Israel Loves Iran: a peace movement is born in Tel Aviv

As Israel's leaders continue the drumbeat for war, protestors take to the streets.

If recent statements by Israel's leaders are anything to go by, a strike on Iran seems almost inevitable. Now, the drumbeat for war has led to the emergence of a nascent anti-war movement in the country.

Over the weekend, about 1,000 protesters took to the streets of Tel Aviv to urge the government not to attack Iran's nuclear facilities. While the demonstration was relatively small, it appears to be in step with the public mood across the country.

Israel Loves Iran, a Facebook group spreading a saccharine message of peace, has become a media sensation over the last fortnight. Attracting more than 40,000 followers, the group states: "To the Iranian people, To all the fathers, mothers, children, brothers and sisters. For there to be a war between us, first we must be afraid of each other, we must hate. I'm not afraid of you, I don't hate you." A YouTube video posted by one of the creators, graphic designer Ronnie Edry, has notched up well over 30,000 views.

While the campaign has garnered the usual criticisms about "clicktivism" which makes little real difference, it is an important attempt to humanise the other side (sadly unusual in the Middle East), and an expression of the fact that much of the Israeli public do not support their government's stance on this issue.

This is borne out by recent opinion polls, which show that a majority of Israelis oppose an attack on Iran. This month, a poll by Tel Aviv University's Guttman Centre found that 63 per cent of Israelis strongly or moderately oppose unilateral attack by Israel on Iran. Another poll, by Dahaf (an Israeli pollster), found that just 19 per cent supported a unilateral strike, while 42 per cent said they supported an attack only if it had US backing.

Whether Israel's leaders take heed remains to be seen; even if the movement continues to gain traction, it seems unlikely.

Tel Aviv: Protesters hold anti-war banners. Photograph: Getty Images

Samira Shackle is a freelance journalist, who tweets @samirashackle. She was formerly a staff writer for the New Statesman.

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For the first time in my life I have a sworn enemy – and I don’t even know her name

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

Last month, I made an enemy. I do not say this lightly, and I certainly don’t say it with pride, as a more aggressive male might. Throughout my life I have avoided confrontation with a scrupulousness that an unkind observer would call out-and-out cowardice. A waiter could bring the wrong order, cold and crawling with maggots, and in response to “How is everything?” I’d still manage a grin and a “lovely, thanks”.

On the Underground, I’m so wary of being a bad citizen that I often give up my seat to people who aren’t pregnant, aren’t significantly older than me, and in some cases are far better equipped to stand than I am. If there’s one thing I am not, it’s any sort of provocateur. And yet now this: a feud.

And I don’t even know my enemy’s name.

She was on a bike when I accidentally entered her life. I was pushing a buggy and I wandered – rashly, in her view – into her path. There’s little doubt that I was to blame: walking on the road while in charge of a minor is not something encouraged by the Highway Code. In my defence, it was a quiet, suburban street; the cyclist was the only vehicle of any kind; and I was half a street’s length away from physically colliding with her. It was the misjudgment of a sleep-deprived parent rather than an act of malice.

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

I was stung by what someone on The Apprentice might refer to as her negative feedback, and walked on with a redoubled sense of the parental inadequacy that is my default state even at the best of times.

A sad little incident, but a one-off, you would think. Only a week later, though, I was walking in a different part of town, this time without the toddler and engrossed in my phone. Again, I accept my culpability in crossing the road without paying due attention; again, I have to point out that it was only a “close shave” in the sense that meteorites are sometimes reported to have “narrowly missed crashing into the Earth” by 50,000 miles. It might have merited, at worst, a reproving ting of the bell. Instead came a familiar voice. “IT’S YOU AGAIN!” she yelled, wrathfully.

This time the shock brought a retort out of me, probably the harshest thing I have ever shouted at a stranger: “WHY ARE YOU SO UNPLEASANT?”

None of this is X-rated stuff, but it adds up to what I can only call a vendetta – something I never expected to pick up on the way to Waitrose. So I am writing this, as much as anything, in the spirit of rapprochement. I really believe that our third meeting, whenever it comes, can be a much happier affair. People can change. Who knows: maybe I’ll even be walking on the pavement

Mark Watson is a stand-up comedian and novelist. His most recent book, Crap at the Environment, follows his own efforts to halve his carbon footprint over one year.

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood