“Vengeance Is Not a Strategy”

The war between Israel and Hamas that began on 7 October 2023 is now stretching into its second, terrible year. In that time, in addition to the 1,200 Israelis killed and hundreds taken hostage by Hamas, over 40,000 Palestinians have been killed in Israel’s counter-attack, along with thousands of Lebanese in the latest theatre of conflict that opened up two weeks ago. Peace — or even a ceasefire, no matter how temporary — appears further away now than at any time since the fighting began.

It belongs to one of the darker ironies of history that many of the Israelis killed on that day in fact belonged to Israel’s politically marginalized, but nevertheless steadfast peace camp. One of them was Vivian Silver, a Canadian-Israeli peace and women’s rights activist and a long-time resident of Be’eri Kibbutz, only eight kilometres from the border with Gaza. She had spent decades building ties of solidarity and understanding between Palestinians and Israelis, and was a leading member of peace organizations like B’Tselem and Women Wage Peace.

Since her death, her son Yonatan Zeigen has continued her mission, traveling around the region and the world seeking to translate her message of peace into concrete policy. In the days leading up to the one-year anniversary of the war, he spoke with the Rosa Luxemburg Foundation’s Gil Shohat about his mother’s legacy, the precarious position of the peace movement in Israel today, and why he thinks international pressure is crucial to ending the current war.

It’s been one year since your mother, Vivian Silver, was murdered by Hamas in Kibbutz Be’eri on 7 October 2023. What does looking back on that day mean to you? Do you have the space to commemorate?

I’ve been thinking about this dual meaning all the time. I have, on the one hand, this very personal experience of pain and loss, and on the other hand, the public aspect of it because she was a public figure, and her death was part of a public, communal context.

I think the last time I was really totally in the personal was on 7 October itself, in the first few hours of the morning when I went through the experience with her on the phone, just being with her until she died and then lying on the bed in silence and trying to process what happened. Then, very fast, in the same day — and after I was sure she was dead — it was said that she was a hostage. It was like that for over a month.

Why or how did that happen?

Because no one found a body. We knew that other people were dead, but we didn’t have information about her. Then her phone was geolocated in Gaza, and so her death wasn’t really confirmed. There was no sign of life from Gaza and no information about her being taken to Gaza, but they couldn’t find her body and there weren’t any signs of violence in the house, because it was completely burnt down. So, the government considered her a hostage. Then, after more than a month, the archaeologists were able to find her remains in the house.

Nevertheless, I started to be a part of this hostage family effort from Sunday or Monday, and it fit well with my psychological coping mechanisms, because I tend to depersonalize and externalize issues. Pretty immediately, I started thinking about it in terms of this context as well: the problem is not the specific man coming to kill my mother, the problem is war. The problem is the occupation. The problem is the conflict. The way to solve it is not to think about her, not to deal with the actual person, but to solve the conflict. So, it fed into my ways of coping with the world in general.

You talk about this structural element. Do you nevertheless have external support? Because I suppose this externalizing mechanism also has its limits, and your extensive advocacy work also takes its toll.

The only thing I was eligible for from the government was paid psychological treatment, so I took that. I went to study therapy a few months after 7 October. That’s the only “external” support I took. Other than that, it’s the work itself, the fact that I am busy, that I feel like I’m creating meaning out of this experience and that I’m invested in something I care about. It keeps me sane, I guess.

Do you think this attitude is more widespread among the bereaved families who lost relatives on 7 October? From what I observe, you have families who are lobbying for the release of their loved ones, but once the news breaks that they’re maybe not alive anymore, that can lead to a breakdown or loss of motivation. In your case, it’s different. You received the confirmation of your mother’s death fairly quickly, but this seems to me to have only driven your activism.

I think that bereavement in general pushes people to some kind of movement. It’s true that there are a lot of people who died together with their loved ones. But looking at my surroundings, I think that a lot of people who paid this price became active, albeit everybody in their own sense. Or, maybe these are just the people we know. After all, the majority of people who lost loved ones are quiet, and we don’t think about it because we don’t hear about them.

