Rotem and Osama with roses
“I thought I was fulfilling my duty to my country,” he told me over video chat. “I had never questioned what I had been raised to believe.”
Rotem wore a pink and gray vertically striped linen shirt and his hair was short enough to make it look like his head had been recently shaved. He looked like the Jews in the photos of Holocaust concentration camp survivors that haunted me as a child: thin and haggard from the stress of slave labor and worried about what had happened to their friends and family. But that was Nazi Germany in World War Two. Now it’s Israel vs Hamas on a narrow strip of land, in a narrow strip of a country, in the most complicated geo-political area in the world. Three religions, two languages and the attention of all the world’s powers, both great and small, make for a delicate atmosphere.
Today Rotem thinks about his loved ones and the future of his people. How will they survive? What kind of land will he come back to when his work is done? Will his work ever be done? Will he stop the war between Israel and Palestine, Netanyahu and Hamas? Will he and his people ever feel safe? In Israel, one who questions the dominant narrative is called a traitor. Traitor to what? he wondered.
Rotem remembered back to that fateful night. He had done his duty to Israel. He proudly joined the military at age eighteen like every other Israeli teen. He had worked hard. His mother’s cousin had died during one of the many Israeli-Palestinian conflicts, and he decided to apply for service in his cousin’s highly respected unit. He had been accepted, and as he marched forth that night, he felt a sense of pride. He was fulfilling his duty to Israel, his nation and protector.
When his commander told Rotem and another soldier to throw grenades into the town square, Rotem obeyed without thinking. A loud explosion rocked the village. Then silence. The people cowered quietly in their homes not knowing what would come. The soldiers turned around to walk back to the safety of their base.
I don’t think we should be doing these things, a fellow soldier told him on the way back.
Rotem froze. “I had never questioned what we were doing. Soon the commander arrived and told us to stop the discussion.”
It was an order. Rotem had learned to obey orders. Especially military orders. It was part of Israeli culture.
Talked ceased. But Rotem couldn’t stop thinking. Why were we doing this?
In the following months, as Rotem finished his military service, the questions grew louder.
“I realized I was a robot. I did not know how to think for myself. When I left the army I decided to deprogram myself.”
Eventually, Rotem heard of Vacation from War (now called Speak Up-Dialogue) an NGO which runs seminars between Israelis and Palestinians in Germany. In 2013 Rotem signed up for a two-week seminar, and for the first time, found himself walking into a room full of Palestinians.
Rotem had never seen a Palestinian up close, but he was sure they would be monsters. He had spent his childhood feeling terrified, especially during the second Intifada and came to rely on the military to feel safe. And he had celebrated the Israeli Independence holiday, Yom Ha’atzmaut, like a faithful Jew should. He was not prepared for what he heard.
“I didn’t realize that my Palestinian neighbors across the border wall thought I was celebrating the Nakba—the expulsion of Palestinians from their land by Israelis.”
The Nakba, catastrophe in English, resulted in the murder of many Palestinians and was illegal to teach in Israeli schools. Instead, Jewish children learned that Israel was formed from ‘A land without a people, for a people without a land.’ This was a tenant of Zionism—the Jewish belief in establishing a home in the land of their ancestors, often referred to as the Holy Land. They never knew Palestinians inhabited the land they now lived upon.
Rotem had never heard of the Nakba, for it was illegal to teach Jewish children in Israel that the Palestinians had any claim to their land. Palestinians were not even considered to be a distinct people. They had to be referred to as Arabs. For Palestine is a land and Arabic is a language. They were just Arabs on Israeli soil, part of a vast group of Arabic speakers in the Middle East and North Africa. Let them speak Arabic in the desert with the Saudis and the Jordanians. Let them wander like the Jews had under Moses. Let them flee like Rotem’s ancestors had fled Egypt. Let them be cast about like his people had been scattered to the four corners of the Earth.
Rotem did not know that the Israeli Kibbutzes had been built atop Palestinian villages whose inhabitants were raped and murdered if they did not leave on their own. He had been told the border wall with the West Bank was built in 2006 to stop Palestinian attacks. He wasn’t told that Israel put the Palestinian farmland and orchards on the Israeli side of the wall so the Israelis alone benefited from their agricultural production.
At first, Rotem was shocked. He could not believe what he heard and it took him many months to accept it. Then he began to understand how it affected Israeli minds.
“The walls were not built to protect us, they were built to confine us, so we could live in a Garden of Eden without concern for others. It trapped our psyches and closed our minds so we couldn’t think for ourselves.”
Rotem wanted to become a doctor, but while studying for his degree, he ended up an activist. He moved to a Palestinian village to live. He learned Arabic and English. As a child, Rotem was afraid a Palestinian would blow up the Israeli buses he rode on. As an adult, Rotem rode buses throughout the West Bank and talked to the people he once feared. He also began to understand the root causes of the Israeli-Palestinian strife.
