Testing Friendship Amid War

No politics in the pool.

That’s always been the unspoken rule, and the Israeli and Palestinian teenagers in the Greater Jerusalem swim club have abided by it forever without even thinking.

The teens live on opposite sides of Jerusalem, coming together six afternoons a week to train at the Y.M.C.A. After two hours of laps, they plunge into a Jacuzzi, where they joke around for a few minutes before calling it a day.

For years, they’ve swum together, gone on beach outings together, barbecued together. The best Jewish swimmers represent Israel in international meets. The best Palestinian swimmers compete at meets in the Arab world.

“We don’t think about the team as Israelis and Palestinians,” says Avishag Ozeri, 16, an Israeli swimmer. “It is so normal to be together.”

No politics in the pool.

That’s always been the unspoken rule. The Israeli and Palestinian teenagers in the Greater Jerusalem swim club have abided by it forever without even thinking.

The teens live on opposite sides of Jerusalem. They come together six afternoons a week to train at the Y.M.C.A. After two hours of laps, they plunge into a Jacuzzi. They joke around for a few minutes before calling it a day.

For years, they’ve swum together. They have gone on beach outings together and barbecued together. The best Jewish swimmers represent Israel in international meets. The best Palestinian swimmers compete at meets in the Arab world.

“We don’t think about the team as Israelis and Palestinians,” says Avishag Ozeri, 16, an Israeli swimmer. “It is so normal to be together.”

But then came October 7. That day, armed members of Hamas from the Gaza Strip breached Israel’s border, killed more than 1,200 Israeli civilians and soldiers, took more than 200 hostages, and injured countless others, according to Israeli authorities. Videos of the attack show Hamas fighters rampaging through villages, torching houses, shooting at civilians at close range, and hunting down partygoers at an outdoor concert.

In response, Israel declared war against Hamas, launching airstrikes and a ground invasion of Gaza. As of early January, more than 23,000 Palestinians had been killed in the fighting and another 57,000 injured, according to Gaza health officials. Entire neighborhoods have been leveled by Israeli shelling, around 2 million Palestinians have fled the fighting, and the United Nations has repeatedly warned of a humanitarian disaster.

These events have turned life in Jerusalem upside down—and they’ve tested the swim team’s unspoken rule.

But then came October 7. That day, armed members of Hamas from the Gaza Strip breached Israel’s border. They killed more than 1,200 Israeli civilians and soldiers. They took more than 200 hostages and injured countless others, according to Israeli authorities. Videos of the attack show Hamas fighters rampaging through villages. They torched houses, shot civilians at close range and hunted down partygoers at an outdoor concert.

In response, Israel declared war against Hamas. They launched airstrikes and a ground invasion of Gaza. As of early January, more than 23,000 Palestinians had been killed in the fighting. Another 57,000 have been injured, according to Gaza health officials. Entire neighborhoods have been leveled by Israeli shelling. Around 2 million Palestinians have fled the fighting. The United Nations has repeatedly warned of a humanitarian disaster.

These events have turned life in Jerusalem upside down. They’ve tested the swim team’s unspoken rule.

Jerusalem is Israel’s capital and the entire city is controlled by Israel, but it’s a place with deep divisions (see map, above). West Jerusalem has traditionally been the Jewish side of the city, and East Jerusalem—which until the Six-Day War in 1967 was controlled by neighboring Jordan—has been the Palestinian side. The swimmers train at the Y.M.C.A., a Christian nonprofit open to people of all faiths, in West Jerusalem.

Emanuel May, 70, the team’s longtime volunteer coach, says his passion isn’t to produce winners. It’s to foster unity among young people in Jerusalem, a city where Israelis and Palestinians regularly interact in the daily life of shops, restaurants, and university classrooms—but remain divided by festering conflict.

“The spirit here is to swim together, just human beings,” May says.