I held back during the period when she was supposedly a hostage. I made a conscious choice not to speak in Hebrew, for example, because I knew that if I spoke in Hebrew in Israeli media it would go in the direction of a political argument. I didn’t want to be the story — I wanted to tell the story of Vivian as a hostage in order to get all the hostages back. It was a communal effort.

I always knew that Israelis only understand force: when they’re not violent, we don’t care.

After she was identified, I felt the responsibility to take on some kind of role because, sadly, I was given this platform — bereavement means something in Israel, you know. I felt the responsibility to continue to be vocal, but in the sense of promoting change. Hostage families never aim to make bold statements, but the only way to get the hostages back is to end the war. So, I was conflicted during that month, because I would go to demonstrations, and they would shout, “No ceasefire without all the hostages!”, and I would go crazy. “What? What do you mean? It’s the other way around. We need to shout ’Ceasefire now!’ in order to get the hostages. We can’t reject deals because we’re afraid that our loved ones won’t be in the deal.”

People said, “No, it’s because your mother is old.” I said, “I’m willing to sign a deal for 80+.” My mother was 74. “I’m willing to sign a deal for 75+, because I know that she will come back faster if it starts rather than if we delay and continue attacking.” But the point is, I didn’t change my views. I had the same views growing up, I had them all throughout my life, I was just not involved. I wasn’t engaged in the last ten years. So, for me, 7 October was a pivotal point that made me feel that I have to be invested and I have to be engaged.

Would you say that at least some Israelis had the privilege of not being involved in the conflict due to its structurally asymmetry, and that maybe this experience reminded you and many others that there is no choice but to get involved if you want something to change?

Of course. In that sense, Hamas succeeded, but also failed at the same time. I always knew that Israelis only understand force: when they’re not violent, we don’t care. The occupation had been deepening for years, but the Palestinian Authority held it all down. It didn’t get them any further in terms of well-being. We only talked about Hamas during Operation Protective Edge in 2014, or when they blew up balloons — that’s the only time we noticed them. 7 October in that sense put them on the map.

On the other hand, they expected some kind of a proportional violent reaction. But it also spurred more involvement by international peace activists pushing to resolve the conflict in a more holistic way, and I’m not sure that Hamas really wants to resolve the conflict in the sense of a peace agreement. That is the outcome that needs to happen. It didn’t happen in the first year. I hope it will happen in the next year. But it has to go in that direction — either that, or extermination.

Let’s talk about your mother, Vivian, who lived in Kibbutz Be’eri very close to the Gazan border. Vivian was a veteran peace activist — a public figure, as you said. She was on the board of B’Tselem, but was also involved in many other initiatives fostering Israeli-Palestinian peace and cooperation.

She came to Israel in 1974. She grew up in Canada, but she understood that her future was here, and she joined a feminist youth movement. They lived a few years in New York, training to come here, then they came to establish a new kibbutz.

She led a very ideological life since she was a child. She was the valedictorian of her class, and she was always active. She was very involved in feminist issues, and she organized and mobilized women in the Zionist movement in North America. Then, in Israel, she was the first secretary of the new kibbutz, one of just seven women in the history of the kibbutz movement. She was a board member of the New Israel Fund, but the kibbutz was her life.

The people in heaven don’t see the people in hell. But we see hell. We lived in heaven and we saw hell.

When we moved to Kibbutz Be’eri in 1990, she became more involved in the question of co-existence and collaboration. Proximity creates a responsibility. At first, she was the head of construction in Be’eri at the beginning of the 1990s, and she worked with Palestinians from Gaza as their boss. But I remember them in a very familial context. And then, in the late 1990s, she became CEO of an organization called the Arab-Jewish Center for Empowerment, Equality, and Cooperation – Negev Institute for Strategies of Peace and Economic Development (AJEEC-NISPED), which had projects in Gaza — civil society training, encounter groups, economic projects, stuff like that.

