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The quiet wave of Arab emigration from Israel: ‘Every day felt like I was on trial to prove I was a good citizen’

This article was produced through a collaboration between Shomrim, an investigative outlet, and Wasla, an Arabic-language business news site, and was published on both platforms.

More than 207,000 Israelis left the country between 2023 and 2025. Arab citizens account for only a small share of those emigrants: 6.2% in 2024, lower than their share in the population. But surveys from the past 12 months forecast a change: between 20% and 30% of Arab citizens say that they are considering leaving Israel.

Increasingly, Arab families, including many with established careers, are choosing to build new lives abroad. Their reasons go well beyond economics: they cite fears of future wars, a surge in organized crime and deadly violence within Israel’s Arab communities, and a growing sense that they no longer belong.

Dr. Nasreen Haj-Yahya, a social and family researcher who is also a couples and family therapist, says that the fact that more families are even talking about the possibility of leaving the country shows that a change has taken place. “Arab families in Israel are not migrant families by nature,” she says. On the contrary: one of their defining characteristics is that they stay on their land, close to their extended families and to the places they grew up. “Physical and geographical proximity to the family is part of our social structure,” she explains.

According to Haj-Yahya, when families buy a one-way ticket, it is a response to extreme pressure. “It’s not something that fits in with the structure of the Arab family. For a family to get up and leave, there must have been very extreme forces at work.”

These forces are not primarily economic. Haj-Yahya explains that the question of emigration has become a key issue among the families she sees at her clinic and encounters in her research. “The war created a lot of uncertainty, fear and a kind of hopelessness,” she says. “At the same time, violence within Arab society is no longer perceived as something that only affects people involved in criminal activities. Violence is also visited on innocent people, making people fear for their very existence.”

There is also a sense of being silenced. Members of a young and educated generation, who were raised on values like freedom of expression and human rights, found themselves, in the aftermath of the Oct. 7 attacks, afraid to speak their minds. “People feel as if their mouths have been shut. The possibility of living somewhere where they can speak freely and feel safe has become one of the main reasons for emigration.”

Haitham Khalaila, 53, married with one child, from Shefa-Amr, an Arab city in Northern Israel. Returned to Israel from the United States in 2008 and emigrated back to Michigan in 2024

Courtesy of Haitham Khalaila

Khalaila decided to leave for the United States again after seeing the psychological effect of the war on his 10-year-old son. “When the war started, I felt completely helpless to protect my son, who was 10 at the time. Every time the siren went off, we’d run for cover, but we didn’t have a bomb shelter near our house. I felt like I couldn’t even give my family the bare minimum of a sense of security. My son refused to sleep alone and kept asking me, ‘Who’s going to raise me if you guys die in the war?’ Those questions are what made up my mind. I realized the fear had already scarred him.”

At first, his wife was very resistant to the idea of moving away from Israel. “She was really hesitant. She doesn’t speak English, she has no family here, and the move terrified her. But as the war dragged on, she realized we had to do it to save our kid.

“The beginning was incredibly expensive. We had huge expenses for lawyers and sorting out my wife’s legal status, and we bought a house for $480,000 with a mortgage. Today I’m working as a big-rig truck driver making around $8,000 a month. It’s a fresh start in every sense of the word.

“Even after we got to the U.S., my son would panic at the sound of regular airplanes, thinking they were drones coming to bomb us. Today he’s calmer, more confident, and introduces himself freely as a Palestinian Muslim. For me, that says it all. If the situation back home stays the way it is – with no security, a high cost of living, and no real change — I don’t see a stable future to bring my family back to. I have no intention of going back.”

Noura Amouri, 43, married with two children from I’billin, a local municipality in northern Israel. A former occupational therapist for the Ministry of Education and a clinic owner, she  emigrated with her family to the town of Varallo in Italy

You lived a stable life — professionally and economically. What caused a family like yours to pack up everything and leave?

