Understanding the Israeli-Palestinian conflict requires not only a grasp of cold facts and statistics, but an understanding of the daily experience of the real people who live on each side. I spoke to Palestinians on a recent trip.
If America joins the rest of the world in politically isolating Israel because of its refusal to adhere to international law, this will have a snowball effect that will most certainly lead to change in the Israeli political scene.
Hamas members disapprove of parties and stay away from festivities. But they are often the first at your funeral, setting up a tent and making posters of condolences and mentioning the deeds of the deceased.
As I walk the streets of Jerusalem this Chanukah and see the flickering candles in the windows of Jewish homes, I think back to a time 2,000 years ago, when my ancestors here were denied their rights to follow Jewish tradition by the Syrian-Greeks who then occupied the land.
If Israel's crime is extending a ban on the release of its archives, the Arab world's crime is that they have no archives at all to show the world what the real story of the Middle East was after 1948.
Palestinians' wishes are simple -- we want what is ours, our land, with true sovereignty, freedom, equality and civil rights -- what Martin Luther King, Jr. called in his Letter from a Birmingham Jail "our constitutional and God-given rights."
Jews who lived for centuries as good citizens of Arab countries would have loved nothing more than to pledge loyalty to a "Muslim and democratic state" in return for the same freedoms, rights and protections that Arabs enjoy today in Israel.
In our new film Budrus, our protagonist, Ayed Morrar, achieved what policymakers and policy wonks believe to be impossible: He united Hamas, Fatah and Israeli allies to save his village from destruction.