Reflections on Peace, Philosophy, and Life
The ongoing conflict between Israel and Palestine has resulted in a staggering disparity in casualties. As of March 2025, estimates suggest that between 46,600 and 62,000 Palestinians have been killed, while the total number of Israeli fatalities, including both civilians and military personnel, stands at around 1,700. The scale of destruction in Gaza, particularly among civilians—women, children, and the elderly—raises profound moral and ethical concerns.
This level of destruction bears a striking resemblance to some of the darkest chapters in human history. When entire populations are displaced, civilian infrastructure is destroyed, and thousands of innocents are killed, the term genocide inevitably arises. While Israel and its supporters argue that the military actions are necessary for self-defence, the disproportionate loss of Palestinian lives suggests something far more systemic: the systematic destruction of a people. Ironically, this mirrors aspects of the Holocaust—a term historically associated with the mass persecution of Jews but which, by definition, applies to any deliberate attempt to annihilate a group.
What makes this situation particularly paradoxical is that those carrying out these acts—Zionists—are themselves Semitic, as are the Palestinians they are killing. This alone highlights the absurdity of how the term antisemitism has been politically weaponized. While any criticism of Israeli state policy is often labelled antisemitic, the ongoing massacre of Palestinians—who are also Semitic—remains largely unchallenged by the same institutions that claim to fight discrimination. This selective outrage exposes how language can be manipulated to serve political and ideological ends.
From a religious perspective, the actions of the Israeli government and military are fundamentally at odds with Jewish law and ethical teachings. Judaism places a high value on justice, the sanctity of life, and the principle that all human beings are created in the image of God. The Torah, the Talmud, and countless rabbinical interpretations emphasize the obligation to protect the innocent and to seek peace over war. In Leviticus 19:16, it is written: “Do not stand idly by while your neighbour’s blood is shed.” Yet, what we see today is not merely idleness but active participation in large-scale destruction.
The concept of pikuach nefesh, which prioritizes the preservation of human life above nearly all other commandments, is another core tenet of Jewish law that appears to be ignored in this conflict. If Judaism truly upholds the principle that saving one life is akin to saving the entire world, then what does the killing of tens of thousands mean? The religious justifications often given for Zionism—especially those rooted in biblical claims to land—fail to account for the profound moral and ethical contradictions presented by the actual consequences of Israeli military policies.
Despite these contradictions, there has been little outcry from major Jewish religious or cultural institutions worldwide. While some Jewish voices—such as Jewish Voice for Peace and Neturei Karta—have condemned the Israeli government’s actions, mainstream Jewish organizations have either remained silent or actively supported Israel’s military actions. This silence raises troubling questions: Does adherence to Zionism now override adherence to Jewish law? Have political and nationalistic loyalties replaced religious and ethical ones?
It is difficult to reconcile the moral foundations of Judaism with the current reality in Gaza. A people who have suffered immense persecution throughout history—most notably in the Holocaust—are now perpetuating violence against another vulnerable group. The lessons of history should have instilled a deeper sense of empathy and a commitment to justice, rather than a replication of past atrocities under a different banner.
The conflict is not merely a military confrontation; it is a test of moral integrity. If Judaism is to remain true to its ethical foundations, then Jewish voices worldwide must rise in opposition to the ongoing slaughter of Palestinians. To do otherwise is to betray the very teachings that have defined Jewish identity for millennia. A just and peaceful future requires a fundamental reassessment of not only political policies but also the moral responsibilities that come with faith, history, and humanity. Not acting now will condemn all Jews for the future.
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Once again, the mirror has been held up to my face, and I have to admit—it’s not an experience I enjoy.
