An Israeli mother recently shared the agony of losing her son, Hersh, in the October 7 attack. Her grief is real, personal, and heartbreaking. Many Israeli mothers have told similar stories on programs such as Amanpour & Company and across PBS and other U.S. networks.
But this raises difficult questions about whose suffering is visible to the world.
Why are Palestinian mothers—many of whom have lost entire families in Gaza—not given the same platform on Western television? Why does the Israeli government continue to restrict access for foreign reporters from countries such as Russia and elsewhere? If the war in Gaza is described by some observers and human rights groups as a genocide, why not allow independent journalists to report freely so the world can judge for itself?
Are Palestinian lives regarded as having equal value in the global narrative of this conflict?
Why is there an Iron Dome to protect Israeli civilians, but no comparable protection for Palestinians in Gaza or the West Bank—from airstrikes, settler violence, or abuses documented by rights organizations? Is there a hierarchy to how “terrorism” is defined and condemned?
And what about the years before October 7? Were Israelis and Palestinians living in peace? Or was this preceded by repeated cycles of violence often described by Israeli officials as “mowing the grass,” involving periodic bombardments of Gaza—frequently called by critics “the largest open-air prison in the world”?
Which countries continue to send weapons to Israel as civilian casualties mount? How much military aid has Israel received since its founding, and what accountability accompanies it?
Grief should never be ranked. If we are to understand this conflict honestly, the world must be allowed to hear from all mothers who mourn, and to see all suffering without filters.