Last week, our community hosted Yitzhak Sokoloff, a Massachusetts native who made aliyah and built his life in Israel. He now works as an educator, political analyst, and founder of Keshet Educational Journeys. He was joined by his friend, a Palestinian peace activist who spoke about the politics and realities that have defined their lives in Israel and Gaza. We are unable to share the name or image of our Palestinian guest, as he faces ongoing threats for his work with Israelis. For the purposes of this article, he will be referred to as "A" with the use of masculine pronouns.

While A. shared his story, you could hear a pin drop.

Certainly, this gathering offered students a chance to hear firsthand about the daily realities, fears, and aspirations of two people living in one of the most contested regions of the world. Yet what resonated with students and faculty was something far more personal: the story of a friendship that challenged what A. thought he knew about Jews and changed the direction of his life.

A. grew up in a refugee camp in Gaza after his family was displaced from Ramla in 1948. His childhood was marked by profound scarcity. Food and clean water were difficult to obtain, clothing was scarce, and a strict 6 PM curfew governed daily life. While life was chaotic and difficult, one thing was certain in the minds of A. and his community: the Jews were responsible. As A. explained, "I grew up with a lot of hate for the Jewish people because everything was bad in my life."

At 18, A. was desperate for work and managed to get a job, washing dishes at a restaurant in Tel Aviv. Crossing into Israel exposed him to a world that looked dramatically different from the one he had known growing up. Rather than easing his anger, the contrast initially deepened it. But he needed to support his family and focused on maximizing his pay, which led him to ask his employer to work with the customers on the patio. In response, he was told that he would first need to learn Hebrew. As he studied "the language of the Jewish people" and began interacting with customers, one regular stood out: an Iraqi Jewish woman named Shosha.

Every morning, Shosha stopped to talk with him in Arabic. She shared stories of Jewish and Muslim life in Iraq and took an interest in his ambitions and future. A. found her kindness bewildering but couldn't understand why. One day, Shosha arrived with a slice of Shabbat cake she had saved for him. A. couldn't understand why she did that.

A. took the cake and threw it away, skeptical that it was tainted.

But Shosha kept showing up. Upon seeing him after a three-week break from his work in Israel, she ran up and embraced him. As A. recounted with visible emotion, "She hugged me and she started to cry." It was, A. told students, the first hug of his life.

When she learned that A. was preparing to return to school, she surprised him with a schoolbag, clothes, money, and the first new pair of shoes he had ever owned. Looking back, A. recalled the question that began to unsettle everything he thought he knew.

"There is something wrong in my mind," he recalled thinking. "Why do I hate these people?"

That question stayed with him. Over time, A. came to believe that one of the greatest obstacles between Israelis and Palestinians was how little ordinary people knew about one another. Before meeting Shosha, the Jews in A.'s life were soldiers and authority figures. More importantly, they were the people he had been taught to blame for the hardships he experienced growing up. He wanted young people to have opportunities he never had: the chance to meet, talk, and see one another as humans.

As Sokoloff later put it, Israelis and Palestinians are "fated to live together." For A., that reality made understanding not merely an ideal, but a necessity. A. founded what he described as the first peace organization in Gaza, bringing together hundreds of Palestinian and Israeli young people in dialogue and shared experiences.

The work came at an enormous cost. Sokoloff noted that A.'s efforts to build relationships between these groups placed him in direct conflict with Hamas, which has long viewed such engagement as a threat. A.'s Palestinian partner was murdered, his brother was shot and permanently disabled, and his family has continued to pay a price for his activism. Eventually, A. was forced to flee Gaza and begin life once again as a refugee.

Today, A. continues his peace work despite ongoing threats.

A. and Sokoloff do not agree on everything. In fact, some of the most important questions surrounding the conflict remain points of disagreement between them. Yet throughout the conversation, that didn't seem to be the point. As Sokoloff memorably said, Israelis and Palestinians are "fated to live together."

Perhaps that was one of the most powerful ideas to emerge from the discussion: that agreement is not the starting point for a relationship.