As a child, being pro-Israel was something I took for granted. I was sent to Jewish primary school where Israeli veterans visited every year on Independence Day; the Israeli flag was draped on the wall in the hall and in the school choir I sang a one-line solo in “Hebrew is a Complicated, Difficult Language”. (A real end-of-show crowd-pleaser, I promise you). When I turned twelve, my family started going to prayers every Saturday. In the Sabbath service there was a prayer swearing allegiance to Israel and, in the sermon, the Rabbi would deal with what was going on ‘over there’ that week, linking the troubles of Israel with our own. On my Bar Mitzvah I stood with the Rabbi, sang from the Torah and made that toast to Israel myself. .

Though my parents were brought up Orthodox, that branch of Judaism does not tolerate divorce. My parents had split up in 1984, so like many modern families we went Reform out of necessity, but stayed because it was more liberal. As a teenager I joined the affiliated organisation RSY (Reform Synagogue Youth), linked to a worldwide network called Netzer whose goal is “Tikkun Olam”, Healing the World – a big goal, I know, but a good one. Over the next five years I became heavily involved, going on camps and attending regular educational sessions. RSY is where I got my first real kiss, met my friends for life, first saw footage of bodies being swept into a ditch during the Holocaust, and where I discovered what a Palestinian was. I believe it did me a lot of good, teaching me to treat all humans with equal respect, no matter their religion or colour of skin; RSY had something of the socialist about it that appealed to the teenage rebel in me, also showing me that even in Israel there were many groups of people who saw the world differently. Though the Orthodox believed Reformers did not count as Jews at all, we in RSY thought Israel was our natural home. .

Back then, I was confused about why Israel was fighting, but I believed it was a force for good. Jews had wandered the earth for 2000 years. We had been persecuted everywhere. We needed a place of our own so we could protect ourselves. At sixteen I spent a month touring Israel with RSY and having the time of my life – at eighteen I signed up to spend a year there. I left Manchester in ‘96 and spent my first few months in Jerusalem, where I enjoyed some of the happiest weeks of my life sharing a tiny flat with fourteen others hungry for experiences. We took the number 18 bus every morning (one that had been regularly bombed) into language classes at Hebrew University and watched soldiers get on the buses every day holding guns, checking under the seats for explosives; this forced me to form my own opinions about what was happening. As time went on I realised that I didn’t believe in God and didn’t like a lot of what I saw happening in Israel, but mostly I was uncomfortable with the unwillingness of some Jews to see the other side of the argument, especially with other Jews. I was no ideal student, and was often mostly concerned with my next night out, but I remember one day debating with settlers in Gaza about Israel’s future, and coming away furious, feeling I had nothing in common with these people at all. I was ready for Kibbutz life, which I loved, though even there things didn’t seem to be absolutely equal. .

By the time I left Israel in ‘97, disgusted and frustrated, I swore I would not go back unless there was peace. I moved north, hid from the Jewish Community and wrote a book about my confusion to get it out of my system. Meanwhile, one of my friends from RSY emigrated, joined the army, did service on the front line then returned to England for good, seemingly conflicted. My closest friend emigrated later and got married. One of my proudest moments was being his Best Man when he got married in Tiberias last May; that place was bombed last week. .

Organisations whose constitutions demand the extermination of Jews are currently firing hundreds of rockets over the border. Soldiers have been kidnapped. The surrounding countries are ganging up. So why can’t I just support Israel, like I have always been taught? I don’t know, but I watch the news and don’t know who I hate more. Every time a Jew says something stupid (like Maureen Lipman on ‘This Week’ saying “they don’t value life like we do – they strap bombs to themselves” when questioned about the Israeli army killing civilians), I seethe. When I’m at the pub, I try and avoid the subject, though I feel a responsibility somehow to show that not all Jews are like the ones on the news. To some I’m a traitor and self-hater, to others I’m an apologist for Israel. You can’t win. Meanwhile, the attitude of much of the community where I come from is this: “Everyone else is attacking us. Which side are you on anyway?” And the answer, I suppose, is neither. .

