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?Who is an Israeli? What is left of Herzl’s vision in the 21st century // By Gad Yair

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A favorite photograph among Israelis is one that shows their secular prophet, Benjamin Zeev Herzl, looking out from a balcony in Basel, contemplating the uncharted future and thinking: How will my country look? What sort of culture will it have and what lifestyles will its people lead? What can we produce in the desert, with the masses we bring back to the Holy Land? Like Moses in his time, Herzl did not cross the borders of Israel, which became a state many years after his death. But like Moses, he is also certainly watching from heaven. And like Moses, Herzl is undoubtedly comparing his vision to the reality. This essay seeks to describe some of the sights he sees.

From above, Herzl certainly sees a hyperactive society. On the everyday level, he sees that Israel swings with unbelievable speed between wars and lulls in fighting, between hope on election days and bitter despair in their wake. On the historical level, he finds it hard to follow the rapid conversion of a socialist social agenda to a capitalist one – without a revolution of bloodshed – and he is undoubtedly surprised by how the symbolic center of Israel has shifted from the pioneering valley to the entrepreneurial Tel Aviv. He is also surely impressed by the standard of living in Israel, which has risen dramatically to the level of Europe and the United States. He is impressed, for example, that those who grew up fifty years ago in neighborhoods with no paved roads and with donkeys still delivering ice for refrigeration, are now raising they children in villas and prestigious high-rises; that those who waited for a package from relatives in America in order to wear a used sweater, are today purchasing brand name products on Oxford Street in London or on the Ku’damm in Berlin. Herzl is also undoubtedly impressed that Israeli society has become more refined. On holidays in the young state, he saw the men buy carp fish and keep them splashing in the bathtub until they received a crushing blow to the head, and the women pull out the entrails of the fish when the decisive moment came to make the patties. Today he sees the men placing an order via the Internet, and the women pulling out the gefilte fish from preserves jars. The refinement – what Norbert Elias calls the civilizing process – took place in Israel rapidly and determinedly. For example, corporal punishment for children was outlawed. From a rabble of nations and cultures, Israeli society succeeded in creating, ostensibly from scratch, a common language, shared calendar and, most importantly, a shared culture. It also managed to create – within one generation – a profound democratic political culture. And this is despite the fact that most of its immigrants did not come from a similar political heritage. It is true that Herzl sees problems that still occur on the social margins in Israel, but he definitely sees that mainstream Israel is marching to the tune of his enlightened Zionism, even if many of the marchers complain about it incessantly.

Herzl in the Israeli state: Have we really solved the Jewish question?

Yehuda Pinsker – who is buried in a place of honor in the Nicanor Cave on Mount Scopus – preceded Herzl by a generation. Autoemancipation, he argued, is the only way to solve the Jewish question, and the book he wrote warned the Jews of Europe that if they wanted to avoid another pogrom, they must leave the continent. They could head to New York, Toronto or Melbourne – the main thing was to leave Europe once and for all, he concluded. But Herzl, with the exception of his stuttering approach to the Uganda question, focused on the Land of Israel. While many of his colleagues in Austria and Germany argued that the solution to the Jewish question was to assimilate into German culture, Herzl claimed that this would not help the Jews because they would always be marked as others and foreigners. In this sense, both Pinsker and Herzl understood that anti Semitism is a chronicle that could not be resolved within European civilization. Both also concluded that they needed to promote a political solution for the Jewish problem and to do this outside of the continent that was so Christian. And here, 140 years after Pinsker and 120 years after Herzl – and only 70 years after the Holocaust – Newsweek magazine published an article last July entitled: “Exodus: Why Europe’s Jews are fleeing once again.” The terror attacks in Toulouse and Brussels, antiSemitism in England, invectives against Jews in Scandinavia and burgeoning anti-Semitism in Hungary and Ukraine are all inducing renewed emigration of Jews from Europe – to the U.S., Australia and Israel. Even in Germany, the state whose repentance seemed to be most complete, disturbing incidents occur from time to time. The new book by Tuvia Tenenbom, I Sleep in Hitler’s Room, exposes how the abscess of anti-Semitism is also swelling in the enlightened Germany of today, despite the cleansing declarations and conscience of Angela Merkel. Therefore, it seems that Herzl is today standing on the balcony of Eden in the sky and, in the perspective of time and space, he sort of summarizes and says: “Didn’t I tell you? The final solution for the Jewish question can only be realized in Israel.” He looks at the Jews who remained in Europe and says that it took them a long time to internalize the inevitability of the Zionist revolution. Jews always had the option of assimilating, while many non-Jews preferred the alternative of annihilating or forcibly converting the Jews. But these options are not pleasant for Jews and will also not lead to a final resolution of the problem. Herzl says that only Israel can protect the Jews because Israel alone has assumed the role of the responsible sovereign. The presidents of France were angry at Ariel Sharon and Benjamin Netanyahu, who reminded the Jews of France that their only safe home is in Israel. But in their invitation to French Jewry, Israel’s prime ministers said the only thing that Zionism permits them to say, and they did this with Israeli bluntness: Israel is the final solution for Jewish fear; Israel is the home for the Jews; come home. In this sense, Israelis are fundamentally the rational ones. Every time there is an attack against Jews – rocks thrown at a bus in Brooklyn or a synagogue vandalized in Ohio, for example – the Israelis feel bolstered in their conviction that even if they occasionally hop over to another country, Herzl was basically right.

