Beyond Positions: The Inherited Narratives that Prevent Resolution

This is not a history lesson. It’s a window into the mindset that sustains the violence.

What follows are two cultural perspectives—each forged by twin histories, each shaped by survival. They are not symmetrical in power, nor interchangeable in suffering. But they are both real. And they are both being used, today, to justify the ongoing destruction of lives.

These are not arguments. They are frameworks. If we cannot name them, we cannot escape them.

A People Trained by History to Expect Crisis

(The Jewish Framework)

The Jewish story is often told as one of resilience, brilliance, and survival. And it is all of those things. But behind that story - woven into it - is something else: the assumption that existential crisis is permanent.

For thousands of years, Jewish identity has carried the imprint of their history: expulsion, persecution, genocide. To be Jewish in the modern West is to grow up knowing the world can turn against you at any moment. It’s not hypothetical. It happened.

And it’s still happening.

Antisemitism today is real—online, in whispered jokes, in the architecture of Christian theology, and in geopolitical scapegoating that quietly places blame on Jewish power or Jewish presence. It is often invisible to non-Jews. It is not always expressed in slurs or violence. But it is encoded in imagery, narrative patterns, and exclusion so subtle that those who live outside the Jewish frame rarely see it. Jews do. They are trained to.

That vigilance is not paranoia. It’s survival.

But here is the double bind: when existential threat becomes the dominant lens, when every criticism of Israeli policy, every ambiguous phrase, every protest sign is filtered through a legacy of annihilation, then even honest dissent can start to look like danger. Even truth can start to feel like betrayal.

This is the lens through which many Jews see the Israeli state. Not as a geopolitical power, but as a lifeline. A fortress. A necessary guarantee that, this time, if the world turns, Jews will not be at someone else’s mercy.

And so, any crack in that fortress: any protest, any demand for justice that centers Palestinians, is interpreted by some not as a policy critique, but as a threat to Jewish existence itself.

That is not because Jews are wrong to feel unsafe. It’s because their safety has been fused to a system that uses their fear.

The leaders who exploit that fear know how deep it runs. They know that if Jewish people are taught to equate dignity with dominance, then no peace will ever feel safe enough. And no equality will ever feel survivable.

Most Jews who defend Israel’s actions do not do so out of malice. They do it because they were raised in a moral world where Israel is always a miracle, and enemies are always waiting. And in some corners of the world, those enemies still are.

But that framing has consequences.

When Jewish safety is treated as fundamentally incompatible with Palestinian freedom, no policy can ever be just. No peace can ever be made. And no child, on either side, is allowed to imagine a future that isn’t soaked in fear.

If it cannot be imagined, it cannot be built.

A People Trained by Occupation to Expect Displacement

(The Palestinian Framework)

To be Palestinian is to grow up knowing that your home can be taken. That your freedom can be revoked. That your life, or your child’s life, can be ended without justice.

It’s not hypothetical. It happens.

Displacement, demolition, imprisonment, exile—these are not distant events in Palestinian history. They are daily realities. They are woven into the experience of growing up in Gaza, in the West Bank, or in exile. They shape family stories, community memory, and the quiet grief that settles in after every ceasefire.

This is the lens through which many Palestinians see the Israeli state—not as a democratic homeland, but as a system of control. A military occupation. A constant reminder that their existence is treated as conditional.

Over time, this has shaped a different kind of existential mindset: one rooted not in a historical genocide, but in an ongoing erasure. A belief that the world does not see them. That their pain is invisible. That their resistance is the only thing that keeps them alive.

And here is the hard truth: that framing, too, has consequences.

When identity becomes fused with resistance, and resistance becomes fused with survival, political manipulation is inevitable. Leaders who offer dignity through vengeance can become untouchable. And peace, if it smells like surrender, becomes unthinkable.

Most Palestinians do not dream of violence. They dream of freedom. They dream of returning home, of building lives that are not defined by borders, checkpoints, or fear. But many have never seen an alternative modeled. They have been taught—by history and by lived experience—that no one will give them dignity. It must be taken.

That belief, like its mirror on the Israeli side, was shaped by real harm. But when harm is eternalized, healing is made impossible. And children on both sides are denied the right to imagine a world not built on the logic of war.

If You Were Born Into It, You Didn’t Choose It

No one chooses the narrative they inherit. But once we name it, we become responsible for what we do with it.

Some will say both of these framings are true, and they are. But that doesn’t mean they are the only option. What’s true about the past does not have to define the future. And a trauma-informed identity is not the same as a trauma-perpetuating one.

The leaders who benefit from these frameworks are not trying to resolve them. They are trying to preserve them.

If you want peace, the work begins here: not with blame, but with untraining.

This work reflects conversations with several individuals across the Jewish diaspora, Arabic communities, personal study, and formal coursework on regional history. Special thanks to David, Alisa, and Ami for their trust. While I relied on LLM-assisted critique for historical recall and structural refinement, all framing and conclusions are my own.

This is the clearest truth I can see from where I stand, shaped by the perspectives made available to me. Further refinement is ongoing.