Welcome to Israel, A.!
Friday, April 25, 2008
Thursday, April 24, 2008
On Parle Français Ici
Cette semaine il semble qu’il y a beaucoup de juifs français à Tel Aviv pour Pâque. J’ai entendu Français à la plage, dans la rue, et dans le supermarché. Aujourd’hui, pendant que j’étais à la laverie, un Français a entré avec ses deux enfants (un garçon et une fille) et demandé comment utiliser les machines à laver. Après j’ai expliqué, il est allé au supermarché pour acheter du savon, et j’ai parlé un peu de Français avec ses enfants (qui ont resté à la laverie). Après j’ai lu la biographie nouvelle d’Emile Durkheim par Marcel Fournier en Français, c’était facile de parler avec des enfants, et très amusant.
Monday, April 21, 2008
This Year in Jerusalem (or at Least in Israel)
On Saturday night I attended a Passover seder in Israel for the first time, thanks to the kind invitation of my new friends Shlomi and Orna. I was afraid that I might feel a little lost, since the seder was conducted entirely in Hebrew and I was surrounded by mostly new and unfamiliar faces, but in fact I had a wonderful time. That was in part because of the warm welcome I received, and in part because of the fascinating people I met. Orna's mother came to Palestine from Poland in 1944, so I told her about my grandmother who came to America from Poland in the 1930s. Asher, the brother of Orna's mother's first husband (who was killed in Israel's War of Independence), described himself as coming from a Communist background. I asked whether he was a follower of Ber Borochov, the great theoretician of Zionist Marxism, but he scoffed with a wave of his hand, saying Borochov was the theoretician of the Poalei Zion ("Workers of Zion"), Ben-Gurion's party. I took that to mean he had been to the left of Ben-Gurion and Poalei Zion. (I later learned that after Poalei Zion split into left and right factions in 1919-1920, the left faction became the Jewish Communist Party in 1921, which split in 1922, reunited as the Palestine Communist Party in 1923 and became an official section of the Communist International.) I also discovered that one of Asher's sons was a founder of Peace Now in 1978 and signed the famous "Officers' Letter" to Menachem Begin. Left-wing politics runs like a thread through the whole family.
Many things were familiar, including the traditional songs that are sung at the meal, but some things were different: no cup for Elijah the Prophet (whose return will herald the coming of the Messiah in Jewish tradition -- Shlomi gave me a long exposition about why he doesn't like Elijah), no yahrmulkas, and, most perplexing for me, they still said "Next year in Jerusalem" not (as I expected) "This year in Jerusalem." Since Gev, the host of the seder, was a kibbutznik, we used a special hagadah from the kibbutz movement. Also, Jews in the Diaspora have two seders (on the first and second nights), but for historical reasons Jews in Israel only have one seder on the first night.
All in all, it was a thoroughly enjoyable and utterly fascinating experience for me.
Many things were familiar, including the traditional songs that are sung at the meal, but some things were different: no cup for Elijah the Prophet (whose return will herald the coming of the Messiah in Jewish tradition -- Shlomi gave me a long exposition about why he doesn't like Elijah), no yahrmulkas, and, most perplexing for me, they still said "Next year in Jerusalem" not (as I expected) "This year in Jerusalem." Since Gev, the host of the seder, was a kibbutznik, we used a special hagadah from the kibbutz movement. Also, Jews in the Diaspora have two seders (on the first and second nights), but for historical reasons Jews in Israel only have one seder on the first night.
All in all, it was a thoroughly enjoyable and utterly fascinating experience for me.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Monday, April 14, 2008
Civil Religion in America and Israel
My friend and colleague Phil Gorski has posted a very interesting analysis of Barack Obama’s “More Perfect Union” speech, an analysis that points to the larger issues that the speech addresses. In Phil’s view, Obama’s speech is as much about religion as it is about race, and it approaches religion from a particular angle; it seeks to promote what Phil (following Robert Bellah and others) calls civil religion over its two main alternatives and rivals: liberal secularism and religious nationalism. Phil concludes that if Obama were to succeed in this endeavor, it would be a salutary development.