Jerusalem is Israel’s capital. The entire city is controlled by Israel. But it’s a place with deep divisions (see map, above). West Jerusalem has traditionally been the Jewish side of the city. East Jerusalem, which until the Six-Day War in 1967 was controlled by neighboring Jordan, has been the Palestinian side. The swimmers train at the Y.M.C.A. It’s a Christian nonprofit, open to people of all faiths, in West Jerusalem.

Emanuel May, 70, is the team’s longtime volunteer coach. He says that his passion isn’t to produce winners. It’s to foster unity among young people in Jerusalem. Jerusalem is a city where Israelis and Palestinians regularly interact in the daily life of shops, restaurants, and university classrooms—but remain divided by festering conflict.

“The spirit here is to swim together, just human beings,” May says.

Four years ago, the team, which operates on a shoestring budget, won a small grant from the Jerusalem Foundation, an organization that tries to bridge religious and cultural divides in the city. The swim team appealed to the foundation’s president, Shai Doron, because, as he sees it, “swimming brings people together in the most natural way.”

In the pool, Doron says, “It’s impossible to tell who’s a Jew and an Arab. There are no symbols that identify you, like a skullcap or a hijab. You’re almost naked.”

At the Y.M.C.A., younger Israeli and Palestinian children take swim lessons separately because they lack a common language. Once they are about 8 or 9 and communicating in Hebrew and English, they begin to work out together. The strongest swimmers join the Greater Jerusalem team.

Shams Srour, 14, a Palestinian girl, says she hopes to do just that.

“I want to compete, and I feel very comfortable here,” she says. “I’ve been training with Jews since I was little. It’s normal.”

The team operates on a small budget. Four years ago, it won a small grant from the Jerusalem Foundation. It’s an organization that tries to bridge religious and cultural divides in the city. The swim team appealed to the foundation’s president, Shai Doron. As Doron sees it, “swimming brings people together in the most natural way.”

In the pool, Doron says, “It’s impossible to tell who’s a Jew and an Arab. There are no symbols that identify you, like a skullcap or a hijab. You’re almost naked.”

At the Y.M.C.A., younger Israeli and Palestinian children take swim lessons separately. That’s because they lack a common language. Once they are about 8 or 9 and communicating in Hebrew and English, they begin to work out together. The strongest swimmers join the Greater Jerusalem team.

Shams Srour, 14, a Palestinian girl, says she hopes to do just that.

“I want to compete, and I feel very comfortable here,” she says. “I’ve been training with Jews since I was little. It’s normal.”

The October 7 attacks tested that normalcy in ways that the team is still processing.

The next day, Mustafa Abdu, 18, one of the Muslim swimmers on the Greater Jerusalem team, uploaded a photograph to his Instagram account. The photo showed an angelic, unidentified Palestinian child being carried by men wearing anguished expressions. The child was enshrouded in a white cloth that Muslims use for the deceased.

A caption above the picture read, “Where were the people calling for humanity when we were killed?”

Mustafa also posted a blurb in stark block letters that said, “If you’re not careful, the newspapers will have you hating the people who are being oppressed, and loving the people who are doing the oppressing.”

The swimmers on the team follow one another on Instagram, and Avishag was shocked when she spotted the posts. She immediately called Shira Chuna, a 16-year-old teammate, to express her outrage.

The October 7 attacks tested that normalcy in ways that the team is still processing.

The next day, Mustafa Abdu, 18, one of the Muslim swimmers on the Greater Jerusalem team, uploaded a photograph to his Instagram account. The photo showed an angelic, unidentified Palestinian child being carried by men with suffering expressions. The child was wrapped in a white cloth that Muslims use for the deceased.

A caption above the picture read, “Where were the people calling for humanity when we were killed?”

Mustafa also posted a blurb in stark block letters. It said, “If you’re not careful, the newspapers will have you hating the people who are being oppressed, and loving the people who are doing the oppressing.”

The swimmers on the team follow one another on Instagram. Avishag was shocked when she spotted the posts. She immediately called Shira Chuna, a 16-year-old teammate, to express her outrage.

