Purim will end tonight, a joyous holiday in which we celebrate—like so many other Jewish holidays—the unsuccessful attempt of our enemies to annihilate the Jewish people, this time, in the ancient Persian Empire.
One of Purim’s traditions commands us: “A person is obligated to drink on Purim until he can no longer distinguish between ‘Cursed is Haman’ and ‘Blessed is Mordecai.’”
Ancient and sacred texts often present a clear distinction between the “good guys” and the “bad guys.” It is easier to navigate life this way—to feel assured about who is righteous and who is wicked, to believe that those who are good are wholly good, and those who are bad are wholly bad.
This same mindset fuels the absolutist and uncompromising positions we see in discussions about the war in Gaza and the broader Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Many people have committed themselves fully to their chosen “side,” convinced that their cause is moral and just while the other is immoral and unjust.
Within much of the Jewish community, the belief that this war must continue stems not only from a desire for vengeance after October 7 but also from the deeply held conviction that all Palestinians seek to destroy Israel and reclaim all of historic pre-1948 Palestine.
On the Palestinian side, the reverse is true—a profound distrust in Israel’s intentions, reinforced by ongoing settlement expansion in the occupied West Bank, the demolition of Palestinian infrastructure, and inflammatory rhetoric from key Israeli politicians openly advocating for the removal of Palestinians from their land.
Given these realities, it would be naive and dismissive to tell a Palestinian that Israel does not seek to displace them when they see these actions unfold before their eyes. Likewise, it would be equally naive to tell Israelis that Hamas is not committed to eradicating Jews from the land after the horrific attacks of October 7.
Far too often, the debate is derailed by arguments that fail to engage with these lived realities. Instead of acknowledging and addressing genuine fears and traumas, we see attempts to persuade through denial, which only deepens divisions and mistrust.
What is undeniable, however, is that the people—ordinary Israelis and Palestinians—are represented by leaders who prioritize power over their own citizens’ well-being. Both societies have seen trust in their leadership erode since October 7, leaving real people—traumatized, grieving, and desperate for a path forward—without anyone to turn to for solutions or hope.
Diaspora communities play a significant role in shaping this conflict, yet too often, leaders outside the region amplify the most extreme voices rather than elevating those who are directly affected—those on the ground in Israel and Palestine.
Fear and distrust are understandable, but they must not dictate policy. Leadership is about providing reassurances in times of crisis, not exploiting fear to justify maximalist, zero-sum strategies. Fear may be an effective political tool, but history has shown that societies ruled by fear ultimately erode their own values and moral foundations.
It is precisely because of this absence of real leadership—both in Israel-Palestine and in the diaspora—that we are organizing a conference in Toronto, with additional events in Ottawa and Montreal, beginning next week. Our goal is to move in the opposite direction—away from fear, distrust, and despair, and toward a new path forward. A path that centres the best of civil society—those fighting for an end to the war, an end to the occupation, the release of hostages in Gaza, and, ultimately, peace.
As we bring together Jews, Israelis, and Palestinians—along with Canadians and Americans—we will not need to drink until we can no longer distinguish between them. Because in reality, there is little that separates us. Even in times of profound division, we share so much—our commitment to democracy, justice, and peace.