A word from Achvat Director, Yoav Peck:

As winter arrives, I have a good feeling about my wood pile, outside in the garden. I have collected, over time, enough heavy branches to enable the security that I will have enough wood this winter, even if the winter is extraordinarily harsh.

This is not the case in al-Shati Camp tonight, on the edge of Gaza City, beside the sea. There is no security in Shati. The army notified the residents of al-Shati on Thursday that they must evacuate to the South. Again. Aside from the inability to see the suffering of the Palestinians, most Israelis are convinced that we must ride the recent wave of military successes. To where? The reason to maintain a strong army is to see to it that we do NOT have to fight.

We Israelis have got it all wrong. We think that if we are strong, we will be safer. And yet, lurking beneath the surface is our awareness that military power can only get us safer, but it cannot get us safe. And deep down, we also understand that we cannot be safe until ALL of us are.

So is there a way to get all of us safe, and soon? This is the wrong question. There may not ever be “A WAY” that will lead us home to peace. However, there certainly are “WAYS” to peace, a multitude of ways to peace, many roads leading to Rome. To home. I just arrived back in Jerusalem after traveling one of them.

I got to be with twelve young folks in their 20’s, traveling the south of Israel/Palestine for four days and three nights. This current cohort of Achvat Amim, met with a plethora of players and stakeholders.

We stayed with our friends in Umm al Khair in their village in the South Hebron hills, with a settlement towering over them fifty yards away.

We heard a fascinating Bedouin law student and activist, Bashir, whose relatives are among the hostages in Gaza. An Israeli professor of Moroccan origin brought us into the story of Israel’s 50 year discrimination toward them, the struggle of the Israeli Black Panthers, the ongoing battle for a deeper cultural equality between mizrahim and ashkenazim.

At Achvat, we place our participants in various peace/human rights orgs. One of our cohort goes out several times a week to pick olives alongside West Bank farmers, to try to deter harassment from marauding settlers or aggressive soldiers. Action, taking action.
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At the moment, when we all seem to be helpless in the face of the political/military reality, we revive our spirits when we look to what we CAN do to advance things. Achvat Amim enables in-depth learning, activism in the field. A myriad of other projects, in civil society, are taking small, incremental steps forward. A beehive of decency and solidarity, somehow laying the human infrastructure for the peace that inevitably will come.
What else can we do?

Solidarity, 
Yoav 

A word from Elly Oltersdorf, Outreach Director at Achvat Amim: 

I had one friend in Gaza. His name was Khalil.

Khalil Abu Yahia was an activist, writer, and educator living in Gaza.

A year ago, at 9:41pm on October 30th, I got a call from Daniel, a fellow activist and founder of Achvat that Khalil had been killed with his whole family. I can barely remember my thoughts in that moment. But I remember how I felt. I was crying hysterically. It came in rapid-fire waves. A sick kind of dread. Then disbelief. Then white hot rage. My stomach was flipping. I felt sick. I felt nothing. I felt everything.

Achvat Amim only had a team of 3 at the time and I was the only staff member in Jerusalem. I gave Daniel a moment and then called Elianna. I braced myself because I could feel a cold hard shock cushioning the pain, but I knew it wouldn’t last. Hearing Elianna’s voice smashed painfully through any numbness. She was sobbing “I don’t understand.” She kept saying. “We knew it could happen. We knew. But I didn’t think… I didn't think…”
And I knew exactly what she meant. Even when Khalil had texted me about so many near misses. His neighbor’s house. His whole block. Fleeing from one place to the next. Fleeing South when the IDF told them to. Somehow there’s this beautiful and horrible and necessary trick your brain plays when someone you care about is in danger . A voice that says “not them. surely it wont be them.”

My last message to Khalil was October 31st.

Khalil please be there. We heard news you and your family were killed , please still be alive with your family . I’ve been crying all night

The message remains in my phone with only one check mark. My prayer didn’t go through.
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Every person is a universe. This is what is said in Judaism when someone’s life is saved. Or when someone’s life is not.

