Last summer, I spent my break from school working with the United Nations Relief and Works Agency — the UN branch established after the Arab-Israeli war of 1948 to support Palestinian refugees.

I have always considered myself to be decently educated on the Palestinian-Israeli conflict — an issue which I am passionate about, and which led me to spend my summer working in Jordan.

That experience was incredibly sobering. Working in public health allowed me a glimpse into the health outcomes of a long-standing refugee population under stress — a topic that I cannot do justice to here (a topic for another time). It also offered me the opportunity — a blessing — to visit the Gaza Strip for a week long primary care physician training program. Just try to enter Gaza, and experience the red-tape and restrictions, and you’ll understand why I say blessing (again, a topic for another time).

The things I saw, the stories I heard, the people I met… have shaped me in ways that I think I will forever struggle to describe — a range of emotions and compulsions that are never consistent.

A layer of optimism and hope, born from perceived resilience, intertwined with the frustration, anger and sadness of current realities.

At the time, immersed in this complicated frame of mind, I made sure to offer daily updates to friends and family to describe what I was seeing in Gaza, including some of the important encounters I had. I wanted them to understand a bit of what I was seeing and experiencing. In hindsight, I guess I wanted them to get an idea of what was shaping my new being.

I tried my best to offer first-hand accounts, to offer objective views and to highlight my belief that a stable, peace process was possible — while showing that Gaza was under circumstances that no place on Earth should be. I acknowledge that these updates may have failed expectations of some, or may have irritated others.

To those I offended, I apologize — but I stand behind my decision to share these stories.

While in Gaza, I felt myself becoming — and I promised to become — an advocate. Being one of the few who have gained access into Gaza, especially among my peers and in my capacity as a future physician, I felt compelled to raise these issues, and to question why the status quo was being allowed to stand. So I made this promise to do what little part I could to furthering this cause.

If only.

I have failed on this promise. Since I have returned home, I have failed.

I have been back for half a year, and I feel as though I am silent. In the moments where my passion was strongest, my silence is deafening. It is this frustration with myself, that leads me to write this. I feel as though I am failing those in Gaza I signed an unspoken contract with.

But, why?

I’ve been called anti-Semitic for addressing the plight of Gazans, for questioning the decisions of government and for demanding respect for human rights and law (unfortunately because these doubters exist, it is necessary at this point for me to state unequivocally that I have nothing but love for Jewish people — my feelings have nothing to do with religion, but the decisions of a country’s government). I’ve been called ignorant for not addressing the concerns of the ‘other side’ to the same emotional effect. I’ve been called a terrorist and an extremist sympathizer for reasons beyond me.

All of this because I wanted to share my frustrations about what I was seeing and experiencing — facing a culture of backlash and fear for speaking my mind, for advocating for basic justice and human rights. It has become taboo, with clear consequences, as highlighted above, to speak about this one particular international issue.

As a medical student, my peers have warned me to stay silent — for fear that I may face consequences from the medical school, that I may be jeopardizing future residency options and my soon-to-be medical career. My professionalism has been called into question .

I’m expected to relinquish the things that I’m passionate about?

So I have stayed silent — I have sold out. I have sold myself short. I have failed.

Instead of engaging in discussion, people want to label me. Instead of trying to understand me, they blacklist me. Instead of respecting my views, they threaten me.

I don’t know what to do, so I bite my tongue and reason with myself… that my words wouldn’t affect anyone’s perceptions anyway. But the guilt and disappointment with myself come in waves — reaching this current peak.

Today’s trigger: news of Gazan farmland being destroyed with herbicides and further annexation of West Bank land

So I write, stringing words together, because I need this moment of introspection to better understand myself.

I can only hope that one day I do justice — by seeking justice — to the experience I had in Gaza.