I am an Israeli veteran activist, and I suffer from mental illness. I am not a Middle East expert or a politician. The views expressed here are mine alone. I am also acutely aware of the limits of words during times of war. Like many others, I feel helpless in this violent reality where, often, the violent prevail.
Lived experience
My lived experience has taught me that most Palestinians are individuals, not an amorphous, wounded entity or a holy flock. In the end, political activism is about fighting for the rights of Palestinians. Those who engage in dialogue with Israeli activists are not Hamas supporters. They dislike hearing Israelis unconsciously repeat pro-Hamas propaganda.
That said, ultimately, I don’t have Palestinian friends who represent the entire Palestinian people. The Palestinians I connect with are often individuals, much like myself. They reflect who I am, as friends tend to do.
The challenge I face stems from being a private individual, not a public entity. I have to remind myself that as a private person, I long to feel politically connected. I also want to be part of the radical left. At the same time, my personal experiences lead me to yearn for shared living. I prefer this over subscribing to slogans like “two states for two peoples.” This personal longing for shared living can contradict the pursuit of a two-state solution. After all, shared living and two states do not naturally coexist.
“Lived experience” is a concept from the world of mental health. It emphasizes that knowledge from personal experience holds value beyond formal education or a specific doctrine. My knowledge from lived experience is unique, just like all lived experiences. My life circumstances put me in a unique position. My focus on that experience doesn’t necessarily align with the typical “army of purple circles.”
Encounters with Arab patients in the mental health system are often fraught with tension. These individuals are in vulnerable situations and don’t want to hear slogans about “two states.” They face a double vulnerability—being both mental health patients and Palestinians. It’s hard to separate the personal from the political. I respond differently to an Arab patient compared to a religious nationalist or Haredi one. I’m aware this isn’t necessarily a positive trait.
uring a particularly difficult time, I was hospitalized in a closed psychiatric ward. Even there, my political psychosis continued. I remember walking around and shouting “Al-Aqsa fi lakhatar” (“Al-Aqsa is in danger”), which greatly amused the Arab staff members. My fear was real. I worried that far-right extremists might attempt to change the status quo at the Al-Aqsa Mosque. This could lead to even more bloodshed. I wanted to express solidarity with one of the cleaning staff members. She quietly showed me a picture of her 15-year-old daughter at Al-Aqsa.
Another moment I’ll never forget was when a religious Palestinian woman in full niqab arrived in the ward. From what I understood, she had likely been a victim of domestic violence. The staff asked me to speak with her in Arabic, thinking she might trust me more. We sat and prayed together in Arabic, and before she left, she told me, “Nomi, sleep.” That single word from her put me into the deepest, sweetest sleep I had experienced during my psychosis.
Before she left, she gave me a gift—a speaker with the entire Quran recorded on it. It was a precious gift. I wanted to keep it.
However, I feared it was given impulsively. So, I handed it to the staff in case she wanted it back.
I also met another patient, one of the sickest in the ward. She slept all day and was treated with injections of Leponex. When she did speak, it was often about a chip she believed the Mossad had implanted in her brain.
However, in rare moments of clarity, she told me, “Heaven forbid there will be peace here. There will be war. No one here wants peace.” There was something healing in those sobering words, and I thought of her as a kind of prophet.
Generic left
Speaking in generic leftist terms often leads to negative reactions. Sometimes, people interpret it as speaking on behalf of Hamas. Experiencing this has made me realize a different language is needed. Aspiring for shared living in such a violent reality is difficult and complex—something a purple circle isn’t enough to express.
Lived experience has taught me there’s no dialogue or shared living with Bibists. For my physical and mental safety, it’s better to keep a distance. I cannot engage in dialogue with people who threaten me—this is my lived experience.
The radical left might exclude me from protests. They might gossip about me. However, the year I lived with generic Bibist landlords ended worse. It was not just worse, but even criminal. And yes, I’ve also experienced violence from the “holy flock” of Palestinians. Violence, it seems, comes from all sides. There are good and bad people on both sides. That doesn’t mean I’m moving to Gaza for shared living. I also wouldn’t rent next to generic Bibists.
Lived experience teaches me that it’s safest to sit alone in the dark and brood. Criticizing “the purple circles” is less dangerous than living with generic Bibists. Although I’ve always hated the left, I don’t engage with the right-wing feed. I peek in now and then, only to get hurt. Still, I support dialogue with the moderate right, based on a shared distaste for Bibism.
Real politik
There are enough people on the moderate right who are tired of vulgarity, conspiracy theories, and barbaric behavior. These people seek “unity” and “statesmanship.” Despite “serious disagreements,” I believe it’s possible to ally with them to push out the extreme right.
In my view, this is a realistic and pragmatic approach—realpolitik. It emphasizes damage control. It does not pursue idealistic dreams of democracy for everyone from the river to the sea. Such dreams feel like absolute idealism.
Perhaps I’m wrong, and it’s better to maintain integrity by promoting a boycott of Israel or even sabotaging Israeli weapons. Who knows what history will ultimately say, and how it will judge us?
Final Thoughts
For me, psychosis is the ultimate form of political resistance. It is not just a refusal to serve in the army or fight in wars. It’s also a refusal to participate in a reality where “might makes right.” In that state, I felt disconnected from both sides. I was not a soldier for the right or the left. I certainly wasn’t someone willing to engage in a world governed by violence and power.
What do you think?
I invite you to reflect on these ideas with me. How do we navigate a reality where political resistance and mental health intersect? How do we find our place in a world that feels so divided and often violent? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.
References and cotexts
For context, when I mention “purple circles,” I am referring to the symbol of the Standing Together movement.
Standing Together (movement). (2024, October 10). In Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Standing_Together_(movement)
Bibists-suppoters of Netayhu- context
ביביסטים. (2024, October 2). In Wikipedia. https://he.wikipedia.org/wiki/%D7%91%D7%99%D7%91%D7%99%D7%A1%D7%98%D7%99%D7%9D
Lived exprience https://www.oxfordreference.com/display/10.1093/oi/authority.20110803100109997
Leponex https://www.mims.com/philippines/drug/info/leponex?type=full
Boycott of Israel https://bdsmovement.net/
Realpolitik. (2024, September 14). In Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Realpolitik
Al-Aqsa is in danger. (2024, September 24). In Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Al-Aqsa_is_in_danger
Leafy sees 
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