Phil’s analysis is focused squarely on the relationship between religion and politics in the context of American history, but it occurs to me from my current perspective in Tel Aviv that the analysis could be extended and transposed to Israel as well. Of course, the relationship between state and religion has been institutionalized differently here. (See Steven Mazie's book Israel's Higher Law: Religion and Liberal Democracy in the Jewish State.) Nevertheless, the three alternatives that Phil identifies are arguably discernable in Israel as well as America. In fact, I would say that relations between the secular and the religious are more polarized in Israel than in the United States, precisely because of the different institutional configuration of state and religion in Israel. (Of course, not all orthodox Jews are nationalist – some are non- or even anti-Zionist – but there is undeniably an important strain of religious nationalism in Israel, sustained and reproduced in such places as the Mercaz Harav yeshiva in Jerusalem, where eight students were murdered by a Palestinian terrorist last month.) In this polarized context, it seems to me that it’s even more essential to strengthen and reinvigorate civil religion. Too many Israelis, I suspect, fail even to see the possibility of a “third way” between liberal secularism and religious nationalism, though it is arguably already present in the existing culture and institutions of the polity. Israel’s 1948 Declaration of Independence, for example, states that “the State of Israel … will be based on freedom, justice and peace as envisaged by the prophets of Israel.” Thirty years later, the famous Officers’ Letter to Menachem Begin, which marked the beginning of Peace Now, appealed to these same sacred ideals to oppose government policies that would maintain control over the Arab population in the occupied territories, “hurt the Jewish-democratic character of the state,” and “make it difficult for us to identify with the path of the State of Israel.”
I see that Obama now has a blog in Hebrew oriented to Israelis. Let's hope that Israeli readers of his “More Perfect Union” speech will be as perceptive as Phil Gorski.
Phil’s analysis is focused squarely on the relationship between religion and politics in the context of American history, but it occurs to me from my current perspective in Tel Aviv that the analysis could be extended and transposed to Israel as well. Of course, the relationship between state and religion has been institutionalized differently here. (See Steven Mazie's book Israel's Higher Law: Religion and Liberal Democracy in the Jewish State.) Nevertheless, the three alternatives that Phil identifies are arguably discernable in Israel as well as America. In fact, I would say that relations between the secular and the religious are more polarized in Israel than in the United States, precisely because of the different institutional configuration of state and religion in Israel. (Of course, not all orthodox Jews are nationalist – some are non- or even anti-Zionist – but there is undeniably an important strain of religious nationalism in Israel, sustained and reproduced in such places as the Mercaz Harav yeshiva in Jerusalem, where eight students were murdered by a Palestinian terrorist last month.) In this polarized context, it seems to me that it’s even more essential to strengthen and reinvigorate civil religion. Too many Israelis, I suspect, fail even to see the possibility of a “third way” between liberal secularism and religious nationalism, though it is arguably already present in the existing culture and institutions of the polity. Israel’s 1948 Declaration of Independence, for example, states that “the State of Israel … will be based on freedom, justice and peace as envisaged by the prophets of Israel.” Thirty years later, the famous Officers’ Letter to Menachem Begin, which marked the beginning of Peace Now, appealed to these same sacred ideals to oppose government policies that would maintain control over the Arab population in the occupied territories, “hurt the Jewish-democratic character of the state,” and “make it difficult for us to identify with the path of the State of Israel.”
I see that Obama now has a blog in Hebrew oriented to Israelis. Let's hope that Israeli readers of his “More Perfect Union” speech will be as perceptive as Phil Gorski.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
The Ironies of Identity
Tonight I went to a birthday party for my friend A.K., which unexpectedly prompted some musings about universalism and particularism, belonging and being an outsider.
