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The numbers are unrelenting. 90,000 malnourished women and children. A healthcare system in ruins. Corpses left to decay in the streets. Philippe Lazzarini, head of UNRWA, does not mince words: Israel has engineered a “man-made famine”, a phrase that should sear itself into history as a testament to human cruelty. The rabbis’ letter strips away all illusions — “Withholding food, water, and medicine contradicts Judaism’s core values” — yet Israel’s response is a grotesque parody of aid. Over the weekend, the IDF dropped seven pallets of flour and sugar into a besieged enclave of 2.3 million people. Lazzarini dismisses these airdrops as “expensive, inefficient, and deadly”, pointing to Palestinians killed by falling cargo while 6,000 fully-loaded aid trucks languish at Gaza’s borders, barred entry by Israeli red tape. The message is clear: Gaza may starve, but its suffering must be stage-managed.
Israel’s defense is as cynical as it is predictable: “Hamas steals the aid.” Yet where is the evidence? On the ground, witnesses describe chaos — IDF snipers firing into crowds of desperate civilians, mothers running through gunfire to retrieve rotting scraps for their children. Videos circulate of skeletal toddlers pawing through trash while Netanyahu’s cabinet debates how much hardship is enough. The rabbis refuse this gaslighting: “The famine in Gaza is not natural — it’s engineered.” Rabbi Jonathan Wittenberg warns that Israel’s actions “tarnish not just Israel’s moral reputation, but Judaism itself.” Meanwhile, Trump escalates the rhetoric of annihilation, urging Israel to “get rid of Hamas” — code for endorsing Netanyahu’s plans for total occupation, a course that threatens catastrophe beyond Gaza’s borders.
The path forward is not complicated — it is a matter of will. The UN, rabbis and humanitarians plead for one simple act: End the blockade. No more theatrics. No more airdrops that kill more than they feed. Political games do not nourish dying infants. Each day this siege continues, Israel descends deeper into a moral abyss from which it may never emerge. As the rabbis’ letter declares: “This is a moral crisis. The famine in Gaza is not just a tragedy — it is a sin.”
If the principles of tikkun olam (repairing the world), tzedek (justice) and rachamim (compassion) mean anything — now is the moment to prove it. Because if Judaism’s moral voice cannot halt this cruelty, what can?
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