Op-Ed by Richard (Reuven) Koret, Editor-in-Chief of Virtual Jerusalem and Israel Insider.

Valentine’s Day Musings on Gaza, Bibi, and Trump and the True Meaning of Love for Most Israelis Before High Noon Tomorrow

We’ve disagreed about plenty over the years—me and D., the US-born Jewish life partner of my friend. He’s a liberal globetrotter, wearing his whole-leg faded color tattoos like a map of his Woodstock-inspired, MSM-spun consensus ideals. He would be cool protesting on the streets of Berlin as sipping organic oregano-infused espresso in Brooklyn. He’s got that Ben-and-Jerry’s vibe.

We don’t see eye-to-eye on much, especially when it comes to Israel. But he’s smart and successful, so I listen and respect him for that.

Yesterday I was showing him my new book, an illustrated exploration of romantic idioms, and we were vibing. He liked the upbeat and optimistic and gorgeous illustrations (humanely AI-generated) and my idea for LovECARDS, suggesting I combine them somehow with affirmations, with the cards to be randomly selected and pasted on the wall.

I didn’t exactly get it but D. was persistent: “You gotta make several sets of playing cards, he said, with different animal spirits for each deck based on earth wind water and fire, rotating somehow with the seasons…” he continued.  I was getting dizzy.

The conversation suddenly lurched toward politics and Trump and Bibi were the items of the day. D. admitted surprise that the hated Bibi didn’t adopt the hated Donald’s suggestion for an ultimatum to demand that all living hostages in Hamas captivity be returned by high noon Shabbat or else all hell would be unleashed, or words to that effect.

D.’s wife and I earlier discussed Trump’s idea of expelling Gazans and creating a Gaza Rivera. “Nobody wants them,” I said. “Nobody will take them in. But nobody wants them in Gaza, either.”  She replied, without missing a beat, “Except maybe the Gazans.”

I didn’t answer. She had a point. But I felt a chill. I could imagine the substitution of “Jews out of Palestine” for “Gazans out of Gaza” in the future just as similar scenarios have played out before. But all of my compassion has been exhausted on murdered, tortured, raped, and kidnapped Israelis, and the hundreds of soldiers sacrificed to save them and prevent October 7 from recurring.

D. was going on about combining spirit animal cards with mindful affirmations, but he jumped into the fray, pronouncing: “we may not agree about the question, but love is the answer.”  Then he went on to say that the card count could follow ancient calendars including the Jewish one, but he insisted it had to equal a sacred Buddhist number.

Nobody hates the Buddhists, he said.

I was still thinking about his love-is-the-answer-to-every-question claim. Easy to say that “all you need is love.” The Beatles sung it. So I asked D: “What do you think is the question?” He was more interested in itemizing the sacred numbers of the Buddha.

I didn’t mean it as a joke. I meant: What kind of world do you have to live in for ‘love’ to work as an answer? Because in Israel, the questions feel different. More brutal. Urgent. We are literally still counting our dead from October Seventh 2023 nearly 500 days ago. We are still burying sons and daughters, fathers and mothers. We are still waiting—aching—for hostages to come home. We are still hated for existing. We are a nation still deeply in trauma.

So what’s the question? Maybe it’s something like this: When the world demands us to be ruthless—when Trump calls for release of the Israeli hounds of hell and Bibi and his government are pushed to the edge—how do you decide that the answer is… not that?

How do you choose to hold back Hell—not out of weakness, but out of something deeper? For sure, there is no compassion for the majority of Gazans. The majority are our enemies, thirsty for our blood, many raising their little monsters to crave this as their highest desire. Many. Not all.

There’s only one possible valid motive for Israel to say “Thanks, Mr. President, Really. But not just yet.”

That reason is love.

Love for the hostages still alive. Compassion for their families. The belief, however strained, that saving one life matters. Even if it means tolerating, for now, the reality that hundreds, soon thousands, of savage terrorists will walk free.

Love is not what you say when everything is fine. Love is what you cling to when everything is broken.

And things are really broken. Gaza is not fixable with the residents in place who just want to kill us again. It must be denazified.

Language matters. Because love isn’t just a feeling—it’s expressed in the words we choose when we could easily choose hate. It’s proven by romantic idioms we have passed down generation to generation—head over heels, heart on your sleeve, labor of love—somehow, across centuries and continents, we know this: Love is still what makes life worth the fight. The fight to life. L’chaim!

Love of Israel (ahavat yisrael) and the Jewish people (am yisrael) help us remember who we are, and hold onto what we’ve got. Love helps us imagine new creative possibilities, keep evolving as a people, securing and even expanding our nation.

All lives matters. Even Jewish and Israeli ones.

When Hamas, with blood-thirsty and rape-craving “innocent civilians,” invaded Israel and carried out its heinous atrocities on October 7, it forfeited its property rights. Foreclosure and eviction is impending and inevitable.

Some love the Repo Man’s ideas for a Gaza Riviera free of Gazans. D. hates it. We can agree to disagree. Elections, especially free and fair ones, have their consequences.

One thing is sure. Trump’s high noon ultimatum may well have saved the lives of 3 tortured hostages. It may not be enough, it may juist be another step on a tortuous journey now nearly 500 days long, but it’s better than … nothing. It’s better than the alternative.

We should be grateful for Trump and the Gaza Riviera plan a real estate plan so well-suited to this President.  And he alone, unlike his deep state predecessors, showed true outrage for our abused, emaciated captives. He’s good at “bad cop.” Maybe not playing.

It’s Valentine’s Night. I’m going out with a lovely lady. So please, Mr. President, please Bibi, don’t let the dogs out tonight.

Tomorrow’s another day.

As for answering the question that started all these musings, my current thinking goes like this: love might not answer each question. But it’s the only answer that allows us to ask: What comes next?

This opinion is my own and not necessarily that of Virtual Jerusalem, my co-author, or anyone but me.
Caveat: I have not yet consulted my 54 spirit animal cards and mindful affirmations. So I could change my mind.

My new book Speaking of Love…. A Playful Exploration of the Language of Romantic Love (which has nothing explicitly to do with Jews or Israel) is about how words shape, and warp, our romantic reality, and all the crazy expressions we use to describe romance and our love lives. The Speaking of Love ebook is FREE on Amazon for Valentine’s Day, with discounts and freebies even after the Hallmark Holiday.

For a double dose of my reading of 3000 years of Jewish history and familiarity with the whole land of Israel, please buy my last two books (both available paperback or Kindle ebook), Israel in Maps and Welcome to Zion. Or just become a regular visitor of the newly resurrected Israel Insider, now part of the NOWlej network of news and information sites.

If you have kids, or like to read uplifting and delightful bedtime stories, try The Flying Toad.

And if you happen to be losing your hair, it’s high time for you to leave your hairs and cares behind and read Bald is Badass.