Hatikvah is a poverty-stricken neighborhood in Tel Aviv. Its streets are littered with garbage and its apartments scarred by neglect. Inside a tiny room here last summer, a small group of religious teens and an equally small group of their non-religious peers tore down corrosive walls. Their sweat, however, had nothing to do with construction. The walls they shattered were divisive stereotypes separating the dati (religiously observant) and hiloni (non-religious) communities since the birth of the Jewish state.

While their friends watched videos or hit the beach, members of Bnei Akiva, a religious youth movement, and HaTzofim, a secular scouting organization, not only learned about each other, but also collected, organized, and distributed books to impoverished kids. This innovative approach to bridging the divisions in Israeli society is the brainchild of Gesher, a non-profit organization in Jerusalem.

"We're religious and they're secular," mused Hanan Sonnino, 16, a participant from Ramat Gan. "When people are different from one another, there's tension."

That's why Nofar Marshak, a Gesher facilitator, began the month-long experience with icebreaker games. "We had to say who we most admire," explained Yahav Roth, 17. "I said I admire my rabbi, while one of the secular girls said she admired a pop singer." The rules of the game forbade them from being judgmental, Yahav recalled, so "we got to hear some of the differences between us, but in an interesting way."

When Shira Nesher, 16, from Tel Aviv, described how she read from the Torah when she celebrated her bat mitzvah, jaws dropped among the Bnei Akiva kids. "The girls told me that I wasn't supposed to," Shira recalls, "but I explained to them that there is more than one way to practice Judaism."

Unable to resist an opportunity to teach tolerance, Nofar piped up, "That's the goal of Gesher--to show that your way isn't the only way."

There were other surprises during the summer, says Adi Cohen. "I thought I would meet girls who didn't have any real connection to religion or the Jewish people," she laughs. "But I discovered something completely different."

During a break from unpacking a box of books for the neighborhood kids, the group sliced up a juicy watermelon and hungrily chomped into it. As seeds flew everywhere, someone pointed out that the messy group was planting seeds of unity and understanding.

"When we thought about ideas for projects," says Hila Cohana, a member of Bnei Akiva, "we wanted to do something together with secular kids, because living together in harmony is the most important challenge for Israel now."

Harmony is created by weaving diverse things into one, chimes Adi. "It comes from learning about the other person, about their beliefs, about their characteristics."

These idealistic teens believe that Israeli youth have the power to create a symphony out of the religious discord that plagues their country, and they're willing to be conductors. "It's a mitzvah for us to get along, because the Torah says, 'v'ahavta l'reiakha kamokha (you shall love your neighbor as yourself),'" Yahav says. "We're doing a good deed, we're building something," he adds.

Israeli society is taking note of what is happening within small groups like this one. "When our parents heard what we were doing, it suddenly opened new ways of thinking for them," Hila says.

"We can bring two worlds together," Adi Melamed says. "The religious and secular may not want to mingle, but we're making connections two people at a time."