What if I’m wrong?

I was raised in a Zionist household. I went to Jewish schools. I grew up surrounded in a community where Israel was not just a place on a map — it was our place. A refuge, a miracle, a source of pride. From a young age, I absorbed the deep emotional pull of Israel as a second home, even if I’d never lived there. That’s the air many of us in the Jewish diaspora breathe.

And because of that, I’ll be honest: my sympathies still instinctively lean towards Israel. I feel a concern when it’s under threat. I react with suspicion when I hear it criticized. I don’t feel that way about any other country, and I don’t think that’s wrong — it’s the product of identity, history, and upbringing.

At the same time, since the collapse of the Oslo Accords and the rightward drift of Israeli politics, I’ve found myself increasingly critical of Israeli policy — particularly its approach toward Palestinians. But that emotional connection remains. And I’m okay with that — as long as I’m also willing to reflect on where my instincts come from, and to question them when necessary.

That, for me, is where honesty starts: with the willingness to ask a question we rarely pose to ourselves.

What if I’m wrong?

How Often Do We Ask Ourselves: What If I’m Wrong?

This isn’t a rhetorical question. It’s a real one. How often — truly — do we pause in the middle of an argument, or after reading a headline, or during an emotional conversation, and ask ourselves: what if I’m wrong?

Not just about a particular fact, but about something deeper — a belief, an assumption, a long-held view. Something we’ve internalized so fully that it feels less like an opinion and more like common sense.

It’s not an easy question. Being wrong in this context isn’t like getting a trivia answer wrong — it might mean we’ve misunderstood a conflict, misjudged someone’s intentions, or defended something we shouldn’t have. It might require us to rethink part of our worldview.

And yet, if we are wrong — don’t we want to know?

That’s the central tension I want to explore. Not to undermine anyone’s beliefs, but to suggest that intellectual integrity begins with self-questioning. That asking “what if I’m wrong?” isn’t weakness — it’s the beginning of serious thinking.

Confirmation Bias Isn’t Just Their Problem

As someone deeply rooted in the Jewish community, I’ve watched with increasing discomfort as conversations around Israel and Palestine become more and more polarized. But the thing that troubles me most isn’t only what’s happening “out there” — in the media, on campuses, or across social media echo chambers. It’s what’s happening in here — in our own heads, in our own reactions, and in the way we process difficult information.

I’m talking, specifically, about confirmation bias — the tendency to absorb facts that support what we already believe and to dismiss or question those that don’t.

This isn’t a uniquely Jewish issue. It’s a universal one. Everyone does it. Israelis do it. Palestinians do it. The left does it. The right does it. But it’s worth considering how this bias plays out within the Jewish community — especially among those of us who feel an instinctive sense of identification with Israel.

For many diaspora Jews, the default response to criticism of Israel is not to weigh up whether it’s true or fair — but to push back against it. To assume it’s antisemitic, misinformed, or malicious. And yes, sometimes it is. But not always. And our inability to tell the difference is a problem.

This isn’t just about news sources. It’s about how we take in the world — how quickly we defend rather than reflect, how easily we dismiss instead of consider. And it’s about what that defensiveness might be shielding us from seeing.

Confirmation Bias in Action: Some Case Studies

Let me share a few examples that illustrate what I mean. These aren’t outliers — they’re moments I think many of us will recognize.

1. The Hospital Explosion in Gaza (and What Followed)

In October 2023, news broke of an explosion at Al-Ahli Hospital in Gaza, initially blamed on an Israeli airstrike. As more evidence emerged—satellite imagery, audio, footage—it became clear the blast likely resulted from a misfired Palestinian rocket. Many Jewish spaces seized on the correction, declaring, “See? The media always blames Israel first—this proves bias.” And in this instance, they weren’t wrong.

What stood out, however, was how quickly those same voices—secular and religious alike—set aside scrutiny when faced with evidence implicating Israel. They hold this case up as proof that Israel is always unfairly accused, using it to dismiss every future allegation, regardless of context.

A stark example came in March 2025, when an IDF convoy in Rafah, marked with a Palestinian Red Crescent ambulance among its vehicles, came under fire. Fifteen aid workers—including paramedics, rescue staff, and a UN worker—were killed. Israeli authorities initially claimed the convoy posed a threat, but video evidence later showed licensed ambulances with lights on. The IDF revised its account and launched an internal probe.

