Jewish Unity is Imperative to Survival
The Jewish conversation about Israel
has focused primarily on protecting the State we need. As a result, we have
neglected the task of imagining the society we want.
For many years now, the conversation about Israel
in the Jewish world has taken a familiar form. With rare exceptions, our
sovereign project is spoken of in Jewish communities across the globe with
pride about the past and anxiety about the future.
At formal gatherings, visiting Israeli speakers are invariably
introduced with some reference to the fact that “Israel
faces grave new dangers” or the “greatest challenges in its history.” They are
expected to address the threats confronting the Jewish state and respond to
audience questions that spread across a familiar spectrum ranging from concern
about Israel’s policies to concern about its public relations.
As one of those speakers, I am often struck by how a
discussion about Israel
can draw Jews together in so many different and distant communities around the
globe. There is something inspiring in knowing that Israel
is not alone in facing adversity and that Israel ’s
fate still stirs deep emotions in Jewish hearts.
And yet, there is also something deeply disappointing about
a conversation that is so crisis-centered; something disquieting about the
extensive focus on how to protect and defend Jewish survival, rather than on
how to imagine and advance a sovereign Jewish society.
This crisis-based mode of talking about Israel
retains pride of place among the many Jews deeply attached to Israel ’s
future as a sovereign Jewish State but worried about the trajectory the country
is on. These Jews may differ greatly, and argue vociferously, about how to
respond to Israel ’s
crises, but it is the sense of peril that animates their passions.
Nowhere is this kind of discourse more evident than on
issues of peace and security. Territorial compromise with the Palestinians, for
example, is for some Jews a national imperative and for others national
suicide, but each position is invariably cast in terms of the threats we face.
We are warned of “demographic threats” and international isolation if we do not
withdraw from the territories; of security threats and a violent rupture of
Israeli society if we do. In either case, it is the threat to Jewish survival
that is summoned as the decisive argument and that plays into the well worn
patterns of our national discourse.
The Roots of Anxiety
The roots of this threat-based conversation about Israel
are deep and multifaceted. The first, and perhaps most important, is that the
crises facing Israel
– from a nuclear Iran
to terrorism to delegitimization (the list continues) – are real. Though
sometimes exaggerated, these crises are not imagined. It is irresponsible to
belittle them and entirely legitimate to pay serious attention to how to
confront them.
It is understandable that many Jews – certainly in Israel
– feel that we are still at the stage of protecting what we have and cannot yet
indulge in the “luxury” of thinking beyond the dangers we face. Survival is our
first responsibility. And so, we continue living on a knife’s edge, ever alert
to existential threats, and pushing off questions of national identity and
purpose to quieter and less dangerous times.
A second, deeper, undercurrent of the crisis narrative is
found in Jewish tradition and experience. Our history as a people is so riddled
with persecution and existential anxiety that the relative success and safety
we enjoy today does not easily displace it – at least among older generations. Israel
remains for many of us the “Jew among the nations”: isolated, wary and
vulnerable. Israel
may be the “beginning of the redemption,” but until that redemption comes in
full and prophetic form, every achievement is seen through the lens of Jewish
history as fragile and reversible.
In this respect, as much as some of the earlier Zionists
imagined the emergence of the “new Jew,” the discourse about Israel
remains dominated by the old one. We have soldiers to be proud of and a society
that is innovative and vibrant, but we carry the anxiety about our place in the
world and our survival not unlike the archetypal Jews of Exile.
Yes, we have power now, when in the past we were powerless.
We can take pride in our capacity to defend ourselves. But in our national
consciousness, the sense that we are a fortress under siege remains palpable,
and even the way we use our power, and speak about its use, seems to reflect
this self-perception. We do not tend to broadcast confidence in our future or
control over our destiny, and even the vocabulary of our leaders is filled with
talk of existential threats and impending peril.
This is all to say that in many ways we are still a
traumatized people, and this does much to explain why the politics and language
of fear resonate in Israeli and Jewish society. The scars of the Holocaust
remain deep and will take generations to heal. Even if Israel ’s
enemies were not providing present threats, the ghosts of past threats would –
at least for many of us – be enough to shape much of our mind-set and
pre-occupation with potential danger.
This sense of national vulnerability influences the third
factor that seems to drive the focus on crisis: the model of Zionism that
underpinned Israel ’s
establishment and continues to shape the national psyche. The political Zionism
of Pinsker and Herzl, of Nordau and Ben Gurion (among many others), was richer
and more nuanced than is often appreciated, but its primary goal was to
establish Israel
as a place of refuge for the Jewish people.
