The kids make a huge advance which elicits a loud “Khalas!” from one of the soldiers, and the kids slow down their pace. Two soldiers go up to them now and all of a sudden, they are actually talking. Some young men approach and join in. As if they are all human. And it is almost possible for Anita and me to forget what the military uniforms and guns mean and to see only young people talking to each other.

Standing at a bus stop, the bricks of the Old City hovering on the horizon and a deadly heat radiating off the highway pavement, I boarded a minibus that 20 minutes later had me face to face with the wall – yes, that wall – on the edge of Bethlehem. Disembarking the vehicle and walking (tentatively) toward the massive structure, complete with rusted barbed wire and ominous towers, I passed through the series of indoor turnstiles and ramps that landed me in a queue line. I knew these places existed, and equally knew the vitriol-strapped arguments surrounding them: security fence, separation barrier, land grab, open-air prison. Call it what you will because in this moment, standing in the stark reality of a hot-button issue, I’m not thinking about semantics.

I don’t mean to, but every time they walk in, I find myself thinking, “What if…” I know that the
ones who have done it have usually been from the other side of the line, but they say themselves
that they are the same on both sides of the line.

Ari stopped his speech. His voice choked over a lump in his throat. He forgot his rehearsed denunciation and instead could only think of his sister, her curly hair, her peace pin. Everyone’s shocked eyes were still on Ari but he could not say anything. She was not here. She would never be here. Not at this meeting. Not at home or at the ice cream shop with a cone of that nasty bubble gum stuff. She was really truly gone.

By Jillian Slutzker
“They think there were more than twenty killed.” She heard her uncle say to no one in particular. Leila had managed to sneak away from her cousins and was standing in the doorway of the living room watching her uncle pacing with the phone receiver dangling in his hand. He turned to his wife. “Did Yousef come back yet?”
“He isn’t here. ” She answered, holding her head in her hands. Neither of them had noticed Leila in the doorway.
“There are …

By Jillian Slutzker
Not too far from the community center Leila was seeking, nineteen-year-old Ari Saksonov sat at his desk in his home staring blankly at the calendar. It was February 25. The grief counselor his parents had forced him to talk to told Ari that he would likely be in denial for some time. The counselor had peered at Ari over his black-rimmed glasses with a look of contrived sympathy and said that it might feel to Ari like his sister had gone on vacation and would return home shortly, …

Eight years ago I dropped out of school and went to Israel to experience the magic of the Jewish homeland, my Jewish homeland. Things didn’t progress as smoothly as I expected. I got kicked out of my Kibbutz and wound up working as a dishwasher and a line cook in an upscale restaurant in Tel Aviv. But I was young and adaptable…

A few years ago a small group of youth met from the Progressive Zionist, Jewish, youth movement ‘Hashomer Hatzair’ and the Arab youth group Caya. I may have been hoping to make new friends, or I may have been hoping to find out that I have common political ground with the “other side”. Looking back on it now, I am not sure that we had any one goal in our minds. The following is my recollection of our first meeting.

On my last day in Palestine, just before leaving, I went back to visit one
of my favorite spots in Jerusalem. Located in the Western Wall plaza,
there is this place you can stand where the shining gold of the Dome of
the Rock arches ever so slightly over the holy wall. Seeing the two
religious sites juxtaposed against each other is breathtaking. It’s a
visual symbol of how close two societies in conflict are to each other,
yet it’s depressing because they’re so far apart.

If we weave our faiths together
on the loom,
and we unify under a Silk
Road blanket that began in the East
my arms will wrap around you, scoop
you under and
fold over you…