TELL ME ABOUT NAAMA LEVY

One year ago, I hosted an event in New York City at Donna Karen’s Urban Zen on Charles St. in the West Village. It was supposed to be a small gathering of New Yorkers all coming to hear “The Son of Hamas” speak about the war between Israel and Palestine. Besides Mossab, we also welcomed Shahar Peled, an IDF soldier, and Ayalet Levy, the mother of Naama, who became a hostage on October 7.

Weeks prior to this event, Jason consistently encouraged me to moderate my posts about Israel. He felt that being so vocal made me a target and brought unneeded attention to our family. He feared for my safety and that of our kids.

I told him that I would slow down and try to be less provocative, but every time I did shy away, I found myself waking up the next morning and reengaging tenfold.

Around this time, I received an invitation to the event. The woman organizing sent me the invite, only to call two days later with a new request.

“I don’t want a reporter hosting this evening. I don’t trust anyone to not inject their own point of view...” she said.

“Yeah…” I listened, still unsure where she was going with this.

“That’s why I want to know if you will host it.” She continued.

I was so taken aback that I remember nearly falling off the treadmill. I knew that if I told Jason that not only was I attending this gathering, but also the fucking MC, he was going to kill me.

On the night of the event, I managed to wrangle Jason into going. He sat in the front row next to my friend Jess, Melissa Biden, and Candice Miller. The room was filled with familiar faces, some I knew and others I just followed on Instagram.

My body was buzzing with anticipation. I had no idea what I was going to say or if I’d be able to say it. Despite being a fan of Mossab, I wasn't sure if I wanted to be alone in a room with him. He was, after all, a former terrorist.