What happens when ideology becomes more important than the people? - opinion

A Jewish town is attacked. Agitators have just entered. Suddenly, three SUVs pull in. They have Palestinian license plates. Keffiyehs around their necks. One man holds a selfie stick. A Jewish resident tells them to stop. Asks them the purpose of their visit. Requests they turn around.

What is the appropriate response when the driver hesitates?

That happened to me this week. Except I was in the car. It wasn’t a Jewish town. It was Arab. We weren’t wearing keffiyehs, but our drivers wore kippot. Israeli flags hung from our rear-view mirrors. When the Arab resident politely asked us to turn around, we hesitated before agreeing.

Except I didn’t know. I assumed we’d only go to Area C. I wasn’t in the car that spoke to the Arab resident. I didn’t hear what he said. I only saw frantic gesticulations. I felt only fear, dread, and confusion.

This week I was invited on a tour to Area C in the West Bank. I was told we’d see the mansions the Palestinian Authority was building and that we’d have an experienced field coordinator who had IDF approval.

Suddenly, I found myself entering an Arab village in a convoy of three cars. A resident asked us to turn around. I never heard the conversation. When a crowd surrounded us, I assumed he intended harm.

When we finally escaped under threat of attack, our story went viral instantly. A Knesset candidate was the victim of aggression! This must prove settler violence is a hoax!

Even my first video reflected that same assumption. I, too, had already begun interpreting what happened through a narrative I thought I understood.

I never heard the Arab resident ask us to leave.

It was only in the coming hours when the adrenaline subsided. When everyone began to post videos of the incident. That I began to piece together what actually happened.

And what happened?

I was a victim of a terror attack. A mob encircled me. Boulders were thrown at my car. It missed my car’s window by centimeters. I thought I was going to die. I’ve woken up in middle of the night screaming. But I garnered no sympathy.

Both sides asked, “Why were you there?” And they are correct. Why was I there?

Imagine agreeing to a trip based on the itinerary you were given, only to find yourself somewhere you hadn’t understood you would be going. To be met with violence, fear, and terror. And when you share your experience, you’re told you should have expected it.

Nobody sympathizes with you. You can barely sympathize with yourself.

Caught between competing narratives

The right says you deserved it for calling it the West Bank. The left says you deserved it for agreeing to go. The world says it should have been worse because you’re a Jew. But you’re only there because your friend told you it was an opportunity to learn.

And suddenly, you’ve never been more confused.

Because what if three SUVs entered a Jewish village with Palestinian license plates?

Everyone tells influencers that they have a responsibility. You must document. You must show. And when we’re pressured to do just that, we’re told we risked our lives for attention.

But who actually benefits from the attention we bring?

What happens when the narrative becomes more important than those who experienced it?

Thirty-one years ago, Yitzhak Rabin was assassinated by a Jew who opposed the peace process he championed. Rabin was also one of the architects of the Oslo Accords. A contributor to the current reality in the West Bank. The confusion between Area A, Area B, and Area C. A division he thought would finally bring peace.

But people were afraid. Afraid for the Jewish future. Afraid of what this division of land would bring.

An area of land so misunderstood that I agreed to go on an educational trip to hear a new perspective. The trip was described as an opportunity to see the “Palestinian Authority’s efforts to… advance a de facto state in Area C.”

A scary reality. A reality that deserves to be shown. A reality influencers are pressured to portray – the truth.

But what is the truth?

Does the truth change based on the ideology of the people delivering it?

How far will an ideology go to deliver its message?

And what happens when you didn’t consent to be the messenger?

Thirty-one years later, is the legacy of the Jewish state still stained by those that can’t separate an ideology from the person delivering it?

The writer is an accidental hasbara content creator. Originally from New York, she graduated from Columbia with a degree in biomedical engineering before making aliyah and enlisting in the IDF after October 7. She now hopes to follow in the footsteps of her great-grandfather, Ben-Gurion’s private doctor, and practice medicine in the hospitals he helped create.