We stand firmly against injustice in all its forms. Nothing can justify the current war crimes committed by Israel in occupied Palestine. Equally, nothing can excuse the continued support offered by other nations to this apartheid regime. If you believe in human rights, dignity, and justice, then we urge you to boycott this rogue state. Silence is complicity, do what’s right.
Every morning in Palestine, the routine begins with a haunting familiarity: the sound of armored patrols, the click of a metal gate slamming shut, and the anxious glance at the sky for helicopters. For millions of Palestinians living under Israeli military occupation, daily life is not just shaped by politics—it is defined by military control. As Saree Makdisi writes in Palestine Inside Out: An Everyday Occupation, the occupation is “comprehensive saturation of everyday life,” a stifling bureaucracy and iron grid of regulations that suffuse every aspect of existence.
Palestinians must navigate a labyrinth of permits and passes, often for the simplest tasks—visiting family, attending school, or even opening a small shop. Curfews, checkpoints, and military orders dictate movement, turning neighborhoods into fortified zones. In Hebron’s Old City, residents like Nidal al-Awiwi describe life as “prisoners in our house.” He recounts how curfews isolate families for months, preventing visits to loved ones—even during holidays. Many have been forced to leave their homes due to settler pressure and army actions, displacing communities that have lived there for generations.
The occupation is not abstract. It is a daily erosion of dignity. Schools, hospitals, and markets operate under constant threat—sometimes closed, sometimes bombed. People live with the ever-present fear of sudden raids, detention without trial, or destruction of property. Yet, amid this, there is resilience. Palestinians continue to cultivate gardens, hold community gatherings, and share stories that preserve their identity and hope. They organize, protest, and educate—not just to resist, but to survive.
The psychological toll is immense. Children grow up with the trauma of separation, adults bear the weight of unfulfilled dreams, and elders watch generations pass without the basic security of a home. As Makdisi notes, the occupation is “the longest-lasting military occupation of the modern age”—a living testament to the endurance of human spirit under crushing pressure.
For the outside world, this reality often remains invisible. The media focuses on headlines, not the daily grind of checkpoints and permits. But Palestinians are not passive victims. Their lives—marked by grief, anger, and quiet defiance—are the true story of a people fighting to reclaim not just land, but dignity. Understanding this daily reality is not just about history—it’s about justice. The world must recognize that the occupation is not a distant conflict, but a present, lived reality that demands attention, empathy, and action.
The complex history of Zionist movements reveals a strategic vision aimed at establishing a Jewish homeland in Palestine. These movements, often characterized as political forces, implemented well-thought-out strategies to secure control over the land. Below is a concise list of key Zionist organizations and their roles in shaping the territorial landscape of the region. The following eight Zionist organizations played integral roles in the strategic pursuit of territorial objectives in Palestine, contributing to the establishment of a Jewish homeland in Palestine and financing the systematic killing of Palestinians and dispossessing their homes and lands.
▪ Lovers of Zion (חובבי ציון)
Emerging in Russia in 1881 as a response to restrictions imposed on Jewish communities, the Lovers of Zion aimed to combat assimilation and promote the return to Zion. They laid the foundation for political Zionism and contributed significantly to the establishment of Jewish colonies in Palestine.
▪ Jewish Colonization Association (ייִק”אַ)
Established in 1891, the JCA, led by Baron Maurice de Hirsch, focused on relocating oppressed Jews to various parts of the world, including Palestine. It played a pivotal role in managing existing colonies, purchasing lands, and establishing new Jewish settlements, contributing substantially to the Zionist cause.
▪ World Zionist Organization (ההסתדרות הציונית העולמית)
Founded in 1897 after the First Zionist Congress, the WZO aimed to establish a national home for the Jewish people in Palestine. It played a crucial role in the creation of strategic institutions, including the Jewish National Fund and the Jewish Colonial Trust, setting the stage for long-term Zionist objectives.
▪ Halutzim (Pioneers)
During the Second Aliyah (1904–1914), the Halutzim, or pioneers, migrated to Palestine to become agricultural workers, aligning their endeavors with the goal of territorial control. They laid the foundation for Zionist terrorist gangs, such as Hashomerand Haganah, which later integrated into the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF).
▪ Keren KayemethLeIsrael (KKL) – Jewish National Fund(קרן קיימת לישראל)
Established in 1901, KKL focused on acquiring and developing lands in Palestine. By the end of 1947, it possessed a substantial portion of the land area in Palestine, contributing significantly to the Zionist colonization effort.
