To Benjamin Netanyahu, the term antisemitism has become a political weapon—used not to protect Jewish communities from genuine hate, but to silence criticism of Israel’s policies, especially its military aggression and apartheid system. In recent years, Netanyahu has labeled international prosecutors, student protesters, and even heads of state as “antisemites” simply for condemning Israel’s actions in Gaza or supporting Palestinian statehood. This rhetorical strategy conflates Judaism with Zionism, and Israel with all Jewish people, in order to deflect accountability and delegitimize opposition. But critics, including Israeli historians and global human rights advocates, argue that this overuse dilutes the meaning of antisemitism and undermines real efforts to combat anti-Jewish hate.

So who are the real Semites? Linguistically and historically, Semitic peoples include Arabs, Jews, Assyrians, and others whose languages descend from the ancient Semitic family. Palestinians, as native Arabic speakers and descendants of the region’s indigenous populations, are themselves Semites. The idea that Arabs—especially Palestinians—can be “antisemitic” for resisting occupation is not only illogical, it’s a deliberate distortion. It erases the shared linguistic and cultural heritage of Semitic peoples and reframes resistance to colonialism as racial hatred.

This distortion extends to the myth of Israeli “peace offers.” For decades, Israel has claimed that Palestinians have rejected every opportunity for peace. But what were those offers, really? Proposals that demanded Palestinians accept fragmented enclaves, no control over borders or resources, and the permanent loss of the right of return. Offers that turned Gaza into an open-air prison and left the West Bank carved up by settlements and checkpoints. These were not offers of peace—they were ultimatums for surrender. And when Palestinians refused to accept a future without dignity or sovereignty, they were branded as rejectionists.

In truth, the rejection has come from Israel: a rejection of Palestinian humanity, of international law, and of any vision of peace rooted in justice. Netanyahu’s use of “antisemitism” to shield war crimes, and Israel’s framing of occupation as diplomacy, are part of the same strategy—one that is unraveling as the world begins to see through the lies.

TWIP-250824 Over the past century, Arab regimes have repeatedly failed the Palestinian people—through broken promises, political calculations, and a deepening alignment with Western and Israeli interests. The betrayal began in 1948, when seven Arab states declared war on the newly formed Israeli state but were swiftly defeated. That military failure exposed not only strategic weakness but also a lack of genuine commitment to Palestinian liberation. The 1967 Six-Day War was another turning point: Israel seized the West Bank, Gaza, East Jerusalem, and other territories, and Arab leaders began shifting from confrontation to accommodation. Egypt’s 1978 Camp David Accords marked the first formal peace with Israel, sidelining the Palestinian cause in favor of national interests.

Over time, Arab regimes increasingly prioritized regime survival and economic partnerships over solidarity. The 1982 Israeli invasion of Lebanon, which targeted the PLO, was met with silence from most Arab capitals. By the 1990s and 2000s, normalization efforts accelerated, culminating in the Abraham Accords of 2020, where the UAE, Bahrain, Morocco, and Sudan formalized ties with Israel—despite ongoing occupation and apartheid. These moves were often justified as pragmatic diplomacy, but for Palestinians, they signaled abandonment.

The betrayal deepened after the Arab uprisings of 2011. Authoritarian regimes, fearing domestic unrest, cracked down on pro-Palestine activism and used the Palestinian cause as a rhetorical tool while suppressing real support. Today, many Arab governments—especially Egypt, Saudi Arabia, Jordan, and the Gulf states—maintain security cooperation with Israel, restrict aid to Gaza, and block refugee movement across borders. Even during moments of mass slaughter, such as Israel’s recent war on Gaza, Arab leaders have offered little more than symbolic gestures, while actively participating in the U.S.-Israeli security order.

Palestinians now distinguish between Arab governments and Arab people. While regimes normalize and collaborate, the streets—from Beirut to Rabat—continue to erupt in protest. The betrayal is not just political; it’s moral. And it has left Palestinians increasingly isolated, even as global solidarity grows. The question remains: when will Arab regimes be held accountable—not just by history, but by their own people?

