Two Holidays, Two Religions, One Hope

Sheikh Abbas Zakhour cuts a striking pose in his sharp black suit and crisp white shirt as the sun sets over the old city of Akko. Abbas has Clooney-esque looks, making it easy to imagine him in whatever movie eventually gets made about his storied life. As we cross the city square hardly anyone passes without greeting him. Jews and Arabs alike talking like old friends.

As Ramadan fasting ends for the day, Sheikh Abbas takes us to the Akko Police Station where the chief of police hosts Muslim and Jewish officers for the breaking of the fast known as the Iftar meal. There we meet more religious leaders from non-Muslim communities as the fast is broken together.

In the winding streets of old Akko, Sheikh Abbas’ family await our arrival with an enormous Iftar spread. Around the table, sit two religious Zionist rabbis, which includes Director of Israeli mediation organization, Mosaica, Rabbi Daniel Roth. There are three sheikhs, several secular Zionist Jews, and four generations of a religious Muslim family. We indulge in homemade spiced lamb and stuffed grape leaves. Their warm welcome isn’t for show—it’s how this Israeli Arab family shares life with its Jewish neighbors.

Conversation turns to the evergreen topic of how Jews and Muslims can live in peaceful coexistence in Israel and around the world. A masterclass of difficult, but positive engagement unfolds as they meander deeper into the complexity of divided societies. The proof of coexistence is before my eyes—rabbis and sheikhs deliberating with trust and respect, in Hebrew, in an Arab home, in a mixed Israeli city.

Back in Tel Aviv, I wonder how Purim will be celebrated this year. Dancing clowns and human bananas don’t fit well with the pall of war. Yet the tradition of dressing up in costume honors Esther, the biblical Jewish Queen of Susa, Persia, who outwits her enemy Haman through her impeccable guise. Haman met his match some 2,500 years ago. It’s Hamas now.

I visit an exuberant family of early West Bank settlers who today have ten children and countless grandchildren. As kids run around with rabbit makeup and tutus, the adults sing loudly to a lone saxophone. The grandparents are pioneers, their children professionals with secular training; their grandchildren a diverse cross section of modern Israel, including an LGBTQ couple. Together they sing and dance to melodies, designed to drown out Haman’s memory.

That evening we made Kiddush at Shabbat with Pauker wine from Kibbutz Nir Oz. We do so in honor of vintner Gideon Pauker who was murdered on October 7th. We also celebrate the recent release of Gadi Mozes from Gaza. Mozes worked in the winery with Pauker. Three weeks ago, it was doubtful the 80-year-old would survive his harrowing experience. Today he is working to build the future of Nir Oz.

As the sun went down Saturday evening, I was at Hostage Square with the thousands of Israelis who turn out every week to call for the release of those still held in Gaza. There are no Purim costumes there, just a bright yellow sea of “Bring them Home.” A potent reminder that the ‘Haman’ of our time is not yet defeated.

That evening, I ended the day talking with a bat, a leopard, and Madonna. A group of young professional friends had gathered to celebrate Purim quietly together. There was friendship, food, and laughter. Conversations were also tinged with moments of sadness. They are a generation of Israelis that has to raise their kids with a loving smile, then put on their own masks everyday, and go to work, just to make our future possible.

In this time of heightened fear, we must recognize that maintaining our Jewish identity while building bridges with our neighbors creates a strong and necessary foundation for survival and hope. Esther’s commitment to her people, combined with the relationships she had beyond her faith, saved the Jews. I glimpsed this same alchemy today. The rabbis and sheikhs conversing, the settler family embracing diversity in their home, the freed hostages advocating and rebuilding, the young professionals pushing through—these aren’t contradictions, these are the glimmers of hope we cling to.

And thankfully, clowns and human bananas were still seen walking the streets of Tel Aviv.

Stephen D. Smith is CEO of Memory Workers and Executive Director Emeritus of USC Shoah Foundation.