How the Willy Brandt Center Enables Dialogue in Jerusalem
For over two decades, the Willy Brandt Center (WBC) has fostered exchange and mutual understanding in the heart of a deeply divided city – as part of a joint Civil Peace Service programme with Pro Peace. In a place marked by fear, conflict and uncertainty, how can space for honest encounters remain open? Three team members share insights into their daily work and show how dialogue is possible — even under the most challenging conditions.
A Safe Space in Uncertain Times
Since its founding in the hopeful years after the Oslo Accords of the 1990s, the WBC has been a place for dialogue, exchange, and shared learning. It was created with the vision of a more peaceful future, offering space for young people from Palestine, Israel, and Germany to speak openly—sometimes controversially—about social and political issues.
The place is shaped by a team of people working closely together. We met with three of them: local finance staff member Ruba Qareen, project manager Moran Chen-Spitzer and Marlene Hahnenwald, an international peace worker responsible for arts and culture projects. In conversation with them, we gained insight into their work and the meaning of a center that brings hope to a conflicted city.
The center’s location in Abu Tor is no coincidence. Situated between East and West Jerusalem, it is accessible for people from Palestinian and Israeli neighborhoods of the city. Thus it also mirrors the city’s deep political and social divides. While Abu Tor is often described as one of the few areas where Jewish and Palestinian residents of Israel live side by side, this coexistence is based on the displacement of Palestinians from this neighbourhood and shaped by structural inequalities. Ruba remembers: "From the beginning, our presence here was challenging. We weren't always welcomed—neither by the Israeli nor the Palestinian side. But we found our own way. Over the years, we’ve built acceptance and trust in the community."
Even today—with rising tensions, political restrictions, and the latest escalation in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict—the WBC remains a safe place for meetings, exchange and creative expression.
I don't think hope is just something that appears out of nowhere. It doesn't come on its own. We have to build hope—step by step, sometimes against resistance. It's not handed to us. We have to shape it, again and again.
Encounters That Change Perspectives
Ruba grew up in a neighbourhood in East Jerusalem – as a Palestinian without Israeli citizenship, whose early years were shaped by conflict and fear. Her childhood coincided with the First Intifada. "My earliest memories are of military vehicles, tear gas, stones and soldiers," she says. It wasn’t until she began working at the WBC in 2010 that her perspective began to shift: "I started to realize that Israelis aren’t just soldiers—I began to see them as people."
Ruba Quaraeen, Moran Chen-Spitzer and Marlene Hahnenwald on the rooftop terrace of Pro Peace's head office in cologne.
Moran, a Jewish Israeli and today a project manager at the WBC, also experienced a major change in perspective. Growing up in southern Israel, the conflict always seemed distant to her—something happening far away from her own life. That changed when she moved to Jerusalem: "Once I started studying at the university here, it became impossible not to see the occupation." A key moment for her was a dialogue seminar in Germany: "In Cologne, I met Palestinian students from Ramallah, Bethlehem, and Jenin for the first time. That experience changed my life." She has now worked in the field of Israeli-Palestinian dialogue for over 20 years.
Hope in the Midst of Crisis
But following the October 2023 Hamas attack and subsequent war on Gaza, Moran had to ask herself: how can meaningful encounters happen when violence and fear are everywhere?
"For safety reasons, we had to close the center at first," she recalls. "I still remember those first weeks in November. No one came. The center was empty. I thought, what now? Who would even want to come here under these conditions?" Then something unexpected happened: people reached out. They wanted to come back and reconnect.
One moment that especially moved Moran was when a group of Palestinian women returned to the center, despite the risks. "They could have cancelled, but they really wanted to be here—in person, together. Watching them travel across the city just to be with one another, that touched me deeply." In a city like Jerusalem, where political tensions are reinforced by visible borders, checkpoints, and access restrictions, this kind of choice is anything but simple.
Art as a Shared Language
Besides dialogue and education work, art plays a key role at the WBC—especially when direct conversation becomes harder. "I believe we need spaces where people can simply be together," says Marlene. "That’s where art and culture have real power. They let people share a space without the pressure of having to agree—or even having to find the right words."
This became particularly evident in the project No Words, which emerged in cooperation with the cultural center FeelBeit shortly after October 7, at a time when many people felt speechless. "No one knew how to respond or what to do. People were paralyzed," Marlene recalls. Instead of trying to explain or fix anything, they came together to make music—to simply be present with one another.
"There’s deep pain on both sides," she says. "Real dialogue can only happen when there’s room for grief and healing. Without that space, it’s hard—or sometimes impossible—to stay open to someone else’s perspective."
Art succeeds in bringing people from different backgrounds together and initiating dialogue.
Despite all the challenges, the WBC team remains committed. They often ask themselves: is our work still relevant? Is it even possible under these conditions? Doubts are part of everyday life—and yet, dialogue continues to happen in many different forms.
Safety in the Shadows
The political climate makes the work even harder. In increasingly repressive conditions, many activities have to be planned with great care. "Even just showing a willingness to talk is risky right now—both politically and socially," says Ruba. The Israeli government is actively trying to shut down exactly these kinds of spaces. One example: a proposed law would impose an 80 percent tax on foreign donations—a move that would threaten the financial survival of many civil society organizations. The risks are even greater for Palestinians, who face severe restrictions on their freedom of expression and are often not even allowed to participate in protests.
The fear is real: fear of being watched, punished or even harmed. That’s why the WBC now operates mostly under the radar. Events are not announced publicly but are shared through personal networks and private channels like WhatsApp and E-mail groups. The goal remains the same: to create safe spaces for encounter—even if it has to happen in the shadows.
Language as a Bridge
One way this happens is through the WBC’s language program. Many Palestinians in East Jerusalem speak little Hebrew or none at all, even though they face it daily in schools, hospitals, and government offices. The consequences are serious. "If you don’t speak the language, you can’t understand your rights—or defend them," says Moran.
Women are especially affected. While many men work in Jewish areas of the city and learn Hebrew through their jobs, women often stay in their neighborhoods, managing childcare, medical appointments, and paperwork—often without enough language skills. To address this, the WBC offers Hebrew classes specifically for women from East Jerusalem.
At the same time, the WBC also offers Arabic courses for Jewish Israelis—because language is more than just a tool. As Moran puts it, it’s "a bridge that breaks down prejudice and lets you see the other as human."
Breaking down language barriers is one of the main concerns of the Willy Brandt Center.
Still, language alone isn’t enough. Moran is convinced that a shared society can only grow on the basis of equal rights. In Jerusalem, that’s far from reality: while Israeli citizens have full rights, many Palestinian residents of East Jerusalem, which is illegally annexed by Israel, only have permanent residency—without the same legal Protektion.
A Quiet but Powerful Statement
It’s precisely in this difficult reality that spaces like the Willy Brandt Center matter most. They create places where people not only learn each other’s languages, but also meet as equals—despite all their differences and the deep inequality. These are small, but meaningful steps toward a bigger goal.
"At times, as I leave our center in the evening after an event or activity, I feel a sense of cautious optimism. The vision of Jerusalem as a shared city—where Palestinians, Israelis, Germans and various communities coexist—is already unfolding under our roof," says Moran.
It’s this vision that drives her and her colleagues, day by day. Despite all the obstacles. That’s the strength of the Willy Brandt Center: It creates space for voices that are often ignored. It listens, even when others turn away. And it proves that dialogue isn’t just possible—it’s essential.
"Some say what we do is only symbolic," says Marlene. "But I truly believe it is real. We’re creating a different reality. And that has power. It’s the only way forward."
