Zionism is an idea, a concept, and it has never been one thing that people universally agree upon. From its very beginning, Zionism was a subject of debate and contention. There is a saying that where you have two Jews, you have at least three opinions. Zionism is a work in progress, an open concept, and in many ways it is a struggle. It is a struggle over identity, purpose, and values. It is a debate about what it means to build a national home for the Jewish people in the Land of Israel, and it continues to evolve with each generation.
The origin of Zionism is the ancient yearning of Jews to return to Zion, a longing expressed in prayers, songs, and rituals for thousands of years. However, in its modern rebirth in the late 1800s, Zionism emerged alongside many national aspiration movements awakening across Europe and beyond. It evolved in parallel with its twin movement – the Palestinian national movement. My first contention is that to understand Zionism without historical context, and specifically the connection to the Palestinian national movement, is to try to define a fruit without talking about its size, color, or flavor. The two movements are intertwined, and any meaningful discourse on Zionism must recognize this reality.
Zionism has always been a deeply personal and profoundly political identity for me. As I reflect on what Zionism means in 2025, I am compelled to situate it within my lived experiences as an Israeli, former combat soldier, and now a peace activist leading Mehazkim, a progressive digital movement in Israel. My journey through the complexities of identity, history, and conflict has shaped a vision of Zionism that is both rooted in its foundational values and adapted to the urgent realities of our time. It is a Zionism that acknowledges the intertwined destinies of Israelis and Palestinians, one that seeks justice, equality, and dignity for all who call this land home.
I was born into a generation that has been shaped by conflict. I came into this world during the First Intifada, grew up during the Second Intifada, and witnessed countless wars in Gaza. As a young man, I served as a combat soldier in the Israeli special forces, an experience that profoundly impacted my worldview. I served in the Gaza Strip, in the northern borders with Syria and Lebanon, and in the West Bank. I experienced combat, I lost friends and classmates. It was during my service that I began to see the human cost of the ongoing occupation and violence. I saw the fear, the pain, and the loss on both sides of the conflict. I walked into Palestinians’ homes, which reminded me of my grandparents’ house. I saw traumatized, crying Palestinian children, who looked just like my cousins. These experiences impelled me to take an active role in pursuing an end to the occupation, oppression, and violence.
But my understanding of Zionism goes deeper than my personal experiences. It is also shaped by my family’s story. My paternal grandparents were Iraqi Jews who fled Baghdad when it became unsafe for Jews to live there after the establishment of the State of Israel. They made their way to Iran, where my father was born. However, the Islamic Revolution in Iran in 1979 made life unsafe once again, and my father’s family became refugees for a second time, eventually immigrating to Israel. My mother’s family came to British Mandate Palestine in the 1930s from Poland and Romania, seeking refuge from rising antisemitism in Europe.
My wife, Shir, is half Yemenite and half Moroccan. Her grandparents left their homes in search of a safe and secure life. Shir and I live in Jaffa, a city that embodies the attempt of a shared life of Jews and Arabs. The variety of ethnicities, cultures, foods, and music that we experience daily is a source of strength and beauty. This diversity is what I love about my country, and it is what informs my belief that Zionism must be inclusive and just.
These personal histories remind me that the Jewish story is one of resilience and survival, but also of displacement and longing for a safe homeland. My grandparents’ experiences of being forced to leave their homes twice, and my wife’s family’s diverse heritage, underscore the importance of creating a society where everyone can live with dignity, security, and freedom. These stories shape my conviction that the security and prosperity of one people cannot come at the expense of another.
My Zionism is rooted in two foundational pillars
First, I believe that every people deserves a country. Zionism, at its core, is the belief in the right of the Jewish people to self-determination. But this right is not exclusive to Jews. The moral foundation on which modern Zionists claimed their right for a state is that this right extends to all national groups, including Palestinians. To deny Palestinians the right to self-determination is to undermine the legitimacy of Zionism itself. My Zionism compels me to support Palestinian statehood because it strengthens the moral foundation of the Zionist idea.
Second, Zionism is about securing a place where Jews can live free from persecution and fear. Despite the existence of the State of Israel, Jews are not yet safe. Antisemitism persists in Israel and around the world. But true safety will only be achieved when Palestinians are also safe. Our security is intertwined. We will only be free when our neighbors are free.
I fully recognize that not all Zionists, as well as non-Zionists, post-Zionists, and anti-Zionists, see Zionism as I see it. I am not romanticizing Zionism. I am painfully aware that a far-right Israeli government has taken the concept of Zionism and is trying to interpret it as Jewish supremacy. Moreover, this government has been misusing and abusing the legitimate fight against antisemitism to block and silence criticism of its dangerous, illegal, and immoral policies. I am part of an organization that is working toward expanding and redefining Zionism in just and moral terms. Zionism must be a force for good, rooted in justice and equality, not a tool for oppression or exclusion.
Zionism was a radical ideology. It aimed at creating something new, challenging the status quo, and reimagining the world. I think it is time that we do this again. I recognize that the concept of Zionism evokes among Palestinians the memories of displacement and dispossession, and that Zionism is the source of trauma, mistrust, and pain for many Palestinians. Trust is the foundation of any successful relationship, and it is sorely lacking in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Rebuilding trust requires a commitment to empathy, acknowledgment, and healing. We must diligently pursue ways to rehumanize one another and address the injustices and grievances that hold us back. This will mean a radical reimagining of how we carry ourselves today, and how we speak about the tomorrow we want to build here.This process of healing is not easy, and it will take time. But it is essential if we want to create a future where the next generations can live as closely and cooperatively as they choose. It is about acknowledging the pain and suffering of the past while working toward a shared and hopeful future.
The events of the past few years, from the COVID-19 pandemic to the war that began in 2023, have highlighted how interconnected we all are. Environmental, economic, and social changes do not stop at checkpoints or borders. We must build our desired life together, not because we must but because we choose to.
My Zionism is progressive, inclusive, and rooted in the pursuit of justice and equality. It is about belonging, not ownership. It is about standing up to bullies, oppressors, racists, and supremacists. It is about understanding that this land is not ours to own but ours to share.
Zionism in 2025 must be about building a future where all people in this land can live with dignity, security, and freedom. It is a vision that requires courage, empathy, and a commitment to justice. It is a vision I am committed to pursuing, for the sake of my generation and for the generations to come.■
Eran Nissan is an Israeli peace activist and CEO of Mehazkim, a progressive digital movement.