This picture of a residential neighborhood in Ramallah shows how the media presents a misleading image of what life is really like in the Palestinian Authority (photo credit: Wikimedia Commons).

As terrorist attacks continue to mount within the State of Israel, Jewish college students across the country are preparing themselves for the onslaught of questions from their peers. While it is ostensibly not politically correct to ask an individual to represent his or her entire religion or ethnicity, Jewish students are now, nonetheless, familiar with the blitz of questions about their views on Israel, Zionism, the Mideast conflict, as well as a myriad of other related topics.

While I do not advocate treating my fellow Jewish college students in this manner, I personally count the opportunity to answer such questions a privilege. I am lucky enough to have experienced many facets of Israeli society, including having visited areas within Judea and Samaria, a chance that very few American Jews or American citizens in general have had. A few days ago, an acquaintance at my college questioned me about my views on Israel. It was immediately clear that in his eyes, Israel oppressed the Arabs of Judea and Samaria, also known as the West Bank, who presumably led miserable, impoverished lives, and therefore resist Israel in the only means they knew how. It was then that it dawned on me that at one time, I also believed platitudes about the Palestinian-Arabs of Judea and Samaria. I then related to my friend how and why I had changed my views, and why we were both mistaken, albeit for different reasons.

When I first arrived in Bethlehem and later Ramallah, I could not believe that I was on the ground in an Arab city in the West Bank. Everything I had heard led me to expect an impoverished city ravaged by violence. What I found were cities much like their Israeli counterparts, with modern buildings, infrastructure, and conveniences. One of the only major differences I found was that few, if any, utilities worked, which I learned was due to corruption within the Palestinian Authority.

When I visited Bethlehem, I attempted to hide the kippah I normally wear by donning a hat. Unfortunately, a Palestinian policeman instructed me to remove the hat when I entered a church. As soon as I removed the hat, the police gathered around me and attempted to arrest and deport me, for the simple fact that I appeared to be a Jew. I explained I was an American citizen and not an Israeli citizen, but that did not matter. That is, until an Arab tour guide intervened on my behalf, insisting that I was a naïve Christian tourist who had bought the kippah in Jerusalem. They let me go, and my tour guide quietly welcomed me to Philistine and apologized for the behavior of his fellow Palestinians. From then on, I went bareheaded and was careful to never reveal my religion to anyone.

Still shaken from that first encounter, I was hesitant to venture from my hotel in Ramallah, though I finally left to get dinner at the restaurant across the street. After I had finished my meal, the host asked me what had brought me to “Palestine.” I was not surprised at the question, as I had not seen more than a few other non-Arabs that entire day. I told him that I was just a college student doing archaeology and that I wanted to learn more about the other side of the Green Line. To my surprise, he invited me over to his table to talk with him and his friends. We talked for hours about culture and politics, and I was surprised to find out that although they had varying degrees of prejudice towards the Jews, none of them hated Israel.

In the following days, I spent much more time with these three men and had the opportunity to meet their families and even travel with them. All three had entirely different backgrounds, but all shared the same frustration with the Palestinian Authority and Palestinian society. They pointed out the lavish palace that Palestinian Authority President Mahmoud Abbas was building, as well as a magnificent mosque in the middle of nowhere, both of which they said were built with funds meant for hospitals and universities. They told me that the real problem was not the Israelis or Americans, but their fellow Arabs, who they said needed to help themselves first.

Towards the end of my visit, I had time to reflect and realized how I had almost forgotten that I was forced to hide my identity as Jew when visiting the Palestinian Authority. It was then that one of my new acquaintances told me about how it is considered taboo to ask what another’s religion is. I realized that this was him tacitly telling me that he knew I was Jewish and didn’t care. This was a stark contrast to what I saw on the streets. Every sidewalk is lined with PA or PFLP flags, and every building seems to have at least one poster dedicated to the memory of a suicide bomber or other terrorist. It is easy to see how groups like Hamas appeal to those angered by the PA’s rampant corruption and fueled by its abhorrent, misguided anti-Semitic incitement.

What gave me hope, and what I told my friend, is that it is important to experience the reality on the ground. The Arabs of Judea and Samaria are not simply puppets who can be manipulated, nor should the vile anti-Israel propaganda spread by the PA be swept under the rug by those observing from afar. Palestinian-Arabs are individuals who think for themselves: some choose terrorism for their own, selfish reasons. The majority of them, like my three acquaintances, choose to do the best they can to improve their lives and the lives of those around them.

Sandor Farkas is a junior at Dartmouth College in Hanover, NH. He is a ZOA Campus Fellow, the president of the school’s pro-Israel group, and an alumnus of the ZOA Student Leadership Mission to Israel.