Unable to live “normal lives” in the Diaspora, the political
Zionists’ core aspiration was to form a sovereign Jewish state in which it
would be finally possible for the Jewish people to be free to live as all other
nations. As Leo Pinsker put it in his early Zionist work of 1882,
“Auto-Emancipation”:
The essence of the problem, as we see it, lies in the fact
that, in the midst of the nations among whom the Jews reside, they form a
distinctive element which cannot be assimilated, which cannot be readily
digested by any nation. Hence the problem is to find means of so adjusting the
relations of this exclusive element to the whole body of nations that there
shall never be any further basis for the Jewish question.
This yearning for a “normal”, accepted, sovereign existence
naturally places attention on the obstacles to its attainment. If this is Israel ’s
aspiration, then it is the specter of the “nation that dwells alone,” of a
state in perpetual conflict, that must be overcome. In his first address to the
Knesset as Prime Minister in 1992, Yitzhak Rabin articulated this as the wish
of many Israelis:
No longer are we necessarily “a people that dwells alone,”
and no longer is it true that “the whole world is against us.” We must overcome
the sense of isolation that has held us in its thrall for almost half a
century. We must join the international movement toward peace, reconciliation
and cooperation that is spreading over the entire globe these days – lest we be
the last to remain, all alone, in the station.
Political Zionism’s pioneering moment may have passed. After
all, it succeeded, against incredible odds, in establishing the Jewish State.
But its hold on the national discourse is maintained by the sense that that
success is tenuous and must be constantly defended from external and internal
assault.
To all this may be added another layer, which is perhaps
more disconcerting. As a people, we have become so used to crisis that we may
worry (subconsciously) whether we can maintain our unity and collective purpose
without it. Crisis is a powerful rallying cry and a useful political tool. It
generates commitment, sacrifice, mutual responsibility, and philanthropy. It
can help Beyond Survival /// Tal Becker HAVRUTA | 59 smooth over fundamental
differences and defer divisive issues. What would the Jewish people look like
in the absence of some defining emergency as its focal point? How would
collective activism be maintained? Would there be a core narrative or set of
values that would keep us united?
Given our enemies, our history and the enduring spirit of
the political Zionist ethos, the Jewish people can be forgiven for worrying so
insistently over the last decades about the threats to their sovereign state.
But even if we understand the origins and the attraction of this narrative, we
need not embrace its hegemony over the discourse. It is perhaps time to
consider the fallout of this preoccupation. What has the national conversation
missed by being so focused on crisis? Who have we alienated? What have we lost?
The Place of Values
Even if necessary or unavoidable, the crisis model is
inadequate. It is not just that many Jews – especially younger ones – cannot
reconcile this model with the success they see, or the comfort and safety they
feel. It is that this model fails to provide a compelling narrative as to why Israel
can, or ought to, be both central and meaningful for contemporary Jewish life.
Especially for those Jews indifferent to, or disillusioned
with, Israel ,
the conventional narrative is both narrow and shallow. Narrow, in that its
focus is on the physical existence of the Jewish people in their homeland, not
on the breadth of what this sovereign project might offer for the collective
Jewish experience. Shallow, in that it pursues Jewish survival for its own sake
but tells no deeper story as to why that survival is important and worth
fighting for. This may be self-evident for some, but an increasing number of
young Jews seem to have little stake in Israel’s quest for survival, and a
conversation centered around the threats Israel faces creates little incentive
for them to care.
The result has been that while many have been engrossed in a
passionate debate about confronting the dangers to Israel ,
wide circles of Jews are not sure why that survival is important for them and
seem to feel embarrassed or even endangered by what they perceive to be Israel ’s
excesses.
The limited nature and scope of the current discourse offers
no response to these concerns. It takes the necessity of Israel
and its centrality for granted. It expects the conversation to focus on how to
guarantee it. Some even consider a genuine Jewish debate about Israel ’s
significance as opening the door to Israel ’s
enemies: it is seen as questioning Israel ’s
legitimacy and ultimately empowering its detractors. After all, no one asks why
Finland is
important, so why should Israel
be treated differently? In a world of mortal threats, the very question appears
dangerous.
For all the dominance and appeal of the current approach, it
is both possible and necessary to imagine the template for a different kind of
Jewish conversation about Israel .
This narrative would focus less on what is needed to protect the Jewish State,
and more on what kind of state we want Israel
to be. It is a values-driven discussion that is concerned primarily with a
debate about the principles we would like Israeli society to embody.
A values-based conversation about Israel
differs from the crisis narrative in four important ways. First, it is
internally motivated, not externally driven. In a values conversation, it does
not matter whether Israel
is being criticized or applauded. We are not concerned with what it will take
to repel a threat or answer a critic. We are engaged in what it will take to
address Israel ’s
challenges and build a society that reflects the values, tradition and
experience of our people. It is a conversation about us.
