Last summer, I went undercover in the West Bank, sneaking in with a Muslim film crew while hiding my Jewish identity to ask Palestinians the kinds of questions no other journalist had dared to since the war broke out. And that’s the real scandal — because before October 7, I wasn’t exactly a journalist. I was a comedian. The fact that it took a comic to go in there and do their jobs for them is outrageous. The mainstream press, with all its resources, all its foreign correspondents, all its Middle East “experts,” refused to ask the most basic questions. Arguably the most viral report of the war — what the Palestinian people actually think — wasn’t broken by a major network. It was broken by me.
If you follow my three-part series, you’ll see that I almost died just for asking simple questions. That’s how deeply ingrained the hatred is. That’s how dangerous it is…
