In the heart of the Mediterranean, where cultures converge and histories run deep, the Israeli-Palestinian conflict remains one of the most painful and persistent wounds of our time. As a humanitarian who has worked for over a decade in migration and crisis zones, I have seen the devastating human cost of unresolved conflict, families torn apart, futures held hostage, and dignity too often denied.
Yet amid despair, I have also encountered courage. Years ago during a peace dialogue, I visited Neve Shalom – Wāħat as-Salām, a village founded by Father Bruno Hussar, a Dominican priest born in Egypt to Jewish parents. Inspired by his own diverse identity, he envisioned a space where Palestinians and Jews could live together as equals. What I saw there remains etched in my heart.
In this small hilltop community between Tel Aviv and Jerusalem, Palestinians and Israelis live side by side, not separated by checkpoints or walls, but united by a shared commitment to dialogue. The village has no gates. Children play together in the same courtyards. Parents send their sons and daughters to bilingual schools. People speak different languages, carry different histories, but still choose to walk a common path. Of course, tensions exist, as they do in any community, but what matters is the intention: to build a future together free from fear, hatred, and oppression.
I also visited the center dedicated to Father Bruno’s legacy. His vision was not political but human. He believed that peace begins with people, with education, with daily acts of listening. Today, more than ever, we need many like him, bridge-builders who see beyond conflict and choose compassion. Outside that center, I came across something that struck me deeply: a small, old bomb, long disarmed, now repurposed as a planter for a green, blooming plant. What was once an object of destruction had been transformed into a symbol of hope and rebirth. That image has stayed with me, a quiet reminder that even the tools of war can be turned toward life if we so choose. This memory has become even more powerful in light of the latest escalation in the region.
October 7 marked a turning point, one that reopened deep wounds and triggered more suffering. Israel, long seen as a beacon of democratic resilience, now faces mounting international criticism over its military campaign in Gaza. The death toll is staggering, and the humanitarian crisis is deepening. Meanwhile, Palestinians remain without a sovereign state, many living under occupation and political paralysis. Extremism thrives where dignity and opportunity are denied. In my life journey, I have met countless refugees, mothers, students, and civic leaders, on both sides,who long not for vengeance, but for peace. Their stories fill my heart and my book. Their dreams are of safety, of raising their children without fear, of building lives with purpose. These are the voices that too often go unheard, moderate, pragmatic voices trapped between political extremes. But they are the key to the future. As an entrepreneur contributor and founder of few NGO including the Mediterranean Aid Education Centre (MAEC), I have always believed that humanitarian aid must go beyond survival. It must foster education, dialogue, and hope. What I saw in Neve Shalom was not just coexistence, it was an education in empathy. Peace cannot be imposed from the top down. It must be cultivated from the ground up, in homes, in schools, in the quiet courage of people who refuse to give up on each other.
If peace is to have a chance, both Israel and Palestine must look inward as well as outward. Inside Israel, the fractures are deepening, between secular and religious communities, between moderates and ultranationalists. The protests over judicial reforms and military decisions are signs of a society in struggle with its identity. Survival cannot be only about military strength. It must also be about moral strength. On the Palestinian side, there must be room for leaders who promote coexistence and reject violence, those building schools and communities in the face of adversity.
These voices need international support. They must be empowered, not ignored. The path ahead will require painful compromises. But the alternative, endless war and generational trauma, is far more dangerous. We must reject the idea that compromise is weakness, or that criticism is betrayal. This kind of thinking only leads to more walls, more fear, more suffering.
As a Mediterranean woman entrepreneur and a humanitarian, I call for a renewed commitment to a just and lasting peace based on the two-state solution: a sovereign Palestine living alongside a secure and democratic Israel. This vision is not naive, it is necessary. It recognizes the dignity of both peoples and offers a future built on mutual recognition, not domination. In the hills of Neve Shalom, I saw what that future might look like: a place where children are not taught to fear the other, but to know them. A place without gates, where the fire of hope still burns in the hearts of parents determined to pass peace to their children. That vision remains possible. But it must be chosen, deliberately, and together.
Let us lift up the voices of those who build, not those who destroy. Let us educate for coexistence, not conflict. Let us remember that true peace begins not in politics, but in the simple, radical act of seeing one another.
