In times of conflict, we have a duty to remember how to feel empathy

Israel is gearing up for a full counter-offensive, with Gaza under siege and its densely populated cities enduring relentless aerial bombardment. The border crossings into Israel remain firmly closed, and the Rafah crossing into Egypt is also shut. What compounds this tragedy is the fact that Palestinian civilians, including many innocent children, are trapped in the heart of this escalating war.

This situation is nothing short of a living nightmare. It is challenging to fathom the horror faced by those caught in the crossfire. When I read the stories of those who escaped and survived, I find it impossible to not see myself in them: it could easily have been me, my husband, my child, my siblings, or my mother facing this unimaginable ordeal.

And when I see the people of Gaza struggling to access food, water, healthcare and electricity, I see myself in them too. Empathy for the victims, all of them, is not just a moral obligation; it’s an innate response to human suffering.

The complexity of this long-standing conflict, with its deeply rooted historical grievances and decades of violence, requires a nuanced approach.

Sadly, many of our political leaders are falling short in providing this nuanced perspective, with a notable exception in First Minister Humza Yousaf. Members of his family are sadly trapped in Gaza; he has unequivocally condemned Hamas’ actions and called for peace. This is a testament to his humanity, showing that even in times of immense pain and division we can maintain our decency towards one another and say the right things.

Perhaps there is much we can learn from him, for, let’s be honest, much of the political responses have been nothing short of mediocre and, in some cases even obscene.

The lack of nuance in the UK’s discourse on this issue isn’t unique to Scotland; it is a broader issue in the UK and even in France. I find it genuinely exasperating to witness the majority of political leaders failing to embrace a response that is both complex and simple: to stop the bloodshed.

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It should be possible to assert Israel’s right to self-defence while also acknowledging that the civilians of Gaza should not bear the brunt of reaction to Hamas’ horrendous attacks.

This lack of nuance reflects a wider problem in our political discourse where we often forget about the humanity of those involved.

I recall an interview a little while ago, on a totally unrelated issue, where the person I talked to pointed out that we are facing a crisis in humanity. Sometimes we seem to forget that the individuals demonised in our political debates are real people with hopes and dreams, and, fundamentally, a need for safety and wellbeing. Too often we neglect this essential aspect when it should be at the core of our discussions.

It is vital that we remember our common humanity. I would even go further: those of us who are not directly affected by the conflict, looking from afar, have a special responsibility not to inflame the situation further.

We can understand that those who live in fear, grief, and anger may have their judgment clouded by these emotions, and we can offer them compassion. However, for those of us not experiencing the trauma first-hand, we have a duty to uphold our humanity and not contribute by making a spectacle of ourselves. This doesn’t help – in fact, it exacerbates the situation.

I can see a genuine desire among the general public to understand better. People recognise that they are often inadequately informed about the Israel-Palestine conflict, which has persisted for as long as most of us can remember. As I wrote last week, quality trumps quantity in this context: we need the right information, a deeper understanding of the complex issues, and familiarity with the history, geography, and geopolitics at play.

People hunger for information on geopolitics, and it is a disservice to dismiss the importance of understanding. We can’t solely rely on strong emotions, especially when we’re not directly experiencing the trauma.

We must both empathise and understand, because without understanding, we can’t be on the path to meaningful change.

This situation reminds me of January 2016, one year after the terrible Paris attacks against Charlie Hebdo and Hyper Cacher, when Manuel Valls, then the French prime minister, suggested that understanding the roots of terrorist actions amounted to a form of apology.

I distinctly remember how frustrated I felt at that time; it created a divide between the government and the public. Holding such a position is essentially asking us to remain ignorant. Understanding the causes of a threat is the first step in protecting ourselves from it.

Right now, I am frustrated with those who want to confine us to our emotions when we should be engaging our intellect and knowledge.

In essence, we must recognise the current situation for what it is: a heinous act of terrorism, followed by a devastating war, with potential breaches of international law being committed, as reported by Human Rights Watch and Amnesty. We must acknowledge the shattered lives – the suffering in Israel and the plight of the Palestinians. We must take into account the historical and political complexities at play.

While the majority of leaders might fall short, we should look to people like Yousaf, who have set a commendable example. And we can also turn our attention to voices that promote understanding and compassion.

One such voice is French writer and rabbi Delphine Horvilleur. Her Yom Kippur sermon, entitled The Sermon I Didn’t Want To Write, was recently published on Le Monde’s website (it’s available in English).

Criticising Israeli prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s government, she said: “Beware of power when it simply leads you to want to crush the other.” I strongly recommend reading it. It’s the most beautiful, well-balanced and intelligent piece, with a profound emotional depth, that I’ve come across since the war erupted.

In a recent interview, she aptly said: “I can understand that in the Middle East, people may no longer be able to do this, as the level of hatred and rage has reached its peak.

“However, we have no excuse here. I feel anger towards those who, from France, contribute to the cycle of hatred, descending into a complete dehumanisation of the other side.

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“This significant lack of empathy is, in fact, a grave moral flaw, and its consequence will be our own dehumanisation. We risk further isolating ourselves in a bubble of selective empathy, making it impossible to trust the other side because they were unable to be there.

“From a distance, we have the duty to be the ultimate guardians of humanity, despite the rage and anger, with a moral obligation to firmly denounce what has just occurred. No cause, no matter how just, justifies the crimes committed by Hamas. No freedom or emancipation can be achieved through such disgraceful acts.”

As observers of conflicts like the Israel-Hamas situation, it’s our duty to engage in relevant, nuanced, and humane discourse. In these times, it is important to remember that we all have the power to make a choice – a choice to be humane, to be a beacon of light in the darkness.

The world may often seem divided and engulfed in rage, but within each of us lies the potential for empathy, understanding, and compassion. We can choose to rise above the anger.