“It was never about work or money. The decision started to form because of this constant, lingering fear for the future, and especially the violence that keeps getting worse within Arab society. I felt like my kids were growing up in an environment that didn’t give them real opportunities or any sense of security. When you realize you can’t even protect your children’s mental well-being — the clinic, the pharmacy and the house all lose their value.

“Because of a delay with my husband’s work visa, we moved temporarily to Canada for two months. We burned through about 100,000 shekels [about $33,000] there on housing, paperwork and living expenses. That amount would have lasted us a whole year in Italy. Today we’re living on my husband’s income as a pharmacist and on our savings. I’m trying to get my degree recognized so I can get back to work.

“For the first time, I see my kids living a calm, freer life. They play outside, walk around and just feel safe. That alone tells me we made the right choice. But the truth is, homesickness never leaves you. The little details of our old house haunt me even here. I miss my home, the smallest things in it, even the couch I left behind. When you emigrate, you aren’t just leaving a place. You’re leaving a piece of your memory behind.

“As far as we’re concerned, the decision to leave the country is final. There’s no going back. Italy might just be a stepping stone for now and it’s not certain this is where we’ll settle down for good, but the decision not to return home has already been made.”

Rania Laham, 50, married with two children, from Haifa. A VP at a non-profit organization, she moved to Limassol, Cyprus.

 Unlike most migration stories, yours unfolded in reverse — you emigrated while your young daughter stayed behind in Israel. How did that shape your life?

“Usually, kids move with their parents. With us, it was the other way around: we left and our daughter stayed behind. For my husband and me, that’s the most painful part of this whole move. My husband, our 16-year-old son and I moved to Cyprus, while our oldest daughter, who is 19, stayed to continue her university studies. It’s a tough situation, but we temporarily sacrificed our life together as a family so we wouldn’t disrupt her education and her future.

“Cyprus wasn’t some long-held dream. It was just the most practical choice: close enough that we can keep a connection to the work and the life we left behind, but it also gives us more peace of mind. The mental toll was a huge factor. We just couldn’t take any more wars and the constant murders and crime within Arab society.

“I’m still working as the deputy director of the I’lam Media Center and the non-profit’s financial manager. I can work remotely without any issue. The fact that I kept the exact same job gave us financial stability and made the move feel less risky, since we didn’t lose our main source of income. It’s true that rent in Limassol is relatively high, because it’s the most expensive city on the island, but daily expenses and food are cheaper than back home.

“I don’t look at this move as a final step, but more like an open-ended experiment that depends on what happens back home. Ultimately, whether we stay here or not depends mostly on my ability to keep working remotely and secure my livelihood.”

Shaden Atiya, 43, married with two children. A pharmacist from Jerusalem, she moved to Barcelona

Courtesy of Shaden Atiya

When did you decide you’d had enough of life in Israel?

“I spent many years living between Jerusalem and Beit Jala. Our lives revolved around daily commutes, checkpoints and closures. My husband’s work in the hotel industry took a hit time and time again — first during COVID and then with the war. At first, we thought about moving mostly for financial reasons, because housing prices in Jerusalem made buying a home almost impossible. But after the war in Gaza, the move became a mental and political necessity. I felt like we just had to have a fresh start, away from the suffocating atmosphere and the uncertainty.

“Today, in Barcelona, for the first time I feel like I can freely and calmly define myself as a Palestinian. I’m no longer living with the constant tension and stress that followed me for years. The fact that we have relatives here was a major factor, and we also felt that Spanish society is close to Arab society in certain ways — in social relationships, the weather and the lifestyle. The beginning wasn’t easy. The paperwork took nearly two years and cost us close to 100,000 euros [about $114,000] out of our savings. We also had to learn both Spanish and Catalan. Today I’m working part-time as a pharmacist alongside an independent project I’m developing and my husband works in marketing for a medical equipment company while also doing some remote work.”

What is your work environment like now compared to how it was in Israel?

“I had a really hard time adapting to working with Israelis. More than once, I felt discrimination and racism because of my Palestinian identity. I tried to find Palestinian workplaces, but the wage gaps pushed me to work in Israeli institutions. Here, I’ve completely freed myself from that daily stress.”