Then she texted Mustafa in an exchange that she later shared with The New York Times.

“Musta, do you know how bad the situation is in Israel right now? I respect what you have to say, I’m truly asking you.”

Mustafa replied: Did she think, like some people on social media, that all Palestinians were murderers?

“I didn’t say you were Musta,” Avishag wrote back. “It’s the Hamas organization. And my people have been murdered by the Hamas.”

Children, older people, entire families had been slaughtered or kidnapped, she said. “I saw videos that are never going to leave my mind,” she said, offering to forward them if he wanted, but saying that she didn’t recommend watching them.

“Av,” he wrote, “first thing, we are not the murder,” he said. “Israel was attacking us from a long time, and everybody know that.”

“What???,” she asked. “With all the respect, that’s not true.”

He said, “Always we are wrong and always you are the right.”

“That’s not what I said,” Avishag responded. “Right now Hamas are in the wrong.”

She told him to tell her if he wanted the videos. She wanted to prove her point, but also to preserve their friendship. She texted him, “I have to ask if we are cool?”

He placed a heart on her message and typed “yes” in Spanish. She hearted his message, too. It seemed they had achieved an uneasy peace, although they couldn’t be sure until they swam together again.

Then she texted Mustafa in an exchange that she later shared with The New York Times.

“Musta, do you know how bad the situation is in Israel right now? I respect what you have to say, I’m truly asking you.”

Mustafa replied: Did she think, like some people on social media, that all Palestinians were murderers?

“I didn’t say you were Musta,” Avishag wrote back. “It’s the Hamas organization. And my people have been murdered by the Hamas.”

Children, older people, entire families had been slaughtered or kidnapped, she said. “I saw videos that are never going to leave my mind,” she said, offering to forward them if he wanted, but saying that she didn’t recommend watching them.

“Av,” he wrote, “first thing, we are not the murder,” he said. “Israel was attacking us from a long time, and everybody know that.”

“What???,” she asked. “With all the respect, that’s not true.”

He said, “Always we are wrong and always you are the right.”

“That’s not what I said,” Avishag responded. “Right now Hamas are in the wrong.”

She told him to tell her if he wanted the videos. She wanted to prove her point. But also she wanted to preserve their friendship. She texted him, “I have to ask if we are cool?”

He placed a heart on her message and typed “yes” in Spanish. She hearted his message, too. It seemed they had achieved an uneasy peace. Although they couldn’t be sure until they swam together again.

In the following days, as Israel prepared to invade, it launched airstrikes on Gaza and continued to block food, fuel, and other supplies from reaching the 2 million people crowded into the narrow strip of land between Israel and Egypt. Hamas continued to fire rockets at Israel.

On October 11 came another Instagram post, this one from a different Palestinian member of the swim team. “The victory of Allah is near,” the post said. (The swimmer did not agree to participate in this article.)

When Shira saw what he had written, she says, “I felt like they betrayed our friendship, like I trust them so much.”

As soon as May, the team’s coach, learned about the posts shared by Mustafa and the other swimmer, he promptly contacted them. Both immediately deleted the posts.

“I took it down, because I respect them,” Mustafa says. “I don’t want to talk about the war. I just want to talk about swimming.”

In the following days, as Israel prepared to invade, it launched airstrikes on Gaza. It continued to block food, fuel, and other supplies from reaching the 2 million people crowded into the narrow strip of land between Israel and Egypt. Hamas continued to fire rockets at Israel.

On October 11 came another Instagram post. This one came from a different Palestinian member of the swim team. “The victory of Allah is near,” the post said. (The swimmer did not agree to participate in this article.)

When Shira saw what he had written, she says, “I felt like they betrayed our friendship, like I trust them so much.”

May, the team’s coach, learned about the posts shared by Mustafa and the other swimmer. He promptly contacted them. Both immediately deleted the posts.