I’m always struck by the irony of those Israelis I meet (mostly far-left academic types) who are so opposed to Jewish particularism. Perhaps it’s a kind of reaction-formation that comes from living in the world’s only Jewish state. Moses Mendelssohn's advice was to be a Jew at home but a mensch (human being) in the street. In other words, the particular was to be confined to the private sphere, while the public realm was to be universal -- that was the compromise upon which the civil emancipation of the Jews in Europe was to be based. Tonight I met a woman who wanted to be nothing but a mensch, at home and in the street. Here was a Jewish woman, the child of two Jewish parents, living in the Jewish state, who insisted she wasn’t Jewish – just a human being. She aspired to be what communitarian critics of John Rawls call an “unencumbered self” (i.e., unencumbered by attachments that one cannot freely choose or reject because they constitute and define who one is). She wanted to be what Marx derisively described as an “abstract being squatting outside the world” (precisely what he insisted human beings were not). She wore Stalin’s epithet – rootless cosmopolitan -- as a badge of honor. But what is someone without roots but a luftmensch, suspended in mid-air? The repressed always has a way of returning. The woman reminded me of some typically black Jewish humor: A Cossack is pointing a gun at a Jew. The Jew, waving his arms around frantically, says, “What’s the matter with you? Don’t you see this is a human being in front of you?” But of course the Cossack doesn’t see the universal. That’s the whole point of the joke. He only sees the particular, even if the Jew frantically waving his (or her) arms can’t or won’t.
I’m not anti-universalist. On the contrary, my political views are strongly imbued with universalism. I’m all in favor of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights precisely because I think human rights are universal. I staunchly support the four freedoms – everywhere in the world. But I have long been skeptical about Kantian dualisms and dichotomies, including the notion that universalism and particularism are sharply and irreconcilably opposed. I’m much more Hegelian in my thinking: I want a dialectical synthesis of the universal and the particular.
Toward the end of the evening, the guests at A.K.’s birthday party dwindled to a small group of old friends seated around the table on the balcony talking together in Hebrew. I stayed for a while, trying my best to understand what was said and relying on A.K. or U. to occasionally translate the highlights of the conversation, but I soon lost interest and said good night. It was just too hard to follow. Before I left, U. apologized that everyone was speaking Hebrew, but I told him that no apology was necessary. If you can’t speak Hebrew here in Israel, I said, then where? Still, as I walked home in the cool Tel Aviv night air, I felt a vague sense of dissatisfaction and unease. It took me a while to understand why, but then it dawned on me. Sitting there in that circle, unable to follow the conversation, I had the feeling of being marginal, being an outsider. And there it was, the second irony of the evening: If there is any place in the world where Jews should feel a sense of belonging, should feel at home, it’s Israel. I was reminded of another joke, one that the olim (immigrants) from Russia tell in Israel: In Russia we were Jews, but in Israel we became Russians. The Ethiopian Jews tell the same joke: In Ethiopia we were Jews, here we are blacks. I think I understand them. Never do I feel more American than when I am abroad – even when abroad is the Jewish homeland.
I’m always struck by the irony of those Israelis I meet (mostly far-left academic types) who are so opposed to Jewish particularism. Perhaps it’s a kind of reaction-formation that comes from living in the world’s only Jewish state. Moses Mendelssohn's advice was to be a Jew at home but a mensch (human being) in the street. In other words, the particular was to be confined to the private sphere, while the public realm was to be universal -- that was the compromise upon which the civil emancipation of the Jews in Europe was to be based. Tonight I met a woman who wanted to be nothing but a mensch, at home and in the street. Here was a Jewish woman, the child of two Jewish parents, living in the Jewish state, who insisted she wasn’t Jewish – just a human being. She aspired to be what communitarian critics of John Rawls call an “unencumbered self” (i.e., unencumbered by attachments that one cannot freely choose or reject because they constitute and define who one is). She wanted to be what Marx derisively described as an “abstract being squatting outside the world” (precisely what he insisted human beings were not). She wore Stalin’s epithet – rootless cosmopolitan -- as a badge of honor. But what is someone without roots but a luftmensch, suspended in mid-air? The repressed always has a way of returning. The woman reminded me of some typically black Jewish humor: A Cossack is pointing a gun at a Jew. The Jew, waving his arms around frantically, says, “What’s the matter with you? Don’t you see this is a human being in front of you?” But of course the Cossack doesn’t see the universal. That’s the whole point of the joke. He only sees the particular, even if the Jew frantically waving his (or her) arms can’t or won’t.
I’m not anti-universalist. On the contrary, my political views are strongly imbued with universalism. I’m all in favor of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights precisely because I think human rights are universal. I staunchly support the four freedoms – everywhere in the world. But I have long been skeptical about Kantian dualisms and dichotomies, including the notion that universalism and particularism are sharply and irreconcilably opposed. I’m much more Hegelian in my thinking: I want a dialectical synthesis of the universal and the particular.
