Q: Let’s start with the numbers: when you read the death toll from Gaza, what goes through your mind?
A: I feel sick. Even though I know those figures pass through Hamas’s filters and that Israel cannot be the sole culprit for every atrocity we are witnessing. Still, to read in a newspaper—or to hear in conversations with friends in Europe—the words “Israel” and “hunger” placed side by side; to do so knowing our history, our supposed sensitivity to human suffering, the moral responsibility we have always claimed toward every human being, not only toward Jews… it is devastating. And it confuses me—not morally, but personally. I ask myself: how did we reach this point, where we are being accused of genocide? Even just pronouncing that word about Israel, to the Jewish people… The very fact that such an association exists means something has gone wrong. An Israeli Supreme Court justice once said that power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. That is what has happened to us: the Occupation has corrupted us. I am utterly convinced that Israel’s curse began with the Occupation of the Palestinian territories in 1967. People may be tired of hearing it, but that is how it is. We became militarily firm and succumbed to the temptation generated by our absolute power and the idea that we could do anything.
Q: You used the forbidden word: “genocide.” In Haaretz, Israeli jurist Orit Kamir called what is happening in Gaza “a betrayal of Holocaust victims.” In the New York Times, Israeli historian Omer Bartov wrote: “I study genocides; I know one when I see it. Gaza is a genocide.” Do you agree?
A: For years, I refused to use that word, “genocide.” But now I can no longer stop myself. After what I have read, the images I have seen, and the talks I had with people who were there, I am compelled to act. Yet this word is mainly used for definitions or legal purposes; I want to speak as a human being who was born into this conflict and whose entire existence has been devastated by Occupation and war. I tried everything not to call Israel a genocidal state, and now, with immense pain and a broken heart, I must admit it is happening before my eyes. “Genocide” is an avalanche word: once uttered, it only grows, like an avalanche itself, bringing even more destruction and suffering.
Q: Where do we go from here?
A: We have to find a way to break the association between Israel and genocide. First, we must not let antisemites hijack and manipulate the word. Then we must ask ourselves: are we, as a nation, strong enough to resist the germs of genocide, hatred, mass killing, or will we surrender to the power conferred by being the strongest? I hear people like Smotrich and Ben Gvir saying we should rebuild settlements in Gaza. What are they talking about? Have they forgotten what it was like when we were there, with Hamas killing hundreds of Israeli civilians—women and children—we could not protect? We left Gaza not out of generosity but because we could not defend our people. The Palestinians’ great mistake was failing to turn the Strip into a thriving place; instead, they succumbed to fanaticism and used it as a launching pad for rockets. Had they chosen differently, Israel might have relinquished the West Bank too, ending the Occupation years ago. But they, like us, could not resist the lure of power: they shot at us, we shot at them, and we ended up in the same old situation.If both sides had been more politically mature and courageous, reality could be entirely different.
Q: Why aren’t there millions of Israelis in the streets demanding an end to all this—hunger, massacres? Why is it always just a minority?
A: Because not seeing is easier. And surrendering to fear and hatred is the easiest thing of all—especially after October 7. You were here then; you know how horrible it was, and many still do not grasp what it meant for us. Many people I know abandoned our shared left-wing values that day; they gave in to fear, and suddenly life became simpler for them: they felt embraced by the majority and no longer needed to think. They don’t realize that the more you give in to fear, the more isolated and hated you become outside Israel. Life is the story we tell ourselves. When you are Israel, surrounded by neighbors who don’t want you here, and you start losing Europe’s support, isolation deepens, and you find yourself in an ever-larger trap—one you may never escape.
Q: The silence of the majority could engulf everyone—Israelis and Jews alike, including those who disagree with the government. We’ve seen what happened recently at a highway rest stop near Milan, and then the ship was denied docking in Greece. Israeli artists and writers have had their invitations withdrawn, even though they have criticized the government. Do you worry it could happen to you?
A: Of course, I think about it; it would be a sign of the times we live in. It would be unpleasant. But it will not stop me from saying what I think: hearing voices like mine is essential right now—for Israel and for those who love Israel.
Q: You say everything began with the Occupation. You wrote that in “The Yellow Wind” back in 1987. Let’s talk about the West Bank: Europe still talks about two states, but a short drive from Jerusalem shows there is no longer physical space for two states. Settlements are swallowing Palestinian land…
A: I remain desperately faithful to the two-state idea, mainly because I see no alternative. It will be complex; both we and the Palestinians will have to behave with political maturity in the face of inevitable attacks. But there is no other plan.
Q: What do you think of President Macron’s proposal to recognize a Palestinian state?
A: I think it’s a good idea, and I don’t understand the hysteria it provoked here. Perhaps dealing with a real estate entity, with absolute obligations—not an ambiguous entity like the Palestinian Authority—will have advantages. Clear, strict conditions are obvious: no weapons, and guaranteed transparent elections, barring anyone who advocates violence against Israel.
Q: Finally, how do you respond to those—there are many—who say Israeli intellectuals haven’t done or said enough to stop what is happening in Gaza?
A: I think targeting people who have fought the Occupation for 70 years, invested most of their lives and careers in that struggle, is unfair. When this war started, we were in total despair, having lost everything we believed in and loved; our slow reaction was natural and understandable. It took time to understand what we felt and thought, and then to find the words. Those who wanted an immediate response had to look elsewhere. Speaking for myself and for those I see demonstrating every week, for years now: our hearts are in the right place—beating in a heartless reality.
Who is David Grossman?
Born on 25 January 1954 in Jerusalem, David Grossman studied philosophy and theatre at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem before joining the national radio service Kol Yisrael, where his cultural programs and reportage first drew public attention. His literary breakthrough came with the 1986 novel See Under: Love, lauded for its imaginative exploration of post-Holocaust identity. Grossman quickly followed with a stream of influential works—including the reportage The Yellow Wind (1987), the coming-of-age novel The Book of Intimate Grammar (1991), the urban adventure Someone to Run With (2000), the epic To the End of the Land (2008), and A Horse Walks into a Bar (2014), which earned him the 2017 Man Booker International Prize.
Across fiction and essays alike, Grossman returns to themes of moral responsibility, the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, family bonds, grief, and the human capacity for empathy. His commitment to peace is deeply personal: in 2006 he lost his son Uri, a tank commander, during the Second Lebanon War—an experience that has profoundly shaped his later writing. Recognized with honors such as the Man Booker International Prize, the Prix Médicis étranger, the Peace Prize of the German Book Trade, and the Israel Prize for Literature, Grossman stands today as one of Israel’s foremost public intellectuals, consistently advocating dialogue, an end to occupation, and a negotiated two-state solution.
Photo: The source.