Finding Reconciliation Amid the Fog of Grief and Loss

"The third of March is the day that I will never forget," said Robi, recalling how IDF representatives came to her house and told her that a Palestinian sniper had killed her son, David, then a master's student in education. She noted one of her first replies to the information: 'You may not kill anybody in the name of my child.'"

Robi was one of four members of the Parents Circle - Families Forum, an organization supporting bereaved families from Israel and Palestine, who took the stage for the September 17 opening event of this fall's NYU in Dialogue series, which aims to bridge differences by fostering curiosity and empathy. Before a packed house at the Global Center for Academic and Spiritual Life, and nearly a year since Hamas' October 7 attack on Israel and the ensuing war in Gaza, two Israelis-Robi and Yonatan-and two Palestinians-Layla and Arab-shared their stories of loss and grief, challenging audience members to reconsider their assumptions about conflict and reconciliation.

You may not kill anybody in the name of my child."

Layla told another story of tragedy: Her 6-month-old son awoke severely ill at 4:00 am on April 11, 2002, the day after Israeli soldiers had arrived at their village in Gaza. When Layla tried rushing him to the hospital in Bethlehem, soldiers wouldn't let them pass, delaying them for five hours before they could reach the hospital in neighboring Hebron. They arrived too late. Her son had died on the way.

"We lived all our lives in Israel with the notion that we are kind of invincible, that we have this strong army," said Yonatan. That changed on October 7, 2023, when he awoke in Tel Aviv to the sound of alarms. As he spoke on the phone with his mother, a lifelong peace activist, he heard gunshots on the other end of the line. After they said goodbye, she went offline and, for over a month, was considered a hostage. Finally, archeologists found Yonatan's mother's remains in her house. With that news, he realized, "The mission of retrieval… is over. Now, I need to begin the next mission of creating an alternative reality" so that "these kinds of catastrophes will stop happening."

Having grown up under occupation in the West Bank, however, Arab's loss only intensified his hatred. A day after his 13th birthday in 2007, an Israeli soldier shot and killed his little sister, Abir, in front of her school. "I wanted to take revenge by killing all the Israelis around the world," he recalled. It took him seven years and a long process of self-examination to understand that "behind every Palestinian and Israeli, there is a human being."

Throughout the discussion, the speakers emphasized that the path to reconciliation is fraught with setbacks and challenges, yet it also begins with a willingness to engage in dialogue.

Arab was consumed by hatred throughout his teen years, often skipping school to hurl rocks at the military checkpoints. His father had spent seven years in an Israeli jail for the same offense, and told him that these actions would inevitably bring the family more pain. "We're not weak people who kill," his father advised, but "strong people, to be against our anger and hate." Arab came to believe that resolution didn't have to involve violence. Rather, to achieve it, "you have to make peace with yourself."

We're not weak people who kill," his father advised, but "strong people, to be against our anger and hate." Arab came to believe that resolution didn't have to involve violence. Rather, to achieve it, "you have to make peace with yourself."

His healing began two years later when a visit to Buchenwald, the notorious Nazi death camp in Germany, left Arab bawling "for the people who lost their life for nothing." In a state of confused emotions, he started teaching himself Hebrew. "If you want to kill yourself, keep hating your enemy, but if you want to win your enemy over, learn more about them," he explained. Soon, he realized that, like him, Israelis had also lost their brothers and sisters, and even if he killed every Israeli, he could never bring his sister back. "But if I talk to the other side and I show them my humanity, I will save my son," he said.

Layla did not allow herself to be consumed by hatred, but for 16 years after her son died, she could not speak of him. She remembered thinking that the doctors were lying when they placed his enrobed body back in her arms. Pulling back the blanket, she saw his skin was blue; when she kissed him, he was a frozen stone against her lips. But "I held him so tight," she recounted. "I thought, 'Maybe he will come back to life.'"

In 2018, a friend finally convinced her to attend a Parents Circle event. Her chest ached as the Israelis entered her room, and she wanted to flee, but as she listened to them speak of losing their own loved ones, she began to see their pain and humanity. In time, she broke her silence and spoke about her son. When an Israeli mother apologized for what her people had done and told her she understood her pain, Layla felt, for the first time, that "someone could understand me."

But she emphasized that reconciliation is an ongoing process.

Years later, as part of the Parents Circle, Layla was attending a meeting with other NGOs in Jerusalem, and an Israeli man told the story of being a high officer in the military serving in her region at the time her son died. He recounted stopping a car with children and preventing them from going to the hospital. Layla felt like someone had slapped her. As she cried, the two of them stepped outside, and he told her of how his son later got sick. As he tried to rush him to the hospital, the guards stopped him, too, just to ask a few questions, and in that moment, he realized what he had done to the Palestinians. He quit the army, and was jailed for it. He established an organization with other Palestinian ex-fighters. Layla told him that, because of his courage and honesty, "I could forgive you."

Yonatan spoke of a similar awakening. While his mother was a prominent peace activist in Israel, he grew up to believe that the protest movements were merely maintaining the region's toxic status quo. But he fell into a "political coma," believing a fantasy that he could simply live a normal life in Israel. October 7 "really burst my bubble," he said. A social worker who believed he was doing meaningful work, Yonatan began questioning the efficacy of only helping individuals when "the whole system is broken." So he quit his job and devoted himself to the peace movement. "I felt the responsibility to use my voice to shape the discourse," he said, "and to try to create new prospects in our realities for peace."

For Robi, peace and reconciliation will also require more than individual forgiveness and dialogue. She recounted meeting her son's killer, and learning that he had killed 10 Israelis in the name of freeing Palestine. She also learned that, as a boy, he watched the Israeli army violently kill his uncle, then lost another two uncles in the Second Intifada, before he had embarked on a journey of revenge.

"I don't condone violence, but I could understand how this can happen," said Robi. She insisted that the situation in the West Bank is ready to explode, with people "unable to work for a year, children unable to attend school regularly, and settlers 'running rampant with no accountability."

"We have to tell the truth if we want reconciliation," Robi stressed, while encouraging audience members to support organizations in Palestine working to end the violence. "I can sit here and paint pretty pictures for you, but I don't want to."

During the question period, one audience member thanked the panelists for inspiring them with their courage and empathy. "I can't fathom your grief; you're all paving the path to follow."

Afterwards, the speakers received a standing ovation and audience members wiped away tears. As the panelists huddled for a photo, another attendee, who had worked in the Middle East for 30 years, remarked that the speakers were unusually courageous.

An NYU student said that while she had known about the situation in Israel and Palestine, she believed that such dialogues are essential to increase understanding. "It touches you in another way, a hundred percent, when you're actually face-to-face with people and hearing their stories this way."