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In an unexpected twist to the diplomatic game of “how to win friends and influence people through passive aggression,” the Biden administration has penned a heartfelt letter to Israel, almost akin to a concerned parent nagging their teen about curfew—except, in this scenario, the teen has access to lasers, drones, and a penchant for making things explode. This little note urges Israel to improve the “humanitarian situation” in Gaza before 30 days are up, or risk jeopardizing U.S. military aid—which is kind of like telling a kid not to eat candy before dinner, while simultaneously filling their room with chocolate bars.
The wires were crossed at the White House on a leisurely Sunday when Secretary of State Antony Blinken and Secretary of Defense Lloyd Austin found themselves co-authoring a letter that read more like a passive-aggressive text than an official communication. “Hey Yoav and Ron,” it begins, “we’re really, like, super concerned about what’s happening over there. If you could just, you know, reverse the whole humanitarian crisis thing this month, we’d really appreciate it.” Truly, it’s the diplomatic equivalent of offering a bite of your sandwich, but only if they finish their vegetables first.
Aid to Gaza has plummeted more than 50% since spring like a bad stock, with September recording the lowest monthly delivery since the onset of this ongoing tragedy. As the elections loom in just a few weeks, let’s just say the timing of this letter is about as subtle as a marching band in a library.
Meanwhile, despite issuing ultimatums like expired coupons, the U.S. has been chugging along with military assistance to Israel faster than a trainwreck. In a surprising display of trust, President Biden assured everyone that bombs and artillery were at risk if Israel dared to invade Rafah. Spoiler alert: they invaded anyway, and the only thing that got cut was the rhetoric—right before the U.S. whipped out a generous $1 billion weapon package as a peace offering.
In the whimsical world of U.S.-Israel relations, one might expect future military aid to hang in the balance like a precarious piñata at a kid’s birthday party—swinging wildly depending on the behavior of the guest of honor. To this end, the letter suggests that actions must be taken, dramatically listing demands that read more like a teenager’s wishlist: “Allow 350 trucks daily into Gaza, implement humanitarian pauses, and for good measure, make sure the Jordan Armed Forces have all their toys functioning properly.”
The letter closes on an encouraging note—similar to a hand-holding session in a therapy group—by proposing a new channel of communication to “discuss civilian harm incidents.” Because nothing says “we care” quite like getting together at the end of the month to talk about the consequences of bomb-dropping fun.
Meanwhile, the Israeli military rampages on through northern Gaza like a bull in a china shop, telling civilians to just casually stroll southward—where over a million displaced souls are already crammed tighter than the lines at a Black Friday sale.
And just to show they’re not complete villains, the Israeli agency overseeing Palestinian territories released a Twitter update that declared care packages were heading into the strip, touting “30 trucks entered northern Gaza!” It’s a humanitarian miracle! Just ignore the concurrent demolishing of their home base—because apparently, you can do both!
So here we are, caught in an endless loop of political absurdity where humanitarian aid is a bargaining chip in a game of international chess, and the players seem quite content with the charade—because why break the illusion when you can just keep writing letters?
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