She took me and my brother to visit Gaza in 2000s, right before the Second Intifada, and it was amazing, because it felt very natural, just going to see friends and colleagues of my mother. We did a tour and walked around. But I also knew that it was a very unique experience. None of my peers would have been able to do that, because it wasn’t open. Before the First Intifada, Gaza was the big city the kibbutz went for the beach, for shopping and stuff like that, but now it’s been closed for 24 years.

After the Second Intifada broke out, I remember it became like a soundtrack to our lives — the gunshots in the distance, the bombings. We would sit on the grass in the kibbutz and watch it from afar, and it was pretty surreal, because you live next to it — you hear it, you see it — but it’s not real, it’s still distant. It’s not like today.

For the kids who were born after 2000, it became a big deal. They lived in a warzone. But for us, it was a different experience. I remember I started relating to Gaza as a prison. I started feeling this tension between living in paradise and having no way relate to the space, because heaven and hell have Earth between them, right? The people in heaven don’t see the people in hell. But we see hell. We lived in heaven and we saw hell.

But you decided not to live with it and to move away.

Well, it wasn’t because of that. After 2000, Gaza was closed off and they had problems continuing their projects there. The organization started putting an emphasis on the Bedouin community, and her colleague, who was a Bedouin woman, came up with the idea to establish a new branch of the organization. They became co-CEOs of the entire organization, which became one of the strongest co-existence organizations in Israel.

It was clear to me that my mother was killed because of war, so we need the opposite. I don’t want people to die. I didn’t want my mother to die. Thus, the natural conclusion is we need to work to not begin wars, but end them.

She did that until 2014, but all through the years, she was part of other initiatives and other boards. She was very involved in the peace camp. I remember going with her to events and speaking with Palestinians from Gaza. In 2007, when Hamas came to power, it was very scary because she lost colleagues there. Friends of hers fled or were killed, it was terrible. After she retired from the organization in 2014, she immediately became involved with Women Wage Peace and became a volunteer in The Road to Recovery. She continued sitting on the boards of organizations and going to J Street. It was her world, her life.

Was something as horrific as 7 October a fear? Was it something that was somehow in the scope of the imaginable?

Not like this. I would go there with my family to visit a lot, and we would sleep in her house. I remember putting my kids to bed and then trying to fall asleep. I would imagine someone coming in the house. What would I do? That was imaginable, always. But an incursion of a small army, and that the Israeli army is just non-existent? That we couldn’t imagine.

Have you been, or how often have you been to Be’eri since?

Every once in a while, I go. It’s a tragic place. I remember the first time I came, it was all fresh, and I thought about the phrase from the Bible, “As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death.” We were walking on the sidewalk between two rows of buildings, and they’re all burnt and everybody’s dead. Her neighbourhood was hit the hardest, I think 25 people were killed. When you see the destruction, when you live near hell, in the end it expands and trickles out into heaven.

You publicly called for an end to the war very early after 7 October. What was it that prompted you to take this position, which remains a minority position even now, even among the hostages’ families?

You know, sometimes I wish that I had a transformation story. Someone I was with in New York recently with the Parent’s Circle Families Forum (PCFF) lost his sister when he was 13. Soldiers killed her. She was ten years old. It took him seven years of really burning on the inside to go from wanting revenge to becoming a pacifist. It wasn’t like that for me. It was just the way my mind works. It was clear to me that my mother was killed because of war, so we need the opposite. I don’t want people to die. I didn’t want my mother to die. Thus, the natural conclusion is we need to work to not begin wars, but end them.

What do you think about the phenomenon known as “sobering up” within the peace camp — Israelis who now say they realize peace is impossible. Is it something that you witness in your surroundings?