Will you ever return home?

“The question of remaining abroad or going home depends entirely on what happens in Israel.”

Wafaa Haj-Yahya, 46 married with two children, from Taibeh, an Arab city in central Israel. A gormer organizational consultant and kindergarten director, she emigrated with her two sons to Dubai

Courtesy of Wafaa Haj-Yahya

“I first started having thoughts about leaving back in 2014. I was in the hospital right after giving birth to my second son when I heard that the principal of the school where I worked had been murdered. When he was killed, I realized that was it. Something inside of me broke. It left a deep wound and for the first time, I asked myself if I really wanted my kids to grow up in this kind of reality. But at the time, the price of leaving felt impossible: we had a house, I had a stable job as a kindergarten director in a Jewish community, my husband was working too, and the thought of giving everything up and starting over terrified me.

“When I arrived in the Emirates in 2022 with my two sons, I felt a sense of security I’d never known before. I made a quick decision to buy a house there as an investment and a foundation for the future. I paid a down payment of about 200,000 shekels [about $66,7000] and later committed to monthly payments of about 10,000 shekels [$3,300] for 30 months. But the real reason we left was life in Taibeh: our house was broken into five times, I was exposed to murders that deeply affected me and my husband was injured trying to stop one of the thieves. Fear has just become a part of our daily life.

“During the first year of the war, I ran a kindergarten in Kfar Saba with a Jewish staff. I happened to overhear one of the assistants say she hoped Itamar Ben-Gvir would stay in the government so that not a single Arab would be left in the country. Precisely because my relationship with the staff was good, that sentence shook me. It reinforced the feeling that I don’t want my children to live in a place where their very existence is seen as something to be rejected.

“Back home, I constantly felt like I was on a daily trial to prove I was a good citizen. That feeling wore me down and it was only in Dubai that I realized just how exhausted I was. Today I’m planning my future in peace and I have no intention of going back.”

The post The quiet wave of Arab emigration from Israel: ‘Every day felt like I was on trial to prove I was a good citizen’ appeared first on The Forward.

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‘Remember 7.10.23’: In Israel, Hostage Square bears few remnants of a national crisis – but trauma lingers 

(JTA) — TEL AVIV – In the days following the Oct. 7, 2023, Hamas attacks, the families of the hostages held in Gaza turned the plaza next to the Tel Aviv Museum of Art into what became known as Hostage Square.

Filled with “Bring Them Home” signs and hostage posters, yellow ribbons and yellow balloons, the square hosted demonstrations and press conferences.

It was here that the families created a replica of a Hamas tunnel and established the Empty Shabbat Table, a haunting art installation to remind visitors – and especially the Israeli government – that their loved ones still languished in Gaza. And it was here, two years later, that the families and thousands of other Israelis gathered to watch the last of the living hostages return to Israel.

Three years after the attack on Simchat Torah, there are few remnants of the hostage families’ encampment: the tunnel replica, a few yellow ribbons and a sign bearing the words “Remember 7.10.23.” During the days leading up to the third anniversary, some paid respects to the few hostage families who set up a sukkah on the square, but the plaza was nearly empty.

By all outward appearances, Israelis have moved on.

Yet beneath the surface, many are still grappling with the trauma of Oct. 7 and the multifront war the attack triggered.

In a Channel 12 TV poll in June, 74% of respondents said they fear that terrorists will carry out another large-scale attack, and 66% said they want the Oct. 7 attack to be investigated by a state commission of inquiry.

Last month, in an Israel Democracy Institute survey, 68% of Jewish Israelis and 32% of Arab Israelis said the Oct. 7 attack is a “central factor” in deciding which party to vote for, behind security and the high cost of living.

In the café at the edge of Hostage Square, Isaac Badra, a 33-year-old realtor, recalled how he and his wife opened their home to their upstairs neighbors because the Badras live on the “safer” ground floor and their Tel Aviv building has no bomb shelter. The trauma persists, he said.