There is a strangeness in this. Because we are of the world, we are each a world in and of ourselves, and yet, we can be worlds apart from each other. Separated by radically different experiences, relationships to power, ways of thinking, upbringing, circumstance — we can be walking physically shoulder to shoulder and still somehow infinitely apart. Sometimes, someone rare comes along who is able to transgress these huge chasms. Khalil was one of these rare people. Like some bender of physics, he spanned unimaginable distance — both physical and spiritual — when he spoke with our participants over zoom.

He was one of the only speakers on our program who we spoke to over zoom, and yet each cohort I saw how he was one of the most impactful people the participants met. His body and physical space was so rigidly controlled — by borders and guns, and advanced military technology, and yet, his words brought you close, brought you face to face. He brought the brutal reality of the siege and the Israeli airstrikes throughout his life into the room with us.
“When I hear explosions I go to the window and I know that someone has died. Maybe a whole family. It is not easy to describe the situation in Gaza. The feeling of being in danger and not having any protection is terrifying, but worse is that you can’t protect your children, your siblings. I am the oldest sibling and I cannot protect them. Last night more than five American-made rockets hit my neighborhood. One was less than 30 meters from my house. My neighbor was killed…We are people who love life. We will struggle again and again for a free society for everyone”
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Khalil Abu Yahia gave testimony about non-violent resistance from behind the blockade. He told us about his life in Gaza, the friends and family he’s lost to Israeli bombings and his deep belief in resistance through education. Khalil talked about what it was like to grow up under siege. He talked about teaching children who asked about the world outside of Gaza as if was truly another planet. Children in Khalil’s classes asked him if people outside Gaza truly looked the same as people inside the strip. In a zoom box projected onto the wall of the Gisha office he said:
“Some of my young students asked me recently ‘are people outside of Gaza the same shape?’. The siege has left us so separated from everyone. But us talking right now means that the siege doesn’t work. We are building bridges. This is how liberation happens.”
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Every person is a universe. This is what is said in Judaism when someone’s life is saved. Or when someone’s life is not.

Khalil’s life was ended. Taken violently. By Israeli bombs. But his world was not. Because against all odds, Khalil shared his world. He spread the edges of his universe. His words and his kind smile and his vulnerability stretched like a massive tent with endless corners. And he stitched us together. And now the people who knew Khalil, who felt his strength, who felt his trust, are scatter across the globe, pulling those fine threads taught.

In March I went to protest at an air force base in Be’er Sheva to demand a ceasefire. The protest was small. Maybe thirty of us. One of the organizers passed out pictures of people who had been killed in Gaza. I was passed a picture and froze. It was a picture of Khalil’s one-year old daughter. She looked up at me with curious brown eyes. As I held her picture above my head, my arms sore from battling with the wind that day, the paper of the poster felt insultingly flimsy. The wind whipped it around. But I refused to let it blow her away.

I can’t think about their last moments as a family. Their last moments on Earth. When I try, my stomach clenches and my eyes fill with tears, but I can’t think of a single thing. There’s this beautiful and horrible and necessary trick your brain plays when something monstrous has happened to someone you care about. A voice that says “not them. surely it wasn’t them.”

Dear friends in the Achvat Amim community,

Yoav, Achvat Amim’s Executive Director here. As we approach Sukkot this year, the community of Achvat Amim faces a grim reality. We confront this year-long war, now escalating: the horrific airstrikes killing and displacing thousands of people in Gaza are ongoing, the hostages remain imprisoned, IDF aggression in Lebanon and in the West Bank continues to surge, and we often experience a collective sense of helplessness under the worst government in Israel’s history. We take pains to renew our solidarity with our Israeli and Palestinian partners, while recognizing the government’s determination to divide us all, to weaken our resolve and turn us against each other. 
In the midst of all of this, we at Achvat Amim know that the antidote to despair is taking action. Action brings hope, hope brings action, and we are more determined than ever to advance our mission, aware that success does not depend on circumstance. 
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Our outreach director, Elly Oltersdorf, has engaged with countless Achvat candidates and their families, responding to their concerns about security. We were forced to cancel the 2023 Fall session, but in February we opened a full cohort and in the summer we ran an intensive program, with participants traveling to support our partners in Masafer Yatta every week. In September, we opened the 2024 Fall cohort with nine participants. 