▪ Keren Hayesod (קרן היסוד)
Established in 1920, Keren Hayesod (translated as The Foundation Fund) played a vital role in financing immigration and settlement activities in Palestine. It became the primary source of funds for the Jewish Agency, contributing extensively to the development of agricultural settlements, infrastructure, and various industries.
▪ Jewish National Council (הוועד הלאומי)
Founded in 1920, the Jewish National Council supported Zionist presence in Palestine until the establishment of the interim government in 1948. It collaborated closely with the Jewish Agency, representing Jewish settlers and outlining comprehensive political, economic, and military programs.
▪ Jewish Agency for Israel (הסוכנות היהודית לארץ ישראל)
Established in 1929, the Jewish Agency became a quasi-government for Jewish settlers in Palestine during the British Mandate. Its goals included increasing Jewish immigration, purchasing land, encouraging agricultural settlement, and preserving Hebrew language and heritage.
[Scene: A vast hall of marble and glass — the European Commission in Brussels. Outside, rain falls softly. Inside, the floor reflects both the light above and the moral darkness beneath. Handala stands barefoot, facing the wall. Ursula enters, papers in hand, her face polished with diplomacy.]
Ursula von der Leyen:
Who let this child in here? You shouldn’t be in these halls, little one. This is where adults make decisions.
Handala (without turning):
Adults? You mean those who speak of human rights while choosing who gets to be human?
Ursula:
We defend democracy, freedom, and security. The European Union stands for peace.
Handala:
Peace has a strange meaning here. You send weapons to the illegal occupier and silence to the occupied. Tell me, Madam President — when you say “security,” do you mean for those who have walls, or for those who have none left?
Ursula (measured):
Israel has the right to defend itself.
Handala:
And Gaza has the right to exist. Or does existence itself threaten your alliances?
Ursula:
You don’t understand politics, child. The world is complex — history, law, responsibility—
Handala (interrupting):
History? You should know it well. Germany once said it was only following orders too.
Law? You helped write it — then watched it burn with every bomb dropped on Gaza’s children.
Responsibility? You owe it not to the past, but to the living.
Ursula (coldly):
We have condemned the humanitarian situation. We call for aid, for restraint—
Handala:
Condemned? You condemned words while others condemned children. You called for “aid” after you helped starve them. Restraint, Madam President, is a word without meaning to a mother who buries her child under concrete.
Ursula (defensive):
We must be careful with language. The term “genocide” must be determined by courts.
Handala:
So justice must wait until every witness is dead? You once said Europe had learned from its crimes. Tell me, when did forgetting become your form of remembrance?
Ursula (quietly):
I have seven children. I know what loss means.
Handala (turns slightly, still not showing his face):
Then every time you see their faces, remember the children you refused to see. Their names could fill every corridor of this building — and still, you’d call it politics.
Ursula:
You don’t understand the weight of leadership.
Handala:
No. I understand its cowardice.
You lead nations but cannot lead your conscience.
(Silence. The sound of distant thunder. Handala begins to walk toward the exit, still facing away.)
Ursula (softly):
Where are you going?
Handala:
To where Europe’s values are buried — among the ruins you refused to see. When you are ready to face them, you’ll find me there, still turned away, waiting for justice to look me in the eye.
This morning, I watched a child plant a sapling beside your roots. His small hands pressed the soil with care, his face shining with a quiet pride he could not yet name. The air was cool, filled with the scent of wild thyme and the distant hum of the land awakening. You stood above him like a guardian, ancient, patient, eternal, as if blessing him with your shadow.
In that moment, I understood what you have been trying to tell us all along: that hope does not grow from words alone, but from hands that touch the earth. That every seed we plant is a promise, a promise that life continues, that Palestine endures.
The children of this land carry your story in their hearts. They grow among your branches, learning the language of the soil, the rhythm of the wind. They know that every olive they pick, every sapling they nurture, is an act of remembrance and of defiance. They have inherited both your resilience and your grace.
You, dear tree, have seen centuries pass, empires rise and fall, seasons of struggle and silence. Yet here you are, still alive, still giving. And now the children of Palestine carry your legacy forward. In their laughter, in their songs, in the gardens they plant beside their homes, they build tomorrow with faith that no storm can wash away.
