A music teacher form Be'ersheva gathers the compositions he plays with his students and transfers them to a school that suffered bombardments in Gaza during the last war and lost all of its music. The music sheets are transported with the help of a German friend who divides his time between Gaza and Israel. It might not be bread, but it's certainly food for the soul.

All complex works of music are born of the same seven notes, yet each musical piece is an original work that touches us in unique and exciting ways. The complex reality for the Palestinian and Israeli people is a melody that has not yet found its own harmony and is seeking to arrange its notes in a new way.

Last summer, before the war, I participated in a religious conference in Jerusalem. The conference, organized by the Inter-religious Coordinating Council of Israel, dealt with the question of what interfaith dialogue can contribute to building a peaceful relationship in the Holy Land.

I will not go into the details of the conference, although I do believe it is of immense importance. Instead, I will describe the feeling that accompanied me throughout the conference, a feeling that has become clear to me only now, almost one year after the fact.

The conference was attended by hundreds of people from the four corners of the earth who see peace as their life mission. I attended panels and lessons and I heard many words. To me, the auditorium where the conference took place was like an idealistic bubble that - if we lived according to it principles - would bring peace instantly. While there, I tried to discover what was so special about the space between these walls that was missing outside.

Many of the ideas and statements that I heard aroused in me a cynical and combative response. I worked hard to overcome this impulse so I that I could look at the ideas that I heard as important and worthwhile. I thought: What triggers this negative reaction? And is this a reaction which is felt among others when they hear of inter-religious dialogue for peace?

Perhaps when words seem empty like hot air - as happens all too often - we pay a heavy price. We stop believing in them. It becomes hard for us to fill them once again with meaning.

We hear the word "peace" again and again. We've heard the words "love" and "hope" so much they are banal. We revere leaders who promote the words "justice" and "peace," but then act in an unjust manner that only brings a lack of peace and quiet to our homes.

Like a child that grows up and loses the innocence of youth, so too do we lose our belief in these words and their significance. The desire for peace sounds mature and momentous. Yet each time an idea or program is proposed that might lead us to peace, we are promptly accused of naïve childishness.

Yet this innocence and faith is the force that motivates real and sincere peace processes that are happening this very moment among people in all corners of the world, but not among our own leaders.

I felt that the first thing I needed to do in order to be part of the conference was to break through the barrier of cynicism and listen to my naïve inner voice that loves people, truly desires peace and honestly asks: Why is it so easy to wage war but so hard to make peace?

And to the question of what was special about the conference, the answer should be clear: innocence. Innocence is what invigorated the words of the conference participants. And innocence is not a dirty word.

Yet the tones of reality are grating, giving rise to cynicism and frustration. And these tones serve to encourage warfare and prevent peace.

It is up to us to listen to reality, know it well and breathe new life into it from within. We must use the notes given to us while trying to rearrange the tones in a separate, harmonious fashion.

Cynicism is our enemy: the feeling that there is nothing to do, that there's no one to talk to, that nothing will help.

During the time of the war in Gaza I was living in Switzerland though, judging by the degree of intensity by which I followed the events, I would not have been surprised to wake up and find myself in Israel. I watched the Swiss news at every opportunity. I perused Israeli news sites and interrogated loved ones on the phone. I tried to assemble a picture that would be close to reality. This was no easy task. The complex situation obscures the pulse and we, struggling to breathe, choose one side in order to catch our breath.

For a moment, at a green coffee shop in cold Switzerland, I swung to the right.

"There is no one to talk to. They don't really want peace. We need to fight them till the end this time..." Who hasn't heard these statements pronounced automatically each time a new bout of violence erupts between us and our neighbors? These are statements that always lie in the background, drawn like weapons and fired in every direction. For an instant, out of envy for the Swiss nation which enjoys its coffee without the relentless questioning of its right to do so, without guilt, without conflict and complexities, I felt that I supported the actions of the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) in Gaza. But by the time I finished my coffee, that instant had passed, and I came back.

I did not stay there long, though perhaps long enough to feel how comfortable it is. How simple it is to hold on to an extreme belief with a simple answer. Extremism. Just relax, give in and forget the other side. No need to exert yourself and take account of the other. And while I made my way back to the left - a position which tries to see both sides and find a solution that will be just for all and not just for one - I realized how tiring and difficult it was. I sat on a bench. Perhaps this is the reason why not many people choose to stay there. It's much less convenient.

The distance from Israel was hard to bear and I found myself longing to return home. And so I returned. A home is not a matter of choice. Not for me and not for a daughter of Gaza. Reality is such that we both call the same ground home.

And now it is up to us to return to innocence. To renew words like "love" and "hope" and use them to meet together, to listen and compose a more stable reality: without set, square, routine slogans; with no more killed; without wars.

The desire for peace is one. That is where we need to meet.

The belief that we can change a given situation resides within us, the youth. We, who, though separated from childhood innocence, have not yet turned completely cynical and have yet to formulate a stable belief system that is difficult to shake and change. It is our task to begin an intellectual shif - a change in consciousness - to ignite a faith in all people that we can still change the world: That there is someone to talk to and there is something to talk about.

History is full of examples of major processes that changed the consciousness of people. Sometimes a grand gesture (like Anwar Sadat's decision to visit Israel) creates momentum that bursts through walls of enmity. Every so often a long process seeps deep and alters consciousness. Just this year the United States elected a black president. Years ago, no one believed that such a thing would happen, while this year also had its share of skeptics. But it happened. The American people altered its way of thinking and internalized the change which enabled it to act in total contrast to the way it had acted in the past.

In South Africa, it took many long years and one Nelson Mandela to start the change, but in the end, it arrived. Even the struggle for women's rights took many years and required a revolution in thought in order to propel it forward (and we've still got a long way to go). These same things are relevant to the struggle for gay and lesbian rights, the attitude towards people with disabilities, like those with mental handicaps (individuals who 200 years ago would be thrown into jail but today are granted equal status as human beings) and many more examples from political and social realms alike.

What can young people do to advance peace? To believe in it. To try all that we have not yet tried. And to go even further-to do the opposite of everything that has been done till now.

Behind history's major transformations, lie long processes and small initiatives. Each one of us can find the place where he draws energy from his belief in peace and contributes to the common effort, so that the Israeli- Palestinian conflict will also become an example of historic change that no one believed could happen.

The initiative to send music notes to Gaza was that of one individual. A friend who I told the story to responded, "How naïve." But when the music plays at the rehabilitated school, it must have warmed the heart of the Israeli teacher who decided on his own to donate to the residents of Gaza. We must discover ways to assist those hurt by the war on both sides, to meet with them in a place without connection to the conflict between us, to acknowledge what is common in us, in all of us. We must mobilize all of the resources within ourselves in order to do this. And when we are able to cooperate to help the other, we will also be joining together to help ourselves.

Translated from the Hebrew