Anyone who knows me, or even just reads this blog, will be aware that my fundamental interest is in being the best version of myself. Not just in some abstract, self-improvement sense, but in a deeply human way—acknowledging my weaknesses, confronting my inconsistencies, and striving to align my actions with my principles. I want to fully enable the human aspects of myself—the ones rooted in kindness, awareness, and responsibility—rather than letting the greedier, self-serving side take control. That part exists within me too, of course. But the more I recognize it, the more I realize how crucial it is to keep it in check.
With that in mind, I often find myself bewildered by how many people continue living their lives as if the world isn’t changing around them. We know what’s happening—climate change is no longer some distant warning; it's here, manifesting in heatwaves, wildfires, floods, and vanishing biodiversity. The destruction of our natural environment is relentless, and yet, so many of us—myself included—continue with habits and choices that contribute to the problem.
Change has to start with me. No excuses, no justifications—just real, tangible change.
The Transport Conundrum
One aspect of my life that has long been a focus of change is transport. I gave up owning a car over 20 years ago. Living in Switzerland, I have access to an excellent public transport system, and I simply couldn't justify the ongoing costs of car ownership—payments, garage space, parking, insurance, fuel, and maintenance. The financial aspect alone made it an easy decision. If I ever truly need a car, I can rent one, but that’s a rare occurrence. I walk, take trains, buses, or cycle when I can. It’s second nature to me now.
But flying—ah, now there’s a different story.
I recently took a look at flightradar24.com, which tracks all airborne flights worldwide. It’s staggering. At any given moment, the sky is filled with thousands of planes, 24/7. Each one burning through fuel, spewing emissions, and contributing massively to the climate crisis. And for what? Convenience? Leisure? Business trips that could just as well be handled over a video call? The more I thought about it, the more absurd it seemed. So I made a decision: I will not fly unless it’s a genuine life-or-death situation—an unlikely scenario.
The alternative? Trains.
For example, I looked into how long it would take to travel from Switzerland to Leeds, UK, by train. Turns out, it’s doable in about 11 hours. That’s half a day—far from impossible. And while the cheapest, most environmentally friendly option is simply not going at all, if I must travel, I can do it without resorting to cars or planes. It’s a commitment I am making to myself and to the planet.
The Hypocrisy of Meat
But this is where my self-examination gets uncomfortable.
I was recently speaking with a friend who told me he was planning a trip to Japan for a holiday. He’s vegetarian, and during our conversation, he expressed his disbelief that people still eat meat, knowing what they know about the industry. He’s right, of course. We’ve all seen the documentaries, read the reports, and watched the undercover footage. The conditions in which most animals are raised—crowded, confined, unnatural—are appalling. Factory farms are infamous for their inhumane treatment, and disease outbreaks are common.
I know this. I’ve known it for years. And yet... I still eat meat.
Not as much as I used to, but enough that I can no longer hide behind ignorance or half-measures. The hard truth? I eat meat because I like the taste. And that means, consciously or not, I’ve been willing to overlook the suffering behind every meal. That realization stings. Because it means I’ve been living in contradiction—espousing one set of values while acting against them. That is not the person I want to be.
The Change Begins Now
So, here’s my commitment: I am phasing meat out of my diet completely. Not tomorrow, not instantly, but systematically and with intention. I will finish what I already have in my kitchen—because waste is no better than excess—but after that, I’m done. No more justifications, no more looking the other way.
And I know it won’t be easy. Habits are hard to break, especially when they are deeply ingrained in culture, convenience, and personal preference. But ease isn’t the point—integrity is.
I’m grateful to my friend for holding up the mirror and forcing me to see what I had been avoiding. It’s never comfortable to confront one’s own contradictions, but discomfort is often the precursor to real transformation.
A Final Thought
This isn’t about being perfect. It’s not about moral superiority or rigid dogma. It’s about trying—really trying—to live in alignment with my values. The world is burning, and while I can’t single-handedly stop climate change or dismantle factory farming, I can choose the role I play in it. That choice, repeated daily, is what ultimately defines who we are.
So here I am, making that choice. Mea culpa. No more excuses.
