At home in the house at the heart of the storm in Jerusalem

“What Jerusalem really needs is for everyone visiting the Old City to get sprayed with MDMA as they walk in through one of the gates,” the woman next to me quipped from the bottom of a deep gravity well of grief and suckage during the Shiva week for the six hostages executed in the terror tunnel.

Her words cut through the quiet hum of conversation at our little table, cigarettes like fireflies flickering in the gathering dusk. It was the kind of joke that felt both absurd and entirely fitting for the moment, in a space where humor was sometimes the only antidote to grief.

We were sitting at Feel Beit, a cultural hub nestled between East and West Jerusalem – overlooking the Peace Forest – a place that somehow manages to reflect the Jerusalem we dream of, the one that exists only in our wildest, most desperate hopes—a place where people choose to create friendships based on things they love – whether it’s art or music, or a great gin and tonic – where Arabs and Jews sit together, not in some overly mediated dialogue group, but as friends, sharing space.

I’ll be real with you: I had mixed feelings about going to a social event with the war still raging and the news of six Israeli hostages brutally murdered in the first place. It felt incongruous to think about music and art while so much death and destruction was happening all around for Israelis and Palestinians.

But at the same time, something about coming together with others felt necessary. It wasn’t about escaping the tragedy but finding a way to exist within it, to share a moment of human connection in the face of so much loss.

So I went.

And…
“No words.”

Which is actually the name for the gathering.

And this was exactly right:

“No Words” was born out of the understanding that sometimes, words arent enough.

In the face of grief, loss, and the complex emotions that surround conflict, there are no phrases or sentences that can fully express the depth of what we feel.

So, instead of speaking, we turn to music, to art, and to each other — letting the work of creation and connection speak where language could not.

The music was exquisite. The vibe, honest.

“No Words” brings together people from all walks of life, Israelis and Palestinians alike, folks of all ages – sitting side by side to listen, to play, to experience together in a moment of connection without the need for explanations.

There was also an art exhibit –
Each piece was shaped by the idea of “home”—whether it’s a childhood home, a private corner, or this particular home, Feel Beit, standing in the middle of the turmoil.

The exhibition is aptly named the House at the Heart of the Storm, and it is the fruit of a six-month incubator process in which 5 Israeli and 5 Palestinian artists created original works around the theme of home in the post-10/7 context. Feel Beit offers a safe space for creativity, the artist, and those who come to bear witness.

As I sat there, it became clear: Feel Beit is the kind of space that dissolves boundaries, making room for what really matters—people, art, and a sense of belonging, even in the midst of everything else.

The gathering felt like a kind of alternative *shiva*—an open mourning tent against the desert for the six — for Eden and Carmel and Alex and Hersh and Ori and Almog.

We weren’t seated on low stools, nor following the traditional customs of Jewish mourning, but the grief was palpable, shared in the space as we smoked, drank, and talked. There was a weight in the air, but it wasn’t the kind that crushed us. Instead, it held us together, grounding us in the reality of our collective loss and reminding us that even in times of war, we could find moments of connection.

That’s the magic of this place.

It is more than just a cultural venue—it’s a reflection of the city’s potential, a place where people come together to create, to heal, and to challenge the divisions that so often define life in Jerusalem.

On this night, the incomparable DJ Yvonne Saba played a mix of Palestinian hip-hop and Middle Eastern beats, music that blended the old and the new, the traditional and the innovative.

The crowd was a mix of young Palestinians from Jerusalem and beyond, Jewish Israelis, and artists from across the land. People sharing tables – sharing space – creating a fleeting sense of unity in a city so often divided by our own fears and sorrows.

We weren’t talking about the war, at least not directly. But we were talking about the way the light has changed as we cycle back toward October 7 yet again — we spoke of the dead – and of the hostages – about the loss we all continue to feel every day, as if this space had become a refuge where we could mourn together, away from the conflict raging around us.

For now, the Jerusalem we long for—where people can sit together, where friendships are formed across divides organically —exists mostly in our dreams… or in places like Feel Beit, in the quiet spaces carved out by those who choose to defy the status quo.

But it DOES exist.

And as we sat there, under a sky deepening from mauve to plum to ink, with the stars flickering into view through the olive trees, I felt a quiet understanding fall over me – a sense of peace I haven’t known since even before October 7:

Maybe we don’t actually need MDMA – as whimsical as that is to imagine: maybe instead we need to strengthen places like Feel Beit that dissolve the boundaries between us, that makes connection and love not just possible but inevitable.

Because in spaces like these, in places like Feel Beit, that dream of unity feels a little closer, and maybe, just maybe, we’re building something that will last beyond the night.