Even those who emigrate from Israel, those who live serenely in the satiated West, keep hold of a metaphorical emergency suitcase in their consciousness. They know that a day might come when they will be forced to reenact what their fathers did and return to the Zionist solution. They sit and complain about everything, one foot here and one foot there, and do so thanks to their underlying confidence in the “superman” from the Land of Israel, who will always rescue them in times of trouble. In this sense, Zionism created a gap between Jews and Israelis in the way they view the world. As a Dutch Jewish sociologist wrote to me, the Jews in the Diaspora are afraid to speak their mind in front of non-Jews, and they conceal their achievements to avoid trouble. The exilic fear – in the enlightened Europe of our time – remains there and is even starting to slowly strike root among Israelis who emigrated to Europe. This view is foreign to Israelis. They cannot understand it and are not willing to accept it. Therefore, to say that Israelis and Jews are one and the same – is not to understand Zionism’s impact on Israelis. The self-assurance, the control, the omnipotent feeling that we are capable of saving Jews throughout the entire world – distinguishes Israelis from Jews.

But there is something a bit cynical in this view. To say Israel and security for Jews in one sentence is a bit like saying one thing and its diametric opposite. Operation Protective Edge, for example, again illustrated how fragile Israeli security is. If two years ago there were one million Israelis huddling in a protected space, this summer there were eight million doing so. True, Israelis demonstrated abnormal resilience in the face of their abnormal normality. However, “Israel” and “security” are still terms that are somewhat contradictory.

So yes, the solution to the Jewish question in Herzl’s political version gave Jews, after 2,000 years of dependence and weakness, independence and sovereignty to conduct their affairs on their own. But, paradoxically, Israelis bought and did not buy Herzl’s promise of finality. Many still define Israel as a “project” and many also foresee a very short future for the project, decades at most. The Israeli existential anxiety constantly sees a ticking clock – streams of invaders from ISIS or an Iranian bomb – which teaches us that the idea of the finality of exile has yet to take root in the soil of Israel in the Middle East. In fact, “the Zionist project” has not given Israelis respite from the persecution of the Jews throughout the state’s history. One time it was Nasser and one time Saddam Hussein, one time Nasrallah and one time Muhammad Deif. But we also have to admit that while these enemies of Israel are under the ground, dead or alive, we, nonetheless, are celebrating from above.

Herzl and the Israelis: Between a vision of the blue ID card and primeval tribalism

Herzl promised that the State of Israel would have a universalistic character and Israel’s Declaration of Independence expresses this promise; that is, Israel would be “a state of all its citizens.” The promise that Israel would be a “light unto the nations” was stated in the context of the state’s fundamental values and in regard to citizenship in Israel – and no less in the model of the new man that Zionism promised: a hardworking Jew, who ensures his future by taking responsibility for his security, while extending assistance to all Jews in the world. The leaders of Zionism promised an extraordinary social experiment in establishing a model of equality and brotherhood. And indeed, at a time when our big sister, the U.S., still considered racial separation to be legal, Israel declared, from the day it was founded, that it would not condone racism and that its inherently particularistic foundation – that is, as a Jewish state – would not prevent it from exercising the principles of social fraternity, which enlightened Europe had promised in its call for the equality of mankind. Israel not only preceded the U.S. in applying universal values. It also preceded some of the European states, which found it difficult or were tardy in applying these values that Zionism had stamped upon the Land of Israel from the day it set anchor in it. If onetime lawmaker and present-day fugitive Azmi Bishara had not painted the expression “state of all its citizens” in the colors of Hezbollah, many in Israel would still adhere to this original view without reservation.

