What you need to know if you want peace for Israelis and Palestinians

Here’s something you have to understand about Israelis: Even though we have one of the strongest armies in the world we have never known a day of peace since we came into being, and that fear is real and it does something to us.

And for those who say “Israel has no real security concerns,” tell me something: have you ever sat down with an Israeli over coffee and asked her what it’s like to live under rocket fire, or with the nagging fear that you might be blown up or knifed in the back, or thrown like a rag doll in the air with the brutal impact of a car as it drives into you on purpose?

Have you looked into the eyes of a Nova survivor who hid under a pile of bodies, just like in the Holocaust — who hid under the stench of blood and burned flesh and urine just to survive? Have you looked into the eyes of the mothers and fathers of hostages held in terror tunnels, the parents who refuse to give up hope, and who will keep the light on until their babies are home?

Have you looked into the eyes of the mothers and fathers whose babies are never coming home?

Have you talked to the families of the police and soldiers who were slain near the Gazan border on October 7, or the grandchildren of the Russian pensioners on a day trip to the Dead Sea who were gunned down?

Have you looked – truly looked – at the faces of the Bibas family?

What about the Haran family who were butchered in northern Israel — what about the mother – Smadar – the only one to survive – who accidentally smothered her baby girl to keep her quiet while her husband and daughter were shot and had their brains bashed in by Samir Kuntar?

Have you ever gone to Har Nof – it’s a quiet neighborhood in Jerusalem with a lot of families, lots of babies – and asked the young rabbi with tired eyes to describe the day terrorists stormed the synagogue and butchered husbands and fathers and sons in prayer?

Have you ever choked on the smoke from a suicide bombing, smelling blood and flesh and charred bone, wondering why your sweetheart never came back from work, why their phone goes straight to voicemail? Then have you ever seen your child look at you with big-huge shining eyes and ask, “when is daddy coming home?” while the words “He isn’t.” are lost in that big-huge scream that rips through you as you see the soldiers at your door with tears in their eyes.

Have you ever thought twice about getting on a bus? Or have you ever gotten off the bus in the middle of nowhere because a man gets on wearing a bulky jacket on a warm spring day? Do you wake up every morning and before doing anything, with only one eye open, check the news, and call the people you love the most, and instead of asking “hey what’s up?” you say, “Where are you? Are you safe? Did you hear? How many dead?”

Did your child spend the summer in a bomb shelter? Does your child still have nightmares about rockets flying through the air? Does a low-frequency sound – a vacuum cleaner, a motorcycle, the hum of the washing machine – make you look frantically around for shoes and jackets so you can run to the shelter, even though this time it’s nothing because you spent too long where it was something?

Have you watched the sky explode as Iran sent hundreds of drones and missiles to kill you?

Have you ever walked through neighborhoods and hated yourself for not trusting your neighbors? And while you keep going because you believe in the goodness in people, do you still feel sick to your stomach when you find out that a 13-year-old boy was knifed in the exact same spot where you stood exactly 24 hours before? Do you sit with your friends and talk about the near-misses? “I should have been on that bus, but I was hungover and I slept through my alarm.” “I was supposed to be at the Hebrew University cafeteria, but I had to pee, so I was in the bathroom, instead.”

Have you ever been a soldier – a soldier who still sleeps with a teddy bear (don’t tell anyone) along with his gun, a soldier who loves his country, but who feels sad when he has to check IDs and remind the older man with the keffiyeh “your curfew is ‪at midnight‬.” That man could be his father. And he wishes things were different. But it’s his job to keep this country safe, and his own father was murdered because another soldier at a checkpoint didn’t do his job, and a suicide bomber got through.

Roots go deep through frustration and through fear, through a history where you feel that you can’t control your own tomorrow because you’ve stood over that open grave, and even though you still believe in peace, your children look at you, remembering the night the terrorists came and blew their father into dust and say, “No way. You’re so naive.”

So if you’re still there and if you’re still truly listening, please: if you want there to be a just and peaceful resolution for everyone, if you want to end the occupation and see everyone treated equally, remember this and understand why it isn’t simple for us.

It is crucial to grasp that our history as Jews in Israel is intertwined with unyielding fear and a relentless yearning for quiet.

This fear shapes us, it defines our decisions, and it weighs on our hearts. Yet we insistently look for ways to embrace life, too. We go out. We talk to strangers. We keep trying to shine our light in a world where the darkness can feel unyielding.

If you’re committed to a just and peaceful future for all, please recognize that the road isn’t straightforward. Our pain is deep, our memories are raw, and the scars are all too real. But if you’re willing to listen, truly listen, and share in the burden of this pain, in its unbearable weight, you can help us take the brave and necessary steps toward a future where peace isn’t just a distant dream, but a reality for all. Truly, all.