I truly think that the majority of goyim simply do not know what it has been like for jews in the diaspora since Oct 7th.
When the news first broke, I did not know how far hamas had gotten into Israel, my family in Israel was on a trip somewhere in Israel too and I had no clue where they had gone for a holiday. Whilst I knew they did not live anywhere near the Gaza border, I had zero idea where they were when it was happening. I had zero clue if they were alive or dead. I was stuck in limbo watching all the reports.
Then on Monday, I had to go into work like nothing fucking happened, like I didn't just spend the weekend worrying if they were dead or alive.
When I came into work, my manager who had heard the news who knows I have family in Israel asked me what had happened. I was still processing the news myself. All I told her was that there was an attack on Israeli civilians and she said that she hoped my family was safe.
In the coming days I saw all the protests, all the protests BEFORE Israel had even retaliated. I saw the antisemitic protest in Australia where people were chanting "gas the jews" and thinking "oh my fucking God, Australian culture is similar to New Zealand culture, is a similar protest going to happen here?" I spend so long worried that something like that would happen where I lived. I planned what I would do if I got caught near one, picturing all the common places people protest and planning my escape routes. Thankfully nothing on that scale happened. I was lucky.
None of my friends at the time asked me if my family was safe, but they all posted about Palestine. Keep in mind that all bar one knew I have family in Israel as I've spoken about it multiple times.
I watched support keep coming and coming for palestine when Israel hadn't even retaliated yet, and no support for the Israeli lives lost. I pushed my feelings aside, giving people the benefit of the doubt, maybe just maybe they didn't know the extent of Oct 7th that was released at that time.
After Israel retaliated, I ended up unfollowing so many content creators online because they refused to talk Oct 7th and only talked about Palestine. Were my family just chopped fucking liver to them???? Did my anxiety that I felt about their safety just not matter? Did all Israelis dying not matter to them?
I went to my first Halloween party. It was fun and I enjoyed myself for the most part, but on the way there I kept worrying that someone was going to say something antisemitic, that someone was going to bring up the war and dehumanize Israelis, dehumanize my family. I spent the whole evening on edge, worrying that it would happen. As a result, to calm my nerves I ended up getting super fucked up. It did not work and I overdid the alcohol and weed and I just felt terrible. The next day I felt immense guilt. How could I party? How could I dance when those at Nova were killed when they were dancing?
Then the antisemitism started online. I watched antisemitic tropes just start flying around social media. It's what made me start posting about the war and antisemitism online. My blog turned from clown posts, my special interest, to a space where I could get my feelings off my chest.
Then the antisemitism started in real life. Whenever I wore my magen david, I would get called slurs. I had to start avoiding certain parts of town because of it.
I also felt highly isolated at work. I didn't know who I could speak to about what I was going through. My office is made up of mainly leftists. No one really spoke about the war at work, which in a way made it worse. I didn't know who was normal about jews and Israelis and who weren't.
The harassment got so bad that my partner at the time was begging me to stop wearing or at least hide my magen david as he was afraid that I would be physically attacked.
There were times which I hid it, and I still experienced antisemitism because I have a very jewish nose.
I experienced this for MONTHS.
At one point in time, I tried venting to my friends at the time about the antisemitism I was facing. One of them said that they hadn't seen any antisemitism so they didn't know what I was talking about. I called what they said weird, and they started on this whole tirade that I'm only calling them antisemitic because they're arab. I think this was in November. I looked at their blog and found posts denying oct 7th, saying it didn't happen. I took screenshots in case i needed them in the future. Oh the foreshadowing.
About two months ago, a new person was invited to the friend group discord server. This new person made some pro hamas comments and said they were a resistance group. I explained with proof that Hamas has said that they wanted to kill jews. This was the start of a downfall of my friendship with my ex friends.
2 weeks after that, one of my ex friend vents about the war, and in their vent they dehumanized Israelis. I decided to check all my friends social media posts. I found post after post after post with blood libel, oct 7th denial, antisemitic tropes, dehumanization of Israelis and jews, and posts in support of groups which want jews dead, such as the houthi which have "curse to jews" in their slogan. That new person added to the discord server literally sent a few messages explicitly saying that they support the houthi.
I take a few days to process things and decide enough is enough, and that I need to unfriend them all. I email my local synagogue and get accepted to join after being screened by them to verify that I was in fact jewish and not some antisemite wanting to harm the congregation. I end my friendship with my ex friends with an essay of a message stating what they said, why it was antisemitic and that I do not feel comfortable or safe being friends with them anymore.