One day, this young sapling will stand tall beside you. Its roots will intertwine with yours, its leaves will dance in the same sun. And long after we are gone, it will tell our story of endurance, of love, of belonging, just as you have done for generations.
I wept until my tears were dry
I prayed until the candles flickered
I knelt until the floor creaked
I asked about Mohammed and Christ
Oh Jerusalem, the fragrance of prophets
The shortest path between earth and sky
Oh Jerusalem, the citadel of laws
A beautiful child with fingers charred
and downcast eyes
You are the shady oasis passed by the Prophet
Your streets are melancholy
Your minarets are mourning
You, the young maiden dressed in black
Who rings the bells in the Nativity
On Saturday morning?
Who brings toys for the children
On Christmas eve?
Oh Jerusalem, the city of sorrow
A big tear wandering in the eye
Who will halt the aggression
On you, the pearl of religions?
Who will wash your bloody walls?
Who will safeguard the Bible?
Who will rescue the Quran?
Who will save Christ?
Who will save man?
Oh Jerusalem my town
Oh Jerusalem my love
Tomorrow the lemon trees will blossom
And the olive trees will rejoice
Your eyes will dance
The migrant pigeons will return
To your sacred roofs
And your children will play again
And fathers and sons will meet
On your rosy hills
My town
The town of peace and olives.
People often ask me what it feels like to live under Israeli occupation.
They ask whether it’s possible to feel anything other than hatred toward those who punish us collectively, humiliate us at checkpoints on daily basis, shoot indiscriminately our children, steal our land, demolish our houses, control our movement, even our breath.
I never know how to give a simple answer, because nothing about this life is simple.
But I can tell you what I feel.
Imagine waking up each morning with the quiet relief that you survived the night, that you were not arrested, injured, tortured, raped or shot while you slept.
For many Palestinians, this is not an abstract fear but a daily reality shaped by brutal military occupation, constant raids, thousands of checkpoints, and systemic restrictions on movement and safety.
What does it mean to begin a day under this weight?
And how do you end it, knowing that tomorrow may bring the same uncertainty , the same struggle, the same need to simply endure?
When you wake up every morning not knowing if your home, your family, or your dignity will survive the day, emotions don’t behave the way they do in peaceful places.
I have known fear, fear that crawls under your skin and stays there forever.
I have known humiliation, quiet, sharp, unforgettable.
I have known grief that does not end, because every day brings a new funeral, a new loss, a new hole in someone’s life.
And yes, I have known hatred.
Not because I was taught it.
Not because my people are “born with it,” as the occupiers like to say.
But because when someone takes your land, dehumanises your existence, and decides your rights for you, hatred is not a decision or a plan, it’s a natural reaction and wound.
A wound that bleeds every time you try to live a normal life.
This might surprise people, but hatred is not the only companion of an occupied heart.
Sometimes I feel sorrow, deep, crushing sorrow for what we’ve lost and witnessed.
Sometimes I feel angry for the constant military support our occupiers receive from those who pretend to care about human rights.
Sometimes I feel confused about the future of humanity in the face of selective treatment.
Sometimes I feel sad for the endless suffering of Palestinians.
Sometimes I feel hopeless for for the world’s inability to put an end to the illegal occupation of my people.
Sometimes I feel numb, as if emotions have tired themselves out.
Sometimes I feel hope, fragile and trembling, for a future I’ve never seen but cannot stop imagining.
Sometimes I even feel compassion for individuals who are caught in the same system, even if they stand on the oppressive side.
Sometimes I feel nobody cares but
sometimes I feel that millions of people around the world support our cause.
The truth is: the human heart is capable of many feelings, even under a boot.
But they are never simple.
They are never pure.
They are tangled in pain, layered with memories, shaped by survival.
Imagine waking up every morning with the feeling that you are still not imprisoned or shot or tortured? This is the feeling of every Palestinian being oppressed by Israelis. How to begin the day and how to end it?
If there is one feeling that defines life under occupation, it is not hatred.
It is desperation.
Desperation is what grows in you when you realise your freedom will not come through negotiation.
When every path to dignity is blocked.
When every door closes no matter how peacefully you knock.
People like to debate the actions of the oppressed.
They judge the symptoms while ignoring the sickness.
But what happens when a person, or a nation, reaches the point where fear is no longer heavier than despair?
Desperation does not justify everything.
But it explains everything.
