Yom Kippur: A Proud Reflection on Another Year of Triumph and Murder

Dear God,

It’s Yom Kippur again, and as proud Israelis, we come before You with our heads held high. It’s that time of the year when we say, “Forgive us,” not because we regret what we’ve done, but just in case You frown upon genocide. After all, it’s always better to be safe than sorry, right? This year was no different, God—another year of bombings, blockades, and expansions. Another year of children buried under rubble. Another year of making history, the Israeli way.

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A Year of Numbers to Be Proud Of

This year, we really outdid ourselves, God. Over 41,802 Palestinians dead—men, women, children, entire families wiped out, just like that. And yes, just 1,706 of our own. If this were a scoreboard, we’d be winning. We can almost hear You applauding us from up there. And the children, oh yes, we got them too:

• 11,300 children dead in Gaza alone, 30% of them not even old enough to start school. Some were still learning to say “Mama” when we took them out.
• 17,000 children orphaned—but hey, they’ll grow up tough in those orphanages, won’t they? Maybe we’re doing them a favor. Taleen Al-Hinnawi lost her father, but she’ll be fine. If she makes it, that is.

We’ve tightened the blockades so hard that malnutrition now ranks Gaza as having the highest rates in the world. We’ve turned every meal into a luxury, every hospital visit into a gamble. And don’t forget: most Palestinians won’t even live long enough to get old, thanks to either our bombs or their collapsing healthcare system.

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A Year of Destruction, Expansion, and More Apologies

We expanded again this year, God. More homes bulldozed, more families displaced, more tears shed—and we stand here proud, knowing it was all for security. Blockades kept the food out, checkpoints kept the people in, and airstrikes ensured nothing would grow in the ashes. They protest, they throw stones, and we respond with bullets. And when they die, we call it self-defense.

Journalists tried to cover it—of course, some of them didn’t make it. 128-139 media workers dead this year, most of them Palestinian. But they knew the risks, didn’t they?

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Our Prayer: Forgive Us, Just in Case

So, here we are again, God. Proud, unapologetic, but still saying sorry, just to cover our bases. We know You’re busy up there—maybe You haven’t noticed the dozens of children we bombed at their schools or the mothers who gave birth at our checkpoints while soldiers stood by and watched. Maybe You missed the weddings that turned into funerals or the families crushed under the rubble of their homes. But just in case You saw all that, here we are, asking for forgiveness.

We don’t plan to stop, of course. There are more homes to demolish, more children to kill, and more land to claim. We’ll be back next year, standing before You again, asking for another round of forgiveness. We call it tradition.

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Looking Forward to the Next Year of Success

If we’re being honest, God, we’re proud of what we’ve accomplished. This isn’t regret—it’s acknowledgment. We’re not sorry for the blockades that starved children or the bombs that silenced them; we’re sorry that maybe, just maybe, You might not like it. But hey, it’s all for survival, right? And if genocide is what it takes, then genocide it is.

So, dear God, until next Yom Kippur, forgive us for:

• Every bullet in a child’s back
• Every home reduced to dust
• Every mother left screaming in the street
• Every orphan left to fend for themselves

And next year, we hope to come back with an even bigger score—more expansions, more killings, more pride. Because we are Israel, and we do not apologize. Except, of course, on Yom Kippur.

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A Closing Prayer for Next Year’s Triumphs

May our bombs be precise, our blockades unbreakable, and our expansion unstoppable. May the orphans multiply, and may the rubble of Gaza rise ever higher. And may You, dear God, always grant us forgiveness—because we will certainly be back, asking for it again, same time next year.

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This is our confession, God, and we offer it with pride. Until next year—same prayer, same killings, same results. Amen.