“From where we are right, flowers will never grow in the spring”

I realize now, with a clearer understanding than ever before, the weight and complexity of being Israeli. The world watches us not by our choosing but because of a complex destiny assigned to us. Mahmoud Darwish, an influential Palestinian poet and writer whose work has become a symbol of Palestinian identity and resistance, captured this essence precisely. He said, “Our fame comes not from ourselves but from the image they have of us.” This observation highlights that the attention we receive stems less from our nature and more from the conflict that defines us about the Palestinians.

This situation places us in a paradox: we are supported for being the home of the Jews and yet viewed through the lens of antisemitism that intertwines with the Palestinian cause. This reality makes me deeply ponder the duality of our existence. Historically, Jews have been both the most loved and the most hated. We have endured brutal persecution and genocides and, against all odds, are the only people who have returned from exile, revitalized a dead language, and re-established their state. This path of resilience and renewal is unique.

However, I cannot overlook that, on the land we claim as ours lived the Palestinians. They resisted our independence, firmly standing against us. It is crucial to acknowledge our mistakes. Israel’s failures, the scars of the Nakba, and the impacts of our actions in the pursuit of security and self-determination are realities that cannot be neglected or justified. The suffering endured by both sides in this extensive conflict is a painful truth that needs reconciliation.

I feel strongly that it is time to change this cycle of mutual destruction. We cannot continue in this spiral of violence. The urgency to find common ground and seek solutions that allow us to coexist peacefully has never been greater. I am tired of the rhetoric of hate and the prolongation of a conflict that has only brought pain.

Firmly, I believe in the possibility of a future without terrorism, without settlement expansion, without further loss of lives. A future where the idea of two states for two peoples becomes a tangible reality. For this, we must abandon narratives of hate and recognize the legitimacy and humanity of each side.

Echoing Darwish’s sentiment, the Jewish poet Yehuda Amichai, a voice of reflection and peace, wrote: “From the place where we are right, flowers will never grow in the spring.” This verse captures the essence of our shared impasse: the stubbornness rooted in being right prevents anything new or beautiful from blossoming between us. Amichai’s poetry, often exploring the complexities of Israeli identity and the longing for peace, reflects similarly to Darwish’s reflections on Palestinian identity and resistance.

This is my commitment to peace, justice, and building a future where our children can grow up seeing the other not as an enemy but as a neighbor. This is the path to proper security and peaceful coexistence. Together, we can rewrite our history, not with blood and tears, but with hope and collaboration. The task is arduous, but my faith in our collective ability to face and overcome these challenges is steadfast. For us, them, and all who will inherit the world we are shaping today.

Let it be predictable, then, that two poets from opposite sides of a long-standing conflict could echo such similar feelings. After all, we are, in many ways, cousins in the great family of humanity, divided more by political narratives than by fundamental differences.