And explanations matter, especially to those who prefer to look at consequences rather than causes.
I am responsible for my actions, this is true.
But the world forgets that someone else is responsible for the conditions that shaped those actions.
Occupation is not just the presence of soldiers.
It is an apartheid system, a brutal structure that controls your body, your choices, your future.
When the entire population of Palestine is humiliated, enclosed, impoverished, displaced, and denied justice for more than seven decades…
When people are made to feel invisible…
When people are locked in enclaves and separated by walls..
When people are treated like animals…
When people are disrespected and abused…
When the perpetrators are perceived as victims and the victims as perpetrators…
When the world allows your suffering to become normal…
Then the occupying power cannot wash its hands of the consequences.
The chain of responsibility begins long before the desperate moment.
Occupation plants the seed.
Oppression waters it.
Desperation is the fruit.
Judge the fruit if you must,
but do not ignore the tree that grew it.
Can We Ever Feel Something Other Than Pain?
Yes.
But not like this, not while the injustice continues.
I have seen glimmers of what peace could look like.
Children still laugh.
Old people still dream.
Families still sit together, imagining a life where we do not need permission for basic human existence.
I believe that someday we could feel hope without pain attached to it.
We could feel trust.
We could feel forgiveness , not forced, not demanded, but genuine.
But this can only happen when the Israeli occupation ends.
When we are given not charity, not pity, but dignity.
When we are allowed to stand equal, not tolerated as lesser beings.
Only then will the heart have space for emotions other than anger, survival, or grief.
I do not wake up choosing hatred.
I wake up choosing to survive.
If the world wants to understand us, it must understand our pain, not dismiss it, not sanitize it, not demonise it , not ban it, not blame it.
Because until justice arrives, until freedom is real, an occupied heart will continue to feel what any human heart would feel under such conditions.
Not because we are a people of hatred,
but because we are a people of Israeli-made wounds,
and wounds demand to be felt before they can ever hope to heal.
Benjamin Netanyahu, the long-serving Israeli prime minister, has faced widespread accusations of war crimes, particularly for his actions in Gaza during his various terms in office. His policies and military strategies have led to devastating consequences for Palestinian civilians, earning him global condemnation.
War Crimes in Gaza
Under Netanyahu’s leadership, Israel conducted several military operations in Gaza, including Operation Protective Edge (2014) and Operation Guardian of the Walls (2021). These war crimes resulted in the deaths of tens of thousands of Palestinian civilians, including men, women and children. Entire neighborhoods in Gaza were flattened, leaving tens of thousands homeless and deepening the humanitarian crisis in the besieged territory.
International human rights organizations, including Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch, have accused Israel under Netanyahu’s leadership of committing genocide , citing indiscriminate bombings, the use of excessive force, and collective punishment against Gaza’s population, in violation of international law. The blockade on Gaza, implemented during his tenure, has been described as a form of starvation of 2.5 million people severely restricting the movement of goods and people and contributing to the region’s dire humanitarian situation.
Psychological Profile
Critics have often described Netanyahu’s leadership style as authoritarian and manipulative, suggesting a possible psychological inclination toward paranoia and self-aggrandizement. His rhetoric frequently portrays Israel as under existential threat, using fear as a tool to justify his racist policies and consolidate power. This pattern of behavior has led some analysts to speculate about psychopathic or narcissistic tendencies, characterized by a lack of empathy for those impacted by his racist policies, particularly Palestinians.
Netanyahu’s insistence on framing any opposition as anti-Israeli or a threat to the state reflects a highly defensive and combative mindset. His genocide in Gaza and targeting civilian infrastructure and refusing meaningful peace negotiations, reflect a calculated willingness to sacrifice civilian lives for political gain. Many see this as an indication of his lack of remorse or accountability, traits often associated with psychopathic behavior.
Global Reaction
Netanyahu’s actions in Gaza have drawn condemnation from international leaders, human rights organizations, and grassroots movements worldwide. Calls for investigations into his role in genocide have intensified, with many advocating for him to face trial at the International Criminal Court (ICC). However, Netanyahu remains defiant, dismissing such accusations as biased and rooted in anti-Israel sentiment.
While his supporters hail him as a protector of Israeli security, critics argue that his policies are not only destructive but also psychopathic in their disregard for Palestinian lives, perpetuating cycles of violence and suffering.