The potential for racism stood in the background of the immigration to Israel throughout the years, and the pluralism of ethnicity and values that arrived on Israel’s shores threatened to create a cultural Balkanization, including a hierarchy, humiliation and suppression of everything identified with the “East.” The key policy instrument the Zionist state employed to prevent intolerable disparities was “the melting pot” policy, which sought to connect the various Jewish tribes that arrived in Israel, each with its own language, values and customs, and even with different prayers. As Professor Rivka Bar-Yosef noted in the mid-1950’s, the Ben-Gurionist policy of state sovereignty (mamlachtiyut) attempted to promote “de-socialization” (that is, to erase the cultures that came from the world’s Diaspora communities) and “re-socialization” (that is, to teach all of the Israelis to be “sabras”). The implementation of this unifying vision was conducted via government policies of urban planning, shared schools and an integration program, as well as shared military service for all of the people. Yiddish and Moroccan speakers were mashed into the Hebrew blend of the much-loved comedy film Sallah Shabati in the song “We are all Jews!”

However, seven decades after the implementation of the melting pot policy, the unifying dimension of Israeli culture is still dragging tribal divisions and tensions in its wake. Ethnic distinctions – in times of distress, we call this “the ethnic demon” – still appear in Israel, and primarily in the context of conflict. This occurs, for example, in regard to the representation of Oriental-rooted Mizrahi music on the popular Galgalatz radio station and the absence of Mizrahi poets on the banknotes of the Bank of Israel. Three generations after immigration and integration, there are inter-ethnic enmities in Israel – despite the fact that “We are all Jews.” Values and jealousies still separate Jews of Moroccan heritage from those of German background (yekkes). Work with youth reveals that three generations after the immigration of their grandparents, they still identify themselves as Moroccans or Poles. Dr. Talia Sagiv’s study, which focused on the “Children of the Dream”, that is, those born to parents from two different ethnic backgrounds, indicates that even the “mixed” ones, whose blood fulfills the dream of unity of Ben-Gurion and Menachem Begin, carry within their hearts and bodies the hatreds that separated their parents’ camps. Sagiv’s book, On the Fault Line: Israelis of Mixed Ethnicities, shows that wounded ethnicity erupts in the subjects of her research at funerals and weddings, in job interviews and in the pictures hanging in grandmother’s room. It is true that there is integration and it is true that it is more difficult to discern who comes from where. Nonetheless, as Amnon Levy showed in his television program, The Ethnic Demon, is indeed still here. Some Zionists are angry with Sagiv and Levy for reviving an ethnic demon that is already dead and for “stirring hatred for no reason.” This angry reaction to the facts shows that ethnicity has not disappeared, in the same way that unifying Zionism has also not lost its appetite for the melting pot approach to Israeliness. But we must admit that something in the melting pot policy was not completely fulfilled. The “Zionist project” still faces a persistent challenge of ethnicity.

Another vision of the universalistic approach of Zionism was also not fulfilled. The leaders of Zionism – who stood at the moral forefront of the European modernist movement – assumed that religion is something that belongs to the past and that religious people and their beliefs are destined to vanish from the world. Therefore, they allowed the negligible remnants in Jerusalem to maintain cultural autonomy – known as the “status quo” arrangement. Ultra Orthodox Jews were granted exemption from army service and a promise of autonomy for the ultra-Orthodox education system. The result of this arrangement, and the decision to never decide, not only allowed the ultraOrthodox Jews to preserve their separate identity, it allowed the tribes to preserve their religious culture and to ensure that instead of unity there would be division. Consequently, anyone wandering around Jerusalem will find – within a stone’s throw – a synagogue for Jews who came from Caucasia and another for Jews of Moroccan heritage; there are synagogues for Syrian Jews and for Yemenite Jews and for Polish Jews. There are even, heaven forbid, synagogues for non-Orthodox Jews of all types. It seems that Zionism surrendered to Judaism. And the latter combined with the ethnic dimension to partially restore the ethnic values that characterized the immigrants in their lands of exile. The ethnic hatreds and Jewish rifts present an obstacle to Zionism and block the realization of its dream of oneness.

Thus, Herzl’s observation of Israel reveals that alongside the unity, there remains a strong particularistic dimension. Granted, he sees that from a formal perspective all Israelis have a blue ID card and that everyone is ostensibly part of one living human tapestry. But he also recognizes that universalism – as expressed in the blue ID card and a bundle of civil rights connected to it – is only formal. Under the formal wrapping, Herzl’s eyes see divided tribalism. He sees that from a cultural perspective Israel is a tense and fuming hodgepodge of people. Indeed, the fact that the State of Israel grants the same ID card to everyone who is born in the state does not ensure that everyone is Israeli, at least not from a cultural perspective. Towns, neighborhoods and educational frameworks separate the ultra-Orthodox Jew and the secular Israeli. Walls of schools and synagogues separate the Jew who studies in a state-religious school and his peers in the general or independent education tracks. The Arabs of Israel are also separated in different localities and education frameworks, and they have a completely different religion and culture. What Herzl sees, therefore, is that separation, which was at the margins of Israeliness in the first years of the state, has become its cornerstone. And the legacy of Israeliness – the “sabra” characteristics the founders dreamed of – has turned into another tribe in the ghettolike cultural mosaic developing in Israel. Oz Almog wrote in this spirit in his book Farewell to Srulik – Changing Values among the Israeli Elite, and Baruch Kimmerling concurred with him in his book The End of Ashkenazi Hegemony. Both perhaps exaggerated in their conclusions, but they definitely identified the dividing lines visible from Herzl’s balcony in heaven. Competing tribal camps stand in the place of the homogeneous sabra – some of them are carrying others on their backs, some despise their brethren and some see their partners as real enemies. The amusing thing is that under this complaining mosaic, there is nonetheless an aspiration for the status quo. If it is possible to have two for the price of one – particularism and also universalism – what Israeli would walk away from this deal?