Two of them reached out to me to try to fix things. One hasn't really done much, she only didn't ask if my family was safe after Oct 7th + never called out any antisemitism the friend group did. However our friendship could not be repaired as her boyfriend was one of the worse perpetrators of antisemitism.
The other one who reached out supported groups who had tied to Hamas. I asked them to no longer support SJP, and they refused with the excuse of "I already avoid so many activist groups because of white supremacy, it's too hard to avoid SJP. I had to bite my tongue. I wanted to scream at them "why the actual fuck are you attracted to so many groups who engage in white supremacy that you need to actively avoid them? How hard is it to avoid one more! Write a fucking list if you need help remembering!" But I didn't say any of that, I just told them that if that's their choice then we can no longer be friends anymore and I blocked them.
Going to synagogue was amazing. I felt so welcomed and have made some new friends. Reconnecting with my jewishness after not going to synagogue for years was good. It was exactly what I needed. However, it was the cause of the end of my relationship with my ex.
He had his parents force his culture on him since he was a child and hated every second of it. When he immigrated here, he assimilated and wanted nothing to do with the culture from the country he was born in. Whilst he was fine with me participating in jewish culture, he didn't want it brought into the relationship at all. He was fine eating jewish food if i cooked it, but he didn't want to learn about jewish culture or do anything regarding it. I wasn't expecting him to convert, all I wanted was for him to learn the basics about jewish culture, maybe surprise me with some recipies from my childhood like I've done with sri lankan recipies from his childhood when he told me that he's craving them, attend jewish markets when they happen. I did not at all expect him to convert or to become immersed in jewish culture, I just wanted him to make an effort to support my jewishness.
We were looking at marriage and children in the next few years and were discussing how to raise them. I wanted them to learn about their jewish culture as children and it would be up to them if they participated in it or not as they got older. He didn't want that at all. He viewed it as them being "indoctrinated" into judaism. I told him that I feel like he just wants to date some white girl who has a default culture of our country and that I could never be that, I would never throw away my jewishness to be that. And he agreed that he did want someone who just had the default culture of our country. So we broke up. To be fair, I had been thinking about breaking up for months due to other issues, but that was the one which made me go "this relationship cannot be fixed, it has to end or I will be unhappy forever".
On its own, it doesn't seem too bad, but after going through so much antisemitism, the one person who is support to support me, who is suppose to love me, couldn't do that as long as I was actively jewish and participating in jewish culture.
And that's not even a complete list of everything I have gone through since Oct 7th. And I can't make this post without mentioning the amazing jews in my phone, who have been there for me since the start. You have made this hellscape bearable.
Like I said, goyim don't know what it has been like for jews since Oct 7th
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The Immortals | On Call
summary: frankie tells the boys about you.
pairing: neighbour!frankie morales x f!reader. platonic triple frontier boys (minus tom lol)
ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. mostly frankie pov. beers and a bbq. description of a panic attack. the boys shipping the bis.
wc: 2.7k
an: one more little thing before we send these guys off into the sunset <3 p.s. - apologies if you saw this last night - i posted it real late and then decided i hated it this morning lmao. thank you for your patience <3
series masterlist | main masterlist
divider from @saradika-graphics
Arrived safely! Margarita secured!
It’s the last text he has from you, accompanied by a photo of said cocktail held up next to your face as you grin at the camera, eyes lit warmly by the sun. He’s smiling at it, tapping out a fat-thumbed, slow response with the tongs in his other hand, distracted from the grill. So focused on you, he almost doesn’t notice Santi saunter up beside him. Almost, but by then it’s too late anyway.
He looks up at Will’s I swear to god, Fish, if you burn those sausages one more time- just as his phone is snatched from his hand, Pope lurching away as he tries to grab it back.
‘Oh!’ the shorter man yells, ‘I’ve got it! I know why he’s so dis-’ before Frankie yanks the device away from him.
‘Knock it off,’ he grumbles, a little gruffer than he means it to be, but Pope only smiles wider, eyes full of mischief. Frankie stuffs the phone back in his pocket, and miles and miles away, you watch the tiny bubbles of a reply disappear before turning back to your friends.
‘Who is she?’ Santi goads, stepping closer to nudge him with his elbow. ‘Hot date?’
Frankie shakes his head, the tips of his ears warming.
