‘An act of faith’: I attended my first anti-Netanyahu protest — and confronted my own complacency
A woman calling for the release of hostages cries after being caught in a clash between demonstrators and police during a recent protest for the release of hostages and against the Israeli government and Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. Photo by Alexi J. Rosenfeld/Getty Images
Contributing Columnist Sruli Fruchter March 19, 2024
“Another week we’re here — how fun,” Mai Albini, the grandson of 79-year-old hostage Chaim Peri, said sarcastically. “Are you all having fun?”
I was among hundreds of protesters in Jerusalem’s Paris Square attending a weekly Saturday night demonstration demanding the release of the more than 100 remaining hostages in Gaza. I clutched a banner with a photo of 4-year-old hostage Ariel Bibas, who has been rumored but not confirmed to have been killed. Albini’s vulnerability gripped me.
“I don’t want to be afraid to say this anymore,” he said. “There are many dear and good people in Israel and the Diaspora working in extraordinary ways to return the hostages — and the government is not part of them.”
“They hear us, and they know, and they don’t care,” he said at a different point, “and we know they don’t care.”
On my way to the protest, I’d questioned what I expected from it. I want Hamas eliminated, the hostages home, innocent Gazans fed, and Netanyahu gone.
But isn’t the Israeli government already fighting for the first three, I wondered? And wouldn’t new elections, at this stage, only distract from the other aims?
Listening to Albini, I realized that these protesters aren’t just pursuing practical goals. They’re after a sense of agency and hope at a time when they feel authorities — and the world — have abandoned them.
The crowd chanted “shame” in Hebrew in response to Albini’s critique of the government’s failure to bring back the hostages. The new Hebrew word I learned from the speakers that night was nimasti: “I’m fed up.”
Protesting as ‘an act of faith’
That protest was my second of the evening. I first attended one outside the president’s residence, which took aim at Netanyahu and called for new elections. Weary eyes interrogated my arrival in my Shabbat attire, a white button-down shirt and white-knit kippah. Though many men wore kippot, it seemed I was the only one among the largely secular crowd dressed as a Religious Zionist.
On the stage, two women were calling for new elections. They had lost any faith in our leadership, they said.
Their calls echoed the wishes of most Israelis: 71% want elections much earlier than November 2026, when they are next scheduled to occur. They were a reminder of how profoundly support for Netanyahu had declined; a recent poll suggested nearly half of Israelis believe Netanyahu is delaying a hostage deal over his own political considerations.
“I feel pretty pessimistic about Israel’s future,” a fellow protester, whom I met as the anti-Netanyahu rally began winding down, told me as we marched toward the second rally for the hostages at Paris Square.
But while he wants Netanyahu’s ouster, he said, “I’m not hopeful that any government replacing Bibi would be much better.”
He doubts the war’s ability to secure Israel’s long-term protection, fears the way in which it is harming Israel’s standing with Palestinians and the international community alike, and doesn’t trust Israeli leaders. What, I asked, does he — or others like him — gain from attending a rally like this?
“When you have a whole bunch of people who feel helpless,” he said, “this is where we turn to. Protesting is an act of faith.”
I had only ever considered pragmatic reasons to protest. To fight and generate change — definitely. But to show belief in an ideal I might not practically expect to be achieved? Never.
At Paris Square, hostages’ family members spoke in turn from the podium, each speech ending with the same rallying cry: “Bring them home now.” The crowd chanted in response: “Achshav! Achshav! Achshav!” — “Now! Now! Now!”
The chorus reminded me of the Hallel prayer I recited last week in shul: “Please, God, save us now,” the chazzan shouted, and we followed in dutiful repetition.
Out on the streets, I felt the faith that the protester spoke of. With attendees returning week after week, praying for a miracle, protesting is all they have left.
‘People are starting to forget’
As I began heading home after the rally ended, I noticed dozens of protesters blocking a major intersection in Paris Square. They formed a circle, their arms locked as they shouted in unison: “There is no routine until there is a hostage deal!”
Their screams merged with drivers’ blaring horns and furious shouts. I cautiously joined the swarming onlookers to watch from the sidewalk.
Police arrived and struggled to redirect traffic. The scuffles turned to brawls, as officers hauled flailing, defiant protesters away from the intersection — only for many to race back as soon as the officers turned their heads.
I was doubtful of the unrestrained protest’s effectiveness. Blocking traffic and resisting officers was disruptive, sure, but also seemed unhelpful — how could it actually move forward efforts to secure the hostages’ return? But then I thought back to their chants: Why would anyone remain passive while our brothers and sisters lie in terrorists’ clutches? Almost six months into the war, 134 hostages still remain in Gaza — more than 30 of them believed to be dead.
Earlier that night, Evgenia Kozlov, mother of the Russian-Israeli hostage Andrey Kozlov, spoke to us through a Russian translator. “Five months have passed, people are starting to forget, the wind has destroyed our posters… people are continuing with their lives,” she said. “But we are still living in Oct. 7.”
As the chaos unfolded outside Paris Square, her words made me question why this was the first time I had joined in a rally. Have I been complacent about the plight of the hostages — and the country? How could I — or anyone — possibly help push the government toward a different path?
Police eventually regained control of the intersection, and the traffic flow resumed — until one protester darted back into the streets with his arms above his head in a last-ditch effort to block cars once more.
While police hauled him away once more, I looked on with discomfort. I instinctively labeled the man “crazy” in my mind, seeing a reckless action with little hope of making actual change. But then I thought back to all the hostages hopelessly and indefinitely stuck in Gaza, and thought instead: Maybe I’m the crazy one for not joining him.
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