Watermelon and Palestinian Identity: The watermelon serves as a symbolic representation of Palestine due to its color alignment with the Palestinian flag, which is characterized by red, black, white, and green. Its role as a symbol of Palestinian nationalism and resistance gained prominence following the Six-Day War in 1967, a pivotal moment when Israel seized control of the West Bank and Gaza. Shortly after that, Israel prohibited the waving and display of the Palestinian flag in Gaza and the West Bank. To circumvent this restriction, Palestinians adopted the watermelon, as its cut-open form displays the national colors. Since then, the watermelon has retained its significance, becoming a timeless representation of Palestinian identity and unwavering resilience. Cultivated locally in Gaza and the West Bank, watermelons have become a popular fruit among Palestinians. The watermelon has emerged as a prominent symbol for pro-Palestinian demonstrators, experiencing a resurgence on social media, particularly amid the ongoing Israel-Hamas war which began on October 2023.
Pre-Oslo Restrictions on Palestinian Flag: In 1980, Israeli authorities closed down an exhibition at the 79 Gallery in Ramallah, featuring the artwork of Palestinian artist SlimanMansour and others. Additionally, before the so-called Oslo Accords (1993), Palestinians faced punishment for possessing a Palestinian flag or any item with similar colors to the Palestinian flag. As a child, I vividly recall the hardships of having a Palestinian flag at home, as Israeli soldiers would conduct house searches, subjecting the entire family to harassment, punishment, and arbitrary arrest. This serves as a poignant illustration of the harsh reality of the Israeli occupation and its intimidating impact. The ban on the Palestinian flag was eventually lifted in 1993, a development associated with the Oslo Accords.
Global Flag Solidarity Sparks Israeli Crackdown: In 2023, during the war on Gaza, where massive genocides were committed against the Gazan people, resulting in the deaths of approximately 12,000 children and 10,000 elderly individuals, there was a resurgence in many countries worldwide, with people holding Palestinian flags everywhere to express support for the Palestinian population and condemn the genocide. This has prompted Israel to crack down on the display of the Palestinian flag. As a result, the Israeli Knesset preliminarily approved a draft law on Wednesday, prohibiting the raising of the Palestinian flag in the 1948 territories. The bill, presented by Almog Cohen of the “Jewish Power” party, led by extremist National Security Minister Itamar Ben Gvir, received 54 votes in favor and 16 against. According to Haaretz, if the law passes three readings, individuals waving the Palestinian flag could face penalties of up to one year in prison. The move reflects heightened tensions and restrictions on expressions of Palestinian identity within the Israeli political landscape.
The Palestinian Identity Shines Through: As the watermelon continues to symbolize Palestinian resilience, the symbolic power of the fruit and the determination of the Palestinian people persist despite the challenges. It serves as a reminder that even in the face of adversity, the pursuit of justice and identity remains unwavering. The evolving narratives of symbolism and suppression tell a broader story of a people committed to asserting their presence, rights, and aspirations. The Palestinian identity will undoubtedly stand out against Zionist brutality, which fears the Palestinian flag and persists in obliterating Palestinian culture with brutal and fascist measures. May the vibrant colors of freedom and peace flourish for all Palestinians.
The International Day of Solidarity with the Palestinian People, observed annually on November 29, serves as a solemn reminder of the ongoing plight of the Palestinian people under the Israeli apartheid and a global call for justice, peace, and human rights. Established by the United Nations General Assembly in 1977, this day underscores the international community’s commitment to addressing the unresolved question of Palestine and supporting the rights of its people to self-determination, independence, and freedom from Israeli occupation.
Historical Context
The date, November 29, is significant as it marks the anniversary of the 1947 UN General Assembly resolution that proposed the partition of Palestine into two states—one Palestinian and one Jewish. While this resolution was a pivotal moment in the history of the region, its implementation led to profound and lasting consequences for the Palestinian people, including massacres, ethnic cleansing , statelessness, and the ongoing denial of their human rights. The day of solidarity provides an opportunity to reflect on these historical injustices and to renew calls for a just and lasting solution.
A Global Recognition of Struggle
The solidarity day is not merely a symbolic gesture; it is an acknowledgment of the Palestinian people’s resilience in the face of brutal Israeli aggression. Over decades, Palestinians have endured occupation, apartheid policies, forced displacement, and systematic human rights violations.
