“The inspiration, the motivation, the courage I carry forward all come from the ground — straight to my heart.”
After countless Zoom calls, WhatsApp messages, and late-night phone conversations that kept me connected—through screens—to a community of friends and grantees for more than two years, I was finally able to return to Israel and Palestine on February 2nd.
For a long time, I chose not to go back. Not because my heart wasn’t there—but because I didn’t want to become another burden for friends and partners already carrying too much. I told myself I would wait until there was something that looked, even faintly, like a ceasefire. And yet, with the tensions around Iran and the fragility of the moment, the timing was still far from ideal. The ceasefire, too, is not truly a ceasefire. Still, I went. I could not wait any longer.
I am now back in Geneva after a few intense days on the ground.
It was an emotional return. The last time I left was on October 6th, 2023—only to wake up the next day to October 7th, and to the war that followed. Since then, I have lost Palestinian and Israeli friends and colleagues from the civil society communities we support. Returning to honor their memories and the legacies they leave behind was something my heart needed to do.
One of the most devastating moments was in the Gaza Envelope. The memorials are everywhere. The names, the faces. The youth. Especially at the site of Nova, grief feels almost unbearable. I couldn’t believe I recognized some of the faces. I know their parents. No words can carry the weight of that kind of loss.
And then, Gaza—seen from afar, yet not so far. Like a ghost on the other side of the horizon. So close geographically, and yet impossibly distant. I WhatsApped with two friends who live there. We’ve been in touch from Switzerland all this time, but this was the first time we were so physically close—and still completely separated. One is a father who lost his three children. The other, a prominent linguist who lost everything he owned. Over the past two years, they have shared their daily realities and their nightmares with me. Standing there, so near and yet so unable to reach them, was a pain that settled deep in my chest.
I was also profoundly moved by the resilience of my friends in the West Bank—those who wake up every morning determined to serve their communities despite relentless daily challenges. Some continue to work with Israeli counterparts in acts of co-resistance—standing together against injustice and violence. Many of them are bereaved, and yet not bereaved of their humanity. That, to me, is extraordinary courage.
Seeing our grantees—and even alumni of some of our grantees’ programs—was pure joy. And yet, listening to the many obstacles they face was heavy. Still, they continue. They show up. They persist. Their courage humbles me, every single time.
This journey took me through Gush Etzion–Beit Umar, Jerusalem, Abu Ghosh, Beit Jala, Herzliya, Tel Aviv, Nazareth, Kibbutz Netiv HaAsara, Kibbutz Be’eri, Reim—and finally, Sderot. I could not go into Gaza, but Gaza spoke for itself. Even from a distance, even through the “booms” that still puncture the so-called ceasefire, its suffering is impossible to ignore.
Now, back in Geneva, I am trying to digest everything I have seen and felt. I return energized—despite the sadness. Energized by the strength of our grantees, by their dignity, by their refusal to give up on life, humanity, and one another. Being in their presence is always an honor. I keep calling them real-life heroes—simply because they are. The inspiration, the motivation, the courage I carry forward all come from the ground—straight to my heart.