‘Who’s who?’ Will asks from his chair, eyebrow raised as he takes a pull from his beer.
‘No- nothing.’ Frankie says, but his cheeks are aflame as he squints into the smoke of the barbeque. Santi notices, because of course he fucking does, pinching Frankie’s cheek as he coos -
‘Aw, come on, hermano. Who’s the lucky lady?’
Frankie lands a sharp elbow to his ribs, muttering a Fuck off, Pope, and Santi pulls away with a croak.
‘What are we talking about? Who’s Frankie seeing?’ Will pipes up again.
‘Pretty lady’s sent Frankie a selfie,’ Santi grunts, massaging his side. ‘I wanna know who it is.’
Frankie grits his teeth. They know about you - of course they do. They knew about you from the moment you’d moved in. The cool new neighbour, the teacher, the new best friend, the babysitter. And they’d wanted to meet you. Smiling over the stories Frankie would tell them, replying to the pictures he’d send them of cookies, hama beads, Lego cities.
‘We’re just friends,’ he says.
The air is still for a moment before Will snorts.
‘Bullshit.’
Frankie flips him off as Pope looses a gleeful chuckle, returning to his seat and his beer.
‘We’ll wait,’ he says, ‘Plenty of time.’
Benny catches the end of it as he emerges from the back door, hopping down the porch steps with a fresh crate of beers in his hands.
‘Time for what?’ He asks, dropping the box on the grass and cracking one open before bringing it to Frankie.
‘Jesus Christ,’ he groans, taking it from the younger man with a grumbled thank you as he turns back to the grill.
Will and Santi are laughing, watching each other with sparkling eyes over the fire pit.
‘Time for what?’ Benny asks again, looking between the men.
‘Frankie’s got a lady friend. We’re trying to find out who it is.’
Benny swings back around to look at him, eyebrows high on his forehead as a slow smile spreads across his face.
‘Oh?’ He grins, ‘Come on, Fish. We’re all friends here.’
Frankie shakes his head again, eyes fixed on the sausages.
‘She’s not - it’s not - it’s not like that.’
‘So you’re fucking?’
Frankie whirls round to Santi.
‘Pope.’ He hisses, brandishing the tongs at him. Santi holds up his hands.
‘Then what?’
Frankie sighs, lowering the flame on the grill.
‘That’s the neighbour,’ he says, throwing a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of your house. ‘It’s her.’
They’re quiet. Too quiet.
‘That’s your neighbour?’ Pope says, dumbfounded.
‘Yes.’
‘But she’s -’
‘I know.’
Will shoots Santi a confused look.
‘Way too good looking for our Fish, here.’
Benny points a finger at him, settling down in his seat the same time as Frankie.
‘I’m taking that personally.’
‘Good.’ Will says. ‘Now, show us a proper picture, asshole.’
Frankie runs a hand over his face, cheeks burning. There’s a funny feeling in his gut - guilt, nerves, excitement. He looks them all over before Santi slaps his knee.
‘Come on, cabròn. We’ve heard so much about her.’
So he shows them. Pictures of you and Lucia, you and him. Ones he took without you realising, moments where he just couldn’t help himself. And his favourite - you on his porch, beaming and squinting at the sunset. Warm and tired and beautiful after the beach, a single strawberry lace dangling from your fingers.
It makes Will chuckle, Benny smile. Santi lets out a low whistle.
‘So there she is.’ Will says, and Frankie can only grin back. His eyes are sparkling, cheeks tinged with pink. The blonde man cocks his head at him. ‘You like her.’
Frankie shrugs.
‘You really like her.’
It’s quiet again for a moment, only the crackle of firewood to be heard.
‘So. Are you fucking?’
The question earns Pope a sharp smack up the back of the head from Benny, Will shooting a Santiago across the flames. But all three of their faces turn back to Frankie.
He looks up to the heavens.
‘No,’ he says. ‘She had that breakup last year. And I don’t even think she’s into me like that.’
Benny laughs into his beer, taking a pull before speaking.
‘No offence,’ he says, ‘But you wouldn’t know someone liked you if it hit you across the face.’
Will snorts, jerking his head in his brother's direction.
‘He should know.’
Frankie groans, leaning back in his chair, scrubbing at his cheeks.
‘She drew the picture on your fridge.’ Benny says. It’s a statement, not a question. Frankie nods. ‘I think she likes you.’
