Between 2008 and 2013, I lived in kibbutzim along the Gaza border. I was an animation student, living inside a campus bubble while Red Alert sirens and rocket fire became a surreal, anxiety-inducing routine. In those years, I never stopped to think about Gaza, or the people living there. The disconnect was total. Not from indifference, but from the same survival mechanism I had learned from the environment: don’t look there.

The change came when I flew over the area in a hot-air balloon, as part of my work. Suddenly, from above, the physical truth hit me: they are right here. Within touching distance, an entire population. A different culture, one I knew almost nothing about.

After October 7th, creating a film about this connection seemed impossible. The abyss felt deeper than ever. But then something unexpected happened: I began corresponding with a stop-motion animator in Gaza, who makes films with children. Inside the impossible, I found a colleague – empathetic and skilled. We exchanged tips on teaching animation, shared our difficulties, and wished each other only quiet.

One Sea was born from that wish. It is not naive. I know that reality is complicated. But I believe that stories, and especially stories for children, are where we are allowed to imagine otherwise. What shatters fear, here and everywhere, is always the same thing: the moment we discover we know the same song.