Achvat participants’ placements are bringing a breath of fresh air to our partners, in the South Hebron hills, at 972 Magazine, in the Storytelling project, at the Hand in Hand school, at Sinsila, a Palestinian women’s collective for raising bees on East Jerusalem rooftops. Two recent Achvat alumni recently accepted positions as directors of the Storytelling project alongside Sameeha Huraini in Tuwani. 
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We are moving together strongly as a team. As Elly connects with potential candidates and movement leaders across the world, Tash Lever moved smoothly into the role of Education Director, and is now leading her third cohort.  We hired Meir Gorodskoy as Development Director, and they hit the ground running, eagerly engaging with donors and foundations. Six months into my tenure as Executive Director, I am in love with this unique movement initiative, as I take on the challenges of advancing the Achvat programs, managing our budget, reaching out to present and future partners, and sharing with our team the concerns and decisions that we face as we explore the new vistas that are possible for Achvat Amim. 
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We are the only on the ground movement that both introduces participants to Israeli and Palestinian facilitators, activists, educators, and artists, and also provides a rigorous language, historical and spiritual curriculum, that empowers people to engage in activism sustainably, for the long haul. We are committed to bringing more people into the movement and making it more accessible so we can continue to learn together, cross borders, and bridge movements for justice in the land and abroad. 

We eagerly anticipate a year of guiding our participants through Achvat’s superb learning/working experience and bringing them into the powerful network of trust with our partners. We celebrate the broad Achvat community and anticipate a vibrant, meaningful year. We will be in regular contact with you all. 
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Wishing you the best, 
Yoav Peck

Dear Achvat friends and family, 

We're writing to you from Jerusalem with sadness and with hope. Even as the circumstances throughout the land remain grave, there continues to be work to be done, education to lead, and partners to stand alongside.

These past few weeks have been some of the most difficult for our friends in Umm al-Khair. Israeli military demolished 11 structures in Umm al-Khair, leaving 38 people, including 30 children, homeless. In the week after, extremist settlers harassed and attacked people in the village leading to the hospitalization of six injured women and children. In moments like these, there are few words of comfort to offer, but what we can do is show up to stand besides our partner communities when they ask us to. You can read about the incidents here and donate to Umm al Khair here. Also follow Awdah for more updates and calls to action. This catastrophic week is part of ongoing escalation of settler and military violence in the occupied territories aimed at attempted ethnic cleansing of Area C. 

While we are deeply sad to have said farewell to two incredible members of the Tzevet last month, we're also thrilled to welcome Yoav and Tash to our team. Their dedication and passion will undoubtedly breathe new life into our community and our cause and with them our new Cohort of participants. Keep an eye out for future newsletters in which they will introduce themselves more fully! 
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​Dear Achvat Community, 

While I have had the great pleasure of getting to know many of you over the years, I wanted to take the opportunity to formally introduce myself as I embark on this new journey as the newest member of the tzevet (team). 

I am stepping into my role as the Educational Facilitator & Program Coordinator as an artist-activist and community educator. I grew up in the mountains and deserts of the southwest United States. There, I gained an appreciation for vast arid landscapes as well as my primary education in the meaning and history of indigenous lands. Since leaving New Mexico, I’ve been on a long journey to understand relationships to land, community, and peoplehood, which has led me to Achvat Amim and to you.

As I write this introduction to you, I am aware that it was almost exactly a year ago that the world entered into a period of intense turbulence as a result of COVID-19. I myself was new to Jerusalem and attempting to establish community, when borders began to close and the privilege and ease of global travel which I had long enjoyed rapidly came to a screeching halt. 

It was amidst this chaos that I arrived at a crossroads: stay in Jerusalem, a place that I had arrived in just two months prior or return to the comfort and relative certainty of the United States. For reasons I couldn’t fully understand at the time, the answer was clear: stay. Stay and be here. 

Only a year later, can I better understand my reasons for doing so. And I believe that they had directly to do with a deep sense that I had much to learn from this place about myself, about justice, and about the process of committing and preparing that self for the work of justice.