‘You could tell from a picture?’ Will snarks, and Benny rolls his eyes.
‘She drew ‘em all close together. So she either likes you or just - I dunno - likes you. Actually, maybe I have no idea.’
Pope chuckles.
‘Miller, you are a true wordsmith.’
‘Yeah, yeah. Fuck off, Casanova.’
Still laughing, Santi knocks his beer against Frankie’s. He meets his eye.
‘Make sure she can come next time,’ Pope says, and Frankie pulls a face. ‘I’m serious. We’ve been waiting ages to meet her. She sounds cool. She sounds really fun -’
‘And we’ll help you work out whether she likes you or not.’ Will finishes. Frankie looks down at his feet, his shoes in the grass. He fiddles with the label on his bottle, thinks of what it would be like to have you here. Have you laughing at the jokes, swapping stories with the boys. Have Santi teaching you how to dance, have you sharing a whisky with Will, fucking around on the grill with Benny. And he’s sure they’d love you. So sure, in his heart, that it makes his stomach twist. His worlds blending together, the people he loves most in one place. You’d fit, as snuggly here, as you have next door.
‘I’ll ask her,’ he says, ‘When you come over next month. School will be out by then.’
When he looks up, Benny is smiling at him.
‘I’m looking forward to meeting her.’ He says.
He smiles back, all shy and excited, before Will clears his throat and nods in the direction of the barbeque.
‘Sausages better not be burning again, lover boy.’
The sausages are well-done, but edible. Frankie takes his time bringing them to the table, making sure to finally send you that text back.
You deserve it. Have fun, stay safe.
Your little face above it, grinning at him. The sight of it makes his heart swell - his heart hopeful. He scrolls back, above his safe travels text, to the last one you sent, also with a picture. Lucia’s stuffed whale - plush, pale blue, tucked up in the guest bed upstairs.
She’s given me a little friend in case I get lonely. Think I should take the hint?
He’d laugh-reacted to it at the time, in the midst of completing his paperwork for the evening before dashing back home. But now he wonders if there was more to it, a question he should have been brave enough to answer.
He can barely remember the blur and flash of the streetlights as he’d carved his way through the streets, the quiet of easing his way inside the house. You’d left the hallway lamp on so he wouldn’t trip over the array of shoes by the door, and he’d added his boots to them, right next to your trainers.
The door had been locked, all lights off within seconds, before he’d crept up the stairs. The house silent and still around him, warmth right in the belly of his home. He’d checked on Lucia first. Cocooned in her duvet, only her face visible. Soft cheeks plump against her toy dog, her fingers curled around its scruffy neck as she breathed easily and deeply. Her book of bedtime stories on the dresser, dog-eared at the place where you’d finished reading to her. Her nightlight on, she’d smelled of lavender when he’d crouched to kiss her forehead, breathing in her curls.
He’d stopped at the guest room next. Opened the door a crack to make sure you were okay, only hoping in the smallest way that you were still awake. Instead, he’d been greeted with the slope of your shoulders, covered by the t-shirt he’d insisted you borrow, the tangle of your hair. The way your leg was crooked at an angle, your hand beside your face on the pillow. Cheek smushed against the cotton as he watched your breathing, the sweet lax of your face as you slept.
Something warmed in his stomach when he saw that you were, indeed, cuddling the whale Lucia had given you. It pulled at the strings of his memory, something you’d told him about sleeping with a stuffed animal into your late teens. He’d smiled. And then he went to bed.
He doesn’t remember what the dream was about.
Could only see bursts of fire, darkness - could only hear shots and screams. Could only feel a deep, spiralling panic; a void that waits deep inside him, that creeps and bleeds sometimes into the night.
And then he was awake.
Shivering, covered in sweat, his breathing heavy and ragged. Heart beating so fast he clawed desperately at his chest, trying to squeeze it, trying to silence it.
And you were there.
Sat in front of him in his t-shirt, face taught with worry, hands out like you were approaching an animal.
Frankie, it’s me. It’s me, baby, it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re at home, you’re safe. You were dreaming. You were dreaming.
It was like he couldn’t see you at first. Eyes blank and wild, body heaving, pulling against the sheets wrapped around his legs. You’d stood to pull them off, to free him, still speaking in that soft, gentle tone. It’s me, you’re safe.
