Imagine a world where grief, fear, and fury are shared across enemy lines, yet two mothers refuse to let hatred win—defying all odds to fight for peace. But here's where it gets controversial: can true unity survive the storms of war and accusation?
In a powerful display of defiance against decades of conflict, around 1,500 women from Israel and Palestine came together on the serene shores of the Dead Sea—a vast salt lake known for its therapeutic mineral-rich waters—in October 2023. Hand in hand, they participated in a massive peace rally, organized collaboratively by the Israeli group Women Wage Peace and the Palestinian organization Women of the Sun. Their united cry was for an end to what they described as a relentless loop of violence and death. For beginners unfamiliar with the region, the Dead Sea sits at the lowest point on Earth and forms a natural border between Israel and Jordan, symbolizing both division and the potential for connection.
Leading the charge were two close friends and organizers: Yael Admi, a 66-year-old Israeli woman who has raised six children, and Reem al-Hajajreh, a 43-year-old Palestinian mother of four. These women had dreamed that their gathering would pierce through layers of mistrust built over generations. However, just three days after the rally, everything changed dramatically. Hamas unleashed a horrific assault on southern Israel on October 7, resulting in the deaths of 1,200 people. This was quickly followed by Israel's military response in Gaza, which has been described by some as a genocidal conflict—take, for instance, a United Nations inquiry that concluded Israel committed genocide in Gaza (as reported by The Guardian in September 2025). The toll has been staggering, with over 70,000 lives lost in Gaza (according to the Gaza health ministry in November 2025), the majority being women and children (as detailed in a BBC article). The fragile optimism from the Dead Sea event was shattered in an instant, replaced by overwhelming sorrow, terror, and rage.
And this is the part most people miss: how personal friendships can become battlegrounds in a larger war. Admi recalls the impact as 'a punch in the gut,' glancing at al-Hajajreh, who nods in silent agreement. The October 7 events devastated their personal worlds, al-Hajajreh explains, and both faced harsh backlash for persisting in their joint efforts. Even so, they emphasize the importance of their bond. 'When we first connected in 2019, we recognized the need for a profound, deliberate alliance,' Admi shares. 'Drawing lessons from other global disputes, we saw that such partnerships are crucial.' Al-Hajajreh adds, 'After the attacks, many opposed my collaboration with an Israeli. It impacted not just my personal relationships but also my social circle and my advocacy for peace. Yet, we're here together—as an Israeli and a Palestinian, and most importantly as mothers shielding our kids.'
The duo shared their stories with The Guardian during the Women and Peace conference in The Hague, held on Human Rights Day in December. For al-Hajajreh, who resides in Bethlehem within the West Bank—the larger of Israel's occupied Palestinian territories—daily life involves navigating military checkpoints, sudden incursions, and the ever-present risk of escalating hostilities. 'Reaching The Hague to reinforce our shared message of peace was incredibly challenging,' she says. 'The entire trip took more than 30 hours, including waits of up to seven hours at multiple checkpoints, where you're never sure if you'll be allowed to continue or sent back.' This unpredictability, she notes, is a constant emotional strain for Palestinians, highlighting the broader issues like restricted movement that shape their existence.
Despite these obstacles, al-Hajajreh felt compelled to attend, not just for herself but to amplify the voices of other women she represents. Both women have mourned dearly in the past two years of intense fighting. Tragic losses include Vivian Silver, a 74-year-old Israeli-Canadian peace activist and co-founder of Women Wage Peace, who was killed in the Hamas attack (as covered by The Guardian in November 2023). Admi mentions, 'Vivian's death hit us hard, along with three other activists and more than 40 Palestinian women from Women of the Sun who partnered with us.'
Admi's commitment to activism stems from her own sorrow; at age 12, she lost her eldest brother, Ishai Ron, during the 1969 clashes between Egypt and Israel. 'Our personal tragedies drive us toward peace,' she explains. 'We aim to safeguard our children, ensuring they don't grow up in a world where they might be victims or perpetrators.'
Amid their pain and criticism, the women remain resolute in urging world leaders to involve women in peace talks. 'Discussing peace amid war isn't simple, but we held firm,' al-Hajajreh states. 'All I want the world to know is that women make up over half of society, yet our preferences on war are ignored. In fact, women consistently oppose conflict—we long to see our kids thrive in a hopeful future.' Admi supports this, pleading with leaders to heed women who endure war's daily tolls. 'A mother's instinct to protect her child is unstoppable,' she asserts. 'We ask leaders to listen. We pray negotiations endure and things don't deteriorate further. Bonds can be restored, as we've seen with Egypt and Jordan.' She warns, 'We're on the brink of disaster, and Israeli-Palestinian cooperation is vital.'
Building on this, they've initiated Mothers’ Call, a joint movement of Israeli and Palestinian women demanding 'bravery and foresight for transformative change.' 'To spread our message, we'll undertake a barefoot march from Rome to Jerusalem in March 2026,' Admi announces. 'We welcome global leaders and women everywhere to join us in this journey for peace, securing a brighter path for our children. Countless lives have been sacrificed—it's high time to break the violence cycle.'
For al-Hajajreh, the contrasts in their lives and the scars they bear are stark, yet their shared humanity shines through. 'Our roles as mothers and our optimism naturally connect us,' she says. 'Now, in this chapter of my life, I feel a profound duty to create a better reality for the next generation.'
But here's the controversy that might divide readers: Is it possible to accuse one side of genocide while advocating for partnership? Could such accusations hinder peace, or are they necessary truths? What do you think—does unity like this stand a chance, or is it naive in the face of such deep-seated conflict? Share your views in the comments; let's discuss!