Toward the end of the evening, the guests at A.K.’s birthday party dwindled to a small group of old friends seated around the table on the balcony talking together in Hebrew. I stayed for a while, trying my best to understand what was said and relying on A.K. or U. to occasionally translate the highlights of the conversation, but I soon lost interest and said good night. It was just too hard to follow. Before I left, U. apologized that everyone was speaking Hebrew, but I told him that no apology was necessary. If you can’t speak Hebrew here in Israel, I said, then where? Still, as I walked home in the cool Tel Aviv night air, I felt a vague sense of dissatisfaction and unease. It took me a while to understand why, but then it dawned on me. Sitting there in that circle, unable to follow the conversation, I had the feeling of being marginal, being an outsider. And there it was, the second irony of the evening: If there is any place in the world where Jews should feel a sense of belonging, should feel at home, it’s Israel. I was reminded of another joke, one that the olim (immigrants) from Russia tell in Israel: In Russia we were Jews, but in Israel we became Russians. The Ethiopian Jews tell the same joke: In Ethiopia we were Jews, here we are blacks. I think I understand them. Never do I feel more American than when I am abroad – even when abroad is the Jewish homeland.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Announcements
1. School's Out for Summer! Well, with all due respect to Alice Cooper, not quite, but I do get a two-week Passover vacation from my Hebrew class starting next week. Of course, being an academic, I'm planning to devote much of that time to work -- more specifically, finishing the revisions on a paper that I've had on my desk since I arrived here in January. And I will also be teaching throughout the summer, from May until August. But I'm excited to get a two-week vacation nonetheless.
2. א. באה לתל–אביב I'm even happier to report that A. (האישה היפה הגאונה שלי) is at last able to come to Tel Aviv in two weeks, just two days before היום–הולדת שלי (my birthday). זות מתנה גדולה (That is a great gift.)
3. אני יכול לכתוב בעברית עכשיו As you can tell from my second announcement, I'm very pleased to learn (thanks to A.) that I can post in Hebrew as well as English. Not to worry, I promise not to get carried away and to always include translations for those who are even more Hebrew-challenged than me.
4. The Great Passover Chocolate Heist. My friends know how much I like chocolate, but let me assure you I had nothing to do with the theft of 100 tons of chocolate spread from the Hashahar Haoleh factory in Haifa. I am concerned, however, that "there may be a shortage of the legendary chocolate spread on the Passover table" this year. What will I put on my matzah?
From the perspective of the sociology of crime and deviance, I'm intrigued by the successful accomplishment of such an audacious heist. Who did it? How were they able to pull it off? And where did all that chocolate spread go? I'm certain this would make a great story line for the next sequel to Ocean's Eleven. Have you noticed how Brad Pitt's character is always noshing in those movies? And with such great opportunities for product placement, I'm sure the Hashahar Haoleh factory would be happy to bring George Clooney, Julia Roberts, & Co. to the Land of Milk, Honey, and Chocolate.
להתראות
2. א. באה לתל–אביב I'm even happier to report that A. (האישה היפה הגאונה שלי) is at last able to come to Tel Aviv in two weeks, just two days before היום–הולדת שלי (my birthday). זות מתנה גדולה (That is a great gift.)
3. אני יכול לכתוב בעברית עכשיו As you can tell from my second announcement, I'm very pleased to learn (thanks to A.) that I can post in Hebrew as well as English. Not to worry, I promise not to get carried away and to always include translations for those who are even more Hebrew-challenged than me.
4. The Great Passover Chocolate Heist. My friends know how much I like chocolate, but let me assure you I had nothing to do with the theft of 100 tons of chocolate spread from the Hashahar Haoleh factory in Haifa. I am concerned, however, that "there may be a shortage of the legendary chocolate spread on the Passover table" this year. What will I put on my matzah?
