On December 21, the United Nations reported that more than 50 percent of the population of Gaza is suffering from starvation. The report stated that Israel’s bombardment of the region and its restriction of humanitarian aid are causing “catastrophic levels of acute food insecurity.”
In response to the bombardment, Yara Gharabli, a Palestinian activist from Jaffa, announced on Instagram that she would be going on a hunger strike. Hunger strikes are a well-documented form of Palestinian resistance, predominantly among those being held in military detention.
Though Gharabli originally planned to fast from December 25 until December 29, she extended her fast and continued until January 3. She issued a public call—which I answered—to join her on the last day of her fast.
Having grown up in an Orthodox Jewish family, I had fasted from food and drink six times a year from the age of thirteen until well into my twenties. Two of those fast days, Yom Kippur and Tisha b’Av, are twenty-five hours long. Whenever a fast day was coming up, I would mark that day off as one I would spend lying in bed reading, watching television, or playing video games.
This time around, I had no such plans. I spent most of my fast in Masafer Yatta, a collection of villages in the West Bank, documenting military and settler oppression of Palestinians in the region. This seems fitting, as the people starving in Gaza don’t get to choose which days are most convenient for them to starve. Throughout their suffering, they must carry on, fleeing Israeli air strikes and fighting to survive.
When I decided to fast for thirty-two hours, from 6 p.m. on January 2 until midnight on January 3, I—perhaps naively—did not think I would struggle too much. And sure enough, when I hit the twenty-five-hour mark, I felt fine.
If there’s even a slight chance that my fast will have just the smallest impact in ending this genocide, how could I not do it?
But the extra seven hours were no small difference. I felt incredibly weak and also realized that, despite my weakness, I couldn’t sleep. I began counting down the minutes until midnight, and immediately had a simple meal of water and pita bread, being careful not to overeat.
The most surprising part came the next day. Even after eating, drinking, and resting, I continued to feel weak. Thirty-two hours without food or water is a lot to recover from. And yet, while 90 percent of Gaza residents regularly go a full day without food for lack of choice, I had the looming knowledge throughout my fast that I could quit whenever I wanted to. Fasting gave me a glimpse of a reality that I never wanted to experience.
My decision to join Gharabli felt obvious. If there’s even a slight chance that my fast will have just the smallest impact in ending this genocide, how could I not do it?
In her Instagram post, Gharabli urged people to take action quickly: “The genocide that has struck our families and people should not take eighty days for us to respond.” There will always be those who feel that the label “genocide” is extreme. Any other label, however, irresponsibly understates the current atrocities occurring in Gaza. If one truly doubts that this is a genocide, one need look no further than the words of Israel’s own politicians and diplomats.
“Participants fast as a form of political protest or to incite guilt in others,” Gharabli continued in her post, “typically to achieve a particular objective, such as political change.” In my own statement announcing my fast, I echoed this sentiment: “I hope that this statement will encourage more people to do whatever it is they can to help the people of Gaza, and to grapple with exactly how horrific their reality is.”
I will likely continue to commit to this hunger strike on an intermittent basis. I hope my statement and this movement will show those supporting this genocide that there are people who will not cease in our commitment to justice for Palestinians and the people of Gaza. I also hope to show the people who do support Palestinian liberation that we all have a role to play.