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by Greg Maurer - Feb 2025
The morning sun cast a long shadow across the Western Galilee as our delegation gathered, participants arriving from Budapest, Ohio, Indiana, Iowa, Texas, and, of course, the local region. This solidarity mission would challenge us emotionally, inspire us spiritually, and deepen our connection to our land and our people fighting for survival while maintaining hope.
Megan Maurer, our American co-chair, welcomed us with warmth before introducing Israeli co-chair Moti Yeger. Moti—father, husband, Technion executive—embodied the quiet heroism of everyday Israelis. Of the past 500 days, he'd spent over 250 in the reserves. His presence set the tone for what we would witness: resilience in the face of unimaginable circumstances.
A ceremony in honor of the Bibas family in Akko
"Life has changed completely," Moti explained as we gathered in a conference room overlooking the Mediterranean. "Thousands of residents from northern villages have been living as refugees in their own country. Lives uprooted, businesses disrupted, homes vacant."
Moti's sister Bar joined us, sharing stories of raising two young boys in this reality. Her children attend schools without adequate bomb shelters—with only fifteen seconds from alarm to impact, many facilities can’t provide sufficient protection. The matter-of-fact way she described a mother’s constant worry revealed how normalized this abnormal situation had become.
Our first visit took us to a naval outpost in Nahariya, where we gained insight into Israel's maritime defense strategies. The commander—just 25 years old—has already lost fighters under his command and carries the burden of deciding during red alerts who gets sheltered and who is deployed to the seas. Despite their youth, these sailors displayed a maturity and resolve that left us hopeful and inspired. I believe they are truly an amazing generation, having already proven themselves beyond any doubt.
After lunch, our group split into two tracks. Some visited the Galilee Medical Center, where the underground hospital had been activated during the war. Medical professionals from all backgrounds and religions served side by side, demonstrating how cooperation transcended conflict.
Those of us on the second track visited Adar Sharif's farm at Gesher HaZiv. Walking us through rows of banana trees and avocado groves, Adar explained the kibbutz's vulnerability due to its proximity to Lebanon.
"In the open fields, we have no protection," he said, gesturing toward the horizon where Lebanon lay just kilometers away. "The Iron Dome must focus on urban centers, so we farm with one eye always on the sky."
Despite this reality, Adar's commitment to the land never wavered. We sampled fresh bananas as he showed us videos he'd recorded during the war—documentation of both destruction and determination. His spirit strengthened ours, and we hoped our presence offered him something in return.
The two groups reunited to visit Arab El Aramshe, a Bedouin village on the Lebanese border. Although the village was under military evacuation orders, residents remained due to their deep commitment to their land. The proximity to the border prevented any municipal services from operating during the months of conflict, making life difficult to say the least. During the war, the village's community center was struck twice by Hezbollah drones; one devasting attack killed an IDF officer and wounded 18 soldiers.
We met with Duaa Swidan, a Bedouin from the village who serves as director of the community center, inside its ruins. Duaa described the challenges faced by the village during the war and shared details about the Jewish Agency's Campers2Gether program, which brought 17 teenagers from El Aramshe to the Szarvas Jewish Camp in Budapest, providing much-needed relief for both the teens and their parents.
We also spoke with two Bedouin soldiers who serve proudly in the IDF. While they expressed pride in defending their country, they also discussed the difficulties of living between two worlds—often not feeling fully accepted by either.
Our day concluded with a heart-wrenching experience. Liat Harel, a relative of Shlomi Ziv who was kidnapped from the Nova Festival and later freed in a military operation, shared Shlomi's story with us through the use of VR glasses. Experiencing the virtual reality of being a hostage in Gaza was a difficult process, and thankfully we were able to come together afterwards to share and reflect with one another at dinner.
The next morning was gutting. We split into groups to hear stories from families who had lost loved ones. My group listened as parents spoke of Sivan, a beautiful 18-year-old boy just months from joining the army. In most photographs, he appeared shirtless and smiling, always ready for the next adventure, a fourth-generation kibbutznik who loved the fields of Kfar Masaryk.
During one morning in those beloved fields, the red alert sounded. Sivan followed protocol perfectly—went to the nearest ditch, laid flat, covered his head. But the missile landed less than four meters away. He didn’t stand a chance; this vibrant life, snuffed out before his amazing spirit had an opportunity to change the world, now left that task to us.
The strength of Sivan's family inspired us as they looked toward the future while mourning their eldest son. Their grief, raw yet dignified, humbled us all.
The other group visited "In Jordi's Path Garden" to meet with Meirav and Shimon Buskila, whose son Jordi was murdered at the Nova Festival. In the face of overwhelming grief, they made a profound choice to embrace life rather than dwell on death. They feel Jordi's spirit guiding them like a compass in everything they've done since his tragic loss.