He vividly remembered the air-raid sirens, reserve soldiers rushing to base on Simchat Torah and the frantic phone calls with his wife’s family near the Gaza border as Hamas attacked Sderot, where they live.

“My wife’s mother said she saw terrorists in the street, but I couldn’t grasp what she was saying,” he recalled. When he turned on the TV, he realized the scale of the attack. “I locked all of our doors and our windows and prayed.”

Three years later, Badra said, “When I hear noises outside, I jump. When Arab construction workers shout out to each other, I jump. And now I doubt whether my friends abroad really have our back.”

Roni Shoval, a defense industry worker from northern Israel not far from the Lebanon border, said the trauma of the past three years “is still inside me.” He called the attacks “a modern Holocaust for Israel.”

Even three years later, “I’m not ready to visit Nova,” he said, referring to the memorial at the site of the music festival where Hamas murdered 378 people and abducted dozens more. “Look, I’m getting goosebumps now just talking about it.”

Shoval, 54, is still doing IDF reserve duty, years beyond the maximum age because the IDF needs his expertise. He doesn’t want the same for his children.

“My son will be drafted soon,” he said. “Back in the day, I served in Gaza and Lebanon. I don’t want him sent to Gaza and Lebanon.”

At a nearby table, 24-year-old Yael Meyer sat with classmates from Tel Aviv University. The attack the previous day aboard a flydubai flight bound for Tel Aviv, they said, only reinforced the trauma of Oct. 7 and the war that followed.

“I’m always aware that there could be another terror attack. But I always had the sense that the security services would protect us.” Since Oct. 7, that trust in the government is gone, she said.

Her friend Talia Zecler, also 24, said she felt “helpless” after the attack. “I was angry at my country. Entire families were killed or kidnapped,” she added. “It feels like we’re living in an endless war.”

Her heart races when the sound of a passing motorcycle resembles an air-raid siren. But at the same time, she still marvels at the bravery and solidarity of ordinary Israelis in the months after the attack.

“People became more connected after Oct. 7. They volunteered everywhere, including at Hostage Square,” she said. “There was a sense of unity, that we’re in this together, and we saw it on the flydubai flight.

“This is the Israeli spirit.”

Sitting in the café with her parents, S., a 19-year-old IDF soldier, said the trauma she experienced on Oct. 7 at her home in Jerusalem “is minuscule” compared to the experience of those whose families were directly harmed by the attacks on the Gaza border and, later, attacks by Hezbollah, Iran and the Houthis.

“Sure, when I hear a plane flying in the sky, I think, will there be another war with Iran? I immediately go there,” said S., whose name could not be published due to military protocol.

But as the country prepares to vote for the next government on Oct. 27, she plans to channel her hopes and dreams in the voting booth.

“The most important things for me right now are to have a national investigation of what happened on Oct. 7 and to repair our relations not only with our immediate neighbors but everywhere. We don’t live in a vacuum,” she said.

The post ‘Remember 7.10.23’: In Israel, Hostage Square bears few remnants of a national crisis – but trauma lingers  appeared first on The Forward.

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Antisemitic flyers turn up in Ontario neighborhood where a man charged at a synagogue two weeks ago

(JTA) — Police in the Ontario town where a gunman charged the Sons of Jacob synagogue on Yom Kippur are investigating antisemitic flyers distributed around the synagogue’s neighborhood..

In an Oct. 1 press release, Belleville, Ontario, police encouraged those with tips or video evidence to contact police.

“We recognize that incidents such as this can cause concern within our community,” the police said. “Hate has no place in Belleville, and the Belleville Police Service remains in contact with community leaders and are taking proactive steps to support the safety and well-being of residents.”

Police have not identified the distributor of the flyers, and no arrests have been made.

The Canadian Jewish News published photos of the flyers, which included antisemitic conspiracy theories, such as “every single aspect of the Covid agenda is Jewish” and “every single aspect of abortion is Jewish.”

