At 75, Bob Suberi is preparing to break the Israeli siege on Gaza.
The American-Israeli citizen of Yemeni Jewish heritage stands aboard the Handala, part of the 37th Freedom Flotilla mission, attempting to deliver humanitarian supplies to Palestinians trapped behind Israel's total blockade, which has created a man-made famine.
For Bob, a Vietnam War veteran who spent decades as a supporter of Israel, this journey to Gaza represents the culmination of a radical political transformation that began with uncomfortable conversations among fellow American Jews.
Speaking to The New Arab while docked at Gallipoli in Italy as the ship makes its final preparations for the last leg to Gaza, Bob reflects on the mission and his political journey.
Breaking the siege
While the Handala carries humanitarian supplies toward Gaza, the mission's true purpose extends far beyond physical aid delivery.
Bob emphasises that this is "a completely non-violent attempt to break the illegal Israeli blockade" that has strangled Gaza since 2007 — a symbolic challenge to the siege that controls everything entering and leaving the territory, from food and water to people and commercial supplies.
The goal is to draw international attention to the crimes committed by Israel against Palestinian civilians.
Recent developments have made conditions even more horrific. Bob describes Israel's humanitarian aid operations through the Gaza Humanitarian Foundation as tantamount to "baiting people with food because they're starving to death and then shooting them."
For the activists aboard the Handala, witnessing such calculated cruelty only reinforces the urgency of their mission to expose these violations to the world.
The flotilla faces almost certain interception by Israeli forces, who have boarded previous ships in international waters and arrested crew members, and even killed nine members of the Turkish delegation back in 2010.
Bob and his fellow activists have undergone extensive non-violence training, learning "what to say, what not to say, what to do, what not to do" when confronted by Israeli forces.
They know they're likely "sailing toward arrest", but that's not the point — the act of challenging the blockade itself sends a powerful message.
Bob is clear about the flotilla's limitations and purpose.
"We are not the story," he insists. "Palestinians are the ones who are resisting. We are supporting their resistance."
The flotilla's value lies not in the tonnage of aid it might deliver, but in its refusal to accept the normalisation of Gaza's imprisonment and its role in keeping Palestinian suffering visible to the world.
His message to Palestinians in Gaza is simple: "We hear you, we see you, we are trying to do what we can do. The world is watching what is happening to you, and the world, except for the leaders of most Western governments, is sympathetic. We recognise the inhumanity and the illegality of what is happening to you.”
Unravelling a lifetime of belief
Bob's path to Palestinian solidarity began in the most unlikely place: among other American Jews.
Raised in a "Jewish Zionist environment" and sent to Zionist summer camps that he "totally loved," the indoctrination was, as he puts it, "hardwired."
His first visit to Israel came in 1969-70 while on R&R from his Vietnam War service, and he returned many times over the decades.
The crack in his worldview appeared in 2006, when he joined a delegation of older American Jews returning to Israel following Hezbollah rocket attacks.
What he describes as "kind of birthright for old people" was meant to reconnect him with his Zionist roots. Instead, it pushed him away.
"It wasn't so much anything we did or saw that made me start questioning my commitment to Zionism," he recalls. "It was pretty much the other delegates."
Evening political discussions revealed racist attitudes that disturbed him — talk about Kenyans being "worthless" without colonial management, casual suggestions about "nuking Palestine."
When Bob suggested that maybe colonised peoples hadn't wanted European infrastructure, hadn't wanted to be colonised at all, he found himself increasingly isolated from his fellows.
This growing unease eventually pushed Bob to take a step most American Jews never consider: visiting the occupied West Bank.
In 2019, he joined a delegation organised by the Center for Jewish Nonviolence, crossing into Palestinian territory for the first time.
The reality he encountered — Palestinians living without basic rights under conditions he describes as "worse than animals" — shattered any remaining illusions about Israeli benevolence.
Looking back, Bob now recognises that his Israeli family's warnings about going to Palestine were never really about physical safety.
"I don't really think that at the heart of their concerns is physical danger. I think it's an ideological danger. I think they're worried about seeing something that will destroy their ideological commitment," he reflects.
Their fears proved justified — witnessing the occupation destroy his lifelong perceptions was the starting point in his journey that now has him aboard the Handala, sailing toward Gaza.
Protective presence in the South Hebron Hills
Bob now spends several months each year around Masafer Yatta, a collection of Palestinian villages in the South Hebron Hills, constantly under threat from Israeli settlers and military forces.
His work involves "protective presence" — documenting settler violence, assisting with construction projects, and providing an international witness to ongoing displacement attempts.
The work has given him an intimate knowledge of how the occupation functions on a day-to-day basis.
He describes watching settlers plant olive groves on Palestinian land, then claim the territory and hold prayers "right there next to the community centre where the kids play."
This use of religious justification for land theft particularly disturbs him as a Jew.
"They're using my religion to justify the encroachment on Palestinians and the disregard for their lives in general," he tells The New Arab.
Bob warns that the West Bank is being systematically prepared for Gaza-style siege conditions.
"The West Bank is being set up to be treated in the same way that Gaza is being treated right now," he explains.
Palestinians across the West Bank face hours-long delays at checkpoints, and isolation walls are fragmenting Palestinian territory.
"At any time, they can go in and do to the West Bank what they're currently doing in Gaza right now."
His relationships with Palestinian families have become deeply personal.
"These people have become like family to me," he says. "They treat me like family. They're the most generous. I've been treated more generously there than any place I've ever visited."
For Bob, the tactics he's witnessed in Palestine aren't confined to the occupied territories.
He draws troubling parallels to what's happening in America, particularly with the increased frequency of ICE operations that he describes as "kidnapping people" using masked, armed agents without proper identification — methods that mirror Israeli enforcement tactics.
"What goes around comes around," he warns, suggesting that the authoritarian practices perfected in Palestine have a way of spreading beyond their original borders.
As the Handala sets sail into uncertain waters in their attempt to break Israel's illegal blockade, Bob carries with him the transformative power of bearing witness.
For those still trapped in the ideological frameworks he once inhabited, his challenge is direct: "I challenge people to go and see. And then if you can justify it, more power to you, but you know, go and have a look."
It was that first glimpse of the Palestinian reality in the West Bank that destroyed his lifelong beliefs — and ultimately led him to this mission, sailing toward Gaza with humanitarian supplies and an unshakeable conviction that the world must no longer look away.
Track the Handala's journey here.
Liam Syed is a freelance journalist currently based in Amman, Jordan
Follow him on Instagram: @liamlaiii