Judaism and Zionism are often conflated, but they are fundamentally distinct—one is a faith, the other a political ideology. Judaism is a centuries-old spiritual tradition rooted in ethics, law, and community. It teaches values of justice, compassion, and remembrance, and has survived exile, persecution, and diaspora through resilience and cultural depth. Zionism, on the other hand, emerged in the late 19th century as a nationalist movement seeking to establish a Jewish state in Palestine. While some Jews embraced Zionism as a response to European antisemitism, many others—especially religious Jews like those in Neturei Karta—rejected it, arguing that Jewish sovereignty should not be achieved through force, displacement, or colonialism. Today, this distinction is more urgent than ever. Zionism has become synonymous with militarized occupation, apartheid policies, and the ongoing genocide in Gaza, while Judaism continues to be practiced by millions who oppose these actions and stand in solidarity with Palestinians. The Israeli state claims to speak for all Jews, but countless Jewish voices around the world—activists, rabbis, scholars—are rising to say: Judaism is not Zionism. Supporting human rights, opposing ethnic cleansing, and demanding justice for Palestine is not antisemitic—it’s a moral imperative. Zionism has hijacked Jewish identity to justify state violence, but the world is beginning to see through the illusion. As the global tide turns, the difference between Judaism and Zionism is not just theological—it’s historical, political, and deeply personal. And recognizing that difference is essential to building a future rooted in truth, dignity, and liberation for all. 

So Netanyahu just announced plans to occupy Gaza.
After months of siege, starvation, and relentless bombardment, Israel’s Prime Minister has made it official: Gaza is to be taken over—militarily, politically, and permanently.

This is not a security plan.
 This is a blueprint for colonization.

For decades, Gaza has been treated as an open-air prison.
 Two million Palestinians have lived under blockade, denied freedom of movement, access to clean water, electricity, and medical care. Now, after displacing over 80% of the population and destroying entire neighborhoods, Israel wants to install a regime of its choosing—while maintaining full control over Gaza’s borders, airspace, and future.

Netanyahu’s five-point plan includes:

• The defeat and disarmament of Hamas
• The return of Israeli hostages
• The demilitarization of Gaza
• Full Israeli security control
• A new governing authority—neither Hamas nor the Palestinian Authority

Translation: Palestinians will have no say in their own future.
This is not about peace. It’s about power.
It’s about erasing Palestinian sovereignty and silencing resistance.

And the world is responding.
 Germany has suspended arms exports to Israel.
 Britain, Belgium, Turkey, and the UN Human Rights Chief have condemned the plan.
 Even Israeli families of hostages are protesting, calling it a death sentence.

We say: Gaza is not yours to occupy.
Palestinians have the right to live, to resist, to return.
We reject colonial rule in all its forms—military, economic, and political.

We demand:

• An immediate end to the siege and occupation
• Accountability for war crimes and displacement
• Palestinian self-determination, led by Palestinians
• Global solidarity through boycott, divestment, and direct action

This is not the time for silence.
This is the time to organize, amplify, and resist.

Gaza will not be colonized. Palestine will be free.

In moments of crisis, truth becomes a battleground. And nowhere is that more evident than in the discourse surrounding Palestine. For decades, questioning Israel’s policies, its occupation, its military actions, its treatment of Palestinians, has been met with swift and calculated accusations of antisemitism. This tactic isn’t new. It’s a well-worn strategy designed to shut down uncomfortable conversations, deflect accountability, and silence dissent.

The events of October 7th have only intensified this pattern. That day has been transformed into a rhetorical shield, used not to mourn, but to justify. First, blame is placed squarely on Hamas. Then, it expands to encompass Palestinian civilians, as if collective punishment were a legitimate response. And when anyone dares to ask deeper questions, about the siege, the starvation, the mass killings, the response is predictable: “You’re antisemitic.”

The Holocaust is invoked, not to honor its victims, but to manipulate emotion and distract from the atrocities unfolding in Gaza today. It’s a cynical use of history, one that exploits trauma to excuse present-day violence. But this tactic is losing its grip. More people are beginning to understand that speaking truth is not antisemitism. It is a moral obligation. It is the exercise of free speech. And it is essential to any honest pursuit of justice.

As the dust settles around October 7th, the official narrative is beginning to crack. Initial reports claimed thousands of Israelis were killed. That number quickly dropped, from 1,600, to 1,200, and now hovers around 850. What happened to the rest? Why the revision? These questions are not rhetorical; they’re rooted in emerging evidence.