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Look around, and it’s hard not to feel that something has gone wrong. Attention spans are shrinking, critical thinking is in decline, and social cohesion is unravelling. People seem more distracted, more divided, and less capable of rational discussion than ever before. Is it just an illusion, or is there something real behind this trend? More importantly, if we recognize the problem, can we do anything about it?
A large part of the issue lies in what we consume—both physically and mentally. The food we eat, the air we breathe, and the water we drink all have profound effects on our cognitive abilities and emotional stability. Ultra-processed foods filled with additives, excessive sugar, and artificial ingredients do more than just expand waistlines—they impact brain function, attention spans, and mood regulation. Meanwhile, environmental pollutants, from microplastics in our water to chemicals in household products, are linked to neurological damage and cognitive decline.
However, the problem extends beyond just physical health. What we consume mentally is just as important, if not more so. Our culture is drowning in shallow distractions—clickbait headlines, algorithm-driven outrage, and an endless stream of trivial entertainment. Social media, once a tool for connection, now fuels division and hostility. Instead of deep, meaningful discussions, we get soundbites and slogans. The education system, rather than fostering curiosity and independent thought, often prioritizes conformity and rote learning, leaving many people ill-equipped to navigate the complexities of the modern world.
Yet, if we’re heading in the wrong direction, what would it take to turn things around? Change isn’t easy, but it is possible. Here are some key areas that need urgent attention:
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Food and Health Consciousness – We must reclaim control over what we eat and drink. Prioritizing whole, natural foods over processed junk, drinking clean water, and reducing exposure to harmful chemicals can have a significant impact on cognitive function and emotional well-being.
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Digital Discipline – Reducing screen time, questioning the narratives pushed by mainstream and social media, and cultivating real-world connections instead of virtual ones can help restore clarity of thought and emotional stability.
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Reviving Critical Thinking – Education must move beyond memorization and test scores. We need a renewed emphasis on logic, philosophy, and debate—skills that enable people to think independently rather than merely regurgitate opinions they’ve absorbed from questionable sources.
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Rebuilding Social Cohesion – Strengthening local communities, engaging in face-to-face conversations, and fostering genuine relationships can counteract the increasing sense of isolation and division that plagues modern society.
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Rejecting Fear and Division – Political and corporate interests thrive on keeping people fearful and divided. Recognizing and resisting these manipulative tactics is essential. We must prioritize truth over ideology and human connection over tribalism.
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Personal Responsibility – Ultimately, the most meaningful change starts at the individual level. Each of us has the power to choose what we consume, how we think, and how we engage with the world around us. Small, conscious choices—reading thoughtful books instead of doom-scrolling, cooking real food instead of eating fast food, engaging in deep conversations instead of superficial arguments—can add up to real transformation.
History shows that civilizations decline when they lose touch with wisdom, community, and personal responsibility. If we continue on our current path, the consequences will likely be severe. But if enough people make conscious choices to reject mindless consumption—both physical and mental—we might be able to turn the tide.
And that leads to the final question: What are you doing to improve the situation in your life?
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There’s a quiet war inside me. A battle between what I know and what I suspect, and what I pretend not to see. It’s easier that way—avoiding contradictions, turning my head away from uncomfortable truths. I tell myself it’s self-preservation, but deep down, I know it’s just fear.
We avoid many contradictions: we'd rather not look too closely because it would make us feel bad, or stupid, or helpless. I get it. I’ve done it. I do it still. It’s far easier to ride the wave of habit than to step into the unknown and question everything. Because if I question too much, I might be forced to change my life.
And change is terrifying.
I look at myself sometimes and think, why are you like this? Why do I resist what I know would make me better? I hold myself back, clip my own wings, build my own prison. Behind the handcuffs of the past, I stay locked in old patterns, bound by invisible restraints that I alone reinforced over the years. I act as if the keys are lost, but I know exactly where they are. I just don’t always have the courage to reach for them.