Coming so soon after the attack, the flyers rattled Sons of Jacob congregant Sari Watson, 40. “It’s so incredibly concerning to see this sort of antisemitic rhetoric surface, less than two weeks after the shooting,” said Watson, who skipped attending services the night of the shooting because she was wary of the increase in antisemitic violence in Canada. “This is a sign that this sort of hatred has infiltrated the public consciousness here.”

Belleville police chief Murray Rodd has confirmed the Sept. 20 attack was deliberate.

“This was an exclusive threat to our Jewish community,” he said soon after the attack. “There is no indication there was a threat to any other population or segment of our community, and it was a hate-motivated crime.”

According to police and Ontario’s Special Investigations Unit, the shooter, identified as 29-year-old Sean Ward of nearby Quinte West, Ontario, opened fire on Const. Jeff Smith, who was stationed outside the synagogue as security. Smith, who was seriously wounded, returned fire, and another officer who arrived at the scene also fired at Ward. Ward later died of his injuries. Smith remains hospitalized.

A GoFundMe site dedicated to Smith’s recovery has raised nearly $1 million on behalf of the Canadian Jewish community.

This article originally appeared on JTA.org.

The post Antisemitic flyers turn up in Ontario neighborhood where a man charged at a synagogue two weeks ago appeared first on The Forward.

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From ‘false flag’ to ‘Bibiwood’: flydubai attack spawns conspiracy theories

(JTA) — JERUSALEM – A young girl steps out of the bathroom on a flight and glimpses a bloody scene unfolding in the cockpit: the co-pilot is attacking the pilot with an axe. She screams for help.

A handful of unarmed passengers, still tanned from their vacations in Thailand, rushes by her, successfully grabbing the control wheel as the plane plunges 17,000 feet. They also manage to save the life of the bloodied pilot.

It sounds like the climactic scene from a high-stakes action movie, yet by now most people know that this is what happened last week on a Tel Aviv-bound flydubai jet.

Or did it happen? It is so fantastical that maybe it is just a fabricated story or an event staged by Israel’s Mossad? That is what millions of people on social media seem to be suggesting in online posts.

Even after nonstop media interviews with the hero pilot or with the ordinary passengers who took control of the plane, conspiracy theories about the attempted hijacking are swirling. Some mockingly insist the event never happened. Others say it was a false flag operation. And many of the comments invoke deep-rooted antisemitic tropes.

Some accuse Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu of staging the incident for political survival or to divert attention from the war in Gaza. Others say it was an attempt by Israel to play the victim or garner global sympathy.

“Brought to you by Bibiwood Productions,” wrote one person commenting on a CNN report posted on Facebook.

“Just stop already,” wrote another person beneath CBS’s clip of interviews with the men who fought the rogue co-pilot posted to Instagram. “It’s seriously embarrassing at this point. We didn’t believe it when the news broke; we didn’t believe it the first time you aired this interview. Reposting clips will not convince anyone with half a brain.”

“Bulls–t,” wrote another person.

Monitoring online responses as the attempted hijacking was unfolding last Wednesday, the Combat Antisemitism Movement’s Antisemitism Research Center found that the first conspiracy theories were posted just 67 minutes after the plane sent its first distress signal.

Within five hours, the ARC documented 1,000 hostile posts, and after 12 hours, 2,963 posts. The posts generated at least 30,000 likes and more than 3 million views.

“The fact is that internet companies have promoted a much more open free-speech policy these days, especially on Instagram and X,” said Sacha Roytman, CAM’s Chief Executive Officer, adding that it’s not just the posts that are problematic but also the comments they generate.

“They [the social media platforms] don’t control information anymore; they don’t want to control it,” he said.

Roytman added that another factor is that agitators – likely from Russia or Qatar – have learned how to build an effective bot network to spread misinformation. When the first post appeared after only 67 minutes, he said, “we knew it was not a human posting because no one cares to go online and start posting [that fast].”

“They were activated extremely fast and set up the stage to create an environment that’s toxic enough for other users to be inspired to find the stories they need to build their own claims,” Roytman said.