Multiple sources, including Haaretz, ABC News, and The Times of Israel, have reported on the reactivation of the Hannibal Directive, a military protocol that authorizes Israeli forces to use lethal force to prevent the abduction of soldiers, even if it means killing their own. Though officially rescinded in 2016, the directive appears to have been invoked during the chaos of October 7th. Attack drones were deployed on Israeli bases and civilian areas where hostages were present. Survivors and grieving families are now demanding answers, not just about what went wrong, but about who gave the orders.

The implications are staggering. If Israeli forces killed their own citizens, not out of malice, but under a doctrine that prioritizes control over life, then the moral foundation of the state’s response begins to crumble. And yet, the lie persists: “Hamas is to blame. If they had released the hostages, none of this would have happened.”

This narrative is not just dishonest, it’s cruel. It erases the decades of occupation, siege, and apartheid that preceded October 7th. It ignores the fact that Israel imposed a total blockade on Gaza, cutting off food, water, medicine, and electricity long before any hostage negotiations began. It overlooks the relentless bombing of refugee camps, hospitals, and aid convoys, where thousands of civilians have been killed under the guise of targeting militants.

And it assumes the world is too distracted, too uninformed, or too afraid to speak up.

But the world is watching. The truth is no longer buried, it’s livestreamed, documented, and archived in real time. We see the starvation. We see the mass graves. We see children dying from hunger while Prime Minister Netanyahu goes on television and declares, “There is no starvation in Gaza.” He says this while 900,000 children go hungry, while over 100,000 women and children face famine-level malnutrition, and while aid seekers are shot dead by Israeli snipers.

Today, we’re confronting a difficult but urgent truth.

Many Christians continue to support Israel unconditionally refusing to entertain discussion, dismissing alternative viewpoints, and placing Israel above Palestine, even as a genocide unfolds before their very eyes. With images of suffering and destruction livestreamed from Gaza, this silence is not accidental, it’s deliberate, and it’s devastating.

But blind allegiance isn’t faith, it’s indoctrination. And today, we’re going to offer something different: clarity, context, and scriptural truth.

We’re here to challenge the narrative, especially among those who believe that standing with Israel is synonymous with following Christ. If you’re one of those believers, we ask you not to turn away but to listen with humility and courage.

We’ll be turning to biblical scholars and Christian voices of conscience, starting with Vanessa from the Wholehearted Ness Podcast, who breaks down the misinformation surrounding October 7th and offers a bold, faithful interpretation of what Scripture actually teaches about oppression, justice, and accountability.

This isn’t about winning an argument, it’s about waking up. Because the Bible does not call us to defend empire. It calls us to defend the oppressed.

Stay with us. Let the truth speak louder than propaganda. Let Scripture shine where politics have cast shadows.

The genocide in Gaza isn’t just a tragedy—it’s a global business.
 Over 60 multinational corporations are profiting from Israel’s war machine.
 Weapons companies like Lockheed Martin and Boeing supply the bombs.
 Tech giants like Google and Palantir provide surveillance and AI targeting.
 Caterpillar and Volvo profit from bulldozers that demolish Palestinian homes.
 Booking.com and Airbnb list rentals on stolen land in illegal settlements.
 Investors like BlackRock and Vanguard fund and deepen this complicity.
 Western governments—especially the U.S., UK, Germany, and France—enable it all.
 Arab regimes stay silent, tighten borders, or normalize ties with Israel.
 Meanwhile, Palestinians suffer—and the world watches in real-time.

Boycotting Israel is more than a consumer choice, it’s a moral stance, a global act of resistance, and a deeply personal message to Palestinians that their lives, dignity, and struggle matter. It is a rejection of complicity in a system that has, for decades, denied Palestinians their basic rights through military occupation, apartheid policies, and economic exploitation. By refusing to support companies and institutions that profit from or enable these injustices, individuals around the world are saying: We will not be silent. We will not be complicit.

This form of nonviolent resistance draws inspiration from historic movements like the anti-apartheid struggle in South Africa and the civil rights movement in the United States. It challenges the normalization of oppression by disrupting the flow of money, reputation, and legitimacy to those who uphold it. Whether it’s refusing to buy products from companies like HP, McDonald’s, or Starbucks, whose ties to Israeli military operations or settlement expansion have been documented, or advocating for divestment from arms manufacturers like Elbit Systems, every act of boycott chips away at the infrastructure of impunity.

To Palestinians, these actions are not abstract. They are felt. They are seen. They are heard. In refugee camps, in besieged Gaza, in occupied East Jerusalem, and across the diaspora, the message resonates: You are not alone. Every boycott is a declaration that the world is watching that the world cares, and that the world is willing to act. It’s a way of amplifying Palestinian voices that are too often silenced, of honoring their resilience, and of refusing to let their suffering be reduced to statistics or headlines.

