, and the tally of hostages still being made—the final count: 240 people from 40 countries carried off like barbaric spoils of war—progressive groups here at home and across the West began to celebrate.
More than 30 student clubs at Harvard put out a letter holding Israel “entirely responsible” for the massacre. Israel. Not Hamas. Israel. This was on October 8, as Hamas terrorists were still roaming Israel’s south, and Hezbollah began its assault on Israel’s north from Lebanon.
Surely it had to be some terrible mistake, a sick prank. But the statement was sincere. And it wasn’t an anomaly.
A Year Ago Today, Terrorists Stole My Son
There are two videos that capture seconds of the terror my son experienced that day.
In the first one, terrorists are seen outside the shelter, throwing grenades into it one after another, while shouting at someone sitting on the ground outside. Gunshots can be heard in the background. The Hamas men throw grenade after grenade at the young men and women hiding in the shelter, but they are thrown back out—though in the video you cannot see who is deflecting them.
Another horrific video shows Alon being dragged by his hair across the ground outside the shelter by a terrorist in plainclothes. Another, wearing camo fatigues and a green Hamas headband, helps him lift my son into a white Toyota pickup truck. A third terrorist joins in to hit him before two of the terrorists raise their guns and point them at Alon, before the camera pans back toward the shelter. There is blood on him—on his face and on his shirt—but it is hard to make out his face.
For a time, that was all we knew. Later we learned the name of the hero who deflected those grenades. He was Aner Shapiro, and he was 22 years old. He was able to throw seven grenades out of the shelter, but died when the eighth exploded in his hands. He had come to the festival with his dear friend, Hersh Goldberg-Polin, who Hamas murdered after 325 days in captivity.
Was my son Alon kept with Hersh in the tunnels? Is he with Or Levy and Eliya Cohen right now? I have no idea. And I try desperately not to think of his gruesome abduction, or how he has spent the past 365 days.
Instead I try to think about his beautiful blond hair and his green eyes. I think about how funny he is and how much he loves people. I think about how excited he would get about things, and how he would just light up—like with cars, which he’s been obsessed with since he was two years old. Or about cooking and surfing, and of course, music. I think about how I played Beethoven and Mozart for him while he was in my womb.
I think about how, after he finished his army service and saved up some money working at a luxury hotel in the south, he decided to travel to Asia, a common destination for young Israelis. But unlike most of his friends, he did it alone. He told me, “I want to see how I can be with myself, and cope with myself.” He loved it—he did a trek in Nepal and traveled around the south of India and Sri Lanka. He met up with so many people there, new friends and old. He had a big appetite for life, and an ability to find beauty in every experience. It’s hard to find a picture of him where he’s not laughing.
Two months after my son was stolen, a few of his friends arrived at my house to give us a key to their new apartment. That’s where his room is, waiting for him. The last time I saw him, at around eleven o’clock on the night of October 6, Alon played his piano for us a bit before leaving for the festival. He played a cover of Yehudit Ravitz’s “Song Without a Name.” It was beautiful. He left the piano open and it’s been open ever since, waiting.
After a year of the terrible, terrible conditions he has suffered, I don’t know if he will want to continue living as he did before. But if he does, it’s all waiting for him when he comes home.