I write this letter as a mother of four grown sons and a grandmother of 20.

When my sons were growing up, we had a life size cutout of Michael Jordan in our kitchen.

When your sons were growing up, they had posters of murderers hanging in their bedrooms.

When my sons and grandsons were growing up, we took them to the aquarium where they lovingly stroked the stingrays.

When your sons and grandsons were growing up, you took them to the public square where they lovingly stroked rifles.

When my sons were growing up, I took them out of school to celebrate their beloved Yankees, and to cheer them on at the parade at the Canyon of Heroes.

When your grandsons are growing up, you take them out of school to celebrate death and to cheer their heroes, at the parade of caskets of babies murdered by your sons.

During Covid, my son, a father and volunteer EMT, went into homes to save octogenarians and infants.

On October 7th, your sons, also fathers, went into homes to murder octogenarians and infants.

As a grandmother, I watch my grandchildren grow with love, curiosity and the hope that they will build a future filled with kindness and purpose. That is what grandmothers do: we nurture, we guide and we plant the seeds of love, wisdom and compassion. But when I see reports of children in Gaza being raised to hate, to idolize those who bring death and destruction instead of peace, I cannot help but wonder: Grandmothers of Gaza, what have you taught your sons?

Did you not cradle them in your arms, whispering lullabies of comfort? Did you not hope, as I did, that they would grow into men who build, who heal, who lead with love and wisdom rather than rage? How, then, have they become the teachers of hatred, passing it down to yet another ggeneration? How is it that instead of stories of hope, you pass on the glorification of terror?

We, as grandmothers, hold a power that no politician or warrior can match—the power to shape the hearts of the next generation. I plead with you: break this cycle. Teach love, not vengeance. Tell your grandchildren stories of possibility, not destruction. Show them that there is a future beyond war, one where their hands can create instead of destroy.

To paraphrase Golda Meir, peace will come when the grandmothers of Gaza will love their grandchildren more than they hate others.

Hate is not born; it is taught. And so, too, is peace. Let us, as grandmothers, choose the latter.

Heidi Fuchs lives in Teaneck.