Boycotting also serves as a tool for education and mobilization. It invites people to ask questions: Why are these companies being targeted? What is happening in Palestine? How are our governments and institutions complicit? It opens space for dialogue, for solidarity across movements, and for building coalitions that connect Palestinian liberation to broader struggles for racial, economic, and environmental justice.

In a world where corporations and governments often prioritize profit over people, boycotting is a way to reclaim agency. It’s a reminder that our choices matter, that what we buy, where we invest, and who we support can either uphold injustice or challenge it. It’s not about perfection; it’s about intention. It’s about aligning our values with our actions and refusing to be passive in the face of genocide, apartheid, and displacement.

Ultimately, boycotting Israel is a call to conscience. It’s a refusal to accept the status quo. It’s a demand for accountability. And most importantly, it’s a gesture of love and solidarity, a way of saying to Palestinians: We see you. We hear you. We stand with you. 

The power of people to break the siege on Gaza is undeniable, but it faces immense obstacles. From the Freedom Flotilla Coalition to global marches and solidarity campaigns, civilians around the world have risked their safety to challenge Israel’s blockade and deliver aid directly to Gaza. Imagine if every country sent a relief boat—hundreds of vessels carrying food, medicine, and hope. The sheer scale could overwhelm Israeli enforcement and force the world to confront the injustice. Yet history shows that Israel has consistently intercepted these missions, often with military force, as seen in the deadly 2010 raid on the Mavi Marmara, the 2025 seizure of the Madleen, and the drone attack on the Conscience ship near Malta. These actions, often in international waters, violate international law but continue with impunity, backed by powerful allies. Still, people have the power to disrupt, expose, and mobilize. Breaking the siege will require not just courage, but coordinated global action—through diplomacy, legal pressure, and sustained public outrage that demands accountability. As Ahmed Alnaouq said in a recent interview: The question is no longer whether people can stop the siege, but whether the world will allow them to succeed. 

The question at the heart of today’s crisis is not just who fired the first missile, but who benefits from the war—and who pays the price. Is this truly a war between Israel and Iran, or is it, more accurately, an American war on Iran, with Israel acting as the frontline executor of a broader imperial strategy?

Let’s look at the facts. On June 13, Israel launched a surprise air campaign targeting Iran’s nuclear and military infrastructure, including the Natanz, Fordow, and Esfahan facilities. Days later, the United States joined the assault, deploying its most powerful conventional weapons to strike deep into Iranian territory. President Trump declared the attacks a “spectacular military success,” while Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu praised the U.S. for acting with “righteous might”.

But this raises a deeper question: Was Israel acting alone—or was it simply the tip of the spear for American interests?

For decades, the U.S. has maintained a policy of military dominance in the Middle East, using Israel as a strategic outpost to project power and suppress regional resistance. Iran, with its independent foreign policy and support for anti-colonial movements, has long been seen as a threat to that dominance. The recent strikes, then, are not just about nuclear weapons—they’re about preserving U.S. hegemony, weakening Iran’s alliances with Russia, China, and the Global South, and ensuring that no regional power can challenge the status quo.

And where does Palestine fit into this equation?

Palestinians are not just bystanders in this war—they are central to its logic. The Israeli government has used the specter of Iranian aggression to justify its ongoing occupation, its siege on Gaza, and its brutal military campaigns. By framing Iran as the existential threat, Israel deflects attention from its own violations of international law and human rights. Meanwhile, the U.S. continues to funnel billions in military aid to Israel, reinforcing a system that treats Palestinian lives as expendable.

In truth, the war on Iran is also a war on Palestinian resistance. It’s an attempt to dismantle the broader Axis of Resistance—which includes not just Iran, but also Hezbollah, the Houthis, and Palestinian groups that refuse to accept occupation as destiny. By targeting Iran, the U.S. and Israel aim to isolate Palestine, weaken its allies, and crush any hope of regional solidarity.

So no, this is not just an Israeli war. And it’s not just about Iran. It’s about power, control, and the suppression of liberation movements across the region. And as always, Palestinians are caught in the crossfire, their struggle used as a pawn in a much larger game.

Will this war expose the machinery behind the violence—or will it bury the truth beneath the rubble once again?