Amit Cohen, a research fellow at the Institute for National Security Studies and an expert in cyberattacks and digital fraud, said that during such events, “there is often a gap between what the public wants to know and the amount of verified information available at that moment.

“That is exactly the kind of environment in which rumors and conspiracy theories can develop very quickly,” she said. “In this case, claims appeared online within a short period of time suggesting that the event did not happen as reported, that the videos were fake, or that the incident was staged or a false flag.

“Posts like these are not necessarily the original source of the conspiracy theory,” she said, “but they can function as ignition points.”

Cohen said it was important to distinguish between those who “deliberately create disinformation and those who spread it.”

“Someone may share misleading content simply because it fits what they already believe, because it provokes a strong emotional reaction, or even because it seems interesting or ‘worth looking into,’” she said. “They do not need to know where the message originated, and they certainly do not need to be part of any coordinated campaign.”

Gal Yavetz, a senior lecturer of Artificial Intelligence at Bar-Ilan University, said the flydubai story was so incredible, it left many people “looking for answers.”

“Inevitably, some people will accept more natural explanations, and others, who are more extreme, will go and blame the Jews for it,” Yavetz said, pointing out that similar conspiracy theories arose over the summer when thousands of Moroccan nationals flooded Spain’s North African enclave of Ceuta in July.

“Every time there is something that we can’t really understand, that we can’t really explain, we blame the usual suspects — the Jews, the Jews who control the world, the Jews who are the natural scapegoat,” he said, adding that since the Oct. 7, 2023, deadly Hamas raids in Israel, conspiracy theories have become commonplace and all it takes is for a handful of people to start questioning the veracity of the events.

Posts by Egyptian-born, LA-based political satirist Bassem Youssef, known for his controversial comments about Israel and Jews, are a good example. In a series of videos, he mocks the flydubai event and raises suspicions about what really happened.

In one clip posted on X and viewed 130,000 times, Youssef, whose career was supercharged in 2012 when he was boosted by Jewish comedian Jon Stewart, even terms it a “Hollywood production,” drawing on what critics say are familiar antisemitic conspiracy tropes about Jewish control of Hollywood and, by extension, the world.

“I wish it was chatbots, but the truth of the matter is that social media is a breeding ground for this kind of discourse,” said Yavetz, who specializes in social media, political communication and the spread of misinformation and disinformation online.

“They are definitely helping to spread and to reshare most of this misinformation and disinformation, but we know from previous studies that it is really just a negligible number compared to just regular people who are going to the more extreme sides and just taking their own outrageous opinions to social media just because it is now so easy to do so,” he said.

“You don’t really need to do much; you just need to make sure that you can stand behind your claims, and all of a sudden an outrageous post will have 1,000 likes, then 10,000 likes, and these comments are just circulating again and again, going from Facebook to WhatsApp to Messenger and back to Twitter with screenshots and back to Instagram… It’s a flood that you can’t really stop by taking out an umbrella,” Yavetz said.

INSS’s Cohen, who is also a national security expert with the Dvorah Forum, a group that promotes women’s voices in foreign policy, said that “conspiracy theories are not new, but the digital environment has changed their speed, scale, and the ability to obscure where a message originally came from.”

She explained that “in the past, there were more intermediaries between the person producing information and a large audience. Today, a single account can post a claim and reach very large audiences within a very short time.”

And, Cohen added, AI has made the problem worse.

“Mainly because it has dramatically reduced the time, cost, and skill required to create convincing content,” she said.

It has also made it harder for people to believe what appears on their screens.

“The problem is no longer only that AI can create fake content that looks real. It also makes it easier to dismiss real content by claiming that it is fake,” said Cohen. “Once the public knows that convincing images, audio, and video can be artificially generated, the existence of visual evidence no longer necessarily ends the debate.”

This article originally appeared on JTA.org.

The post From ‘false flag’ to ‘Bibiwood’: flydubai attack spawns conspiracy theories appeared first on The Forward.

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