On November 2, 2023, with a broken heart, I was forced to leave my home country, Egypt, and run for my life after facing an intense backlash for speaking out against Hamas’s terrorism and for supporting Israel’s right to defend itself in the aftermath of the October 7 attack.
Sharing the truth about the horrors Hamas committed on that dark day with my fellow Egyptians and Arabs instantly made me a target of the radical Islamists who control the streets and the Nasserists (socialists) who control the media.
The Salafists targeted me physically after labeling me “blasphemous.” The state-supervised media carried out a merciless character assassination campaign after calling me a “Zionist spy.”
The attorney-general referred me to the notorious Supreme State Security Prosecution to investigate the many claims filed against me by state-supporting lawyers who unjustly accused me of “committing high treason” and “threatening Egypt’s national security.”
They even requested that the prime minister strip me of my Egyptian citizenship, alleging I was a Mossad spy.
Ingrained hatred
I still cannot understand how a helpless woman like myself, with nothing more than my voice and a pen, can be seen as a threat to national security – while all the radicals who pushed me out of my home and have been wreaking havoc in the Egyptian streets remain unchallenged.
In Egypt, I left behind more than just loved ones and material possessions.
I left a piece of my soul as I watched fellow Egyptians, including those who claim to be secular and open-minded, degrade themselves enough to praise Hamas’s brutal massacre of Israeli civilians.
The persecution I faced in Egypt reflects a deeper issue in the Arab world: the ingrained hatred toward Israel and, by extension, anyone who challenges that narrative.
Since arriving in America, I have spent time visiting university campuses, talking to students from diverse backgrounds about the realities in the Middle East.
It has made me realize that this hate is not just local; it is transnational.
Its ideological roots are deep. Radical Islamist groups such as the Muslim Brotherhood see antisemitism not as a side effect but as a fundamental part of their worldview.
Islamist networks in the West have exploited the Israel-Palestinian conflict to influence Jewish-Muslim relations, campus activism, and far-left alliances.
Studies also show that Islamist antisemitism in the US is partly hidden by the “red-green” alliance of radical Islamists and progressive activists, a dynamic that weakens public debate.
Carrying the truth
In the months after leaving Cairo, I carried more than a suitcase.
I carried a truth long suppressed about the deep, often disregarded, hostility toward Israel that shapes public life across the Arab world, and the price paid by any Arab who dares to challenge it.
In Egypt, this hatred has appeared in schoolbooks, mosque sermons, talk shows, and everyday jokes, long before hashtags and campus protests.
As a teenager during the Second Intifada, I watched crowds in Cairo burn not only Israeli flags but also Egyptian and American ones. It became clear to me early on that this hostility was not only about Israel. It was also about crushing independent thought and the yearning for Western democracy and liberalism.
When I began visiting university campuses – 59 in one academic year through Hillel International’s “Teach-In Tour” – I saw the same patterns reappear in a different language.
Some students recycled conspiracy theories and accusations that mirrored what I had heard in Cairo. To them, supporting Israel meant betrayal. Speaking about Hamas atrocities meant being complicit in oppression.
At one lecture, organizers quietly warned me, “Expect resistance.”
I walked in, remembering what it felt like to be chased by extremists in Egypt. In America, the hostility came not as mobs on the street but as digital vitriol, whispers of intimidation, and righteous slogans disguised as activism.
Red-green alliance
Yet, amid the hostility, there were moments of courage. After one event, a young man who had participated in pro-Hamas encampments approached me.
“Something is wrong in my movement,” he admitted. “I want to support Gazans, but I do not want to support terrorism.”
His honesty stayed with me. It confirmed what I had begun to understand: The ecosystem of hate is global, but so is the possibility of transformation. In the Arab world, radical Islamist groups and state-aligned media label dissenters as traitors.
On Western campuses, some progressive students unknowingly echo the same ideas, confusing moral outrage with moral clarity. Many mean well, but they are fed narratives that erase history and reward emotional certainty over critical thinking.
My years in Egypt taught me how these narratives operate. I was branded “blasphemous” and accused of high treason simply because I refused to praise Hamas.
State-aligned lawyers and Salafist mobs used the same vocabulary deployed across the region: Israel is evil; anyone who humanizes Israelis is a traitor.
When I arrived in the US, the tactics changed, but the logic did not. Here, it appeared as academic ostracism, social media attacks, and students shouting down conversations they were too afraid to engage in.
Scholars call this the “red-green alliance” – that is, a coalition between far-left activists and Islamist ideologues who share an antagonism toward Israel.
On campuses, this alliance has turned complex geopolitics into moral theater. Words like “colonizer” and “apartheid,” detached from context, are deployed to silence debate rather than inspire understanding.
Unlike the Middle East, where the political roots of anti-Israel sentiment are visible, many young Westerners absorb this narrative without realizing its origin.
After the October 7 attacks, the illusion was shattered for many. For me, it confirmed what I already knew: The hatred I fled in Cairo had traveled far beyond Arab borders.
Witnessing hate
My role shifted. I was no longer only a survivor. I became a witness and an educator.
I often told students that I know what it means when your people turn against you, and I know how quickly free societies can lose their way when they let ideology silence empathy. Despite the pain, I found moments of profound humanity. Losing my country shattered me. But living in exile rebuilt me.
In Egypt, I lost my home, career, and community in one night.
In the United States, I found a purpose larger than myself. I speak not only to defend Israel but also to defend the Western liberal democratic values that extremists seek to erase – the same values for which they hate Israel.
The hatred toward Israel in the Arab world is not only due to geopolitical conflicts. It is emotional and ideological. It thrives on fear and punishes curiosity.
And today, through social media and student activism, it crosses borders faster than truth can catch up. Our response online, in classrooms, and in public debate will determine whether free societies stay free.
On my way out of Egypt, I walked over the footsteps of pain and agony previously felt by the Jews who accompanied Moses crossing the Red Sea, and later by those forced to leave their homelands in Egypt and other Arab countries in the 1950s-’60s.
Like them, I did not want to leave my homeland. Like them, I suffered the devastating loss of my house, my job, my friends, and my family in just a few hours.
I will miss watching my favorite nephew grow up, and seeing the beautiful sunset over Cairo from my hilltop condo again. But like the Jews, I value life deeply, and I believe I can help make the world a better place.■
Dalia Ziada is a Middle East scholar and Washington, DC, coordinator at the Institute for the Study of Global Antisemitism and Policy (ISGAP).