A vision for peace requires the goodwill of a great number of players – without which, any one of them may be liable to sabotage the vision for everyone. These days feel like an endless era of bad faith. Writing this as an Israeli, I would like to stress that contrary to what many of my compatriots believe, the age of bad faith didn't begin on October 7th. 

It was here long before. So, in the absence of goodwill – or more precisely, when the balance of power tilts so heavily against those groups and individuals who do cling to a vision of mutual recognition, freedom, equality, and peace – what is the role of a vision for peace? 

Posing this question – precisely when we lack the power to actualize our vision – exposes the depth of the problem. However, perhaps a partial answer can be found within the tension, perhaps even the contradiction, between the longing for peace and the need to fight those who oppose it. Is it possible to simultaneously nurture both the inner, social, and material resources that sustain peace, and the resources required to wage a forceful struggle against those preaching Jewish supremacy? This isn’t an abstract question; horribly, the reality in Israel/Palestine shows just how terribly we have failed at this challenge.

And what about Jerusalem/Al-Quds? There’s no doubt – Jerusalem is far from realizing a vision of peace. The annexation of East Jerusalem, together with the denial of political rights and the ongoing suppression of its Palestinian residents, makes it a city where apartheid can’t hide behind the fiction of a “temporary” occupation or the illusion that once the right partner shows up, Israel will be quick to end it. Home demolitions, police violence, and glaring discrimination in basic services – education, health, even water – are part of an ever-worsening reality for East Jerusalemites. But Palestinian life in Jerusalem under Israeli rule isn’t only about oppression. It also includes struggle and solidarity. And solidarity in struggle is a central part of answering the dilemma we raised earlier: the need for forceful struggle in the service of peace.

As correctly stated in the “Hope from Jerusalem” vision document, our city is unique in that hundreds of thousands of Israelis and hundreds of thousands of Palestinians share it, conducting their daily lives on its streets, brushing up against each other constantly. In common discourse, these conditions are seen mainly as a source of vulnerability and violence. But just as much, they are conditions that force Palestinians of Jerusalem to fight for their basic rights, first and foremost, the right to remain in the city. And the same conditions that invite Jerusalemite Israelis to stand in solidarity with East Jerusalemites in their struggle for human rights. The conditions here invite solidarity because, for example, to get from Zion Square in West Jerusalem to Sheikh Jarrah in East Jerusalem is a simple matter of riding four stops on the light rail. And above all, the conditions in this city invite solidarity because the struggle for a better East Jerusalem is the struggle for a better Jerusalem as a whole. It isn’t some remote battle for someone else – it happens here, at home. 

Israeli-Palestinian struggles in Jerusalem – against police violence, against house demolitions, against the takeover of Palestinian spaces – may seem very different from peace work. Not only because their spirit and methods are so different, but also because even in the optimistic scenario where some of these struggles win partial victories, the deeper reality of Israel’s forced and exclusive control over the city doesn’t change. 

And yet, when these struggles involve Israeli-Palestinian solidarity, they also become an arena where we practice and embody the basic qualities of peace in a binational reality – the very qualities detailed in “Hope from Jerusalem.” Solidarity begins with caring that crosses boundaries, and joint struggle deepens and strengthens that caring. Spaces of solidarity are binational spaces – certainly much more so than the isolation imposed on those who deny Jerusalem’s binational nature. And because the solidarity struggle takes place in Palestinian parts of the city, around issues directly tied to Palestinian rights and daily life, Israelis discover both the value – and the challenge – of giving up exclusivity in decision-making. 

Struggles – even solidarity struggles – carry costs, and they often wound the spirit. That’s probably unavoidable. But the way we struggle shapes what those costs and wounds will look like, and how heavy they will be. By default, struggle is “against” – against injustice, against oppression, against racism. As justified and necessary as this resistance may be, it cultivates inner currents that are very far from peace. 

That’s why a vision of peace – no matter how distant or future-oriented – is also a vital resource for those of us who choose to take part in solidarity struggles over the burning needs of our shattered present. Our actions, together with those of our partners, realize here and now certain qualities of peace. The more we remember this and allow that fundamental yearning to serve as our compass, the more our struggles can offer us not only resistance but also comfort and healing.