Imagine standing in a playground built from missile remains, where a child’s slide is a testament to a violent past. This surreal image encapsulates the daily contradictions of life in the Middle East: resilience amid fear, hope despite despair, and a yearning for peace that clashes with entrenched animosity.
As a South African, I grew up hearing one-dimensional narratives about the Middle East. I thought I knew the good guys and the bad guys. But in July 2024 I had the chance to visit Israel and Palestine with other student leaders, hoping to understand this decades-old conflict better. After ten days in the region, speaking with survivors, professionals, and everyday people on both sides, I quickly realised how much more complex the situation is.
I met Israelis still healing from the trauma of the October 7th attack, a day that shook the entire region. Hundreds of civilians were killed in a coordinated assault by Hamas militants. The cruelty of the attack wasn’t just in the scale of death, but in the inhumanity shown. Civilians including women and children were taken hostage, and homes were invaded in scenes that echoed the darkest moments of conflict.
I also spoke with Palestinian people affected by the ongoing conflict which has left communities in Gaza and the West Bank living in conditions of extreme hardship. Israeli airstrikes and military operations have taken a toll, with many losing their homes, livelihoods, and loved ones.
What struck me was how despite their different experiences, both sides live in fear, frustration, and a shared desire for peace. Palestine ‘showing resilience’ and Israel ‘protecting its own’ has resulted in a persistent cycle of violence. The tragedy isn’t just the loss of lives but the loss of empathy. Generations on both sides have grown up learning to fear and distrust each other, making peace feel distant.
We visited places like Kfar Aza, an Israeli town near the Gaza border where I met Orit Tzadekevich. She shared her experiences of living under the constant threat of rocket fire and surviving the October 7th attack. In Sderot, a town known for its playground made of missile remnants, I saw how violence shapes daily lives. Imagine children playing on slides made from debris left by lethal attacks; powerful metaphor for the region, a place where people try to live normal lives despite the chaos.
Although we wanted to, we couldn’t go to Gaza because it was deemed too dangerous. But imagine calling a place home that isn’t safe for others to visit. This thought stayed with me throughout the trip. I spoke to people who live this reality every day and their stories deepened my understanding of what it truly means to call such a place "home."
One day while walking through East Jerusalem, I met a New York-based Palestinian journalist who shared his perspective on the Israeli occupation and how military checkpoints have stifled the Palestinian spirit. His insights were invaluable not just as a journalist collecting information, but also as someone personally affected by the conflict. We also spoke via Zoom with Mohamed Et Motaseb, a Palestinian activist with Fatah. He discussed how the constant fear and siege-like conditions perpetuate the conflict. He framed his perspective not just as a victim, but as a leader calling for non-violent revolutionary means to address the Palestinian plight.
Despite all the complexities, there were moments of hope. I met Ihab Balha and his wife Ora, a Muslim-Jewish couple living in Jaffa. Their love story is proof that peace is possible, even in a place as divided as the Middle East. If they can make it work, why can’t others? This conflict isn’t just about land or borders; it’s about identity, survival, and generations of mistrust.
A recent survey by the Jerusalem Institute for Policy Research showed over 80% of Israelis believe pulling out of the West Bank would put their lives at risk. Meanwhile, Palestinian pollster Khalil Shikaki’s research revealed a growing sense of abandonment among young Palestinians, they feel let down by their leaders, the international community, and everyone in-between. This disillusionment is a huge part of what’s fuelling more anger, more violence, and more destruction.
Both sides have been locked into an “us vs. them” mentality for so long that it’s hard to see a way out. But both Israelis and Palestinians are suffering and that suffering won’t end unless they start recognising each other’s pain. What the Middle East needs isn’t just another peace deal or high-profile summit, we’ve seen how those work out. Real change will come from genuine conversations between ordinary people, Israeli and Palestinian children studying together in schools, learning each other’s histories without hate, and leaders brave enough to prioritise humanity over politics.
Peace shouldn’t just be a political buzzword; it should be the goal. That starts with both sides recognising they are in this together, whether they like it or not. Until that happens, we’ll keep building playgrounds out of missiles, teaching kids that war is part of life, and reducing human lives to headlines and numbers. Let’s play our part by recognising the shared humanity within them all; Israeli, Palestinian, or anyone caught in the crossfire of conflict.
Angelic Mafadza is a 3rd year Education student at Wits University. A passionate student leader, she has a strong commitment to human rights and a keen interest in seeker deeper solutions to complex societal issues. Connect with her on Instagram @angelic_mafadza
