As we near the second anniversary of October 7, with our precious hostages still being starved, given ocean water and sewage to drink, sexually abused, and systematically tortured, emotions run high among us. Faced with a bestial and implacable foe, Israelis turn on each other. The huge demonstrations held in Tel Aviv “for the hostages” give no answers, except the “give the monsters what they want.” Then there are those like myself and the majority of Israelis who answer: “give them what they deserve, destroy them, and free our hostages.”

This impasse often has us at each other’s throats, filtering down to the most local level. I’ll give you an example. About a week or so ago, someone on the WhatsApp group for our street—a group meant to recommend electricians and plumbers and borrow cups of sugar—posted a commercial for a rally for the new democracy party of Yair Golan.

A former IDF General and MK , Golan accused Israeli soldiers of “killing Gazan babies and children as a hobby.” I thought this was unforgivable. But Golan is now the darling of the anti-Bibi crowd. Throwing caution to the winds, I very unwisely posted that this WhatsApp group should keep their politics and their signs at home, and that, in my eyes at least, Golan was a traitor.

OH, OH OH OH OH! What ire! What condemnation! My husband—who after all lives in the same house among them as I do—was furious, but I refused to back down.

Then I went on vacation to Jerusalem and visited the Kotel, or Western Wall, our holiest site. I always have a special feeling when I pray there, as if my soul is tuned directly to a Godly channel. And when I prayed, I found myself asking God to bless the Jewish people, and to forgive all of us our trespasses against Him and each other. And in that moment of truth, I realized that these people, my kind neighbors, who go to the army and send their kids to serve, don’t deserve this kind of language. The word “traitor” needs to be erased from the lexicon of our political debates.

Truly chastened, I regretted letting my anger get the better of me. For better or worse, we are all in this together and each of us is trying in their own way to show their love and care for our fellow Israelis, despite the differences in our opinion on how best to achieve that. I will be posting an apology, a sincere one. Not for my opinion, which hasn’t changed, but for how I phrased it.

The protestors have achieved nothing. The war on Hamas is going full-speed ahead, with 300,000 Gazans leaving Gaza City for the south in the last day alone. Israel is fighting on so many fronts: bombing the Houthis abandoned Presidential Palace and two power plants in retaliation for a cluster bomb missile sent to us, whose shrapnel harmed a house in Ginaton, a moshav in central Israel. Fighting Hezbollah , who are flexing their muscles in returning to their villages as the ceasefire nears its end. Fighting terrorists in Tul Karem. Fighting at the Syrian border to destroy weapons caches. This is a very personal war, waged by citizen soldiers who are being called up to leave their jobs and families. This too is personal.

I was in the supermarket reaching for a nice looking cucumber, when a young man reached for the same one. He got there first. I smiled at him and he smiled back. A strong, handsome young father, I noticed he was surrounded by four adorable kids: twin girls about seven with waist-length curly brown hair and big brown eyes, a handsome boy about nine, and a three year-old toddler. I could just see how beautiful their young mother must be, tan and charming like her little girls. And thought about how she was going to manage when her husband got called up for reserve duty yet again.

As I told God at the Wall: I really, really love this wonderful people, Am Yisroel. May He watch over her and protect each and every one of her people.

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