Of course, I’m a minority everywhere I go. Not inside the peace camp, but within the general population. I accept that, it’s natural. I look at myself and say, that’s the way my mind worked for others, that’s the way their mind works.

It can even break up friendships.

I don’t hold people’s thought processes against them. I think it’s a matter of settings. It’s natural for them to think that we need to be forceful, even vengeful. If we had the possibility of peace, if leaders would give us that chance, and friends of mine would say, “No, I’m not willing to accept that we do not need to exterminate them”, then I guess we would be more conflictual. But, you know, they’re my friends. It’s my community, I grew up with them. They know what I think, I know what they feel. We don’t centre our relationships around it.

I think the day before 7 October, the people were indifferent, and that’s more dangerous than being passionate. To be passionately against the occupation is more of an opportunity for discussion than to be indifferent.

There is this tendency in Israel to exclude politics. On the one hand, politics is such a soap opera, but ultimately, at least in my experience, you don’t want to talk about politics because it could lead to disagreements or even fights. Is this maybe the mode you’re working in?

I don’t choose not to talk about it, I don’t shy away from discussions. I feel that after 7 October, and with my activities, I became more pacified in my interactions. I am engaged in discussions of a different manner, because it’s not theoretical for me anymore. It’s not an intellectual exercise. I’m more on a mission.

Is this also a way to renew the Israeli peace camp, in terms of winning political majorities and changing the political mood in Israeli society?

When I talk to people, it’s helpful and more effective to be in what I call “radical acceptance” of what they feel, and to try to examine together with them if that leads them to a good place, or if we can think of alternative stories to tell, instead of trying to force my own story.

I think that now morality and interest-based thinking can be aligned, because before 7 October one could have thought that the occupation might be immoral, but it’s a security necessity. Now I think that it’s clear for me, but I think it can be clear to others that we can’t have security while the other people are oppressed, and that there is no wall that is high enough to keep us safe. The only way for us to be secure is by reaching an agreement with the Palestinians.

For that, you don’t need morality. You don’t have to go to that direction of “it’s wrong to oppress another people”. You can say, “Wait, but what do you want? You want security? We can’t have it with force. Let’s think. How do we get security?” I think in that sense, my ability to be in discussion with others has become more complex, more effective.

What is your assessment of the situation on the ground for the peace camp in Israel right now? How difficult is it to communicate your message?

I think the day before 7 October, the people were indifferent, and that’s more dangerous than being passionate. To be passionately against the occupation is more of an opportunity for discussion than to be indifferent. I think that the situation now in Israel is that everybody is interested and passionate about it and everybody has something to say and is willing to be engaged in discussion. That’s an opportunity.

The peaceniks in Israel became re-energized and have more sense of urgency, and more sense of community. I don’t think the numbers went up, they probably went down, but the energy is higher and the possibilities are high because now there are those open doors in the international community. Everybody wants to hear and have fresh ideas and find the way to work towards the end of the conflict.

Is the message being received in mainstream society? No, I don’t think so. And it’s also competing with the hostages, with the war in Lebanon, with the West Bank exploding. Before we had gotten to the point of being like the village idiot. We’re not the village idiot anymore. Maybe we’re a danger to society, but that’s a better position to be in. In that sense, the discourse is present.

Germany, I think, has a very important role to play, because the power is with the US. You can’t move without them, they bring in the most resources. But Germany has a very special affiliation and influence.

I don’t think that peace is a message that mainstream public opinion in Israel accepts or is interested in, but I don’t see them as the main audience because I know that there was already a glass ceiling on this message in terms of the groundwork, in terms of civil society. We need the political sphere to create new political visions. That’s the audience. I want to put a lot of effort in lobbying, in advocacy in the international community, because the occupation is a blind spot in Israel.