Yet in many Jewish circles at the time, the reaction was swift: “Here we go again—Israel is always blamed first. It’s another blood libel.” Some dismissed criticism without examining the incident. The same reflex—leaping to defend Israel rather than consider new evidence—repeated itself. And this highlights the problem: when a mistake happens, we trumpet it as vindication; when Israel makes a mistake, we reflexively defend.

2. Settler Violence in the West Bank

Human rights groups, including Israeli ones, have documented serious and growing violence by Israeli settlers toward Palestinians: arson, vandalism, beatings, shootings. Some of it is on camera. And yet many Jewish communal reactions are to ignore, downplay, or dispute these claims.

Responses often include: That group has an agenda. There’s always more to the story. You don’t know what provoked it. Sometimes these objections are valid. But more often, they’re reflexive — ways to avoid confronting something that challenges how we want to see Israel.

3. The Word “Apartheid”

Over the past few years, several major human rights organizations — including Human Rights Watch, Amnesty International, and B’Tselem — have concluded that Israel’s policies in the West Bank amount to apartheid. Whether or not one agrees with that framing, what struck me is how few people I spoke to had read the reports before rejecting them out of hand.

The reaction wasn’t let’s examine this. It was this is outrageous. This is antisemitism. This is delegitimization. And maybe in some cases that’s true. But when we refuse even to consider the evidence, we’re not defending truth. We’re defending comfort.

The Brain Doesn’t Want to Be Wrong

This isn’t about intelligence. It’s about human nature. Our brains are wired to protect us from discomfort — and few things are more uncomfortable than realizing we might have been mistaken, especially about something that touches our sense of identity.

For many Jews, Israel isn’t just a country. It’s personal. It’s connected to family, memory, safety, and survival. So when Israel is criticized, it doesn’t always feel like a political argument — it feels like a threat. That’s when defense mechanisms kick in. And they’re powerful.

But if we want to engage honestly — if we want to see clearly — we have to learn how to sit with that discomfort, at least for a moment. To be willing to look at what we’d rather not.

We Are All Biased — And That’s Where Change Can Begin

It’s easy to see confirmation bias in others. It’s much harder to see it in ourselves. But the evidence is overwhelming: we all filter the world in ways that reinforce what we already believe.

Psychologist Jonathan Haidt compares moral reasoning to a press secretary: its job isn’t to find the truth — it’s to defend the party line. Daniel Kahneman, in Thinking, Fast and Slow, shows how our quick, intuitive thinking often overrides our slower, more analytical thought — especially when what we’re thinking about feels personal.

This isn’t a uniquely Jewish habit. Palestinians, too, can fall into narratives that erase or demonize Jews. Some progressives too readily conflate Zionism with racism. And on the Israeli right, all talk of Palestinian rights is dismissed as naïve or treacherous.

Everyone is doing it. Everyone thinks their media sources are fair, and the other side’s are biased. That doesn’t make it okay — but it should make us humble.

A Shared Responsibility

I’m aware that my own instincts are shaped by where I come from. I don’t claim neutrality, and I don’t claim to have perfect clarity. I still feel that pull of loyalty. I still instinctively tense up when I see Israel harshly criticized. But I also read the reports, I watch the footage, and I can’t pretend not to see the very real suffering on the other side.

That mix — of connection and criticism, of instinct and reflection — isn’t something I see as a crisis. It’s just reality. A complex one. And acknowledging it feels healthier than denying it.

And maybe you’re wondering: if everyone is biased, what’s the point of even trying to rise above it?

Here’s why. Because if we care about truth, if we care about peace, if we care about the future of Israel and Palestine, then something has to give. There will need to be some kind of reckoning, some kind of settlement — political, emotional, or both. And for that to happen, both sides will need to do the hard work of seeing the other more clearly, and of seeing themselves more honestly.

We can’t control what others believe. But we can examine our own assumptions. We can choose how we listen, how we react, and how we think. And maybe — just maybe — if enough of us do that, it creates space for something different.

If there’s any hope for a better future, it begins not with them, but with us. And it begins by asking — sincerely, and often:

What if I’m wrong?