When the cognitive dissonances of our present-day made themselves felt in the aftermath of October 7th, the question of where and how the abysmal hatred leading to this pogrom originated has remained unanswered. This question drew our attention to John Aziz, a British-Palestinian journalist who passionately writes about the events in his father's homeland. His perspective is particularly interesting because he clearly sees the weight of this heritage as the dark shadow of a tragedy imposed on him, but even more on his relatives remaining in Palestine. Because, as a product of the English education system and, as a young musician, he also feels part of the digital world. And it’s in this sense that he personifies the global mission of a digital native who, as a peace activist, wants to share his view of Islam with a wider public.

John Aziz is a musician active in the peace movement and digital economy. As a journalist, he has a Substack blog and has written for Quillette, Foreign Policy and Prospect. His music can be found on Soundcloud.

John Aziz in the media

This is not Late State Capitalism, in: Quillette

The West is Next, in Quilette

The Death of a Deluded Man

Replacing Isreales with Palestne. A Dangerous Delusion

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If there's a great mystery in the history of ideas, it lies in where the blind spots of thought are encountered. However, this raises the question of precisely what conditions lead to such blind thinking. When Mark Lilla, a professor of humanities at Columbia University whose work has delved deeply into the history of political theology, prefaces his book Ignorance and Bliss with the motto of an English Writer: »The faintest of all human passions is the love of truth,« he's highlighting the underlying dilemma: that the love of truth pales in comparison to other passions. And because he’s somewhat surprised this fact has received comparatively little attention in the history of philosophy—with the exception of Nietzsche—in his latest book, Lilla turns to the psychology of the present-day obliviousness, characterizing various paradigms within which the will to ignorance has found expression. Looking around at our present, we're confronted with countless varieties of blissful ignorance, making our conversation with him all the more rewarding as an in-depth exploration of a terrain that's received little attention.

After working as an editor at The Public Interest and holding professorships at New York University and the University of Chicago, Mark Lilla became a professor of humanities at Columbia University in 2007. He regularly writes for the New York Times and New York Review of Books, among many other publications.

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Because life is life-size, academic discourses, let alone grand worldviews, can only ever be approximations. Yet, direct observation and engagement with a specific situation raises the most complex and, at the same time, the most diverse questions. From this point of view, the experience the young Moriel Bareli recounts in his book When a Jew and a Muslim Talk is of such a dense and unusual nature. Yet his starting point was relatively simple: a young man growing up on Long Island, New York, who came to Israel when he turned eighteen. And since he lived near Jerusalem's Old City, inhabited mainly by Israeli Muslims, he developed a desire to learn Arabic – and in this way, to approach and become closer with his neighbor—the unknown being, as Rilke had named him. In practice, however, this wasn't quite so easy to accomplish because, at the time of the so-called Knife Intifada, Jewish students were only allowed to enter the Old City if accompanied by guards. So, as a digital native, Bareli downloaded an app and arranged to learn the language through various online conversations. Because he soon realized revealing his identity as a Jewish Israeli wouldn’t help him achieve his goal, he decided to focus on his New York background, presenting himself as an American college student who taught English in exchange for Arabic classes. And it was in this way that he was able to strike up conversations with all kinds of people in the Arab world—conversations that would have been impossible in everyday life. This experience, with its unmistakable anthropological significance, drew our attention to him – leading to the following conversation, which, despite the subject's dark and confrontational nature, was characterized by a wonderful sense of humor.

Moriel Bareli lives in Samaria, teaches Arabic and gives lectures on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

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