Those engaged in a values conversation measure success not
by whether we can persuade the world about the justice of our cause, but by
whether we are comfortable with the moral dimensions of our policies. In a
crisis- driven narrative, the issue of minorities in Israel ,
to take one example, is unlikely to be addressed unless it is seen as a threat
to Israel ’s
survival or a propaganda weapon for Israel ’s
opponents. In a values-based conversation the way a Jewish society relates to
its minorities exists as an independent question that deserves our attention,
regardless of whether it receives the attention of others.
Second, in the crisis model the conversation turns (and
often splinters) on the measures needed to repel the dangers we face. It
focuses on the nature of the concrete response to a given threat. A
values-driven conversation, however, does not ask what should be done before it
asks with what set of values should thoughtful and morally responsible Jews
engage the issue. It is as concerned with the questions we ask as with the
answers we give.
If, for example, the conversation about Israel ’s
response to the Turkish flotilla incident had been more values sensitive, the
first question would be what moral issues are at play here. Rather than center
the debate on the military and public relations implications of interdiction on
the high seas, we would first identify the moral tension between our
humanitarian responsibilities to others and our security responsibilities to
ourselves. We would examine, and argue about, how these moral responsibilities
could best be met in the circumstances. And because this tension provides no
easy answer, we may recognize that the Jew who questions the propriety of Israel ’s
forceful response in this case is not engaged in an act of betrayal, any more
than the Jew who supports it is engaged in an act of moral bankruptcy. If both
are genuinely trying to strike an appropriate balance between legitimate
ethical objectives, they are both fulfilling the same responsibility to meet
this challenge with a Jewish moral response.
Third, in the crisis model, criticism of Israel
and its policies are inherently problematic. If the focus is on confronting the
external dangers to Israel ,
Jewish criticism – especially when publicly expressed – is seen as demoralizing
the Jewish people and providing ammunition to Israel ’s
enemies. Unity of message is critical. In practice, of course, those engaged in
the crisis narrative regularly criticize one another publicly and, at times,
ferociously. But this is not because they see a plurality of Jewish voices in
the debate about Israel
as a value in itself. It is because they see views that diverge from their own
as dangerous to Israel
and requiring a powerful response.
By contrast, a values conversation would welcome a plurality
of voices, provided they are inspired by moral impulses and genuine concern for
the welfare of the Jewish State. Because the conversation is seen as internal
in nature, it is less concerned with (and, to be sure, provides less of an
answer for) the way criticism may be exploited by Israel ’s
adversaries. Its focus is the creation of a shared moral Jewish discourse about
the Jewish people’s sovereign project.
Put another way, for those committed to the crisis mindset,
Jewish unity is defined by the common threats we face, and it demands loyalty
to a common policy – usually the policy of the Israeli government in office at
any given time. A values narrative, however, sees Jewish unity in terms of a
common moral engagement. We are united as a people neither because we agree nor
because our common survival is at stake. We are united because of a shared
commitment to engage in the complex, partially agonizing, often divisive, and
sometimes exhilarating process of writing the next chapter of Jewish history in
a way that is worthy of our tradition.
Fourth, and finally, the ultimate purpose of a values
conversation differs markedly from the conventional discourse. If the crisis
narrative is driven by the moral imperative of survival, then the guiding
principle for the values narrative may be taken from the biblical commandment
of kedoshim tihiyu – to be a holy people.
What animates a discussion about Israel
founded on values is the unique opportunity and responsibility that comes with
belonging to a people that is 3500 years old. The question Beyond Survival ///
Tal Becker HAVRUTA | 61 it seeks to address is not “how do we survive?” It is
this: as custodians of an ancient story, as bearers of a particular moral
tradition and as a people shaped by particular historical experience, what form
and nature should a Jewish sovereign society take?
Aspirational Zionism
Unlike the political Zionism that underpins the crisis
model, a values-based narrative is inspired by what may be called “aspirational
Zionism.” Historically, political Zionism was primarily concerned with Jewish
survival, and today it continues to promote a state that defines its Jewishness
in minimalistic and, largely if not exclusively, survivalist terms.
Israel is Jewish in the sense that it has a Jewish majority
to maintain Jewish political self-determination; that the Law of Return enables
all Jews to find refuge here; that the state feels an obligation to protect
Jews worldwide; and that the state’s public symbols and days of rest have
Jewish origins.
But in what way can it be said that Israel ’s
policies or its society reflect Jewish values or aspirations? By this, I do not
mean the way in which Israel
meets Torah standards or approaches theocracy. I mean that the kind of Zionism
that a values narrative engenders is one that imagines Israel
not as a “normal state,” but as a state that gives public expression to the unique
history and tradition of the Jewish people. It argues that the “chosen people”
in the Holy Land need to aspire to more than the
normalcy and safety offered by political Zionism. They need to debate,
articulate, and ultimately seek to implement what the prophetic vision of a
sovereign nation that lives in righteousness means in modern times.
