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 💌

  • “Pack of hypocritical traitorous autoantisemites.”

    by Yuval OrrThese were the words my cousin used to describe me and my co-conspirators, the few hundred people who planned to attend an anti-war demonstration organized by the Coalition of Women for Peace.

  • Demagoguery and Islamophobia in the Precincts; (or) Fear and Loathing in The Flyover

    By Barry DredzeControversy during the run-up to the 2010 mid-term elections over the planned development of an Islamic Community Center in the former Burlington Coat Factory building in lower Manhattan revealed an ugly tradition of demagoguery in American political discourse.

  • Conversations in Jerusalem

    By Leigh Hoffman “What do you think about the Arabs?” the old man sitting on the park bench next to me whispers, folding his body inward as he leans towards my ear, covering the empty space between us with his frail body. His delicate eyes look up at mine, glimmering with the faint mist of…

  • Before we all sink into despair (5 thoughts on hope after the Israeli elections)

    By Moriel Rothman-ZecherSo the question, then, becomes this, to those of us who do have a choice, and are burdened/blessed with the privilege of choosing to despair: Do we allow the terrible parts of these elections (and of this place in general) to deflate us, demotivate us, tear us down?

  • I have never been more conscious of my womanhood.

    By Leanne GaleI was starting to feel good. We found a “Kahane Was Right” sticker pasted to the sidewalk and leaned down to peel it off. As we kneeled to the ground, it felt like we were simultaneously mourning and building. The act of peeling, digging into the cement with our finger-nails, felt like a…

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