On Zionism and contribution: A shared destiny and the boundaries of the Israeli collective

“We’re a fucked-up generation,” Aviv Gefen declared in describing the decline of the Zionist spirit in Israel. While in the past young people were mobilized to contribute to the common good, many say that following the liberalization of the Israeli economy, the young generation is adopting the philosophy of Ayn Rand: If I’m not for myself, then who is for me? Some speak about egoism, egocentrism, lack of consideration for others, and some contend that young people in Israel seek to cynically exploit economic opportunities overseas: to make a bundle and leave. A report in the Haaretz daily about two years ago showed that 37% of Israelis were indeed considering leaving Israel. If we subtract the Arabs and the ultraOrthodox Jews, as Netanyahu says, it seems that most of the Zionist citizens of Israel are weighing abandoning the ship that appears to be sinking. However, as usual, God is present in the small details: When they were asked whether they are certain that they will emigrate – only 2% indicated a real plan to abandon Israel. Moreover, studies on young people in Israel show that in the mainstream of Israeli society there is actually a core of committed youth who continue to pursue the familiar paths of volunteering and contribution to the general good. Indeed, the image of “the halutz” [pioneer]– which was thought to have vanished from the world – continues and flashes like a North Star of morality.

This type of pioneering spirit is demonstrated, for example, by the volunteers in the Hashomer Hahadash [The New Watchman] organization who work to combat agricultural crime, following in the footsteps of the Hashomer [The Watchman] organization the Zionist movement established in the early 20th century. Its goal is similar: to fill the void the army and police leave in protecting farmers and their property. The Katif Israeli [Israeli Harvest] group shares a similar approach, based on mutual responsibility and contribution to the general good. This group of young people was organized by students of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem with the aim of assisting farmers during the summer harvest, and includes a study of the moral heritage of the founding generation. In practice, young people from all institutions of higher learning contribute time and energy to various social projects and are very involved in rural areas and among needy populations. The Aharai! [Follow Me!] non profit organization is another example of young people driven by a desire to contribute to the common good, and the Ayalim nonprofit organization operates in the geographic and social periphery in Israel. There are many other organizations that contribute in the field of education in outlying areas (Shiur Aher [A Different Lesson], Ofanim) and this is above and beyond the familiar institutional frameworks such as the Joint Distribution Committee. In addition to these social initiatives, there are urban kibbutzim, an expansion of the institution of shnat sherut [a service oriented gap year]by young people prior to entering the army, and a renewed interest in studying the texts of Herzl, A. D. Gordon and Bialik in the big cities. A huge poster unfurled on Tel Aviv’s Rothschild Boulevard during the social protest of 2011 reminded the government of the early Zionist folk song “we came to the land to build and be built by it.” Furthermore, for most of the youth studying in state frameworks, significant military service is still an important entry card to Israeli society. In this sense, Zionism and contribution to the common good are still identified with each other.

Indeed, contribution to the common good remains the entry card to Israeli society. Ben-Gurion, for example, considered a shared fate to be a fundamental value of Israeli society. An inequitable distribution of the probability of dying in defense of the general citizenry seemed to him – despite the status quo arrangement he approved – to be a significant flaw in the utopia that became a reality. The agreements to exempt Palestinian citizens of Israel and ultra-Orthodox Jews from contributing to the common good, and the desire of these groups to exclude themselves from contributing, relegated them to the symbolic and material margins of the society. In this sense, the formative principle of Israeli society – as championed by the Zionist movement – remained intact, as it was at the outset. There are margins, of course, but these phenomena and the attitude toward them only underline the general rule: The songs might be louder and the youth no longer dance the hora in a circle, but Israeli society remains anchored to its basic values in the depth of its culture, and it seems that its young people are much more committed to the state and to the society than their leaders acknowledge.

