Inside the Israeli village where Jews and Arabs choose to live together
Residents try to find a new normal in their ‘Oasis of Peace’ after the shock of the Hamas attacks
Perched on a hill overlooking the Ayalon Valley sits a cluster of homes framed by pink bougainvillaea and fragrant fig trees. This idyllic spot between Tel Aviv and Jerusalem is the only village in Israel where Palestinians and Jews purposefully choose to live together.
A sign at the entrance displays the community’s name in both Arabic and Hebrew – Wahat al-salam and Neve Shalom – meaning “Oasis of Peace”.
“When you come in here, you feel like you’re in this peaceful bubble,” said Adam Tali, a 21-year-old Palestinian who lives there with his family. “When you step outside, you obviously get hit by reality.”
The Oct 7 Hamas attacks in Israel shook the village of 300 residents to its core, as it did the entire nation.
The foundational tenets of the community – peace, mutual respect, equality – were suddenly under threat after 1,200 people were killed and about 240 were taken hostage. “The first few days, it wasn’t just the horror of what happened,” said Eldad Joffe, 68, a Jewish-israeli elected as chairman of the municipal council, who took up the post just as war erupted. “It was also the sense that the state is not functioning and that things are falling apart.”
The community immediately shut its front gates and organised a night patrol as even in calmer times the village had been vandalised in attacks attributed to Right-wing extremist Jews who opposed the idea of peaceful co-existence.
But behind the gates there was also tension. One week after the initial Hamas attack, residents began to gather in the evenings at the White Dove Hall, near the entrance to the compound. However, the village’s 40 Palestinian and 40 Jewish families met separately to speak – often to vent their frustrations.
“Only from the third meeting onwards, we said we felt safe enough to sit together,” said Mr Joffe.
“As someone who lives in the middle, Oct 7 was hard for me as well,” said Nadim Tali, 23, a Palestinian. “I felt the blow as someone who has Jewish friends … and also friends in the south, where the attacks were.”
It got tougher still when his best friend, Adam Ben-shabbat, 23, became one of the 360,000 reservists called to serve in the war.
A few years ago, Mr Ben-shabbat joined the military – as mandated by the Israeli government. Conscription has long been a sensitive, complicated issue for the village. “You can’t create an ‘oasis of peace’ and then have people join the military. It contradicts the whole shtick of it,” said Adam Tali, Nadim’s brother.
For many Palestinians, the Israeli military is the most visible symbol of occupation and oppression. But for many Jews it’s a way to serve their country and, depending on the role they take up, a potential launching pad for various careers.
“The army is like the biggest villain in our life,” said Nadim. “For Adam, he sees it as security.”
When Mr Ben-shabbat first enlisted, some of his friends boycotted a farewell party. His family, staunch nationalists, saw it as “an honourable thing to do”.
“For me, as a Jew who grew up here, this is the law,” he said. “One cannot choose to refuse the law when it suits, and also the belief that we need protection as a country.” During his first stint in the army some friends from the village would not hang out with him when he was in uniform and one friend stopped talking to him entirely for six months.
“After I finished, I really wanted to let go, and just be Adam from Wahat al-salam/neve Shalom, and to have this identity only,” he said, vowing never to put on a uniform ever again.
In October Mr Ben-shabbat was ordered back to the army, along with his brother. This time it brought the group of friends closer, as it pushed them into deep discussions in an attempt to work out their differences – the football games of their youth now replaced by political debates in their 20s. “We don’t have another option; we don’t have other friends!” Mr Ben-shabbat said. “They understand me fully … more than anyone in the world.” As war rages on, he, Nadim and two other friends gather weekly in the hope of finding common ground, and to organise collective thoughts on paper – a statement they can all agree
on. Nadim said: “I still say [to Adam], ‘I understand your decision [to join], but I disagree with it’.”
The Oasis of Peace was founded by the Rev Bruno Hussar – a Jew born in Egypt in 1911. He was ordained as a Dominican priest, and later took Israeli citizenship. In the 1970s, in between two Arab-israeli wars, he convinced a nearby Trappist monastery, Latrun, to lease 100 barren acres to him for 100 years – at just 25 cents a year. From a passage in the book of Isaiah came the name: “My people shall dwell in an oasis of peace.”
His vision was for an interfaith community for Muslims, Christians and Jews, aimed at fostering mutual understanding and respect.
Rayek Rizek, 68, and his wife began visiting the village before settling there in 1984, joining 22 adults and a handful of children. There were no paved roads, and an interrmittent supply of water and electricity.
More than three months into the war, life is starting to settle into a “new normal” at the village. The primary school has re-opened, children are gathering for play dates and group meditations are being held.
Everyone agrees that compassion needs to go both ways – but it’s a work in progress.
“Something I feel is getting worked on in this village right now more than ever, because it’s one of the first times that the Israelis suffered a huge blow,” said Adam Tali.
“We did not come here as professionals in conflict resolution and conflict management,” said Mr Rizek. “We are normal people like everybody else, who wanted to take this chance … take this challenge.”
“We are the first ones, and the only ones, who are going through it,” he said. “There is no book that you can go buy and read and teach you how to live together.”
‘There is no book that you can go buy and read and teach you how to live together’