“Because of the Holocaust, we chose this narrative [Zionism] to survive. And we fully immerse ourselves in it to gain as much advantage for ourselves as we can. But it no longer serves us. We are caught in endless conflict with the Palestinians outside our borders. Meanwhile, the Palestinians inside Israel don’t cause us problems because they have rights. They have protections. They can live and work without fear.”
Rotem and Osama in jackets
Palestinian activist Osama Iliwat knows about fear. As a teenager in the West Bank city of Jericho, he watched his community descend into chaos during the first Intifada. What started as protests against the killing (or murder, depending on who you ask) of numerous Palestinian adults and teenagers at an Israeli checkpoint for workers, descended into a cycle of ever-increasing violence. Israeli Defense (or Occupation, depending on who you ask) Forces soon arrived to keep order (or keep down) the protests. This was the first time Osama saw a Jew in real life in his hometown of Jericho, and he was as scared as he was angry. He threw stones like his fellow students. The soldiers responded with tear gas, then rubber bullets, then the rumors started about real bullets.
“My mother would hide me when I got home.”
So they closed the schools. One day his father, a man whom he admired like every son admires a good father, was brought home. Israeli soldiers had beaten him. The man who Osama thought was invincible could not stand up to Israel. Osama was both heartbroken and hardened. In the depths of his despair, he dedicated himself to fighting Israel. He spray-painted walls with Free Palestine. Then he made a Palestinian flag and raised it in town—a serious mistake.
Soon he was arrested. Americans are told Israel is a democracy with rights for everyone, but Palestinians in the Occupied Territories do not get accorded those rights. Even children like Osama can be held up to three years in jail without a trial. So that’s what they did and Osama’s life changed again.
“In Israeli jails, you learn what it means to be Palestinian.”
For three years Osama learned about the history of his people, and how to hate: “You learn from other Palestinian prisoners to understand one side—your side.”
Most young Palestinians give up at this point, but Osama was not like most. He was willing to listen. I could tell by the way he talked, that this big, tough-sounding guy, was full of grief for what was going on because he cared for his people. He wanted to protect them, but he couldn’t. After three years he was released from prison. By then the Oslo peace accords had been negotiated. Osama was still young and believed in ideals, but he was tired of all the fighting:
“I just wanted to be free to play basketball.”
So he joined the Palestinian Authority police with high hopes for his people. That didn’t last long. Osama watched the Israelis break the rules they had set. They filled the West Bank with illegal [according to international law] settlements, which got roads and utilities Palestinians were not allowed to use. Then Israeli soldiers murdered two of his fellow officers, so Osama quit the force.
One day in 2000 he was sitting in an internet cafe when the Israeli military police stormed the place, shooting multiple patrons. He watched Palestinians die while he was handcuffed and forced back to jail. There he sat with a hood over his head. His handcuffs were never removed. After three days they let him go. He walked home unable to move his hands. He made a choice: Osama decided he was willing to die to fight for his people. Terrorist the Israelis called him.
“They could say I was a terrorist. I wasn’t. I decided if I die, I will die as a hero…I started to support the fighters and I became a fighter.”
Years went by, but nothing could dislodge the Israelis. Then, one snowy winter’s day in 2012, a friend invited Osama to meet some peace activists. He had never met one, so he went. When he entered the room, Osama thought he was in the wrong place. He didn’t know the activists would be Jews.
“I met Jewish peace activists and I was shocked. I heard the activists say ‘They don’t have a right to keep Palestinians in a small place and beat them up.’ For the first time in my life I have seen, I have looked at a Jewish person as someone who is not scary. I have seen a Jewish person as someone I can accept and include in my life.”
Once he was accepted by the Israelis, Osama began to listen to them. He learned about the Holocaust and the fear Israelis have of losing the only country they feel safe in. It’s not surprising that Osama had never learned about Jewish history. He lived under a system of apartheid enforced by Israel. Palestinians in Gaza, the West Bank and East Jerusalem had learned to loathe the Israelis They face economic embargoes, high unemployment, poverty, travel restrictions, abuse from both the Israeli military and settlers and the humiliation of relying on humanitarian aid for survival, even in peacetime. They are treated like a conquered people and have lost their rights. The right to use their land without settlers harassing them or stealing their homes, businesses and livelihoods. The right to be respected as human beings.
“There’s a system that gives rights to only one group. We don’t share the same schools, the same cities, [or] the same transportation system. I take my [college-age] son to peace rallies and to meet Israeli peace activists. Every time I take him home, the Israeli police [at the checkpoints] take him out of the car and beat him. How can I [ask] him to be friends with Israelis?”
After that first meeting, Osama changed. He began to work with Israeli and Palestinian peace activists. He learned Hebrew and English. He began to meet Israelis on his land. He got involved in many different groups, including Combatants for Peace—an Israeli-Palestinian NGO
In 2017 he got a ride home from Rotem and they began to bond. Sometimes Rotem snuck Osama through checkpoints in the trunk of his car in order to drive him to the beaches Palestinians were forbidden from visiting. They had similar views and similar backgrounds. The once bitter enemies were now fighting for peace. They’ve been speaking to groups of people ever since. After October 7, 2023, they formed their organization Salt of the Earth and decided to start touring Germany and the USA to give peace talks to whoever would listen.