Herzl in the old Middle East: Rejecting Europe and longing for it

Herzl’s program to bring the Jews back to the Land of Israel fulfilled two millennia of prayers of a people that was dispersed in the world’s diasporas (“Next year in Jerusalem”). But for nearly a century, its fulfillment has generated calls for battle and destruction in the Muslim world surrounding Israel. In fact, the Middle East has never accepted Israel, and even today there are those who promise to wipe out “the Zionist entity.” Some blame Herzl and the Zionist movement for imagining a land without residents and for trampling the indigenous Palestinians in the course of fulfilling their Zionist dream. Armed with post-colonialist approaches, various critics argue that the Jewish settlers in fact fulfilled a more general European colonialist vision. Part of this vision was realized in the Spanish conquest of South America; its American representatives mercilessly killed the Native Americans in North America. The French killed in Southeast Asia, the Germans in Africa and the English did this nearly everywhere they set foot. And they set foot, as we know, in many places. The conquerors justified their colonialist vision – rooted in the universalistic view of Christianity – in the name of European progress. They promised Asia, Africa and the Arab lands health, wealth and prosperity, provided that they establish European institutions and run their states in the same way that Europe ran its white states.

Zionism, which was part of this large movement, also believes in European progress. But at the same time, its leaders realized that Jews could not have a share in this progress within Europe itself. Consequently, Zionism sought to generate European progress in the Land of Israel. One of the first steps was to transform the Israeli desert into European greenery. “Pepe,” the German Arik Einstein says to Uri Zohar in the immortal sketch in the film “Lool” [Chicken Coop], “but everything here is sand!” And indeed, Zionism was not satisfied with sand and Ussishkin, who headed the Jewish National Fund, decided to turn Israel into Grünewald – that is, the green and romantic forest that was the scenery of the native lands of the Zionist leaders in Europe. Thus, while rejecting the Diaspora and Europe, Zionism adhered to European romanticism and imagined its renewed land through a romantic European lens. Zionism aspired to apply European values in Israel (equality and fraternity, for example) and it sought to create a new man (that is, a laborer or farmer, who strives to be self-sufficient). But, as noted, Zionism also sought to create a European landscape in the desert: a forest, garden cities, red-tiled roofs and geraniums in flower boxes. This continuity of values is illustrated in greenhouses in Israel and in Germany: on Saturdays (or on Sundays). Even when all stores are closed, greenhouses remain open. Flowers, plants, seedlings, greenery, organic produce and nature walks – all these are taken directly from the European model and applied in spite of the resistance of the desert, the Palestinians and the ultra-Orthodox Jews.

Israelis are connected to their green European moment with every fiber of their being. When the water level of the Sea of Galilee goes down, they mark red lines in the newspapers and in the hourly news on the radio. The Israeli heart aches to the point that Israelis are willing to allow the government to install water-conserving filters in their showers, in the belief that they are mobilizing to save Israel. When a fire breaks out in the forests in Jerusalem or on the Carmel Mountain range, Israelis show broad public concern about these national-emotional assets. Zionism forged this emotional attachment to the land and its geographic symbols, and every time the European landscape in Israel is harmed, the Israeli soul is also hurt. Recognizing this emotional connection, Palestinian arsonists occasionally try to set fires in Israel’s forests and the damage they cause is indeed effective and painful. The plantings that follow the incidents of arson serve as a metaphor for the general colonialist movement between Europe and the Arab lands, between the green and the desert, between the West and the East. It is true that the Israelis rejected Europe, but they still cling to its landscape, institutions and values today; they remained stuck between the Jordan River and the Mediterranean Sea as the last emissaries of this enlightened movement toward the East. In this sense, the “new Middle East” vision that Shimon Peres promised to Israelis and the surrounding Arab lands was a direct continuation of the European colonialist project. Peres offered a new planting among those who seek to destroy the green. The Israelis – in their European Zionism – actually considered this a good idea; but the Arabs realized that it constituted a continuation of the occupation, even if administered in more pleasant ways. Israel found a home in the Middle East, but its heart remained in Western Europe. In all things, it is “the only one in the Middle East” – in its democratic institutions, in its liberal values, in its economic approach – and it thus illustrates that it is indeed a European offshoot. But despite their longings for the scenery, order and European manners, most Israelis still think that “Herzl was right” – that Europe cannot be a home for the Jews. It is true that some Israelis make use of the passport they received through a grandparent to emigrate for a short period of time, to study, to take advantage of rights, or simply to travel and grow up – but few think about casting anchor in Europe for life. Even those who have emigrated to Europe seek to preserve their “Israeliness” for their children; and some find themselves returning to Israel because Europe is starting to feel dangerous to them. For the Israelis, in this sense, Europe remains caught in the prism of Zionism: not to be swallowed, not to be spit out.

