It seems like for the past few years not a day goes by that bleak breaking news from the Middle East does not inundate us on television, radio, and in virtually every newspaper and news magazine. Weather it is the prospects of war, actual war, a suicide bombing, targeted killing, or threats of an all out “holy war,” the Middle East has become far from the biblical paradise I used to hear of as a child. In this vain, the scenes of death, despair, frustration, and pain raced through my mind as I boarded a flight to Israel. Despite repeated reassurances from family and friends that things were not nearly as bad as the media portrayed them, I was nonetheless worried by this trip and the potential dangers that lay ahead in a foreign land filled with so much rage, hatred, and feelings of injustice. I recall the weeks leading up to this trip and the many political debates I found myself engaged in, desperately trying to make sense of what seemed illogical.

As I boarded the plane I felt as if I was stepping into a United Nations session, with representatives of nearly every ethnic background present. Hasidic men dressed in black coats and fur hats sat next to Arab women with their faces covered in traditional scarves. A Hindu couple with red dots painted on their foreheads spoke to an American sporting jeans, t-shirt and baseball cap. I saw a Christian priest adorned with black shirt and white color introduce himself to a man dressed in what appeared to be the dark maroon robes of a Buddhist monk. And then there was me – a typical unimposing American businessman, dressed in comfortable travel attire, hoping that the nearly 12-hour flight will pass quickly and that I won’t get seated next to crying triplets, or worse, between a team of professional Sumo wresters.

Fortunately I was able to negotiate an exit row seat with plenty of leg room and easy access to the restroom. I sank into my seat exhausted from the extensive security screening and began feeling the full effects of the sleeping medication I took just prior to boarding. As I watched the plane fill, an older indiscrete looking gentleman took the seat to my left. He introduced himself as Thomas, and explained that he was a Lutheran minister traveling to Israel for the first time with his parish. Shortly after he sat down, a young twenty-something youth took a seat to my right and although he seemed to me a bit intimidating at first, I said hello and introduced myself. He politely returned my greeting and introduced himself as Mohammad, a US citizen who spends his time between working in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida and “helping the resistance” in Ramallah, West Bank. “Hmmm, this should be interesting,” I thought to myself - a Lutheran minister, a militant Palestinian, and me, a Jew, seated next to each other for the next 12 hours en route to Israel - a holy land that was holy to each of us in our own very different ways.

I should have known better than to bring up politics, but in retrospect, it was waiting to happen and I don’t think that there was anything I could do to prevent it from coming up. We were barely off the ground when a heated debate erupted and being in the middle seat, I found myself overcome with emotion and feeling helplessly unable to express myself or be heard. It was hard to think over the cacophony of heated remarks as the topics extended from the “Israeli aggressors” to the “Palestinian murderers” to “American infidels,” and other such anger-filled sentiment that began to worry even the flight attendants. It did not take long before others on the plane overheard our conversation and joined in. The row in front, to our side, and behind, began interjecting with their own emotion-laden remarks, and I think that even the passengers inline for the restroom pitched in a comment or two. Before long, I yearned to be seated between the Sumo wrestlers or crying babies (or even both), because they could not have been more uncomfortable than the diatribe I was now engaged in.

And then it happened. I shut my eyes, and it was as if a light bulb went off in my head just like in the cartoons, I looked at Mohammad and said “I’m so sorry for the pain you feel.” I then looked at the minister to my left and remarked similarly, “It is so sad that we can not hear each other and appreciate each other for who they are and how they feel.”

No sooner than my remarks, a quiet as thick as a dense fog replaced the crowd around us and everyone just stood there unsure of how to absorb the words they had just heard. I decided to take advantage of the moment and continued to my traveling companions, “when will we get over the anger, the hate, and the hurt, and embrace each other as fellow humans,” I inquired. “I may not agree with you, I may even feel passionately opposed to your beliefs, but why can I not still love you, show respect for you, and embrace you as a fellow human, whom like I, seeks peace, justice, and joy in life?”

Despite a few passengers' mumblings, the relative quite continued for several minutes as these thoughts began to sink in. I don’t think that even I was aware of the power of these words and what they personally meant to me. Mohammed was the first to speak and asked me if Jews pray for the death of Muslims. Rather than trust my answer, I asked a fellow passenger for his prayer book, and gave it to Mohammed to peruse. He was shocked as he read the prayers of hope, love, and peace (and the lack of anti-anything) that filled the pages. Thomas surprised us all when he extended his hand to Mohammed and then to me, with no words but a big warm smile that said all that needed to be expressed.

We spend the next 5 hours sharing ideas, thoughts, and philosophies on our respective religions, and unlike before, now, we really listened to each other. As Mohammed excused himself to bow and say his morning prayers, I decided to read from the Jewish prayer book, and watched as Thomas opened the pocket-sized bible that he always kept with him. “Here we were,” I thought, “three people so different, yet united in a respect for each other, a desire for truth and happiness, and a willingness to open our hearts and overcome anger, bias, and stereotype.”

I embarked to Israel in a state of frustration, worry, and helpless despair, but when I arrived, I was filed with a feeling of hope and a priceless education that will likely leave its mark on me forever. I left for Israel with some food, a magazine, and a few dollars in my pocket and in the 11 hours I traveled, I acquired two new friends, some Israeli shekels, and an open invitation to tour Ramallah with a Lutheran parish from South Carolina.