Salt of the Earth blends personal transformation with collective liberation. Basically, learning to overcome your own biases about the other side in order to move forward with peaceful co-existence in the Holy Land. They gave over two hundred talks in their first year alone and still had time to speak with pre-military groups in Israel in the spring of 2024 via Combatants for Peace. Pre-military groups are devoted to informing young Jewish people in Israel who face a mandatory draft at the age of eighteen about conscientious objection and the true causes of the Israeli-Palesistinian conflict. They are continuing this service with The Forum for Regional Thinking, a group that brings together all the regional players in the Holy Land to find solutions.
Together Osama and Rotem seem invincible, like everyday superstars. Osama is a physically imposing, gruff middle-aged man. Rotem is a soft-spoken, caring thirty-something man. Their desire for peace is reflected in the way they bring people together and speak to them. They focus on building relationships, understanding each other and equal rights all mixed in with personal growth.
“From the River to the Sea we need therapy!” Osama said at a recent meeting in Sebastopol, CA where they took the time to answer questions from the audience. Some question their ideology, but they confront all that is put before them. Below are excerpts from that meeting. I have edited the dialogue for context and clarity.
A Jewish man named Yonatan Goren spoke: “When I heard you speak Osama, my heart was opening [you were] addressing our pain and our narrative in our roots. My heart was less open when you used the word genocide [when talking about Palestinian deaths]. Why are you using this [term]? Why aren’t you using the term war?”
Rotem: For me, the question, is how we move forward. How [do] we recognize each other’s suffering and move forward together?… The Palestinians now…call it genocide…For me, when I use genocide, I am not comparing between the Holocaust and what is happening now. I’m just recognizing their suffering…If we are really interested in moving forward what we can do is recognize what we are doing is being called genocide…Once we acknowledge the Palestinian’s suffering, they will recognize us. What’s important for Israelis is to recognize what’s going on now.
Osama: In the beginning, when I first talked to them [Israelis] they told me about the Holocaust. The Palestinians I knew said ‘No, it is an exaggeration.’ So I decided to go to Germany to decide for myself. And there I decided that I was not there to determine what people call their pain. I stopped searching because I didn’t care if they killed one million or six million or seven million. Women and children were killed only because they were Jews, and I stopped searching for the correct number and the details because it was distracting the human inside of me. I was looking for excuses in myself to not recognize their pain!
Question from Susan Brown: My Lebanese and Israeli friends are so traumatized by what’s going on, that they can not talk [to each other] about it. They are friends with people on both sides, but my Lebanese friend now hates Israel and can not see it as anything but evil, while my Israeli friend, though she hates Netanyahu’s policies, doesn’t see any alternative than this all-out genocidal war.
Osama: They both are right. They both have fears. Most of my Israeli friends say everyone wants to kill us. Without Hamas, Netanyahu can not win. But they don’t say ‘why’ they want to kill us. Two million Palestinians live inside Israel and they don’t want to kill Israelis. Why? Because they have rights. Israelis kill two to three hundred Palestinians every year in the West Bank. When you demolish my house or take away my land, I will fight and when I fight you will say that I want to kill us all and it continues. You take away more and we get more upset thinking you want to annihilate us all. So we fight. The narrative serves both sides.
Rotem: I think the problem started when a political project had the idea to establish a national state for themselves, in a new land without including the local indigenous communities in the project. All refugees when they go to a new land, they learn the local language, then try to integrate into the region, they go to the local schools, they try to live together, and build relationships. The Zionists came to build a Jewish homeland for themselves, and because there was no Jewish majority, they realized they had to push as many Palestinians out as possible, to have a Jewish majority to have the establishment of a Jewish state. And there in this idea, there started the conflict. We can not go back in time, but it is important to understand what the problem is in order to solve it, and I think now the solution is to have integration.
Israelis have to become part of this region by learning the language, getting to know the culture, and building relationships of trust. We have to start to go to the same schools. We have to grow up together. We have to have friendships. This is the only way to guarantee safety. At some point, Israel will lose one war, and [it will all be over]…we have to avoid that disaster…we have to start working on creating relationships and simultaneously change the system so everyone feels included…two million Palestinians live inside Israel with citizenship. Of course, they worry about the strife between Jews and Palestinians, but the reality is that they don’t attack us because they have a future and they have hope and believe that they can continue to live together with the Israelis. When you don’t give people rights, they fight for their rights and their liberation.
Osama: As a Palestinian [growing up] in the West Bank, we did not have the spaces to meet with Israelis who wanted peace. We need those spaces for everyone to learn how to share the land. Because, although we both claim the land, who does the land claim? No one!
In the 1960s Mahmoud Darwish [a famous Palestinian writer] fell in love with a Jewish woman named Tamar. She wrote to him in Beirut and asked him ‘When are we going to meet?’ He replied: ‘After a year and a war.’ Then she asked: ‘When will the war end?’ He replied: ‘The time we meet!’ So I think just people meeting each other, hugging each other, [is what we need].