Wolfe Silver

Photo by Ri Butov

If I was a man of conviction and ideals, I’d not want to go because of what the government is doing to the people in Gaza. I’d say that by setting foot there, by spending money there, by normalizing that place, I am directly or indirectly contributing to everything I abhor. To crimes against humanity. To the ideological downfall of a place I once was proud to call my home.

But I’m not a person of conviction or ideals. I don’t see my visiting there as having any bearing or influence on what goes on over there. I don’t see the minuscule amounts of sales tax and gas tax I’d end up paying as directly responsible for any rocket, bomb, or bullet that will inevitably be shot in my name, with or without my help. I don’t see me going to see my family as being able to be construed as normalization in any way. And ideology rarely holds up to the harsh light of reality in my life, I’ve found time and time again.

No, I don’t want to go to Israel because of everything else.

Namely the scarcity mindset. The mindset that makes people stand right in the middle of the doorway when waiting for the elevator — as if letting me step out is directly at odds with their stepping in; and makes people refuse to allow anyone to merge into their lane when driving — as if my need to turn left is somehow at odds with their need to turn right; and makes them unable to stand behind one another when waiting for ice cream, or falafel, or the bus, or to board an airplane; and makes them all instantly stand up and swarm the gate once the ground crew asks for only disabled, elderly, pregnant children with stage VII cancer who have first class tickets to please see the gate agent.

The mindset that teaches them from childhood, through adolescence, and into adulthood, again and again and again, time after time after soul-crushing time, that their voice will only ever be heard if they are the loudest one in the room. That any form of consideration towards another can and will be taken advantage of, and that the worst thing that can happen to you, is being taken advantage of.

Through regression to the lowest common multiple of the eternal struggle to not be the sucker, we have sculpted the worst of all possible societies. One where yelling and swearing is the norm, stealing and cheating is expected, selfishness is all but required, and where stress, competition for every resource, and constant overwhelm are considered the most normal, natural way to go about one’s life.

The thought of sitting at VIE and looking at that wretchëd plane with its tail painted blue and white; of waiting to board alongside my fellow countrypeople yelling and screaming all around me; of loud, unruly children running loose, and YouTube ReelToks playing on max volume on everyone’s phones — it fills me with existential dread and a wordless scream that wishes it could be let out.

But I’ll go.

My granddad is, slowly but surely, wasting away. My granddad who, along with my grandma, raised me when my parents were busy working unreasonable amounts of overtime, to be able to provide for me and my brothers. And calling him every week is nice and all, but I need to see him in real life. I need to be there next to him, to tell him I love him without the Meta corporation’s WhatsApp VoIP servers mediating the interaction.

So I’ll face the crowds, and the noise, and the traffic, and the ideology; and make my way down there. I’ll see my granddad, for what might, or might not be, the last time. I’ll light Channuka candles, celebrate the new year, eat nostalgic food, and play fetch with my parents’ dog. And by the end of it, I’ll return to Vienna with a newfound appreciation for everything I love about living here; and I’ll go back to work the next day, sixpence none the more relaxed after my “vacation”.

And besides, I already bought the flight tickets. I’d have to be a sucker not to go now.