Shared Compassion, Not Shared Suffering: A Voice from Israel's North

As someone who has lived in Kiryat Shmona since the day I was born, I know the resentment that many people in Israel's north feel toward those living in the center of the country — especially Tel Aviv. The familiar complaint goes something like this: We've been living under Katyusha rockets and missile attacks for decades, while the biggest dilemma in Tel Aviv is whether to order an espresso or a macchiato.

I've never liked that argument. It's simplistic, unfairly paints millions of people with the same brush, and ignores one important detail: they're not just deciding between an espresso and a macchiato — they also have to choose whether to order an Americano.

Just kidding.

On a serious note, of course the government has a responsibility to protect the residents of the north. That responsibility should be reflected in security, infrastructure, budgets, and public investment that narrow the longstanding gaps between the country's periphery and its center. But that's the government's responsibility. Why should ordinary people in Tel Aviv be blamed? And why do some people — thankfully a small minority, find themselves wishing harm upon them?

How often have we heard the sentiment: "I hope a missile falls on Tel Aviv. Only then will they understand what we're going through."

Perhaps such an event would prompt the government to respond more quickly. But why, when something terrible happens to us, should our response be to wish that the same tragedy befalls another Jew? Would anyone truly benefit if another family lost a loved one? If another home were shattered? Haven't the Jewish people suffered enough?

In truth, that kind of thinking serves only our enemies. They thrive on division, mutual resentment, and the erosion of our sense of shared destiny.

Is Shared Suffering the Answer?

A well-known public figure recently responded to criticism after expressing satisfaction that missiles were reaching central Israel. She quoted those who challenged her: "Why are you happy that missiles are falling and the entire country is suffering?" Her reply was, "I'm not happy that everyone is suffering. I'm happy that now people will understand that nobody is living a normal life anymore. Just as the north hasn't had normalcy, neither will Tel Aviv, Haifa, Ramat Gan, Petah Tikva, or Rishon LeZion. The north isn't second-class, so yes — I'm glad that now it's not just us. You'll have to stay strong too."

One can debate the logic behind that argument, but one thing is undeniable: it is not rooted in Ahavat Yisrael, love for one's fellow Jew.

Remembering Our Shared Experience

To those who think this way, I would ask a simple question. During the years when Sderot endured relentless Kassam rocket attacks, how would you have felt if a resident of Sderot had wished that rockets would strike Kiryat Shmona so that you, too, would experience the same fear? Didn't you yourself continue living relatively normal lives while families in Sderot and the Gaza border communities spent countless hours running to shelters?

Every community faces its own challenges. Residents of south Tel Aviv contend with crime and difficult social conditions. Jerusalem has endured waves of terrorist attacks. Communities in Judea and Samaria have faced shootings and vehicle-ramming attacks. Haifa and the surrounding bay area have struggled with severe air pollution. Every place has its own unique hardships.

The fact that one community suffers does not mean that everyone else should suffer alongside it. Quite the opposite. When tensions rise in the north, I am genuinely grateful that life continues elsewhere in Israel — that children can go to school, businesses can remain open, and families can enjoy a measure of normalcy. If everyone were forced to suffer simply because we are suffering, that would offer no real comfort. It would only multiply the pain.

Choosing Unity Over Resentment

So, to my fellow Israelis: even when war reaches the north, stand with us. Pray for us. Read a few chapters of Psalms if you are so inclined. Care about what we're going through, as I know so many of you already do.

But at the same time, keep living your lives. Go to work. Go to school. Spend time with your families. Enjoy the ordinary moments that we all long to preserve.

There is just one thing I still don't understand. What exactly do people see in espresso or macchiato? It's obvious that nothing beats a medium cappuccino topped with a thick, creamy layer of foam.