Honesty is one of those virtues we love to claim for ourselves. It is clean, noble, uncomplicated. It means telling the truth, being transparent, and acting without deception. It means not lying or hiding important information, keeping promises, admitting mistakes, and acting with integrity even when no one is watching. These are the principles I try to live by. When I cannot keep a promise, I explain why. When I make a mistake, I own it. I have always believed that honesty is the foundation of character.

But lately, I find myself wrestling with a painful contradiction. I am known as a passionate supporter of Israel. Some call me a pro‑Israel advocate, unwavering and unconditional. My heart is somewhere in Jerusalem, and that has never changed. Yet honesty demands that I confront something uncomfortable: many of my personal experiences with Israelis have not reflected the honesty I value so deeply. And ignoring that would make me dishonest with myself.

This is not about politics or ideology. It is about human behavior in everyday interactions. It is about promises made and not kept. It is about the small commitments that reveal a person’s character long before the big ones do.

I have lost count of the times I heard “I will help you with your NGO” only to be left waiting indefinitely. Or the time I worked voluntarily on a project, with the agreement that my expenses would be covered. I drove to Germany, worked late into the night, took risks, and gave everything I had. My expenses were modest, just 200 euros. It took more than six months before someone finally told the organization that it was unacceptable not to pay me. And this was not an isolated incident. It was a pattern.

Then there were the promises about helping me with Aliyah. Letters would be written, people would speak to the right contacts, support would be offered. I am still waiting.

And here is the strange part: I still love Israel. I still believe in its right to exist, its cultural richness, its innovation, its resilience, and its celebration of life. I trust Israel on many moral fundamentals. I believe, based on evidence and legal processes, that Israel does not intentionally target innocent people and that its justice system holds both Jewish and Arab offenders accountable. These are forms of honesty on a national and institutional level.

But honesty at the micro level matters too. When individuals repeatedly fail to keep their word, it erodes goodwill. It creates frustration, disappointment, and eventually distance. And if this behavior is widespread, even if it is cultural rather than malicious, it shapes how outsiders perceive the country as a whole.

In the Netherlands and Germany, punctuality and honesty are cultural cornerstones. Being late is considered disrespectful. Breaking promises is seen as a serious flaw. In much of the Middle East, things are more relaxed. Time is fluid. Commitments are flexible. This is not inherently wrong, but it creates friction when cultures meet. What feels normal to one side feels careless to the other.

Punctuality, like honesty, is a character strength. It signals reliability, discipline, respect for others’ time, and the ability to plan and follow through. When punctuality is absent, it sends a message, even if unintentionally: your time is less important than mine. Your expectations are secondary. Your trust is optional.

These small behaviors accumulate. They shape reputations. They influence how a country is perceived internationally. A nation that is seen as honest gains goodwill. It becomes easier to form alliances, negotiate agreements, attract investment, and build cultural bridges. Honesty reduces risk. It builds stability. It fosters predictability. It strengthens diplomatic relationships.

Israel’s global reputation is complex. Some admire its innovation, its democratic institutions, its scientific achievements, and its strategic alliances. Others criticize its political decisions, its conflicts, or its communication strategies. Perceptions vary widely depending on personal experience, media exposure, and political beliefs.

But one thing is universal: honesty builds trust, and trust builds goodwill.

If Israelis, on a personal level, embraced a stronger culture of saying what they mean and doing what they say, it could have a ripple effect far beyond individual relationships. It could soften tensions, improve cooperation, and strengthen the country’s image. It could show the world that reliability is not just a national aspiration but a lived reality.

Peace, whether between individuals or nations, begins with honesty. It begins with keeping promises, respecting time, and valuing trust. It begins with the small things, the everyday commitments, the moments when no one is watching.

Maybe it is time for a cultural shift, even a small one. Not to become Dutch or German, not to abandon the warmth and spontaneity of Middle Eastern life, but to recognize that honesty and punctuality are not just personal virtues. They are tools of connection. They are bridges. They are forms of respect.

And they matter more than we often realize.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)