I went on a date tonight.

At some point, because it's who I am, because it lives in my accent, my face, my entire being, I told him I'm Israeli.

I watched his expression change.

And then he said the words he thought were kind:

"I don't blame you for what your government does."

I sat there frozen. Not because he was cruel. But because he thought he was being generous. He thought he was offering me something.

No hug for October 7th. No "I'm so sorry for what your people went through." No human recognition of the wound that never closed.

Just - I don't blame you.

And then, softly, he suggested that maybe next time I should wait. Second date, perhaps. Let someone get to know me as a person first, before they find out I'm Israeli.

I picked up my things and left.

This is what it means to be Israeli in Massachusetts in 2026.

Not hatred. Something quieter and more corrosive than hatred. A world where my identity is a confession that needs to be timed carefully. Where people offer me absolution I never asked for. Where October 7th is a political position instead of a massacre.

The mirror this state holds up is broken. Twisted. And I wouldn't wish this feeling on anyone.

This is how i felt like, can you believe it? Just like a Muslim girl on her wedding night.