Maybe it’s because part of me still clings to the arrogance of the know-it-all. That sneaky little voice that whispers, You already understand everything. You’ve figured it out. You don’t need to rethink things. I have a complicated relationship with that voice. It makes me feel secure, wise even—but I know better. I know that certainty can be a trap, that wisdom is fluid, and that arrogance is often just insecurity in disguise. Still, I let it comfort me when I don't feel like doing the hard work of re-evaluating.
But I’m not alone in this. Politicians are perhaps the greatest victims of this fear-based illusion, believing that with the right policies, controls, and manoeuvres, they can manage the world. Their arrogance, wrapped in a false sense of order, blinds them to reality. They manipulate, legislate, and dictate, thinking they hold the answers, while the world they attempt to control continues to unravel. In their pursuit of power, they refuse to acknowledge their own contradictions, their own failures, their own fears. And yet, they convince themselves they are the saviours.
But then, inevitably, something cracks through. A moment of clarity. A reminder that I don’t want to be a prisoner to my own fears, to my own arrogance, to my past. I want to be free, even if that means dismantling everything I thought I knew.
I am my own worst enemy, but I can also be my own liberator. And that’s where the real battle lies—not in the outside world, not in other people, not in circumstances beyond my control. Just in me. Facing myself, questioning myself, unlearning the things that keep me stuck. Choosing courage over comfort.
I don’t always win. But I keep fighting.
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It feels like stupidity is on the rise everywhere I look. By stupidity, I don’t just mean a lack of intelligence or understanding, but something deeper—a failure to connect, to reason, to see the bigger picture. It’s as though we’re collectively losing our ability to work together, to respect one another, and to appreciate the miracle of being alive. Instead, society seems to be fracturing, becoming more extreme, more antisocial, and more focused on division than unity.
I’ve always believed that teamwork is the cornerstone of success. Whether in management courses or life lessons, the message is clear: when we harmonize our different skills and perspectives, we can achieve something greater—something that benefits everyone. But that’s not what I see happening today. Instead, I see a world where individuals, groups, and even nations are locked in a perpetual competition to outdo one another. It’s not just about nations at war (though those conflicts persist); it’s about the everyday battles between genders, families, neighbours, and social classes. It’s exhausting.
I often think of Juvenal’s ancient quote: “Give them bread and circuses, and they will never revolt.” Today, the “revolt” isn’t against oppressive rulers but against each other. We’re too busy striving to be “better” than the next person, too distracted by the endless noise of modern life to see the bigger picture. Media plays a huge role in this. It feeds us a constant diet of negativity—wars, scandals, outrage, and conflict. Yes, there are great documentaries and thoughtful programs, but they’re drowned out by reality shows glorifying outrageous behaviour, action films that portray violence as a solution, and dramas that focus on humanity’s darkest impulses. The message is clear: conflict sells.
And it’s not just on TV. It’s everywhere. Simple acts of courtesy and respect—holding a door, saying thank you, caring for our environment—seem to be disappearing. Instead, we’re increasingly focused on the negative. We’re glued to screens, escaping into endless games and online worlds where we don’t even have to face the consequences of our actions. War itself has moved online, fought with drones and missiles, where the enemy is faceless, and the human cost is abstract.
What saddens me most is how we’re missing the point of being alive. Life is a miracle, a fleeting opportunity to connect, create, and enjoy the world together. Yet, instead of cherishing this gift, we’re squandering it on petty differences and manufactured conflicts. We’re so focused on what divides us—gender, race, politics, wealth—that we forget what unites us: our shared humanity.
I wish we could step back and see the bigger picture. We have the potential to achieve so much if we could just learn to work together, to respect one another, and to focus on what truly matters. But that requires a shift in perspective—one that values cooperation over competition, kindness over cruelty, and hope over despair.