This does not imply that high moral aspirations must trump
realpolitik calculations. In Israel ’s
case, that would be naïve and dangerous. What’s more, concerns about survival
and deterring the sinister intentions of our enemies are moral concerns. But in
a values conversation, the moral message and foundations of Israeli policy
become a more explicit and conscious part of our deliberations.
This aspirational Zionism would ask more aggressively how we
create a society that is both Jewish and democratic – recognizing both as
values that need to live in harmony with one another. It would examine options
for a responsible and lasting peace not only through the prism of Israel’s
basic need and right for security and stability, but also through a Jewish
prism that sees the relentless and genuine pursuit of peace as a moral and
quintessentially Jewish obligation. And it would examine Israel ’s
social and economic challenges by asking not only how to enhance prosperity and
reward excellence, but also by honoring the Jewish obligation to care for the
needy and vulnerable.
Aspirational Zionism sees the pursuit of
peace as a moral and quintessentially Jewish obligation.
In responding to external events too, aspirational Zionism
would demand a different kind of sensitivity. Issues such as refugees seeking
asylum in Israel ,
popular uprisings in the Arab world, the establishment of an International
Criminal Court would be seen through a Jewish values lens, not just a
survivalist one. This would involve a higher moral reckoning that is not
confined to threat analysis but explores what a response to global events that
is true to Jewish values and history would look like.
Can the crisis model make space for this type of
conversation? Is it naïve to think that we can afford to engage in this kind of
aspirational discourse when facing such constant peril?
Paradoxically, it seems increasingly to be the case that the
obsession with a crisis-based approach is itself creating a kind of crisis.
The lack of sufficient attention to values is alienating too
many Jews and harming Israel ’s
image and legitimacy on the world stage. Israel
is not Finland .
Though its right to exist is unquestionable, the task of ensuring its security
and welfare requires costs and sacrifices that the Finnish people are spared.
Unless those costs and sacrifices are grounded in an aspiration greater than
physical survival, unless they are tied to a higher calling, fewer and fewer
Jews will be willing to pay the price.
An exaggerated focus on crisis also endangers us in other
ways. Even from a pure survivalist perspective, the sense that Israel
is obsessed with the precariousness of its sovereign existence does much to embolden
its enemies. We have reason to be confident in our capacity to meet the threats
we face and, from a strategic and policy perspective, even more reason to
broadcast that confidence to Israel’s citizens, to our friends and (most
importantly) to our adversaries.
A turn toward values, and reducing the rhetoric of fear in
Israeli discourse, signals something important to those that wish us harm. It
conveys determination and resilience. The sense that we are worried about our
fate empowers our enemies. The sense that we are shaping our destiny out of
collective purpose and a confident belief in our place in the world undermines
their resolve and strengthens our own.
A Shared Moral Discourse
There is no guarantee that a focus on values will overcome
the substantial divisions over Israel
within the Jewish world. In fact, it may even uncover some rifts that the focus
on crisis has helped conceal. But the elusive pursuit of a Jewish consensus
about Israel is
less important than creating an inclusive Jewish conversation. Crisis is
becoming an increasingly insufficient and illusory crutch for sustaining
worldwide Jewish commitment to Israel .
An honest attempt to shape a Jewish moral discourse about Israel
makes that commitment more meaningful.
Conducted responsibly, a values-driven conversation creates
a bigger tent in which our differences are less rancorous and divisive. Such a
conversation has the potential to transcend political divides, not because it
resolves disputes, but because it recognizes that what ultimately connects the
Jewish people to Israel
is not a shared fate or policy position, but a common moral calling.
The idea that the Jewish conversation should move beyond
survival is not new. The Jewish tradition has always demanded much more from us
than self-preservation. Under the burden of slavery in Egypt ,
the Jewish people sought freedom not for its own sake but for a higher purpose.
And today, under the burden of threats to our sovereign project we should
demand no less of ourselves.
Indeed, Zionism was never only a response to crisis – it was
a values project from its inception. In fact, many Israeli policies and the
debates around them can be understood on moral grounds, even if they are more
often couched today in survivalist terms.
It is possible to generate a Jewish conversation about Israel
in which the discussion both about the society we wish to create and the
threats we must face comes from a more mature, healthier, less traumatized
place. It does not require of us to diminish the dangers we face to argue that
we should aspire to confront them with a sense of inner confidence where we
neither resort to measures nor shy away from them because of the scars and
demons of our collective past. It requires that we appreciate that the pursuit of
our physical survival is empowered and made more meaningful – not weakened or
undercut – by debating the collective purpose and moral message of the Jewish
people and their sovereign state.
When our engagement with Israel
is so defined we create the space to aspire to and realize our better selves.
Maybe then, we will know we have come home to the Jewish State. Maybe then, we
can build one truer to its name.
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