Fifty-four years on this planet, the last thirty-two of them as a Jerusalemite, have taught me that the moral high ground that we “progressives” or leftists or peaceniks would so like to stand upon does not exist. There is no place from which I or anyone can say, “I’m OK, it’s the others who are wrong.” To be human is to be in the shit and be stained by it.

Here’s an example. When my spouse and I were looking to buy our first home in Jerusalem, in the late 1970s, we decided that we did not want to buy over the green line, in Jerusalem’s “new” neighborhoods. We were also put off by the idea of buying a fixer-upper; in those days, with the gentrification of Jerusalem’s pre-1948 Arab houses (hitherto largely occupied by refugees from the Old City and poor immigrants who had arrived in the mass aliyot) just getting started, you could buy rekhush natush (abandoned property) for the small sum we had at our disposal. Instead, we bought a square two-bedroom apartment in a prefab, in an old Jerusalem neighborhood, and we felt good about it—until the day when I met someone in the street who told me that he well remembered the three Arab houses that were knocked down to make room for the railroad block we lived in.

I’ve been an active supporter of the peace process, withdrawal from the territories, dialogue with Palestinians, social justice, etc. since before I came to Israel. I have two sons serving at this moment in the big, bad Israeli army, and a spouse who’s in the pay of Rabbis for Human Rights.

Let me say a few words about my older son. His first year and a half in the army was spent in a tough fighting unit. Among other things, he patrolled the streets of Hebron and took part in searches of Palestinian homes. When his unit—made up largely of kibbutzniks and youth movement graduates—was in Hebron, local human rights activists (our personal contacts) reported a noticeable drop in violations. My son reported that his four months in Hebron were hell, but he believed and still believes that the army’s work protects our citizens and must be done.

A few months ago, my son gratefully turned in his M-16 for a year of social service. Still wearing his army uniform, he now spends his days working in a Haifa center for homeless youth; both the permanent staff and the kids are multi-ethnic, Arabs and Jews.

While my son was in Hebron, we took a tour of the place organized by Bnei Avraham, a dedicated local group of human rights activists. We were shown the utter absurdity of the position of the Palestinians who have the misfortune to live in the area occupied by the settlers. Little girls on their way to school get stoned by little boys wearing ritual fringes—whom the soldiers are not allowed to restrain. Families have their homes vandalized and their backyards pelted with debris by settlers occupying the higher ground just above them.

A Palestinian Hebron householder told us that he has established a group championing democracy and coexistence. Yet Hebron is also a hotbed of terror activity.

So who are the good guys and who are the bad guys? Are we the good guys for providing moral support to the Palestinian co-existence champion? Are we the bad guys for bringing up three (idealistic) IDF soldiers?

And if all Israelis were to champion the Palestinian cause, would Hamas—his opponent—stop seeking the destruction of Israel? Hamas thinks in terms, not of five or ten years, but of centuries. In their view, they will outlive us. I respect them for this and can only hope they are wrong, though it means fighting them. Israelis are not all the same; neither are Palestinians. Some want coexistence; some want domination. Some are repelled by violence; others see it as a holy vehicle for overcoming the other side.

We Israelis, too, need to think in terms not of five or ten years, but of centuries. We need to envision the future we want to or are likely to live in (though the future never looks as one envisioned it); yet we are paralyzed, because we are divided more by the different futures we envision than by the present. We can neither shoot nor sweet-talk our way out of the contradictions and tragedies of now; and as for the status quo, it changes as we speak. The envisioning we need to do is not a simple imagination of how Israelis and Palestinians can share the land. Passions, faith, and blood must be taken into account.

So, I’m living contradictions, many of them at once. I’m deep in the shit, and deeply engaged. Sad, the more so in light of the events of the last few days—rockets in Sderot, bombings in Gaza, the massacre of teenagers in a yeshiva; and afraid for my children. And still, looking in the eyes of my idealistic youngsters, I believe in moving forward.