“What happened on October 7 deepened my commitment to peace”

Läs artikeln på svenska | Rabbin: Det som hände den 7 oktober fördjupade mitt engagemang för fred

From the bus window, Steven Crosson sees what might have been the last plumes of smoke from the war in Gaza. The former Dagen employee travelled to Israel to depict the war, two years after October 7, but while he was there, the peace agreement was signed. 

For Dagen, he reports his impressions during the eventful days. 

JERUSALEM. A warm wind sweeps through the garden. It smells of thyme. I am sitting at a café in the old city of Jerusalem, outside an Anglican church. The service has started. The hymn seeps out into the small courtyard. I read on CNN that Trump has launched some form of 20-point plan for peace. The coffee is strong. It is a peaceful day. Exactly two years have passed since the massacre on October 7, 2023.

Jerusalem is full of churches, mosques, and synagogues. Religion is visible everywhere. Heard everywhere. But the pilgrims are absent. The war and expensive plane tickets mean that few of us are moving along the winding streets. I enter the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. There are usually hour-long queues to Jesus' tomb. Now I enter directly and can light a candle at what is said to be the place where the saviour was laid down and rose from.

I sit on a bus and head south, to one of the kibbutzim that were attacked two years ago. On the right side, I see Gaza. The dot on the mobile phone shows that the border is only two hundred metres away. Several plumes of smoke rise from the houses. It is closer to the war now than between the apartment and the children's preschool back home in Sweden. There, Israeli hostages are still held captive. There, Palestinian homes are being demolished and innocent people are dying. The smoke rises like dark exclamation marks against the sky.

The bus passes some trees that look familiar. I recognise the special, sparse forest from the video clips. It is the site of the Nova Festival where 378 partying young adults were murdered. I think of the young people who hid behind the bar. Who fled into the trees. Those who were shot and cut down. Those who never came back.

The bus is soon at its destination but first turns into Nir Oz, the kibbutz that was hardest hit on October 7. One in four of the village's 400 inhabitants were murdered or kidnapped. The houses are still burned. No one lives here, I am told. Will they ever come back?

“Palestinians and Israelis must seek compromise”

At the next stop, in kibbutz Nirim, I get off. Outside it is desert. In here it is green. Blooming. Calm.

In Nirim Avi Dabush lives with his family. Avi is a rabbi, active in the Democratic Party and a peace activist. He is the chairman of Rabbis for Human Rights.

- Around 06:29 the alarms started. My wife, the children, and I ran into our shelter. We were silent and tried to understand what was happening. We heard gunfire. Five minutes later we heard voices in Arabic outside the shelter window.

He shows the window where the terrorists stood.

- The Israeli commander in the area quickly came that morning with two soldiers to stop the terrorists. They were killed twenty metres from here.

Avi points to the spot. It's a stone's throw from where we sit and drink our coffee.

Avi grew up in an orthodox Jewish family with roots in Syria and Libya. As a young man, he was active in Bnei Akiva, a religious Zionist youth movement.

- The message was: only we know what it means to be Jewish, patriotic, Zionist; everyone else is a traitor. I then asked: 'What is the alternative? The Palestinians want freedom.' The answer was: 'There is no Palestinian people. Just continue. Don't ask questions.' It started a process in me.

How did October 7 affect you?

- That day deepened my commitment to peace. I have absolutely mixed feelings: revenge, despair, fear, anger. I understand those feelings. But the Torah says: 'I have set before you life and death; choose life.'

Avi describes himself as a Zionist, not a pacifist. Peace requires security, and therefore Hamas must be defeated. The Israeli army needs to protect the Israeli population, but should not seek revenge, he believes.

- I am optimistic that we will achieve peace. The question is how much time and blood it will cost. Political leaders must communicate tough truths: neither of the peoples will disappear. Palestinians and Israelis must seek compromise. It is difficult and complex but absolutely necessary.

But isn't the question how? Most people want peace - but how do you get there? 

- Step by step: ceasefire, hostages home, new governance in Gaza, rebuilding Gaza and then Israeli-Palestinian agreements with regional support. Only later reconciliation and friendship.

Avi talks about his and his party's plans for a confederation where Israelis and Palestinians can live in two states but with shared institutions. Before October 7 and the war, there was a status quo that made this type of thinking difficult. Now perhaps a window has opened, Avi believes. But it will require many Israelis and Palestinians to change their view of the other.

- The Palestinians are multifaceted. Hamas and other radical elements are serious problems, but many Palestinians have ties to Israelis, speak Hebrew, know our culture. With an agreement that respects people - and with a transformation of ourselves - peace is possible, concludes Avi Dabush.

"Perhaps the last days of the war I saw"

"A start is to recognise Israel's right to exist”

A few minutes later, I knock on Adele Raemer's door. Adele has lived in Nirim since the 70s. Back then, everything was owned together. The children slept in their own house, separate from the parents. Everyone received the same salary, regardless of what they worked with. The car was borrowed from the collective farm. Much has changed.

- Here in the area, we have always extended a hand to the Palestinians. The kibbutz's unofficial peace song from the 50s spoke of the watchtowers one day becoming lifeguard towers on Gaza's beach, that one day we would sit around the campfire together. After October 7, we can no longer sing that song.

Adele tells how she has been involved in peace and dialogue for many years, how she has driven sick Palestinians to hospitals in Israel. She talks about a cycling race she organised together with Ramin Aman from Gaza.

- The race took place simultaneously on both sides of the border, and the participants wore shirts with the texts 'Freedom' and 'Peace'. At the water station, we arranged a Skype call so that we could see and talk to each other. The atmosphere was fantastic. But afterwards, Hamas hunted down Ramin and tortured him.

Adele describes how the 7th of October changed everything.

- I know there are people on the other side who want to live in peace. But on the 7th of October, it wasn't just terrorists who entered our communities. Ordinary people came along too - even women and children. They entered our homes. Destroyed. Killed. Celebrated. We had built bridges, but they turned out to be made of rope and not steel; they burned that day.

She recalls the hours in the shelter with horror

She talks about how trust has been broken and how it will take a long time to rebuild it. Not for Ramin. But for many others.

- I have learned about the Muslim practice of taqiyya: that in certain situations, one can hide their faith or lie to protect life. It can be culturally abused, and then trust becomes difficult, says Adele. How do I know that a renunciation of violence is genuine and not just a tactic? How can I trust a handshake when there might very well be a knife hidden behind the other person's back?

Can there be peace?

- We are ready. We want it. The question is whether those on the other side are truly prepared. For decades, we have extended our hand, but agreement after agreement has been rejected. A start is to recognise Israel's right to exist, says Adele Raemer.

“Israel is driven by only one thing”

I go back to Jerusalem. On the news, I read that Trump's peace agreement seems to be accepted by the Israeli government and by Hamas. Suddenly, things are moving fast. My question for this trip - whether there can be peace - might need updating. Perhaps the question is instead: is it peace?

Outside a church, I start talking to a Palestinian man. He doesn't want his name in the newspaper. I ask if he feels hopeful now that the peace has been signed. He answers quietly.

- Peace? I don't believe in any peace. Israel is driven by only one thing, and that is to drive us out. They won't be satisfied until all Palestinians are gone from the land that is really ours.

He is a Christian and says that his family has lived in the Holy Land for generations. But the church he belongs to has become increasingly empty. Many have moved abroad, several to Europe.

- Soon only the buildings will be left, he says. Jerusalem will become a religious Disneyland. Churches, sure - but no congregation members.

I ask what he thinks would be needed for a real peace.

- The Israelis have always said yes to peace, but then they have built new settlements. It's like a game: they push forward, slowly, piece by piece. Israel is a fascist state. There can never be real peace. Not as long as Israel exists.

The conversation falls silent. Around, the sounds of the city can be heard: shouts, cars, church bells ringing.

"Peace is something entirely different from just the absence of war"

The light hesitates

I need some air. So I wander up the Mount of Olives. At the top, there is a vast view over Jerusalem - the Temple Mount, the Dome of the Rock, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. All enclosed by the city wall.

As I stand up there, I think about everything that has played out on and around the mountain: how Jesus and the disciples spent their nights in Bethany, how he was betrayed - and how he wept over Jerusalem here. “As he approached Jerusalem and saw the city, he wept over it and said: If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace! But now it is hidden from your eyes.” (Luke 19:41-42)

Perhaps the war is over now. Hamas has signed. The Knesset voted yes. Trump is said to be coming to Jerusalem. These days, the entire Middle East holds its breath. People hope. People pray. That the hostages will finally come home and the soldiers will be withdrawn. Homes in Gaza can be rebuilt. Songs of peace can once again be sung in Nirim. New bridges can be built between the peoples. Bridges of steel. 

Or the mistrust between Israelis and Palestinians will persist and lead to more violence, further terror, and more wars. I don't know. Down in the city, the lights are starting to come on. Soon it will be evening. The lights are lit in Zion.

Arne Lapidus: All of Israel followed the hostage drama live