Hope is hard to find these days. I rediscovered it in the most unlikely and obvious of places: Israel.
Rabbi and scholar, Dr. Michael Marmur, who made aliyah from London 40 years ago, notes that the Hebrew word for hope, tikvah, builds from the root kav, meaning “cord, line.” He cites a Jewish mystical teaching likening hope to a thread capable of spanning from earth to the upper reaches of heaven. Without our efforts, hope hangs loose with unrealized promise. Rabbi Marmur directs us to grab hold of that seemingly flimsy, sometimes evasive thread, sewing ourselves into a better future.
This is part three of “Threads of Hope,” a blog series in which Rabbi Sarah Reines reflects on a finding hope for peace and a shared future during a recent solidarity mission to Israel. You can read about the Rana Choir in part one, Threads of Hope: The Rana Choir and about Maoz Inon, tourism entrepreneur and peace activist in part two, Threads of Hope: Maoz Inon.
By Rabbi Sarah H. Reines
My group of 13 colleagues traveled in heavy silence on the bus ride to visit a resident of the Palestinian village, Khirbet Susya, in the South Hebron Hills. That day we had already visited a moshav invaded on October 7. We had borne witness at the Nova site where hundreds of concert-goers were murdered and kidnapped. And we had gathered amongst the wreckage of a school building in the Palestinian West Bank village of Khirbet Zanuta, its remaining walls spray painted with blue Stars of David. Grief upon grief upon grief suffocated any sense of possibility within us and among us.
We arrived at Khirbet Susya on foot, as radical settlers had placed a giant boulder at the head of the road, making it impossible to drive into the village. Our host welcomed us, inviting us to sit outside his modest home where he lives with his father, wife, and four children. With chickens squawking and goats clattering around us, he shared a pivotal moment in his life from almost 15 years earlier when he was 17 years old.
He and some of his young neighbors were arrested by the IDF as suspects in the killing of a settler from a nearby town. He was forced to lie face down on the prison floor, hands tied behind his back, for 15 hours without any bathroom breaks. If he moved his head to the side for easier breathing and comfort, he was kicked. With no evidence against him, he was released the next day.
Our host winced as he recalled stumbling down the hill towards home, desperate to return to the comfort of his family’s arms, only to see that his house and the rest of the village had been demolished.
Exhausted and consumed by rage, he fell asleep, dreaming of vengeance. He awoke in the morning, preparing to commit himself to a life of violent retaliation. Then, something unexpected happened. Jewish Israelis – complete strangers – approached. Some carried platters of food, others brought tools to help the villagers rebuild their community.
Our host was shocked. In his mind, Jews were simply the enemy, members of an occupying force that wielded power to intimidate and destroy. But here were Jewish Israelis who cared about him, a Palestinian, and went out of their way to support his community. That realization opened his eyes and his world. Since that day, he has dedicated his life to peaceful activism through partnership.
As our host was talking, his teenage son served us paper cups filled with sweet tea, then stood by his father, expectantly. Apparently, the boy was eager to practice his (very good) English with us. He began shyly, describing daily uncertainty and dangers which often interrupt his schooling, then spoke excitedly about his relationships with teenagers around the world, fostered through virtual educational programs. Hoping to attend college in the United States and major in history and translation, he is committed to continuing the work of his father and his father’s Palestinian, Israeli, and international friends, building bridges towards reconciliation and justice.
It’s easy to eschew this moment of transformation, especially in the larger context of what I witnessed that day. Some might brush it off as an aberrance, swallowed up by the enormous tide of hatred, violence, and abuse of power battering the region. That would be a mistake. The ability of one person’s goodness effecting positive change in someone else is a powerful and contagious force. As Pirkei Avot teaches, “One good deed begets another good deed,” and so one act of kindness ignites a ripple of compassion and understanding, reaching far beyond its initial touch.
This singular story represents many, many other stories of people in this terrible conflict choosing humanity over hatred, but they rarely fill headlines or go viral. It is up to us to seek them out and lift them up, helping to weave their threads of hope across borders and through generations.