“I took it down, because I respect them,” Mustafa says. “I don’t want to talk about the war. I just want to talk about swimming.”

By the time the swimmers reported to the pool again on October 16, the death toll from Israeli bombardments in Gaza was rapidly rising. The atrocities that Hamas had committed also continued to convulse Israeli society. But would the conflict divide the team?

“I told myself, I’m going to behave as normal,” says Alex Finkel, 17. “Outside it’s a bit scary, but I grew up with the Palestinians. I’ll do everything we always do, and that’s it.”

Before practice, May convened a team meeting. “No one here supports terror,” he recalls telling the swimmers. “No taking sides.”

In the pool, the teenagers kicked into high gear, training vigorously to make up for missed practices. But there was no teasing, joking, or chatting between drills. A heaviness hung over them.

Yet the deep bonds formed over years were still there. By the next day, several swimmers say, the atmosphere had lightened. The tensions appeared to have dissipated, or at least been submerged.

Within a few weeks, it was impossible to distinguish Israeli from Palestinian swimmers. They all wore goggles and swim caps as they completed sets of freestyle and breaststroke. Conversations were cheerful and safe. Alex teased Mustafa about beating him at butterfly.

By the time the swimmers reported to the pool again on October 16, the death toll from Israeli bombardments in Gaza was rapidly rising. The atrocities that Hamas had committed also continued to convulse Israeli society. But would the conflict divide the team?

“I told myself, I’m going to behave as normal,” says Alex Finkel, 17. “Outside it’s a bit scary, but I grew up with the Palestinians. I’ll do everything we always do, and that’s it.”

Before practice, May convened a team meeting. “No one here supports terror,” he recalls telling the swimmers. “No taking sides.”

In the pool, the teenagers kicked into high gear. They started training vigorously to make up for missed practices. But there was no teasing, joking, or chatting between drills. A heaviness hung over them.

Yet the deep bonds formed over years were still there. By the next day, several swimmers say, the atmosphere had lightened. The tensions appeared to have dissipated. Or at least been submerged.

Within a few weeks, it was impossible to distinguish Israeli from Palestinian swimmers. They all wore goggles and swim caps as they completed sets of freestyle and breaststroke. Conversations were cheerful and safe. Alex teased Mustafa about beating him at butterfly.

At one point, when Avishag did not wait long enough before pushing off the wall, she touched Mustafa’s toes with her fingers as she completed a stroke. Mustafa turned, and gave her a look as if to say “Really?” before resuming. Avishag broke into a playful smile.

Shortly after Israeli forces entered Gaza in late October, Shira learned that her cousin, a soldier, had been killed, just two days shy of turning 21. She missed a couple days of swim practice. Upon Shira’s return, Mustafa approached her to say he was sorry for her loss.

“I felt he cared,” she says.

As a recent practice wrapped up, Mustafa emerged from the pool, pulled off his purple cap, and headed to the Jacuzzi with the rest of the team.

“This is my second family,” he says. “If we have a problem, we fix it like a team.”

At one point, Avishag did not wait long enough before pushing off the wall. She touched Mustafa’s toes with her fingers as she completed a stroke. Mustafa turned. He gave her a look as if to say “Really?” before resuming. Avishag broke into a playful smile.

Shortly after Israeli forces entered Gaza in late October, Shira learned that her cousin, a soldier, had been killed. He was just two days shy of turning 21. She missed a couple days of swim practice. Upon Shira’s return, Mustafa approached her. He said he was sorry for her loss.

“I felt he cared,” she says.

As a recent practice wrapped up, Mustafa emerged from the pool. He pulled off his purple cap. And he headed to the Jacuzzi with the rest of the team.

“This is my second family,” he says. “If we have a problem, we fix it like a team.”

^{Miriam Jordan is a correspondent for The Times. Additional reporting by Patricia Smith.}

^{Miriam Jordan is a correspondent for The Times. Additional reporting by Patricia Smith.}