Silent Antisemitism: My Experience at Brussels Airport

As someone living in Tel Aviv, I’ve traveled internationally quite a bit, but my recent trip to Belgium for my nephew’s Bar Mitzvah left me with a troubling sense of unease. What should have been a joyous family occasion was overshadowed by a series of frustrating delays and inconveniences at Brussels Zaventem Airport—the gateway to the EU capital. While I can’t prove these were deliberate acts of sabotage, the pattern feels all too familiar to those of us flying from Israel: a subtle, silent form of antisemitic boycott.

Let me walk you through what happened. Upon landing in Brussels from Tel Aviv, our plane sat on the tarmac for a full 15 minutes because the ground crew responsible for connecting the jet bridge simply didn’t show up. A minor delay, you might think—but it set the tone. Then came the luggage carousel ordeal. Our bags took two to three times longer than usual to arrive, leaving us waiting endlessly while other flights’ passengers grabbed theirs and left.

On the return flight, things got even more absurd. We were assigned Gate B-27 for boarding—the only gate in the entire airport undergoing renovations. With no seating available, hundreds of passengers, including families with children and elderly travelers, were forced to stand around awkwardly or sit on the floor. Coincidence? Perhaps. But ask any frequent flyer between Tel Aviv and Brussels: flights from Israel are always the last to get their luggage, and these “random” inconveniences seem to pile up disproportionately.

Adding to this, based on a basic observation of the airport staff—ground handlers, baggage crews, and security personnel—it seems like a vast majority are of immigrant origin from Arab nations. In a diverse workforce, that’s not inherently an issue, but in the context of rising anti-Israel sentiments in parts of those communities, it raises questions about whether biases could be influencing these operational “hiccups.” Again, no direct proof, but the demographics add another layer to the suspicion of targeted delays.

Is this outright antisemitism? It’s hard to prove intent without evidence. These could be chalked up to inefficiency or understaffing. But in a post-October 7 world, where anti-Israel sentiment often bleeds into outright Jew-hatred, it’s impossible to ignore the context. Europe has seen a surge in antisemitic incidents, and subtle boycotts—like those targeting Israeli goods or travelers—feel like the modern equivalent of old prejudices. This isn’t overt hatred; it’s the quiet kind that erodes trust and makes you question every delay.

What’s worse is that the airport authorities seem powerless to intervene. They’ve surrendered control to the employees, who hold all the leverage. In a union-heavy environment like Belgium, firing someone for suspected misconduct could spark widespread strikes—think “Italian strikes,” where workers slow down deliberately without fully stopping. The airport depends on these ground handlers, baggage crews, and gate staff, and any pushback risks grinding operations to a halt. It’s a system ripe for abuse, where a few bad actors can weaponize their positions without consequence.

As Jews, we’re no strangers to this kind of passive-aggressive discrimination. But it’s disheartening to encounter it in the heart of Europe, a place that prides itself on tolerance and human rights. If you’re traveling from Israel to Brussels, brace yourself—and maybe pack light. More importantly, let’s call it out when we see it. Silence only empowers the silent boycott.