For many Israelis and Palestinians who grew up inside coexistence frameworks, peace between the two peoples was not a political slogan but a lived practice shaped through dialogue, shared spaces, and joint programs.
The goal was to dismantle inherited narratives on each side and replace them with empathy. For them, identity was intertwined with the belief that mutual understanding is possible and even necessary.
That was all upended on October 7, 2023.
I was part of such a group and, since then, have been left with many questions that I will try to answer in this article. What were some of the failures? How does peacebuilding continue after such trauma? And how has it affected activists on the ground?
After incomparable grief, what has followed over the past two years is not a full rejection of peace, but a more complex rupture, one that has forced participants and facilitators to reexamine how coexistence has been taught, practiced, and emotionally processed.
Across interviews and testimony, a recurring tension emerges: While the aspiration for peace remains, many now feel that suffering between the two sides is unevenly acknowledged, filtered through trauma, and increasingly measured rather than shared.
A calculated narrative
“Z,” a Jewish woman who grew up in the US and moved to Israel at a young age, first encountered coexistence through a Jewish Arab music and dialogue group.
Over time, that innocence faded. She recalls an atmosphere that felt “innocent, but there was an undertone of the Israelis needing to be apologetic,” noting that she does not remember many dialogue sessions about Palestinian terror attacks against Israelis. At the same time, “there were more sessions on the Nakba” – what the Arab world calls the establishment of the State of Israel in 1948 – “and Palestinian narratives.” To her, “it didn’t feel balanced.”
Today, Z, who asked not to reveal her identity for sensitivity reasons, believes she “innocently tried to believe in everything” and now feels “taken advantage of,” describing what she experienced as an almost manipulative environment of calculated narrative.
The shock of October 7 deepened this disillusionment, particularly when the group she once belonged to resumed activity without what she felt was meaningful acknowledgment of the massacre.
“It felt like a betrayal,” she said.
Since then, Z has become cautious. She reflects on Israeli peace activists murdered on October 7 and says their deaths shook her sense of trust. “They trusted everyone, and they were gruesomely murdered. If that’s the case, how can I know if someone will or won’t catch me off guard in the same way?”
Affected by war
Meredith Rothbart, co-founder and CEO of Amal-Tikva, a peacebuilding NGO in Jerusalem, authored a report titled The State of Civil Society Peacebuilding between Israelis and Palestinians that highlights, contrary to the perception of many that coexistence collapsed after October 7, that peacebuilding largely continued.
However, the report also shows that the field was disproportionately affected by the war. Organizations have become more self-reflective, recognizing both their limitations and their role in gradual, systemic change.
The report emphasizes the need for peacebuilders to deepen their roots within their own fractured societies, and points to a stark divergence in Israeli and Palestinian perceptions of the war.
Optimist in shock
“S,” who grew up in Jerusalem and now lives in Europe, participated in the same coexistence program as Z. Her response to the last two years is both belief and shock.
“The optimist in me still believes that these programs merit existing,” she said.
While S said she still believes in dialogue and a two-state vision, she is more jaded, identifying the “lack of a partner” during the pain following the attack and beyond.
She described how Israeli participants were pushed to deconstruct their narrative without similar efforts on the Palestinian side, leaving her feeling that the imbalance was structural.
“Reaching out and finding [my allies] not coming toward me in the same way has been really disheartening,” she said.
While hopeful by nature, S said she now questions whether peace is a realistic possibility. For coexistence programs to continue, she argued, they must become more balanced, with less villainization of Israelis and more denunciation of harmful behavior on the Palestinian side.
Mehra Rimer, co-founder of B8 of Hope, a Swiss non-profit promoting peace-building and transformative grassroots initiatives within both Palestinian and Israeli civil societies, approaches the subject from a broader, long-term perspective. Rimer, whose father was killed by the new Iranian regime after the revolution, understands the consequences of conflict all too well.
She recalled learning how people she knew on both sides had been affected, including the murder of Vivian Silver, co-founder of Women Wage Peace, a female grassroots coexistence movement. Rimer shared that although coexistence groups were “in shock” after October 7, 2023, within a month, many were already gathering to work on the “day after.”
These Israelis and Palestinians had a strong message: “We cannot stop the war, but we can already work on the future.”
Levels of suffering
Khaled, a Palestinian born in Jerusalem’s Old City, who has worked for decades as a volunteer with Israeli medical organizations such as Magen David Adom and United Hatzalah, has bridged Jewish and Palestinian worlds in moments of deep vulnerability. Yet for him, October 7 marked a sudden emotional shift.
“Everything was normal, and then it wasn’t,” he said, describing an atmosphere filled with tension and anger.
“I felt the hate, the tension,” he said. Khaled observed that Palestinian empathy was strong at first but gradually declined as their own suffering intensified.
Yet, he said, “This is the time to do dialogue,” lamenting that, “in the critical time, the dialogue did not take place.”
“There has never been a proper discussion on a political level of how we, right now, can live together,” Khaled said, pointing to a disconnect between grassroots efforts and political reality.
Still time for dialogue
“B,” an interfaith dialogue facilitator, framed October 7 as an event that intensified rather than transformed ideological positions.
“Everyone leaned into what they already believed, but more so,” he explained, adding that the polarization in society also echoed within coexistence spaces.
Still, there were some examples where the coexistence movement stood strong, such as the work of Yonatan Zeigen, the son of murdered peace activist Vivian Silver, who opened a Gaza soup kitchen in her name.
For B, such acts represent a refusal to abandon the peace vision even in the face of profound personal loss.
This reveals that perhaps coexistence is not totally dead, but is not completely untouched. Two years after this war started, it exists in a state of tension, caught between trauma and resilience, distrust and determination.
What remains is a question of whether coexistence can evolve into a form that is more honest, balanced, and grounded – and one that acknowledges the deep pain felt by all who have been affected.■