What do people in Israel say about this new situation? Well, my friend despairs. When we had our latest heated discussion the other day, he said people in Israel think the world hates them. Israelis believe Britain and America can get away with invading Afghanistan and Iraq but tell Israel they can’t fight terrorism; its double standards. They say the global media is against them – and I don’t know, there may be something in that – you do have to look a lot harder for coverage that is at least sympathetic to Israel’s cause. Still, I can’t help but wonder if that’s simply because Israel have become the chief oppressors. Their reaction has been so over-the-top, it can only recruit more bombers than it extinguishes: and does anybody still believe this is just about three kidnapped soldiers? Like my friend, I despair. The attitude of both sides seems to be this: “The other guys kill more children that we do. We are just defending ourselves. They are murderers.” .

My friend was born from ten minutes drive from me. He grew up and made a choice between two identities: English and Jewish. Finding Englishness pretty hollow, he chose Jewish. (I saw his point. I ran away to Scotland.) He felt Israel was the only place he could live a totally Jewish life, and I respected that. I still do. More that that: I have been proud that he moved there to add one more vote to those who want a two-state solution – to fight for peace, for human rights for all, the kind of things we marched for when I lived in Israel. He is a fiercely intelligent man who speaks five languages including Arabic, refers to Ariel Sharon as a “war criminal” (because of his part in the invasion of Lebanon!) and only wants to build understanding between the sides. He is my hero. But even he now seems to feel he must give the government the benefit of the doubt. On the phone last week he said: “With the Palestinian situation, its easy for me. I can be as left wing as I like. But with this, I don’t know what to do. People say, the countries around us just want to drive us into the sea, and that’s how it seems. Like everyone is against us, no matter what we do.” I think he may be right. It frightens me to see the anti-Semitic hatred in the eyes of people who talk about the Great Zionist Conspiracy or dance in the streets to celebrate the gunning down of helicopters. But it makes me cringe to see the Israeli Defence Force attacking Lebanon so crudely, as if the only state in the world that matters is Israel, and all the people of Lebanon should suffer because of what Hezbollah are doing. It shames me every bit as much as when I hear about the thousands of people the British government calls “collateral damage” in its own ugly Middle East war. .

Perhaps I should not speak on this subject. My friend feels that Israel’s policies are not automatically the business of all Jews everywhere – after all, he has no opinion on Tommy Sheridan’s sex life, and why should he? But for right or wrong, I believe we are all affected by what happens in the Middle East, and the Israelis look no better to me than the bombers on the other side – a bunch of paranoid idiots raising the stakes and doing untold damage to the world’s shaky balance. If Israel was set up to protect Jews, it’s ironic that Jews seem more threatened there than anywhere else. If it was set up to show the world what Jews can do given the chance, it is a shame it has shown them to be as capable of mistakes as any other people. If it was set up as a homeland, it is a pity that it is one that cannot be shared happily. A student at Hebrew University was interviewed two days ago for British TV. Asked if he thought there would be peace in his lifetime, he said: “I hope so…I used to think so…but now, I don’t know.” He tried to add to that, but couldn’t, shrugged, and walked off.

Rodge Glass was born in 1978 and is originally from Cheshire, where most of his large, many-tentacled family still live. He is the product of an Orthodox Jewish Primary School, an 11+ All Boys Grammar School, a Co-Ed Private School, a Monk-sponsored Catholic College, a Jerusalem classroom, Kibbutz Yahel in the Israeli desert, Strathclyde University and finally Glasgow University. After 12 torturous months in a small quasi-semi off the Engish M62, Rodge has now escaped back to Glasgow. He is writing his second novel and a biography of the Scottish writer and artist, Alasdair Gray, and against his better judgement re-entering the education system to do a PhD. Rodge's debut novel, NO FIREWORKS was published by Faber and Faber in July 2005: he has also written for The Herald in Scotland, Big Issue Scotland, Big Issue in the North and City Life magazine in Manchester. To read a selection of Rodge’s writing on the showcase section of this site, click here