“Don’t talk about us without us.”
This week, I returned to Washington as part of a group of alumni from New Story Leadership for the Middle East.
Five years ago, I spent an entire summer here. I interned in the office of a Member of Congress, learned about American politics and speechwriting, and learned how to tell my personal story in a way that could move people and bring them in.
Together with an incredible group of Israelis and Palestinians — from the West Bank, East Jerusalem, Israel, Gaza, and the diaspora — we arrived in Washington with one simple demand:
“Don’t talk about us without us.”
On October 7, I was in southern Israel with Shir Sabach. When Hamas’s murderous attack began, I found myself at Soroka Hospital, treating survivors from the Nova festival, Bedouin children wounded by rocket shrapnel, and soldiers and police officers injured in the fighting.
While I was there, I received messages from the Palestinians who had interned with me in Washington. They were horrified by what they were seeing. They wanted to make sure I was safe, that my family was okay. They sent me their embrace, their support, their concern, and their solidarity.
A few days later, I joined a Zoom call with alumni of the program — people who had been in Washington before and after me. We are all part of the NSL family. We had all seen how important our voices and stories, the voices and stories of our generation, are in shaping the conversation in the United States about Israel and Palestine.
So we started small. We drafted a public statement calling for the return of the hostages, an end to the war, and the creation of a political process that could break the cycle of destruction and bereavement that our failed, aging, corrupt leaders have imposed on us throughout our adult lives.
But that was only the beginning.
By the end of October, we were already joining briefing calls with Members of Congress. We told them about the public struggle to bring the hostages home. We told the stories of those murdered, and the stories of innocent people killed in Gaza. We spoke about settler violence raging in the West Bank while the world’s attention was focused on Khan Younis.
We brought added value to senators and Members of Congress: insights and lived experiences they do not receive from any television channel or newspaper, and the opportunity to ask very basic questions about the past, the present, and the future.
By November, we understood that we had to act.
We decided to meet in Geneva for an intensive five-day session to write our own plan for the day after — from a shared generational perspective.
Ahead of the trip to Geneva, we divided into teams, did our homework, researched different issues, and met with experts. Instead of focusing on the old core issues — refugees, borders, Jerusalem, security — we decided to focus on the things people do not talk about: what we saw as the real barriers to a genuine and legitimate peace process.
We chose five areas where we saw a real opportunity for an entire generation of Israelis and Palestinians:
- The reconstruction of the Gaza Strip
- Accountable governance in Israel and Palestine
- Transitional justice, accountability, and reconciliation
- The role of the international community
- Preparing the public for peace
In each chapter, we developed the substance: from guiding principles and core values to concrete policy proposals, actions, and examples of successful models from around the world.
We wrote a 64-page plan that presents a holistic approach to the reality after the war — an approach that connects humanitarian aid and disaster recovery with state-building and peacebuilding.
So now I am here, in Washington, with the friends who wrote this plan with me. We are meeting with Members of Congress and telling them about our vision for the day after: a vision of local leadership supported by the international community; a vision of a shared future in our shared homeland; a vision of peace, security, dignity, and freedom.