Arabs and Israelis: Finding Common Ground

People tell me I’m courageous.  

Maybe I am. I’ll let you decide. 

But I never think about myself that way. I think about what the right thing to do is and what makes sense. And I leave it at that. 

I was taught that Jews hated me because I’m Muslim, and, in turn, I was taught to hate them because they’re Jews!

That’s pretty much what every child grows up thinking in the Arab world.

I grew up in Bahrain. After graduating from university, I went to work in the education sector. 

I didn’t think much about Israel at the time. Out of sight, out of mind. 

Then, when the Abraham Accords—a new partnership between Israel and the Gulf States—took shape, I began to take notice. This was interesting, I thought.

We live in the same neighborhood. Israel is a thriving tech hub. It stands to reason that they might have products and technology that would benefit the Gulf economy.

Then, in 2020, out of the blue, I was contacted by a nonprofit NGO called Sharaka, whose goal is to introduce and educate Arabs and Israelis about one another and promote peace. They asked if I wanted to visit Israel as part of a Bahrani delegation connected to the Abraham Accords.

I accepted. By this point, I was very curious. Who were these Israelis?

I went all over Israel. I visited with Jews, of course, but also Arabs. I met with Christians, Druze, and Bedouins. I toured Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, and many holy sites—Jewish, Christian, and Muslim. 

What I discovered shocked me. These weren’t horrible people. This wasn’t a horrible country. It was a dynamic democracy.

It was also incredibly diverse—different races, different ethnic backgrounds, different religions. From what I could tell, everybody seemed to get along. 

And the Israelis, I discovered, were very anxious to establish good relations with Bahrain—and for that matter the rest of the Arab world. Furthermore, they treated me with generosity and respect, both as a committed Muslim and as a woman. 

They were genuinely curious about me—my personal story, my country, and what I thought about a whole host of issues. In short, they listened. And I listened to them. 

I decided that the future, my future, shouldn’t be based on hatred; the future should be based on respect. 

I felt sure that if more Arabs knew what I now knew about Israel, this might be possible. I was so taken by this idea that I quit my job and went to work for the organization that brought me to Israel.

As it turned out, my sudden career move came at a steep cost. 

In this I was naïve.

I didn’t anticipate the anger my new thinking would provoke—that I would be called a traitor, that people would be so mad at me.

It threw me into a real depression.  

But I came out of it more convinced than ever that a better future was possible. 

I believe the Palestinians deserve a homeland of their own. But the idea that Israel doesn’t deserve to exist and should be wiped off the map doesn’t get anyone anywhere.

Just how counterproductive this idea is was all too clearly demonstrated on October 7, 2023.

I’ve seen the raw footage: the beheadings, the children watching their parents being murdered in front of their eyes. 

I can’t unsee it. And I can’t let it stand. 

I won’t let it confuse me or deter me from pursuing peace.

I grieve for every innocent person killed in Gaza. I grieve for any innocent person killed anywhere.

I hate war. 

I can only see one way forward: mutual understanding and shared interest.

The Abraham Accords represent that. 

The purveyors of hate are only too aware of this fact.  

That’s why they will do anything to stop them. 

But they will fail. 

There are too many people like me who know who the real enemy is. 

And it’s not Israel. 

I’m Fatema Al-Harbi, CEO of Sharaka Bahrain and the Gulf Affairs director of Sharaka Global for Prager University.