The Jewish tradition, like many traditions, sits in the tension between particularism and universalism. Contained within Judaism is both the idea that all humans are B’tselem Elohim, or in the image or God, and simultaneously a narrative of chosen-ness that singles out the Jewish people. The modern state of Israel has come to embody the second of these principles. Plagued by xenophobia and racism and structured by supremacy, the state has fallen into the narrow place. A space dominated by tribalism and unable to touch the deep connective tissue of humanity.

I have long been wrestling with this reality—and attempting to find my place in the project of repairing it. But what became apparent to me as I stared into the vast uncertainty brought on by a worldwide pandemic is the necessity of leaning into uncertainty and of stepping into the narrow place in order to emerge from it.

Achvat Amim is a community that does not shy away from uncertainty. Committed to a continual process of asking questions and sitting with ambiguous and unclear answers, Achvat Amim nurtures the essential truth of paradox—that the world contains a multiplicity of truths. Contained in the meaning of the name “Achvat Amim” lies both the idea of “solidarity"—that which binds us together and “nations”—that which makes us distinct. 

I have long been searching for communities that are able to hold these two concepts together in rigorous and compassionate learning, and I am humbled and elated to have found one in which I can work towards communal, relational, and personal transformative justice. 

I look forward to being partners in this work and hope that if any of you are inclined, you’ll reach out for a virtual (and soon if possible real!) coffee. 

With much gratitude and excitement, 
Elianna





​Educational Facilitator & Program Coordinator 
Pronouns she/her/hers​

We are committed to deepening our racial justice frameworks, learning, and practices in pursuit of a world which honors that sacred value of all people and the right of all peoples to self-determination. In this historic moment of reckoning around anti-Black racism in the United States, we are committed to challenging ourselves as we continue to unlearn white supremacy and develop more full, more sustaining, and more robust racial justice frameworks from which we can act in solidarity and shared struggle with Palestinians and other communities of color.  In the fall, we will be undertaking a number of exciting internal processes, including continued learning and discussion as a tzevet (team) about racial justice, and organizational conversations about how we will sharpen our pedagogy, education, and solidarity practices. In designing our programming for the fall, we are explicitly framing our work around anti-racism and white supremacy. It is imperative that the larger Achvat Amim community is developing language, understandings, and personal practices around social justice that are founded upon anti-racism as a central tenant. We cannot dismantle white supremacy in the world until we do the work of dismantling the white supremacy inside of us. ​

Achvat Amim is committed to developing a Jewish community rooted in racial justice and decolonization that centers our own stakes in liberation and dismantling white supremacy, while uplifting the disproportionate violence our Black and Palestinian friends, community members, and partners experience. We are here and ready to recommit ourselves to the work. 

In Solidarity, 
Julie, Erez, & Dana ​

Dear Friends, Partners, and Achvat Family,
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This is not the first time you have heard from me, although I have not yet had the opportunity to formally introduce myself. My name is Julie and I am the (not so) new Outreach Coordinator at Solidarity of Nations - Achvat Amim. I joined the Achvat tzevet (team) in January but have been a part of this vibrant community for almost three years. I first came to Achvat Amim in the fall of 2017 as a participant.  

As a participant, Achvat Amim helped me discover my paths forward: as an organizer, facilitator, and Torah-lover. It gave me the skills and community to continue towards a more just world, even when continuing forward filled me with the fear that Rabbi Nachman warns us about. 

The pandemic is a narrow bridge for all of us- individually and collectively. We at Achvat Amim are continuing to monitor the pandemic and make decisions that are best for our participants, the needs of our partners, and the future of Achvat Amim. While being flexible and sensitive to the needs of all of our communities, Achvat Amim is accepting applications for September 2020 and February 2021 cohorts. 

Achvat Amim is an integral part of the anti-occupation ecosystem. I myself am proof of the transformational work Achvat Amim does. The world needs us and we need the world. In the current pandemic, I often feel as if I am on a very, very narrow bridge. And sometimes I feel afraid. It is hard to stay afraid for long, as I have an amazing team of movement partners. Our conversations are full of kindness, strength, vision, and humor. So in this moment- yes, we are on a very, very narrow bridge. But we are also crossing it together. And I know we will get to the other side. 

Sincerely, 
Julie 

Outreach Coordinator
Pronouns they/them/theirs (what does this mean?) ​