Youth in Israel don’t know about the occupation, and the people who do know don’t see a link between the occupation and security. They think security is the problem, and that’s a blind spot, because security is a symptom — the problem is the occupation and the conflict. But if we continue to treat security as the problem, then our only tools to fix it are the military. But if we see it as a symptom and the occupation and the conflict as the problem, then military force can’t solve that problem. We have to use different tools. In order for us to make the shift and to overcome this blind spot, we need the international community.

You’ve been traveling a lot, speaking with governments in the United States, Europe, and so on. What are your impressions? What is your take on Germany’s role?

I think the international community occupies a dual, if not hypocritical position. They take a hypocritical position of saying, “This is wrong”, but being a very active accomplice to our reality while at the same time acting as a passive bystander. The international community is not a bystander. They have accountability in our conflict and in the occupation because resources have been coming in to sustain it. It wouldn’t have been able to continue for so long without the international community’s support — or rather sponsorship, if not enablement — and now they are enabling the war. Israel is a dependent state. It’s not something that we can do by ourselves for so long.

When I talk to government officials, they say, “There’s no consensus in the community. It needs to come from you. It needs to come from inside”, and I get frustrated. In the United States, I met a US official and he was saying, “We hope for this, we wish for that, we want this.” I said, “What are you talking about? You’re a superpower. Stop giving us money!”

In Germany, I met with someone high-up in the chancellery, and I said, “You can’t expect us to do an internal process of transformation if we don’t get any signal that we’re doing something wrong. If we get a signal, if we get incentives to do the right thing and sanctions when we do the wrong thing, then we can examine if we have the capacity for an internal process.”

It’s sad, the German guilt and their inability to see complexities and in nuances. I constantly heard “Germany is Israel’s friend,” and I told them, “What kind of friend enables their friend to be a junkie, to kill themselves, to be destructive to themselves? That’s not friendship, that’s co-dependency. You know, if you want to be a friend of Israel, you need to help Israel do the right thing in order for us to flourish, in order for us to exist. If we continue on the path we are on, we won’t exist. That’s friendship. We can’t sustain this for another 60 years.”

There’s a saying in Germany, “With friends like these, who needs enemies?”

Germany, I think, has a very important role to play, because the power is with the US. You can’t move without them, they bring in the most resources. But Germany has a very special affiliation and influence. They had more trusting relationships with the Arab world than the US had, so they could play a very important role, but they aren’t.

I can hear her saying that vengeance is not a strategy. I can hear her talk about self-destruction. Every time we use military force, it’s an act of self-destruction.

Israel is escalating its assault on Lebanon as we speak, and it really looks like things are continuing to go in the wrong direction. What gives you hope, dare I say optimism in these dark times?

First of all, I don’t see myself as an optimist, I see myself as a realist. Because the possibility of attaining peace seems so realistic to me, I’m hopeful. Part of it is being involved in the work. So, like people say about social media, “Oh, I don’t have social media, I read Haaretz” — if the only filter you have is Haaretz, then you think a certain way about Israel. I surround myself with peace and working towards it, and so it seems very possible to me.

In that sense, like Maoz Inon always says, hope is not something you find, it’s something you create. It’s an action. By being active in the field of peace building, I create hope for peace in myself and in my surroundings.

It’s a double-edged sword. Sometimes it makes me more frustrated, because it seems so simple and it’s not happening. But as long as I see the simplicity, then I can hold on to just saying “No, it’s just another push, it’s just another angle. It’s just another door to knock on and it will open.” But if I don’t knock on that door and if I don’t make the effort to be involved, then it won’t happen. It keeps me alert, it keeps me motivated to continue with the work.

Returning to your mother’s legacy, what do you think her message would be to Israelis and Palestinians, but also to you?

I think her message is embodied in me. I think you wouldn’t have heard from me if she were still alive, she would have been out there. She would have been very active, trying to be impactful, saying that the only way for us to be secure is through peace. I can hear her saying that vengeance is not a strategy. I can hear her talk about self-destruction. Every time we use military force, it’s an act of self-destruction.