In 2023 I was fortunate enough to take part in a ‘peacebuilding mission’ in Israel and the West Bank, funded by Erasmus+, primarily intended for students. Thank you, European Union. You shouldn’t think of it as an institutionalized UN mission, helping a country to build democratic institutions, supporting economic recovery, etc. It was nothing of the sort. I think we were there to understand the country on its own terms, to engage with its history, and to encounter the people who live it every day. And that is precisely what we did. We met a wide range of individuals and organizations; we went dancing and eating out. From Bedouin communities in the south to the people of Haifa in the north, where we were based, each encounter adding another layer of understanding. It was wonderful to see, feel, and learn there, though at the same time it was often incredibly sad. We had put together an incredible group of people. Eager, respectful, passionate. Such experiences are defining. I think that’s how I imagine peace and tourism work in practice.
After the project, I continued my journey—privately—to the West Bank. Although we had already been to border towns on the Israeli side of the wall, the ‘West Bank Barrier’ or ‘Separation Wall’—with a total length of more than 700 km—the West Bank was different. You would see civilians and military with guns around Israel all the time, but it’s quite another matter when people are constantly pointing guns at you. But that’s the reality there, and as a visitor, you immerse yourself in it because it is very much real, but you can’t make it your own because it already belongs to others, every single day.
During the trip, my companion—an aspiring journalist (and a good friend)—and I drove to Hebron, or Al-Khalil, as it is called in Arabic. It is one of the oldest cities in the world and holds deep historical significance for Judaism, Islam, and Christianity. It is marked by a highly complex and sensitive political reality, where everyday life is closely intertwined with the dynamics of conflict and coexistence. Its city center is partially under the control of Israeli settlers, who live under heavy military protection and extensive surveillance, alongside Palestinian residents. It was a special day, by coincidence—Mawlid—the celebration of the birth of the prophet Muhammad in Islam. The streets of the usually deserted city center were crowded, and the old glassworks had opened its furnaces. There was life, and there was joy. We were touring with a local guide; the recent history of Hebron is very tragic, one of segregation, killings, and hatred. But it had other stories, too. Beautiful stories.
My journalist friend was in the middle of interviewing a young woman, while I stayed outside of the small shop, making sure they could do their thing in peace and detracting eyes. What makes Hebron unique is that the city center is in parts occupied by settlers. Israeli settlement in Hebron began after the 1967 Six-Day-War, when Israel occupied the West Bank, including the city. Over time, this presence expanded into a small but heavily fortified enclave in the heart of the Old City, particularly around Tel Rumeida and the area near the Ibrahimi Mosque. After violent incidents, especially following the 1994 massacre carried out by Baruch Goldstein at the local mosque, security measures increased sharply, leading to a highly fragmented urban space with restricted movement for Palestinians and extensive military protection for settlers.
The 1997 Hebron Protocol formalized a division of the city into areas of Israeli and Palestinian control, further entrenching this separation and shaping the current structure of the city’s divided center.
One of them was standing on a fortified tower, aiming his rifle in my direction. He stuck there for about 20 minutes, while I was waiting for the others. It felt longer to me and emotionally draining.
But there were also carefree moments too. What I remember most is not fear, but the hospitality and the convivial atmosphere. At our accommodation in Ramallah, the capital city of the Palestinians, the owner invited us over for dinner. The other guests smoked heavily, showed me their communist tattoos. When they found out I was Italian, they played ‘Bella Ciao’. I guess sometimes revolution still sticks to stereotypes. We didn’t really speak the same language, but we talked for hours anyway. I remember the sunset next to the statue of Nelson Mandela, which inaugurated in Ramallah as a gesture of solidarity. At the time, I thought to myself how beautiful this country is, and yet how cursed it is.
Being in Jerusalem took my breath away, just simply because of the city’s weight. However, I also thought it was a real shame that most of the shops there also sold the same kind of junk you find at crowded tourist destinations.
Finally, we spent our last night in Jaffa, near Tel Aviv, at the Jungle Jaffa Hostel. It was a place where young people from all over the world came to party, meet, and exchange. People were drinking and shouting; everyone was having a good time. For my friend and I, it was more like a nightmare—probably because the contrast couldn't have been any harsher. The way we had been travelling, the things we had seen and asked about, had made a certain awareness feel almost self-evident to us.
Yet many of the people we met that night seemed entirely detached from the realities just beyond their immediate surroundings. Conversations drifted easily but rarely touched on what life looks like only a short distance away. 60 kilometers to the Westbank, where daily routines are shaped by restrictions, economic hardship, and a constant sense of uncertainty. It was not indifference in an overt sense, but rather a quiet absence of knowledge, or perhaps of confrontation.
That, more than anything, stayed with me. Not the noise of the celebration, but the realization that two vastly different lived realities can exist side by side, barely intersecting, barely interacting. What does it mean to truly see a place, and whether simply being physically there is ever enough?
We waived Israel and Palestine goodbye – inspired but also confused and saddened by the contrasts/injustices. A few days later, a new war tragically started after Hamas perpetrated a massacre in the kibbutzim at the surroundings of Gaza. The retaliation was also brutal. Bombs destroy even the simplest dreams.