You’d pulled his scrabbling hands from his chest and he’d let you, let you hold one tight as the other dropped away, as you’d placed your other palm to his heart. And fuck, it was going so fast. So fast you wanted to cry with worry, with the need to take this blind panic from him. You’d kept it there, firm, looking into his eyes, still speaking, waiting for him to come back. Trusting that he would.
And then there he was. Still sweaty, still gasping, but there was clarity. Recognition. His fingers slipped against yours before gripping them, clinging to them like you were pulling him out of it, out of some dark, faraway place.
I’ve got you. It’s me, you’re okay.
He’d nodded. Mouth trying to form his reply - okay, okay - Bug? - like he was pleading. You’d moved closer, hand sliding from his chest to his shoulder, and it was like his whole body surrendered. Shuddering as you held him close, as he cried with relief, with shame.
Everything he hid from Vanessa, everything he tried to hide from Benny, spilling and unspooling before you, and yet you didn’t flinch. Didn’t even bat an eye.
You’d sat up with him most of the night. Talking it through. The blood, the bullets, the guilt. The drugs. What happened in Colombia, everything he hadn’t told you, told anyone. You held him through the shakes, box breathing together until his heart rate slowed.
You’d stayed. Quiet and warm, solid against him, an arm wrapped around his waist.
He could never usually sleep after a nightmare. But he did with the soft sweep of your fingers on his forehead.
When he woke, you were gone. A sorrowful feeling in his chest, one which tugged at his lips. Fixed as soon as you knocked on his door with tea, when you sat next to him and ran your fingers through his curls.
He pulled you down next to him, holding you tight to his body, staring up at the ceiling.
‘I’m sorry.’ He’d said.
‘Don’t ever be sorry, Frankie.’ You’d breathed into his chest.
He didn’t need to know how you cried in the guest room after you’d left him. Didn’t need to know how much it hurt watching him hurt, doesn’t need to know about the guilt, the gratitude you feel every time he picks you up and pieces you together. Doesn’t need to know how you’ve worried you won’t ever be able to do the same for him.
He doesn’t know how you laid beside him in agony for hours. Scared to leave, scared to stay. How you’d longed to lay there with him, but feared it would be too much to wake up beside him. Wondered whether you were weird for thinking it would be too much, knowing you’d think nothing of it if he were someone else.
And you don’t know how he pulled the pillow you rested on closer, inhaled the scent. How he dreamed of kissing you awake.
The logs crackle in the fire pit, the only light in the garden bar the string lights looped through the trees back to the porch.
It’s been quiet for a while, though he can still hear Pope and Will in the kitchen, chattering about some baseball game. Benny clears his throat from the chair beside him.
‘I’m happy for you.’
It shouldn't do, but it surprises him. In the years that have passed since the heartbreak between them, Frankie has only ever wanted good things for the man he loved.
He should have known Benny would feel the same.
He shakes his head.
‘Ben, we don’t even know if -’
Benny holds up a hand.
‘Regardless,’ he says, ‘I’m happy for you, Fish. I’m so - glad you have her next door. And I really hope it turns into something.’
Frankie swallows, a knot pulling tight in his throat.
‘I’ve got a good feeling about it.’
He chuckles.
‘Thank you.’
Benny smiles, the firelight glinting in his eyes. Still handsome, just not the person meant for him.
‘How does she make you feel?’
Frankie shoots him a look, and he shrugs.
‘I have a theory. Humour me.’
Fish rolls his eyes, but the answer is easy. He says it into the flames.
‘Safe. Warm. Good.’
Important. Loved. Understood.
He lets the words hang there for a moment, wishing you were here. Wishing for you to come through the front door right now and never leave.
When he turns his head, Benny is looking at him with the gentlest smile he’s ever seen. It makes his throat burn, his eyes water.
‘Do I get to know the theory?’
Benny shakes his head, picking at his bottle label, that small smile still there. He takes a deep breath.
‘I don’t know how she feels about you. Not yet. But, Frankie - I’m glad you found each other.’
It lands right in his heart, the goodness that it’s delivered with. And he thinks Benny’s right.
Obviously right - you mean so much more than he could ever have imagined. But you found each other. Led, perhaps, by things he hasn’t always believed in. Fate, stars, ghosts. Everything that came before that didn’t fit quite right - Vanessa, Benny, Annie. Parts of wholes who loved parts of wholes.
But he knows, knew from that moment on his porch after the beach - that huge, swooping feeling - that he loves you, wholly.
That he understands, now, just how much good two people can do for each other.
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