The Test of Faith: A Journey Through Pain, Activism, and Healing

I watched a genocide for 16 months straight, what now?

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Hello, and welcome to my first Substack post.

I decided to start this newsletter because, for the first time, it feels easier for me to share my thoughts through writing rather than video. Many of you know me from the videos I posted after October 7th. In the first video I recorded, I remember being consumed by fear. At the time, anyone speaking out for Palestinians was risking their job, their reputation, and being labeled “anti-Semitic.” But I asked myself, “Did I go all the way to Palestine just to stay silent when they need voices?” That thought gave me the courage to hit record and speak up.

The response was overwhelming, from people across the globe who empathized with and supported the Palestinian cause. As the genocide unfolded over 16 months, I continued to speak out. But if I’m honest, it took a toll on me.

When I started making my documentary, I was hopeful. I believed that if people just knew what was happening in the world, they would care and take action. Every time I returned from my travels and shared these stories, I saw that people cared — but not as much as I expected. I began to internalize this. I thought perhaps my skills weren’t enough, so I worked harder, trying to improve. But the response didn’t change. Looking back, I realize how naive I was.

The Moment of Change

Something shifted when the genocide in Palestine escalated. Maybe it was seeing all the death and destruction. Maybe it was seeing their tax dollars contribute to the oppression of a group of people. Maybe it was seeing a weeping mother holding her murdered child. Maybe it was seeing children ripped apart by a bomb. Maybe it was seeing the entire Gaza Strip reduced to nothing but rubble. Maybe it was the video of the pregnant woman who was killed by an explosion and doctors cutting open her stomach to rescue her baby who died a few days later. Maybe it was seeing all the hospitals in Gaza be bombed and destroyed. Maybe it was when IDF soldiers forced everyone to leave a hospital and left babies to starve to death in the ICU for days. Maybe it was when a grandfather couldn’t let go of his murdered granddaughter whom he loved so dearly, named Reem. Maybe it was when they killed the grandfather, Khaled Nabhan. Maybe it was the call Hind had with her mom before the IDF shot at her over 335 times while she was stuck in a vehicle. Maybe it was when paramedics went to rescue Hind, the IDF killed them as well. I’m not sure what exactly activated a sense of empathy in people but I can recount all of these events in the last 16 months because they are stained in my mind.

The Struggle Within

But after 16 months of witnessing this, I find myself struggling to process it all. I’m left to my own devices, and when I sit with the pain, I feel consumed by anxiety and depression. There is no guide for healing after witnessing genocide. No therapist seems to have the tools that can help me in this moment. And worse, the turmoil I am feeling inside is starting to manifest in my physical world. I desperately try to hold on to the present moment and focus on what I can control but it feels like I’m out of control. I think many people feel this way. The helplessness we all felt watching Palestinians in Gaza cry out for help is a sort of helplessness we all feel subconsciously in our own lives. I’ve tried journaling, I’ve tried meditating, I’ve tried talking to people, I’ve tried to go out and have fun, I’ve tried to create, I’ve tried to volunteer and help others, I tried to give to others, I’ve tried to exercise more, I’ve tried to dance, I’ve tried to paint, I’ve tried and I’ve tried. And when I tell my friends and family this, they say “Naley, you need to trust the process.” It seems so simple. Just let go and trust. But trust who? Trust whom? God, the universe, a higher entity? Where was this higher entity when we watched for 16 months as Palestinians cried out to God to stop this destruction? I can’t trust the process because I don’t trust God.

A Journey of Healing

This distrust in God made me realize something important: If I wanted to heal, I needed to let go of control and learn to trust the process — and ultimately, trust in God. So, I began looking for ways to reconnect with God. It started with nightly prayers — just me talking to God. Over time, these prayers turned into rituals: fasting, and giving to those in need. Slowly, I started to feel God’s presence in my life, like a silent companion supporting me when I couldn’t support myself. This shift allowed me to see my current struggles not as burdens but as tests — challenges to help me grow. And just as I’m being tested, I realized Palestinians are being tested too. But their test is not my test and perhaps, during the last 16 months, it felt like on a mental level, I was experiencing that genocide. But I didn’t experience that genocide and if I’m going to be of any help, I have to focus on passing my test so I can be there for others. It’s like when trees send food and nutrients to a sick tree to help it heal. I can’t help someone else if I’m not well.

Faith and Trust in the Process

My relationship with God is strengthening again, but the work isn’t done. To live without faith — without trust in God, the universe, or any higher being — is to live a life devoid of compassion and love. I can look back at my life and see countless instances where God showed up, often in the eleventh hour. Through these experiences, I’ve learned to respect the process of life, to accept challenges, and trust that, even in the worst of times, there is a reason and a purpose. As I heal from the pain of the past 16 months, I draw strength from the faith I’ve seen in Palestinians. Their trust in God, despite the horrors they endure, is inspiring. “Hasbunallahu wa ni’mal wakeel” — "Allah is sufficient for us, and He is the best disposer of affairs" — is a phrase I’ve heard from Palestinians over and over. It’s a complete trust in God, knowing that when the weight of the world feels unbearable, we can rely on God to handle our challenges.