Herzl, Freud and the ‘exit’ culture: Israeli ice cream, for example

Herzl– the neighbor of Sigmund Freud of Vienna – was an amazing branch that grew on the magnificent Viennese tree of creative work of the late 19th and early 20th century. It was a period of creativity that was unprecedented in European history – in poetry, in literature, in painting and in psychology. This period – when the Enlightenment movement reached its secular peak – led to the recognition of the unconscious and its connection to dreams, neuroses, violence and sexuality. Freud and the psychoanalysis movement characterized modern man as a repressed yet refined creature; civilization had moderated his powers of destruction and violence, imposing on him manners, order and the deferral of gratification. And indeed, the Viennese man of Freud and Herzl operated according to complex ceremonies of aristocratic Europe. He comported himself like a member of nobility; he was meticulous in his attire, and every interaction he conducted was prepared in advance in a precise ceremonial way. If he wanted something, he planned several days in advance; if he wanted to punish his children – he informed them that he would flog them on their buttocks the next day and that they should prepare themselves, so that their soul would become accustomed to the separation between stimulus and response. Therefore, in writing about the New Israel and in imagining the future Israelis, Herzl apparently had the Viennese gentleman of his generation in mind, wearing a brimmed hat, deferring lusts and passions for a week, month or year. In placing the Israeli he imagined in the sands of Tel Aviv, he surely saw him conversing with the indigenous Arabs from a position of superiority, from above.

The Israeli created in the Land of Israel perhaps still looks down on the native Arabs (just as the Europeans look down on the Israelis), but both the Danube and the Yarkon separate the Viennese gentleman and the Israeli. As much as the Viennese gentleman is repressed, the Israeli is liberated; as much as the former is ceremonial, the latter is impulsive; as much as the German speaker is guided by ceremonial codes, the Hebrew speaker is free of diplomatic graces. And there is nothing like the Israelis’ attitude toward ice cream to illustrate how different the Israeli soul is from the one the “visionary of the state” had in mind.

Why ice cream? In my new book, Love is not Praktische: The Israeli View of Germany (slated to be published in early 2015 by Hakibbutz Hameuchad Publishing House), I described the way Israelis perceive German culture. In my conversations with Israelis in Germany, they contrasted the Israeli soul to the German soul. One of them, an architect by profession, spoke about the contrast between his longing for ice cream and his German girlfriend’s practical and calculated approach. “We were in Switzerland,” he began, “and on Sunday we walked by the lake and said, ‘we feel like having some ice cream.’ So we went to an ice cream stand and the price of the ice cream wasn’t clear – whether it was for a cone or something else. At a certain stage, we stood in line and I felt uncomfortable, so I said, ‘Let’s get the ice cream and we’ll see how much it costs.’ So it turned out that two scoops of ice cream cost nearly ten euros. Oh well, it’s Geneva. Then my girlfriend said to me: ‘You have to promise me that in the future – if we don’t know how much it costs, then I’m not willing to buy it.’ She felt that it was a waste of money and she’s very sensitive to those things.”

This example illustrates that while Israelis whine that they want ice cream here and now, no matter what the price, Germans defer the gratification until the proper time. This also applies to chocolate and sweets, others told me. Even before they get to the cashier, they are already tasting. I spoke about this in one of my lectures, and one of the students described her attempt to overcome her Israeliness. She told how she was in the central bus station in Jerusalem, standing in line to buy ice cream. All of the people ahead of her in the line asked the salesperson to have a taste of this and that, and after many tastes they ordered whatever they wanted. Standing behind them, she grumbled “those Israelis!” and promised herself that that she would behave courteously and order exactly what she wants, without noshing and preliminary tasting. But when it was her turn, she stood facing the abundant array of colors and temptation got the better of her. Like all of the Israelis who ordered before her, she also asked to have a taste of the orange one and the green one and the purple one. In order to soothe her weak conscience, she promises herself that “next time” she would not behave this way. But at the moment, she “feels like it.”

That is what the Israeli is like: He or she does not defer gratification and does not repress urges. That’s the reason why Israelis rush to “make a killing” or to make an “exit” in the business world; that’s the reason they also want to “to go all out, because we feel like finishing with Gaza once and for all.” The Israelis are authentic, direct and blunt, and they want ice cream here and now, and woe to anyone who tells them otherwise. In their superego’s capitulation to the impulsive id, the Israelis follow the dictates of their culture, which enables them to say “I feel like it” here and now, without hesitation or practical constraints. And when the superego scolds them about their childishness, they respond by spinning their hand in the critic’s face in a gesture of: “Why, who said so?”