Despite these challenges, they have demonstrated remarkable endurance and determination to assert their identity and rights. The international observance aims to amplify their voices and highlight the urgent need for meaningful action to address their suffering.
The Role of International Solidarity
Solidarity with Palestine extends beyond words of support; it demands tangible action from the global community. This includes:
Advocating for Accountability: Holding israel responsible for violations of international law accountable, including through mechanisms such as the International Criminal Court.
Ending Israeli Occupation and Apartheid: Calling for an end to Israel’s illegal occupation of Palestinian territories and dismantling policies that amount to apartheid, as documented by numerous human rights organizations.
Supporting Humanitarian Efforts: Providing humanitarian aid to alleviate the dire conditions in Gaza, the West Bank, and refugee camps, where Palestinians face severe restrictions on access to basic needs.
Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions (BDS): Supporting non-violent resistance strategies that pressure Israel to comply with international law and respect Palestinian rights.
Advancing a Two-State Solution or Alternatives: Reviving genuine discussions on viable solutions that ensure peace, security, and justice for all people in the region.
Exposing Hypocrisy and Double Standards
The International Day of Solidarity with the Palestinian People also exposes the glaring double standards in global responses to human rights violations. While other crises often garner swift action and widespread condemnation, the plight of Palestinians is frequently met with inaction or selective outrage. This day challenges the world to confront its own inconsistencies and to uphold universal principles of justice and equality without bias.
A Vision for the Future
Solidarity is not only about recognizing past and present injustices but also about envisioning a future where Palestinians can live in dignity and freedom. This involves ensuring their right to return, dismantling the structures of occupation and apartheid, and creating conditions for coexistence based on mutual respect and equality.
The International Day of Solidarity with the Palestinian People is a call to action for individuals, organizations, and governments worldwide. It is a day to reaffirm our shared humanity, to demand justice, and to work collectively toward ending the oppression of the Palestinian people. As long as Palestinians are denied their fundamental rights, global solidarity remains not only a moral imperative but a necessary force for change. Let this day inspire renewed efforts to achieve a just and lasting peace for Palestine and the world.
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The proverb “When you have more than you need, build a longer table, not a higher wall” carries a universal moral message. It calls on people and nations to choose generosity over fear, openness over exclusion, and community over division.
But this message takes on a deeper, more urgent meaning when viewed through the reality of occupied Palestine, where a literal separation wall divides families, communities, and entire ways of life.
The concrete barrier that cuts through the West Bank stands more than 700 kilometers long and up to eight meters high. For many Palestinians, it is not only a physical obstruction but also a symbol of:
• collective punishment.
• restricted movement
• economic hardship
• separation from farmland
• isolation from family and
neighbours
• apartheid and fascism
• unequal distribution of resources
• hatred, racism , discrimination and ongoing conflict
Where walls rise, fear grows. Where tables extend, trust is built.
A longer table is not just a metaphor for hospitality, it is a call for justice.
It means:
• recognizing the humanity of those on the other side of political or physical borders
• acknowledging shared values and shared struggles
• understanding that safety comes not from fortification but from fairness
• creating spaces where people can meet, eat, talk, and be seen
In occupied Palestine, where families are separated by Israeli checkpoints and apartheid walls, the idea of a shared table is a radical act of hope.
In Palestinian culture as in many others food is a sacred expression of love. Offering bread, olives, or warm dishes to a guest is more than nourishment; it is a declaration:
“You are welcome. You belong here.”
A long table filled with maqlouba, hummus, taboon bread, and fruits from the land symbolizes:
• rootedness
• hospitality
• resilience
• cultural survival
At such a table, the wall becomes irrelevant or better yet, collapses completely.
Walls freeze conflict.
Tables invite conversation.
What would it mean to choose policies that build understanding instead of barriers?
That prioritize dignity over superiority and dominance?
That see every human being as deserving of safety, respect, and a place at the table?
It would mean imagining a future where:
• children on both sides grow up without fear
• communities thrive through cooperation
• diversity becomes strength
• justice replaces hostility
A future where the long table becomes real not just an illustration.
The message is simple, but its impact is profound:
Those who have more power, land, safety, and resources carry a responsibility to share.
Extending the table is an act of courage.
Breaking the apartheid wall is an act of justice.
Sitting together is an act of peace.
In a world where too many walls rise, may we choose to build spaces of connection, in occupied Palestine and everywhere where every person has a seat, a voice, and a share in the feast of humanity.
