Confronting Hatred at 30,000 Feet

Yesterday, I flew home from Miami on a three-hour flight to Detroit. A woman, who later told me she was 67 years old, sat down next to me. Normally, I don’t engage much during flights. I’ll exchange pleasantries, but it’s usually my time to catch up on work, watch a movie, or sleep. However, this woman was chatty. She asked if I lived in Detroit, and I shared where I was from. She mentioned she lived in Dearborn. Then she asked if I was born in the United States, to which I replied that I was. It felt like an invitation to ask her where she was born, so I did. She told me she was born in Lebanon.

I could have ended the conversation there, put on my headphones, and immersed myself in a movie. But I knew exactly what I was walking into, and despite that, I couldn’t help myself. And because I didn’t, I learned that the woman sitting next to me believes in the destruction of the only Jewish state in the world and dismisses the suffering of my loved ones. She told me October 7th was no big deal, denied that rapes occurred, and showed no emotion when I described how babies were burned. Even after that, I stayed engaged. I spent the next two hours debating history with her.

She was sharp, warm in a strange way, and engaging. In another context, I might have liked her—if she hadn’t so clearly declared herself an enemy of my people and everything I stand for. Between our debates, she asked why I was divorced, and I shared a little. She told me about her arranged marriage at 15, her first child at 16, and the abuse teenage brides endure. Despite this, she was proud of her marriage, calling it a strong partnership.

Then we returned to the topic of Israel. She repeatedly asked if I was born in America, clearly ensuring I wasn’t Israeli. I believe she would have moved seats if I were. She argued that Israelis should relocate—apparently to America, dismissing any historic ties to Israel. She went further, claiming that Jews had never been expelled from Arab countries or suffered within them, completely revising history. She asserted that Jews were content in Russia and only left to displace Arabs in Palestine. The level of misinformation from someone so prominent in her community was staggering. When I declared myself a proud Zionist, she was visibly horrified, her reaction betraying a deep discomfort that underscored her shock. She believed she was sitting next to an evil person, even as she defended Hamas and Hezbollah as “good people.” She described her recent trip to Lebanon, saying Hezbollah members are seamlessly integrated into everyday life and portrayed them as wonderful people, despite their documented atrocities. She outright denied the existence of a single terrorist in Gaza, insisting the prisoners being released were all innocent victims of wrongful imprisonment. I shared the story of my great-grandparents being killed in a pogrom in then-Russia, a tragic example of Jewish suffering she claimed never happened. Her response was chilling, marked by a glassy-eyed indifference that revealed a profound lack of empathy. To her, Jewish lives seemed inconsequential—a sentiment that left me profoundly unsettled. She denied that the terrorists being released from prison in the hostage exchange had committed any crimes.

What hope do we have when someone like her, a pillar of the Dearborn community with a successful husband and connections in politics, holds such views? She didn’t see the babies burned on October 7th as a tragedy. She dismissed the suffering of hostages, claiming they were well-fed. For her, every Arab child’s death negated the horrors inflicted on my people. At the end of our conversation, she believed I would one day “come to” and see her perspective.

As we discussed war, I asked her how she would feel if someone came into Dearborn, kidnapped her loved ones, and killed her children. Would she want retaliation? She insisted that Israel started October 7th. The difference between us was stark. I could mourn every innocent life lost to war, but she could not. She simply repeated that people in Gaza died and demanded to know why that was acceptable. I tried to explain the complexities of war and history, using examples like civilian casualties in World War II, but logic didn’t matter. She wasn’t there to discuss; she was there to lecture and indoctrinate.

I knew what I was walking into when I didn’t put on my headphones. But I needed to experience this firsthand. I wanted to believe there was a way to live side by side, but she made it clear there isn’t. Fixing their education system alone won’t address this deeply rooted hatred—the indoctrination begins at home and permeates generations. This cycle shows no signs of ending anytime soon. One thing I learned from this experience is that every Jewish individual must receive a robust Jewish education. Spending hours debating this woman underscored how vital it is to have a deep understanding of world history, Jewish history, and the complexities of every war Israel has fought. While I am far from an expert, my extensive reading and knowledge equipped me to hold my ground. Prioritizing this education for Jewish students is not just important—it’s essential for the survival of our community and our ability to advocate for ourselves.

Before the flight ended, I pulled out my copy of Saving Abigail, a book my daughter had read while we were away. I offered it to her as a gift. She rejected it, saying that for every Abigail, there were thousands of dead Arab children. She refused to take pity on the October 7th victims and insisted that the hostages were fine.

I will remember this woman—not for the reasons she might hope. But for her unwavering hatred and distorted beliefs.