Herzl’s Zionism began in Vienna. And he surely imagined the Israeli as a Viennese gentleman, cloaked in the manners of the bourgeois salon. But the Israeli created in the Middle East is far from this vision. While the Viennese gentleman wraps his ice cream cone and uses a spoon to bring its delights to his lips, the Israeli takes pleasure in digging his teeth into the ice cream straightaway, and does not experience any unpleasant feeling when it drips over his lips. While the Viennese man feels embarrassed if his ice cream drips, the sucking and licking sounds only enhance the heavenly pleasure for the Israeli. And the same emotional mechanism – with the falafel and tahini drizzling from the sides of the laffa bread – generates many Israeli behaviors that astonish Europe with their capriciousness and childishness. This applies to both interpersonal and international relations, to business and in the inability of Israelis to plan a shopping list for the supermarket. This is what makes us good.

The line to Europe: On law, corruption and Israeliness

Situated on the outskirts of Europe, the Israelis are requested to stand behind the line at passport control. “Stay behind the line,” the host country’s authority scolds them at the sight of their feet shuffling ahead. But their feet, somehow, find themselves huddling on the other side of the line – sometimes blatantly, in a group, and sometimes gingerly, alone. But the European line – that which makes the people of the cold continent “hardheaded” and “square” – has never impeded the Israelis. Like ice cream, the passport line is a metaphor for the emotional difficulty of Israelis to obey the law. Authority, order, hierarchy, consideration of the rights of others – none of this comes easily for Israelis. While European children imbibe the need to stay in line with their mother’s milk, Israelis actually encourage their children to roam around unrestrained, free, creative and authentic. For this reason, Israelis grow up with a conditional attitude toward the law. In the words of the iconic Israeli comedy troupe Hagashashim: “if they want, they’ll eat; if they don’t want, they won’t eat.” The law is obeyed when it is convenient for Israelis. But if there is another interest, the law will be regarded as a recommendation. That is why driving on Israeli roads requires alertness for unpredictable movements by other drivers. That is why tax collection in Israel is a complicated challenge.

But the cultural principle underlying the difficulty to obey lines in Israel is also the reason why a government cabinet could be formed from Israel’s prison inmates. There is a former president in prison, and a former prime minister on the way too. Ministers of finance and the interior have done time there. Like the citizens in Israel, their leaders also regard the law as something foreign, as an exilic sapling that was planted in the soil of this place. And this place, so they feel, belongs to them and to their fathers. Thus, the line of the law does not stop them from embezzling public funds, and the line of morality does not deter them from fondling any woman they fancy.

A corrupt state, people say. Here, they add, the brazen politicians do not commit harakiri in shame, as in Japan. Nor do they resign when they come under suspicion, as in England. But along with their flexible conscience, Israelis are characterized by another cultural principle, one that is unique to Israel – they have no fear of authority. Israelis are not shy about stating their opinion to a Nobel Prize recipient; their attorney general does not get flustered in the oval office of his president. The Israelis feel that everyone is equal – not based on a principle of law, but from the socialist Zionist experience. That is, this derives from the rejection of Europe and from the contempt for its hierarchical order. The “Buzaglo” test of former Supreme Court President Aharon Barak – which mandated equal conditions of investigation for all – is a Zionist test, not only a legal one. The fact that Israelis look at each other “at eye level” and speak to each other “heart to heart” means that Israel’s leaders cannot exploit their authority to evade the level playing field of the goddess of justice. That is also the reason why democracy in Israel – despite its challenges – is very strong: separation of authorities, the free and tenacious media, the State Prosecutor’s Office and police that investigate suspects without bias, and courts that rule with integrity. So, from a rational view from above it seems that Israel, in the absence of the European lines of conduct, is teeming with corruption. But Herzl is also basking there, confident that Israel’s democratic institutions ensure that it remains adjacent to Europe.

Herzl and sociology: The open society and its critics

The Dreyfus Affair was the watershed that drove Herzl’s thinking on the problem of the Jews in the Diaspora. This affair – during the very same days when Herzl formulated Zionism – was also used by Emil Durkheim, a French Jew and the father of modern sociology. Herzl concluded from the Dreyfus Affair that the Jews cannot continue to pray to God for their salvation and that they should solve their distress with temporal political action. Durkheim exploited the Dreyfus Affair to formulate a modernist social platform stating that social progress would be achieved through a liberal social distribution of labor, with human rights and social justice serving as a compass. The Dreyfus Affair shows, therefore, that Zionism and sociology share a common foundation: faith in man and in his ability to plan a just society and to fashion its institutions; both also share a utopian dimension. Indeed, sociology, like Zionism, sprung from a background of disappointment in the old regime in Europe. And, like Zionism, it also envisioned an enlightened society, grounded on the principles of justice, equality and fraternity. Later, soon after World War II, Karl Popper, one of the greatest philosophers of science, formulated this platform in The Open Society and its Enemies. Europe, he said, is embroiled in a titanic struggle between open liberalism and totalitarian fascism. These were large-scale social and political movements; Zionism and sociology, as twin ideological sisters, stood on the open and liberal side. Democracy, freedom of thought and expression, human rights, equality and social justice – all served as central values of both Zionism and sociology.