The garden "In Jordi's Path" truly embodies this philosophy—it pulses with life and renewal. During our visit, we planted new seedlings alongside beautiful mosaics that Meirav created with the Kfar Masaryk community. Each mosaic incorporates elements from Jordi's life, transforming personal tragedy into a living memorial that grows and flourishes, just as Jordi's memory continues to inspire all who visit this special space.
From there, we joined residents and Akko Mayor Amichai Ben Shloosh for a memorial service for Shiri Bibis and her two sons—Ariel, age 4, and Kfir, just 2. The three had been buried in a single casket, a visual representation of war's most unconscionable cost. Shiri's widower Yarden, now facing life without his wife and children, had somehow found the strength to flash a heart sign to the thousands of Israelis who lined the streets during the funeral procession.
The personal devastation contrasted sharply with the international community's often muted response. I mentioned to Moti that this conflict is deeply personal not just for all Israelis, but also for Jews around the world. He concurred, noting that, sadly, the same cannot be said for the rest of the world.
Following the memorial, we met Mayor Ben Shloosh to learn about the challenges of running a mixed Arab/Jewish city and we heard from business owners to talk about the impact of the war on tourism. The ancient streets of Old Akko were empty of tourists during the war and today carry an undercurrent of tension, yet it was reassuring to see committed public servants focused on improving the lives of all citizens.
Lunch at the famous restaurant Roots provided a brief respite as the chef and waiters showered us with salads, dips, fresh bread, fish, and meat—a delicious break during a tough day.
That evening, Partnership hosts welcomed us into their homes in small groups. I joined Moti and his wife Etti, whose warmth and hospitality offered exactly what we needed after such a jarring day. As we shared food and conversation, I understood a fundamental truth about Israeli resilience: they know tough days, and they know how to end them with high spirits. This is what Moti promised us-that we would end each day with high spirits.
Our third day began with practical service in the community. One group went to paint and decorate a portable bomb shelter that was donated by the Jewish Federation of Peoria and friends of the Partnership.
My group visited a local high school's gifted class. These bright young people shared objects connecting them to their Jewish heritage, sparking discussion about the differences between Israeli and American Jewish identity—one unable to escape it, the other struggling to retain it.
In small groups, we exchanged questions and concerns. These teenagers worried about their futures not just because of external threats but because of internal societal divisions. One girl—the only non-Jewish student in school, with an Arab father from Old Akko and a Russian Orthodox Christian mother—navigated multiple identities daily. Another had immigrated from Ukraine just two years prior and bravely practiced her newly acquired Hebrew with us.
Again, my hope was reinforced by this amazing next generation.
From the school, we traveled to the Druze village of Yanuch. The Druze, a unique ethnic and religious minority numbering about 120,000 in Israel, are known for their loyalty to their homeland. They serve in the IDF at rates exceeding those of Jewish Israelis.
Sheikh Kasem Bader, the region's top religious leader, explained the challenges facing his community—increasing secularization, impacts of globalization on traditional practices, concerns about intermarriage—issues that resonated with many Jewish participants.
We then heard from the widow of a Druze Lt. Colonel who died in battle after leaving safety to check on a wounded soldier. Raising her five-year-old son alone, she displayed strength that seemed almost superhuman.
Our American co-chair Megan had worked tirelessly to support the Druze community, and in a surprise ceremony, the Sheikh presented her with a medal given only once each year—the previous recipient being the Pope. Tears filled our eyes as we witnessed this perfect example of the people-to-people connections fostered by Partnership.
Afterward, we enjoyed a traditional Druze lunch at a restaurant that had fed hundreds of soldiers during the war without compensation—yet another demonstration of Druze patriotism.
After a break for free time, our evening began at the Partnership Center overlooking the Mediterranean. Moshe Davidovich, Regional Council Mayor and Chairman of the Confrontation Line Forum, spoke about managing impossible situations: thousands of internal refugees, devastated infrastructure, and insufficient support from Jerusalem. Yet, Moshe has steadfast determination and exudes hope.
The mission ended with music, dancing, and celebration at our hotel's rooftop bar. Staff, participants, and friends from the Western Galilee joined together in community. Singing and dancing beneath the stars, we celebrated the connections formed and strengthened-and we had a blast doing it!
Throughout the week, we witnessed pain and resilience, loss and hope. We had formed relationships that transcended geography, investing in one another across cultural divides. In a region often defined by its conflicts, we had found something more powerful: shared humanity and a commitment to building bridges, even when it seems impossible. As we prepared to return to our respective homes, the invitation was clear: Join us in this ongoing work of solidarity.
There are many ways to get involved. My wife has served on many committees and task forces and is the current co-chair. I have opened my house when home-hospitality opportunities arose, I attended Partnership programming in my community, and whenever possible I traveled to experience Partnership. As a result, and without having served on a single committee, I also have deep and meaningful relationships with people across World Jewry. For this, I will be forever grateful. There is room for many more voices, and there are many ways to get involved. All you have to do is raise your hand.
P2G Solidarity Mission professional photos: Click here
More images by mission participants: Click here
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