In a Moment of Relief, Deep Questions Remai

Why the Israel–Hamas Conflict Still Hits Home in Baltimore

By Kevin Wilder | Politics As Usual | October 2025 – Baltimore, MD

Omri Miran, a released Israeli hostage, embraces his father, Dani Miran in Reim on Monday. Photograph: Israel Defense Forces/Reuters

When the final hostages were released from Gaza earlier this month, the world exhaled — a small mercy in a long and painful story. Across the ocean, families in Israel cried tears of relief, and diplomats praised the moment as progress. But here in Baltimore, as I scrolled through the footage on my phone, I couldn’t help but ask: why should this matter to us?

Because it does.And whether we realize it or not, the struggle for peace, justice, and dignity halfway across the world echoes deeply in the lived experiences of Black folks right here at home.

Shared Struggles for Humanity and Home

For generations, Black America has watched foreign conflicts unfold through a lens colored by our own history — slavery, segregation, police brutality, and the fight for civil rights. We recognize oppression when we see it. We understand the pain of families torn apart, of children growing up in neighborhoods defined more by conflict than opportunity.

When I saw the hostages — men, women, and children — being brought home after years in captivity, I thought about mothers in Baltimore praying for their sons’ safe return every night. Not from a war overseas, but from the war zones we’ve built right here in our own city.

Every mother crying in Gaza or Tel Aviv feels familiar to the mothers crying in Sandtown or Park Heights. The grief looks the same, even if the geography doesn’t.

The Politics of Pain

It’s easy to turn off the news and say, “That’s not our problem.” But the truth is, America’s role in the Middle East shapes more than foreign policy — it shapes priorities, resources, and moral consistency.

Billions of U.S. dollars go toward military aid, reconstruction, and diplomacy abroad. Meanwhile, in cities like Baltimore, residents still fight for clean schools, affordable housing, and mental health resources. The contrast forces a hard question: how can a country pour so much into rebuilding other nations while leaving so many of its own communities fractured?

That’s not an anti-Israel or anti-Palestinian statement — it’s a reminder that peace abroad and justice at home aren’t separate struggles. They’re connected threads in the same human tapestry.

Black America and the Global Mirror

The African American community has always been part of a global conversation about freedom. From Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s opposition to the Vietnam War, to the solidarity Malcolm X showed with liberation movements in Africa and the Middle East — our leaders understood that oppression anywhere threatens justice everywhere.

So when we see images of rubble in Gaza or protests in Tel Aviv calling for government accountability, it mirrors our own demands for transparency, reform, and compassion.

And yes — it matters how we respond. It matters that we see both the humanity of Israeli families mourning and the suffering of Palestinian families displaced. If we can only see pain when it looks like us, we’ve missed the deeper lesson of what liberation truly means.

Faith and Reflection

For many in Baltimore’s Black churches, the Israel–Hamas conflict also carries spiritual weight. The Holy Land has long been part of the biblical imagination — a symbol of struggle, redemption, and divine promise. But it’s also a reminder that holy places can still be scarred by human failure.

Pastors have preached on it. Choirs have prayed over it. And in those prayers, there’s an unspoken understanding: if peace can come to the Middle East, maybe peace can come to our neighborhoods, too.

The Lesson for Us

When the final hostages returned home, the joy was real — but it didn’t erase the questions. How do we build peace that lasts? How do we heal trauma that crosses generations? How do we make sure justice isn’t reserved for some, but extended to all?

Those are the same questions we wrestle with in Baltimore every day — from City Hall to Edmondson Avenue.Maybe that’s the connection: that human desire to be safe, to be seen, and to be free.

The war may be thousands of miles away, but the message it sends is close to home: peace is not a spectator sport. It’s a responsibility — for Israel, for Palestine, for America, and for us, right here in our own blocks.

Because whether it’s a ceasefire in Gaza or a truce between our own neighborhoods, the fight for peace starts with understanding — and ends only when we all can breathe easy again.