We can still find traces of this political and scientific theology today. Its signs are prominent in both the social protests and the critical sociological writing on society and politics in Israel. There are many within this academic discipline who dream of realizing a European or American society in the Land of Israel. And, on the other hand, there are those who wish to facilitate a process of Arabization. Both reject Israeliness and seek to create an alternative utopian dream in Israel. Indeed, sociological essays appear from time to time in the Israeli press seeking to transform Israel into France, the U.S. or Sweden. Israeli sociologists use those societies – whether due to identification from childhood or thanks to the political vision that emerged from them – as a moral criterion and as a normative objective. Again and again, other societies are cited in their writing as the ideal. Again and again, they publish articles, analyzing Israel’s failure to realize the French vision of Sieyès or of Napoleon. Again and again, they urge the Israelis to be “like in America.” But in dreaming about another society, the critics are not addressing Israel de facto, but instead envisioning a utopian, different Israel, one that does not exist – and, to tell the truth, apparently will never exist either. They analyze Israel from an ideological, almost Zionist viewpoint – because this viewpoint includes a belief that intellectual criticism can change reality; that once Israeli society is illuminated by the light of sociology, its leaders will “go to Canossa” [that is, humble themselves]and continue on to France and Paris, the “axis mundi” (the axis connecting the lower and upper worlds) of sociology. Even my colleague, Baruch Kimmerling – the father of Israeli post-Zionism – was an Israeli and a Zionist, because he wanted a just and good society just as Zionism’s leaders imagined it. The criticism of Israel – of its culture, policies and institutions – draws its motivation from Zionism, but in seeking to create a European model in Israel the critics forget that Israel is Israel. An ideal, utopia, a vision – all these are fundamental to Zionism. But from the moment Israel established its institutional patterns and defined arrangements for its economy, security and education, Israel became very hard to change. As sociologists Moshe Lissak and Dan Horowitz wrote nearly thirty years ago, Israel illustrates troubles in utopia. These troubles lead the public and its social scientists to complain continually about the gap between the vision and the reality. The Israeli kuterai [griping]is an additional feature of the Zionist culture.

However, the critical spirit of intellectuals in Israel stirs discomfort among many people and organizations. In recent years, it is indeed clear that the realistic Israel does not particularly like the critical social sciences that seek to improve it. The political persecution of critical approaches – that aspire to a different Israel – are expressed in the attempts to threaten faculty members not to express their views and in political pressure on administrators of academic institutions not to employ those whose thinking does not toe the line. These threats and pressures explicitly enlist Herzl and Zionism in this no-holds-barred political struggle. Knesset members, organizations and social movements monitor Israeli faculty members and inform the authorities about the things they say. They call for boycotting them and rejecting their candidacy to serve in “Zionist” positions, thus cleansing the ranks from doubt, reflection and objection. However, paradoxically, in the name of Zionism the persecutors are extinguishing the spirit of liberal openness that Herzl imprinted in the vision of the Israeli revolution. In fact, the persecution of critical intellectuals and researchers undermines the moral foundations laid by the fathers and the legal frameworks that the Knesset and the Supreme Court have molded in recent decades. If this persecution succeeds, mouths will be silenced. However, it will also quash the openness to the utopian dimension in Israeli life – a dimension that promises the continual improvement and progress of Israeli society. In reducing the openness of the public sphere to criticism, the persecutors are harming the basic foundations of Israeliness – the spirit of liberal openness. The political theology they are trying to impose on the general public brings gods and violence back onto the political map. But Herzl and Durkheim, who were fundamentally secular, wanted Zionism and sociology to be established on a basis of enlightenment, pluralism and freedom. The institutions that developed according to their approach ensure that the critics will be able to continue to criticize Israel, just as the howlers trying to silence them will be able to continue to persecute them. Zionism and modernism will withstand this challenge, and the pluralistic Israeli cacophony will apparently continue in its path of openness. In Israel, after all, nearly every voice is taken into account.

Prof. Gad Yair is a sociologist, writer, lecturer and educator. He is a former head of the Department of Sociology and Anthropology at Hebrew University of Jerusalem and director of the NCJW Research Institute for Innovation in Education. His books include The Code of Israeliness, which presents the ten commandments of Israeliness as perceived by non Israelis

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