All That's Left

All That’s Write

All That’s Write is a living archive of Diaspora opposition to the Occupation, specifically on-the-ground in Israel-Palestine.

Since its inception in 2013, this blog has allowed anti-occupation activists to share stories, analyses, photographs, poems, and other personal expressions in an openly accessible forum.

You can submitting a piece by messaging us on Facebook 
or by emailing 
allthatsleftcollective@gmail.com 💌

  • Abandoning the Idolatry of Nonviolence

    Gabi Kirk takes us through her journey into the realization that while tremendously important, nonviolence should not become the fetish of community organizing. 

  • Why the Occupation is a Reproductive Justice Issue

    By Leanne Gale and Gabi Kirk”Palestinian women bear the brunt of Israeli military occupation, their wombs symbolically weaponized as carriers of demographic time-bombs. Jewish women are also impacted by state policies and bigoted attitudes, although in very different ways. This is reproductive oppression, rooted in racist state policies.”

  • How’s My Driving?

    By A. Daniel RothPicture passports with identities and institutions in our pockets and freedom of movement and movements. 

  • Jewish Tradition Demands that I Stand with Susiya

    By Rena Oppenheimer“Settlers!” she screamed. “They’re coming to cut down our olive trees!” That was just one weekend in the lives of Susiya’s residents. Now there is a growing movement of Jewish activists joining the work to end cycles of disempowerment, fear, and abuse—including those perpetuated in our name by the Israeli occupation.

  • Confessions of a Former Zionist: A Land Without A People

    By Leigh HoffmanIn the narrow streets of the Balata Refugee Camp, the noise of children playing and peddlers selling shoelaces and candy bags floats through the air. It is in Balata and in Haifa that I begin to explore Zionism, the Nakba, history and the road ahead. 

  • How Did I Get Here?

    By Yonit Friedman”On my second to last night in Israel, I called my parents. “I think I want to spend next semester here,” I said. “You’re joking, right?” said my mother.”

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