After our first class, she approached me. Her tone was quiet, and I could see the concern on her face.

“I need to talk to you,” she said. “I know you’re Palestinian. And I want to make sure you know something.” She paused before continuing.

“I was raised in a Zionist family. I believed what I was taught. But then I went on a trip to the West Bank, and everything I thought I knew unraveled. I saw the truth with my own eyes and realized that what I had believed was actually a lie. I stopped supporting it immediately.”

Then she added: “I needed to tell you this so you could have a choice. I would completely understand if you didn’t want me to be your teacher.”

I stood there holding her words but also everything they stirred in me. Everything we had gone through as a family. The pain. The hardships. I felt heat rise through my body as images flooded my mind.

And yet, I was also holding her integrity. She didn’t have to say any of this. But she did. So, I said,
“Thank you for telling me and giving me a choice. I find that very decent of you. In order to decide, I have a couple of questions.”

She nodded. “Yes, of course.”

“Did you stop once you knew the truth?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Are you trying to make it right? To undo the harm? To speak up?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

I said: “Then we have no problem. You didn’t choose to be born into that narrative. But once you saw the truth, you stopped and tried to change. You made a choice. And I have so much respect for that. I’d be honored to learn from you.”

And I meant it.

She ended up teaching some of the courses I loved most in my master’s program.
When I told her, “I don’t see myself in this syllabus,” she didn’t brush it off. She listened and then she changed it. She added the work of scholars from the Middle East and the Global South. She showed the class images of Arab women leading during the Arab Spring, challenging the stereotypes others in the room didn’t even know they held.

She didn’t just acknowledge the past. She acted. Quietly. Consistently. With care.

Today, she’s not just a former professor. She’s a friend. An intellectual one. Someone I still turn to with questions that live between justice and grief, between history and hope.

And she’s still speaking out.
Still challenging her own community about Palestine, about the difference between Zionism and Jewish identity.
She keeps listening. Learning. Showing up…even when it’s hard.

That experience stayed with me, not just because of what she said, but because of what she chose to do. She didn’t stop at “I didn’t know.”
She faced the truth, changed her actions, and used her position to do better.

Real allyship isn’t about performance, it’s about accountability.
It’s how you show up. Who you center. What you change.

And forgiveness? That’s never owed. But discernment is our right.
I didn’t give trust blindly. I looked for truth and action.
And only when I saw both did I choose to stay.

We’re not just shaped by history; we shape what comes next.
With accountability.
With courage.
With integrity and care