When Differences Became Divides
Katie was my oldest, dearest friend, but after thirty years of friendship, I lost her after advocating for Israel. We met by chance in fifth grade. We attended different schools and lived in different neighborhoods, but were thrown together at an admissions event for a private school. We reconnected a year later at a similar event, then cemented our friendship as we began seventh grade, excited to be students together at the prestigious institution.
During our teenage years, we were considered “artsy.” We weren’t popular, but we had our own crowd of curious, brainy, eccentric outsiders. We lived for punk and new wave music, gothic romance, boys who skateboarded, Manic Panic hair dye, and anything that would shock our parents. On weekends, we drove around town blasting Pixies in my VW hatchback, laughing hysterically at unintentionally funny signs (“Delivery in Rear”), perusing neighborhood record and thrift stores, and driving through Taco Bell. We stayed up late watching John Hughes movies, confiding our secrets, painting our nails black, and making prank phone calls.
Katie and I went in different directions after high school and naturally started to inhabit separate worlds. In those very early Internet years, there were times when we spoke almost daily, and times when we didn’t talk for months. Our friendship naturally ebbed and flowed. During breaks from college, we always reunited and picked up where we left off.
As adults nearing thirty, Katie and I both returned to live in our hometown. We were thrilled to be back together, not having to rely on long distance phone calls or emails. In the ten years or so since high school, we had both changed a lot. I had become more religious and conservative, while maintaining my love of music, literature, and making art. Katie was firmly ensconced in the progressive community, and had a variety of passions like running, yoga, and silent films. Despite our differences, our friendship remained.
What a comfort it was to have a friend like Katie. No one knew me as well as she did. She understood my complicated relationship with my sister. She knew all of my teenage crushes by name. We had countless inside jokes. She was by my side when I was bullied as an overweight, hirsute preteen. She was there as I grew into an adult, studying in Israel and struggling to find my place in the Jewish world. She knew my secrets. She knew the best parts of me, as well as the parts of me I didn’t want the world to see. I never needed to explain myself.
Katie and I largely avoided talking politics. We had developed different world views and both had strong beliefs. It was a point of contention, but not worth throwing away our friendship. We silently agreed that we wouldn’t discuss hot button issues. Occasionally, we would delicately skirt an issue, but retreat when it became uncomfortable. I knew where Katie stood, and although I disagreed with her conclusions, I respected her values and commitment to what she believed was right.
Ever since studying in Israel during college, I had been an ardent Zionist. My Zionism was born out of seeing the conflict firsthand. When I arrived in Israel, I naively thought, “Why can’t everyone just get along?” My time there educated me and made me realize why the state of Israel was a necessity for Jewish survival.
After October 7, I regularly posted on social media about my support for Israel. I felt a responsibility to counter the overwhelming anti-Israel sentiment I saw online. I believed it was my duty to keep talking about the war and rising antisemitism. Although I knew my posts may have had little impact, several friends reached out to ask questions or thank me for what I wrote. I certainly wasn’t a firebrand, but I was steadfast in my advocacy.
One day after I dropped my children off at school, I realized that I hadn’t heard from Katie in a couple weeks. We were both mothers with busy schedules, so it didn’t strike me as reason for concern. I called her and left a message. A few days later, I hadn’t heard back, so I called again. I realized that my call to Katie didn’t ring and instead went straight to voicemail. My face puzzled in confusion. Why would Katie block my number?
I sent Katie an email and asked what was going on, but received no reply. I checked social media to find I had been blocked on every channel. After more than a week of silence, I drove to her house, parked, and rang the doorbell. No one answered. I knocked and called out to Katie. I sensed movement inside the house and looked over to the window just in time to see someone close the drapes. My heart dropped and I felt a sense of panic. Why would my oldest, best friend excise me out of her life?
About a week later, I received an email from Katie. In dispassionate, unemotional language, she told me that she could no longer be part of my life. As I read the email, tears began to stream down my face. She explained that my worldview and support of Israel went against everything she believed in, and that she didn’t want to associate with someone who “supported genocide.” At the end of the brief email, she asked me to respect her wishes and never contact her again.
“My identity as a Jew and a Zionist permanently ended a friendship of more than thirty years.”
I remember shaking and sobbing after reading the email. I was shocked and confused that my identity as a Jew and a Zionist permanently ended a friendship of more than thirty years. Her words made it clear that this was final. The next days felt like a period of mourning. I cried frequently and felt wronged. No one knew me like Katie. I didn’t have that history with anyone else, and despite our differences, it was a tremendous loss for me.
After about a week, my attitude began to change. I was no longer heartbroken. I was filled with rage. Katie, who had known me for decades, was so consumed by her political zealotry and hatred of Israel that she was willing to throw me away. She was so indoctrinated that she no longer saw me as a friend, but as a representation of everything she hated. I didn’t know what to do with my feelings. My gut instinct was to send her a snarky, mean spirited diatribe, but after guidance from a wise friend, I decided that I would not allow Katie’s actions to change who I was and how I behaved.
I only recently stopped sending Katie and her family birthday and holiday cards. I have come to realize that if someone truly believes that Israel deserves to be wiped off the map, I don’t want their friendship. It may be foolish, but I continue to hope that maybe one day, Katie will realize she was brainwashed and call me to say, “I made a mistake. I’m so sorry.” I still deeply feel the loss of our friendship, but since then, I’ve found a community of likeminded people who share my values. I’ve reconnected with old friends. Old friendships with shared history is valuable, but I’ve discovered that shared values can be just as significant and meaningful.