It’s not easy, and I don’t have all the answers. But I do know this: life is too short to waste on stupidity. We owe it to ourselves and to each other to do better. To see the commonality in our shared humanity, to celebrate the good, and to work toward a world where the “greater good” isn’t just an ideal but a reality. It starts with each of us, one small act of kindness at a time.
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Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. That phrase comes from the funeral service in the Book of Common Prayer and draws from biblical passages like Genesis 3:19, Genesis 18:27, Job 30:19, and Ecclesiastes 3:20. These verses remind us that we begin and end as dust. Science, in turn, tells us what makes up the human body: about 99% of our mass consists of oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, calcium, and phosphorus. The remaining 1% comprises elements like potassium, sulfur, sodium, chlorine, and magnesium, with trace elements adding up to less than 10 grams. These elements form the building blocks of life, yet they’re simply that — elements. So, what is it that people think survives death?
There’s much talk of the soul, but what is the soul? The dictionary defines it as "the spiritual or immaterial part of a human being or animal, regarded as immortal." Immaterial. That’s a fascinating word. We know what the material body is made of, as science has laid it out for us. But how do we describe this immaterial part? What evidence do we have of its existence?
It’s undeniable that there’s a force animating us, just as there’s a force driving the universe itself. We can’t see this force; we only see its effects in the constant change around us. Think of the cosmic bombardment of particles we are utterly unaware of except through the lens of experimental physics. These forces, though unseen, are real. Similarly, I can go along with the idea of an immaterial force animating human life. But the stories religions and belief systems spin about what happens to that force after death? They don’t hold water for me. They’re just stories designed to regulate behavior, yet history shows us they’ve failed spectacularly in fostering peace or respect for this so-called “immortal” element we claim to have. We continue to harm, kill, and mistreat each other as though life holds no sanctity at all.
And yet, there’s something undeniably miraculous about existence. Those basic elements come together to form a human being capable of so much: we can love, be kind, experience joy, marvel at the surrounding beauty, and find peace within. These are the aspects of humanity worth focusing on. But do we? Not often. Instead, we’re caught in a ceaseless cycle of wanting to outdo one another, striving to prove our worth by accumulating things we can’t take with us when we die. Why? Perhaps because we’ve forgotten something essential: we are born, we live, and we die. No exceptions. Each of us is unique, and no one can be a better “me” than I can. Why then do we struggle so hard to be something we’re not?
This denial of our unique nature — our refusal to accept who and what we are — creates so many problems. We overlook the miracle of simply being human. Instead of embracing life with gratitude, we chase illusions of superiority, possessions, and fleeting achievements. What if we shifted our perspective? What if we chose to live with thankfulness for the incredible gift we’ve been given, however brief it may be?
Consider this: the median life expectancy worldwide is 73.3 years. That’s about 26,772 days. Not much time at all. How much of that time do we spend fully conscious of the miracle of being alive? How often do we pause to appreciate the wonder of existence? For me, it’s a wake-up call. I don’t want to squander the days I have left chasing things that don’t matter in the end. Instead, I want to focus on the things that truly make life worth living: love, kindness, joy, and the profound peace that comes from simply being present.
This isn’t about lofty ideals or unattainable goals. It’s about realizing that life itself is a miracle. It’s about letting go of the need to compete or compare and instead embracing the uniqueness of our own existence. We’re all subject to the same three laws: we’re born, we live, and one day, we’ll die. But in between, we have the chance to experience life in all its richness and beauty. That’s not something to take lightly.
So, here’s my resolution: to live with awareness, gratitude, and joy. To see the immaterial force within me not as something mysterious or unknowable, but as a reminder of the interconnectedness of all life. To cherish this gift of existence and make the most of the fleeting time I have. It’s time to wake up, to stop chasing and start appreciating. After all, life isn’t about how much we can accumulate or how far ahead we can get. It’s about the moments we truly live. And those moments are far more abundant when we focus on the miracle of being alive.
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