I come from Sri Lanka—a country that endured nearly thirty years of brutal conflict with the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam. The LTTE claimed to be a resistance movement, fighting for rights and dignity. But what I witnessed told a far more painful story—one that still lives inside me.

During the conflict, I saw Tamil families—friends—lose everything. I remember pickup trucks passing through our streets, carrying people who had once lived normal lives, now displaced, their homes demolished. One moment has never left me: a close Tamil friend being driven past my house, tears streaming down her cheeks. We waved at each other—silently, helplessly—not knowing if we would ever meet again.

Some sources claim that following the 1983 anti-Tamil riots in Sri Lanka (known as “Black July”), an estimated 400,000 to over 800,000 Sri Lankan Tamils emigrated or were displaced, sparking a massive, multi-wave exodus that formed a global diaspora.

While the immediate aftermath of the riots in July/August 1983 caused an initial exodus of around 100,000, the ensuing 26-year civil war resulted in a cumulative total exceeding 800,000 to 1 million Tamils leaving the island.

That is what terrorism does. It does not liberate. It uproots. It fractures. It leaves behind generations of trauma.

But here is something equally important—something the world often misunderstands.

A Nation That Refused to Hate

The war in Sri Lanka did not ultimately divide Tamils, Sinhalese, and Muslims at their core. We were not raised to hate one another. Even in the darkest moments, there remained an understanding—sometimes fragile, but real—that the terrorist is not the same as the community.

There were grave injustices. One of the most painful was when over 10,000 Muslims living in Jaffna were forced to leave their homes overnight by the LTTE—displaced in a single act of ruthless expulsion. And yet, despite such trauma, Sri Lanka as a nation has continued to strive toward coexistence.

We learned, slowly and imperfectly, to discern between those who carried out violence and the broader communities they claimed to represent.

That discernment matters.

Because when societies lose that distinction, hatred spreads far beyond the battlefield.

Today, despite tensions that sometimes surface at the peripheries, Sri Lanka stands as a place where communities continue to live side by side—imperfectly, but together. That is not accidental. It is a choice.

When “Resistance” Turns on Its Own People

Today, as I watch the actions of Hamas, I see echoes of that past.

Both the LTTE and Hamas emerged from real grievances. But both chose methods that ultimately devastated the very communities they claimed to defend.

The LTTE pioneered suicide bombings, assassinations, and the use of civilians as shields. Hamas embeds itself within civilian populations, ensuring that ordinary people bear the cost of its actions.

Terrorism is not a pathway to dignity. It is a machinery of suffering.

By the end of Sri Lanka’s war in 2009, over 49,000 people were killed in its final stages, and more than 100,000 were missing or unaccounted for. The LTTE was defeated militarily.

But military victory did not heal the nation.

It is widely understood that Israel shared security expertise with Sri Lanka during its fight against terrorism. Yet today, there is growing hostility toward Israel in parts of Sri Lankan society.

Ignorance. Distance. And the spread of simplified narratives that flatten complex realities into slogans.

We are living in an age where emotion often replaces understanding—and where secondhand outrage becomes a substitute for lived experience.

Faith, History, and Shared Roots

In Jerusalem, I signed a declaration with interfaith leaders representing a large body of American Muslims  and the Jerusalem Interfaith Center led by Rabbi Yakov Nagen and Rabbi Aharon Lavi followed by a Memorandum of Understanding with Tom Wegner CEO of the Global Abrahamic Movement-  exploring the commonalities between the Abrahamic faiths. It was a powerful reminder that our divisions are often louder than our connections.

The Quran refers to Bani Israel many times. The prophets of Judaism are also prophets in Islam. These are not minor details—they are foundational truths that can anchor coexistence.

History reinforces this lesson.

After the devastating Kalinga war, Emperor Ashoka walked through a battlefield filled with death, grief, and unimaginable suffering. Seeing mothers searching for their children and entire communities destroyed, he made a radical choice—he turned away from violence.

Ashoka chose compassion over conquest. He fed former enemies, built systems of care, and governed with moral responsibility.

He did not erase the past. He transformed because of it.

There are hundreds of Palestinians today actively seeking peace. Their voices must be elevated—not overshadowed by extremism.

Israel’s challenge is not only to defend itself, but to build a pathway beyond conflict. Sri Lanka’s experience teaches us that defeating terror is only one step. Rebuilding trust is the real work.

The United States must also evolve in its leadership. What if we invested in peacebuilding with the same urgency as defense? A Department of Peace is no longer an abstract idea—it is a necessary one.

I have stood in Jerusalem, where faith meets history, and in Washington, D.C., where global decisions are made.

In both places, I have seen the same truth:

The potential for peace is real.

But potential is not enough.

Yesterday, I stepped into the Art of Living Center—a sanctuary created by Sri Sri Ravi Shankar, known as Gurudev—where the very air seems to carry a quiet insistence on peace. In that stillness, guided through 45 minutes of meditation, a realization long held, sharpened: the world is not only fractured by conflict, but by the absence of unifying moral leadership.

In conversation with my colleague, it became clear that beyond policies and politics, humanity is yearning for a voice that can rise above division—a leader who speaks a language deeper than ideology, one rooted in hope, love, unity, and solidarity. Not a leader of one nation or one people, but one who reminds us of our shared humanity and calls us back to it with courage and clarity.

Terrorism can never win—not because it cannot destroy, but because it cannot build.

From Sri Lanka to Gaza, I carry the image of a friend in a passing truck, tears falling, future unknown. That moment reminds me that behind every conflict are human beings—fragile, hopeful, and deserving of more than endless war.

The world does not need more sides. It needs more discernment. It needs more courage. It needs more peacemakers.

The time has come—from Jerusalem to Washington—to move from war rooms to peace tables.

Not as enemies. But as human beings, ready to choose a different path.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)