The Day They Danced
Credit: David Dee Delgado/Getty Images.

DW Opinion

The Day They Danced

Palestinians, not just Hamas, cheered the massacres.

Chloe Trapanotto
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5 min

You would think they had just won the lottery, welcomed their firstborn son, or watched their team hoist the World Cup, the way these animals cheered on this day, three years ago.

The Palestinians laughed, wept, and leaped for joy on the day 1,200 innocent women, children, and men were brutally slaughtered, raped, and discarded across Israel. Of that staggering toll, 46 were Americans. Twelve of the hostages were American too, and they were kidnapped, starved, and tortured for hundreds of days. One of those Americans was a four-year-old girl, who was held captive for 50 days.

The Palestinians danced. They danced while they nauseatingly shouted “Allahu Akbar” until their throats gave out. They danced, they shouted, and they praised their children through tears, as their bundles of pride and terrorism told them, gleefully, that they had killed Jews.

“Their blood is on my hands. I swear mom, 10 with my own hands. Mom, your son is a hero.” 

The Palestinians helped. They helped drag the bodies of those killed by terrorists through the streets. They helped drag the bodies, kick the remains, and drive the corpses off to be butchered further.

These were souls who would never return home, never be properly buried, never say goodbye to the people who loved them.

And through it all, they danced.

These celebrations weren’t confined to Gaza and the West Bank.

In the West, the same week that Hamas terrorists breached Israel’s southern border in 120 places, by pickup truck, motorcycle, tractor, and paraglider, with civilians streaming in beside them to shoot, assault, and abduct as many Israelis as possible, some of our own citizens cheered.

The mayor of New York City, Zohran Mamdani, has a wicked wife who was liking Instagram photos celebrating the attacks.

Attacks that looked like this:

These two little girls are running for their lives as a Palestinian chases them. He shot the first, then shot the other as she begged him to spare her.

This smarmy, suit-clad, two-faced mayor with a fake smile marked the third anniversary of the attacks with a watered-down tweet about the Israeli lives lost, blah blah blah. He then pivoted to a lengthy eulogy for the Palestinian lives lost in the aftermath of a war their leaders started and lambasted Israel for committing “genocide.”

Only one party attempted a genocide: the salivating, sick-in-the-head Hamasniks, backed wholeheartedly by their Palestinian counterparts.

Only one ideology treats the murder of civilians as a holiday.

The celebrations continued. Last year, Coffeyeh, a coffee shop just outside Austin, Texas, gave free lattes to anyone who walked in wearing a keffiyeh and could tell them “what day it is.”

People in our own country are turning the anniversary of the deadliest day for Jews since the Holocaust — the day 251 hostages were taken, including children and Americans — into a costume-and-coffee special. I’d like it a latte if we deported those owners.

They danced while the bodies were still warm. They danced on the anniversary. They will dance the next time they think their god is pleased.

I do not owe sympathy to people who celebrate my countrymen’s graves. Pity is for the dead, not the dancers.

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