Centrist Dad. Remoaner. Gammon. It’s tough keeping up with the nicknames being bandied about to describe one’s affiliations. Add to that “armchair Zionist”, used readily over the last fortnight in response to Diaspora Jews raising their voices.

Technically, it does apply to me. Certainly, I’m a Zionist outside of Israel, with no intention of making aliyah. And— because this term is applied specifically to those with the temerity to express an unfavourable opinion — I’m a Zionist with plenty to say about the Jewish state.

What I’m not — and let’s get this out of the way – is an IDF soldier. I did a week volunteering on a base once, but it was mostly spent making burekas. I’ve never served a country, never risked my life for it. And I wasn’t anywhere near the front line in Gaza last week.

But, here’s what I am. Someone with family in Israel, who visits regularly. Who lived there for ten months at 18; who led a tour, taking 40 British teens from north to south to build their passion for an amazing country. A former FZY member, a vocal advocate of Israel’s right to exist and an opponent of boycotts on these pages and beyond, even when it is far easier to avoid the abuse this invariably attracts.

Which is why it bristles to have “armchair Zionist” levelled at me as some kind of slur; chastised for venturing a view that goes beyond whether Netta should have won Eurovision. Because here’s what it’s like, right now, for us “armchair Zionists”.

It’s that sinking feeling online, or at the office water cooler, when words like massacre or murder are being flung about— not only by those who would wish Israel out of existence but by those you trust and respect. It’s being held to account for a government you didn’t vote for, that you probably wouldn’t have voted for.

It’s not wanting to shore up the position of those who hate Israel — and indeed those who use this as a shield for their hatred of Jews — but also of wanting to speak up, as you would about anywhere else, while still making clear that this situation is not black and white.

It’s the frustration that so many rush to condemn Israel even when they overlook bloody atrocities elsewhere and ignore Hamas’ barbarities. It’s knowing that Israel is under attack and has been near constantly since 1948; that many of its critics won’t invest even a tenth of the energy they spend attacking Israel on attacking those who seek its demise. But it’s also the shame as Israel’s leaders cosy up to a xenophobic, intolerant US administration in thrall to the Christian right, simply because that xenophobia is not directed at them.

It’s recognising that, yes, what occurred last week was a deliberate provocation, that most the protesters were not peaceful and many were Hamas members, that Israel could not let them storm the border — no country could— that children are not there by chance, that no soldier would have fired without it weighing heavily. Or that it serves Hamas’s purpose to repeat this pattern; that every death is a propaganda victory helping them recruit and retain their hold. It’s acknowledging that this was not about the embassy move, but the latest chapter in an unrelenting endless offensive by terrorists who want to annihilate the other side.

But it’s also feeling that Israel’s government knows this and lets the narrative perpetuate. That it isn’t focused on finding a better way or —if there is not one — invested in communicating why this tragedy is happening, and acknowledging that it is indeed a tragedy. It’s seeing that Benjamin Netanyahu has abandoned any pretence of seeking a peace process; that he prefers to applaud pointless stunts like moving a building from one city to another over building bridges. It’s worrying that there is no hope for better, 13 years after disengagement from Gaza and 25 since Oslo.

It’s the frustration that so many hold Israel to a higher standard, but also the disappointment that Israel’s leaders no longer seem driven to meet this. It’s recalling the visionaries who made a dream a reality, and despairing of there being anyone today with the courage to replicate that.

It’s watching another generation of Israel’s children growing up knowing war as the norm, conscripted into a battle their grandparents too had to fight. But it’s also watching another generation of Palestinians growing up this way too.

It’s challenging antisemitism and emphasising that it is distinct from legitimate criticism of Israel, to then be chastised that any criticism is unacceptable by a non-Israeli.

It’s loving a dynamic, diverse, miraculous country and watching the world hate it. It’s understanding that friendship means honesty, not acting as an echo chamber.

And it’s feeling that it’s better to be an “armchair Zionist” than one who stays silent.