Marty Glickman was, in Gurock’s evaluation, one of America’s greatest Jewish athletes. With the patriotic holiday of Thanksgiving approaching, I’d like to direct your attention to another remarkable American and proud Jew, whose life is described here by Dovi Safier:

Paul Schutzer was born into a traditional Jewish family in Boro Park in 1930. When he was ten years old, he started taking pictures with a broken camera he found in the garbage. Years later, after studying to be a painter and a lawyer, he realized that what he really wanted to do was be a photographer. He traveled the world for Life, visiting Israel numerous times and took many photographs in the country.

Schutzer went to the American South in 1961 to accompany and photograph the Freedom Riders. Then, during the Vietnam war, Schutzer embedded with a unit of Marines participating in an amphibious assault on Cape Batangan. His colleague Michael Mok described the scene thus:

Machine-gun fire was hammering away, and while the Marines gave their weapons a final check, Paul took off his steel helmet and put on a funny-looking hat, sort of like sailor cap turned inside out, on which he had stenciled the Star of David. He explained it was a kova tembel (fool’s hat) such as they wear on the kibbutz in Israel. “If I am going to die,” Paul said, “I am going to die under my own colors.” Then, just before the bow doors clanged down, he said, “L’hayyim,” which means “To life.” This was the first Hebrew word Schutzer taught me. Since we survived the landing and what followed, it was not the last.

Schutzer was killed by a landmine while covering the Six-Day War.

If there’s one lesson to be learned from the history of the Israel-Arab conflict, it’s never to be confident that an end is in sight. Ehud Yaari nevertheless—and with all due caution—points to some noteworthy developments:

The absolute primacy of “armed struggle” in Palestinian discourse has discouraged any serious attempt to discuss or plan for a future Palestinian state. Palestinian political literature is devoid of any substantial debate over what kind of a state they aspire to create. What would be its economic, foreign, and social policies?

One significant exception was a seminar held by Hamas in Gaza—under the auspices of the late Yahya Sinwar—prior to October 7, 2023. The main focus of what was described as a brainstorming session was the question of how to deal with the Jews in the land to be liberated. A broad consensus between the participants was reached that most Israeli Jews should be eradicated or expelled while those contributing to Israel’s success in high tech and other critical domains would be forced to serve the new Palestinian authorities.

Yet, the ongoing aftershocks from the ongoing war in Gaza are posing questions among Palestinians concerning the viability of armed struggle. So far this trend is reflected mainly in stormy exchanges on social-media platforms and internal controversies within Hamas. There is mounting criticism leveled at the late Mohammad Deif and Yahya Sinwar for embarking upon an uncoordinated offensive that is resulting in a “Second Nakba”—a repeat of the defeat and mass displacement caused by launching the war in 1948.

To be sure, “armed struggle” is still being preached daily to the Palestinian communities by Iran and Iranian proxies, and at least half the Palestinian public—according to various polls—believe it remains indispensable. But doubts are being heard. We may be reaching a point where the Palestinians will feel compelled to make a choice between the road which led to past failures and an attempt to chart a new route. It will certainly require time and is bound to cause fractures and divisions, perhaps even a violent split, among the Palestinians.