From the perspective of the sociology of crime and deviance, I'm intrigued by the successful accomplishment of such an audacious heist. Who did it? How were they able to pull it off? And where did all that chocolate spread go? I'm certain this would make a great story line for the next sequel to Ocean's Eleven. Have you noticed how Brad Pitt's character is always noshing in those movies? And with such great opportunities for product placement, I'm sure the Hashahar Haoleh factory would be happy to bring George Clooney, Julia Roberts, & Co. to the Land of Milk, Honey, and Chocolate.
להתראות
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Motorcrash
On this sunny, pleasant Wednesday afternoon, as I sat at a sidewalk table eating a falafel sandwich at my favorite falafel place on Dizengoff Street, I witnessed -- or rather heard -- for the first time a traffic accident in Israel. I say "heard" because I was startled by a loud noise on the street, but my view was blocked by a bus and it took me a moment to realize what had happened. It didn't quite register until I saw one of the guys who works at the falafel place rush out into the street to assist the people who were hurt. I got up from my table to help too, and as the bus moved out of the way I saw a woman, a man, and a moped lying on the street. A crowd quickly gathered, some trying to help, some merely looking. Some policemen were on the scene right away, and an ambulance arrived soon afterwards. The woman managed to get up on her own after a while, and she seemed OK, but the man had to be placed on a stretcher and put in the ambulance. Through it all, I watched with concern, but not having any medical training and only a rudimentary grasp of Hebrew, I wasn't sure what to do. I don't even know what telephone number to call here in Israel in case of emergencies. At the same time, my feelings of frustration were mixed with admiration for the people who were trying to help, especially the guy from the falafel place who acted so quickly and decisively. It made me wonder whether he had seen accidents there before.
I've heard that Israel has a very high rate of traffic accidents, so upon reflection I was surprised I hadn't seen more accidents already. (I've noticed that people on mopeds seem to drive especially recklessly, zipping around traffic rather than waiting in it.) According to one commentator from the Jerusalem Center for Public Affairs, Israel's high rate of traffic accidents is the result of "1) its deficient road and street system; 2) the massive, even exponential, increase in the number of automobiles using those roads; 3) the inexperience and limited capability of so many of Israel's drivers, especially the newer ones." Interestingly, he explains that "the Zionist halutzim [pioneers - W.Y.] built their cities as if they were building shtetls [small villages where Jews lived in Eastern Europe - W.Y.], this well after the automobile was being mass-produced in the United States and anybody with a little foresight could see that it would be accessible to almost everyone in the world within the century. Tel Aviv was founded in 1909 after Henry Ford had already begun to pay his workers enough money to buy the cars that he mass-produced. Yet the streets of Tel Aviv were not even designed for wagons but for donkeys and pedestrians." He adds that it was not until the 1980s, as Israel became more affluent, that most Israelis acquired private automobiles. Fordism, it seems, came late to Israel.
However, official statistics suggest that the rate of traffic accidents in Israel is not as high as I had assumed. Another commentator notes: "Contrary to popular thought (and in researching this, I found I was wrong as well), Israel has less traffic deaths than the US: a traffic accident death rate of 6 per 100,000 residents, while the US as 14.7 per 100,000 residents, making it more than twice as dangerous to travel by car in the US than in Israel. However, Israel almost catches up in the number of injuries (509 vs 626 per 100,000), and does exceed the US in accidents per distance driven (0.8 vs 0.4 per million km driven)." (The data on which these observations are based can be found here.)
All the same, I think I'll buckle up and avoid riding mopeds while I'm here in Israel.
I've heard that Israel has a very high rate of traffic accidents, so upon reflection I was surprised I hadn't seen more accidents already. (I've noticed that people on mopeds seem to drive especially recklessly, zipping around traffic rather than waiting in it.) According to one commentator from the Jerusalem Center for Public Affairs, Israel's high rate of traffic accidents is the result of "1) its deficient road and street system; 2) the massive, even exponential, increase in the number of automobiles using those roads; 3) the inexperience and limited capability of so many of Israel's drivers, especially the newer ones." Interestingly, he explains that "the Zionist halutzim [pioneers - W.Y.] built their cities as if they were building shtetls [small villages where Jews lived in Eastern Europe - W.Y.], this well after the automobile was being mass-produced in the United States and anybody with a little foresight could see that it would be accessible to almost everyone in the world within the century. Tel Aviv was founded in 1909 after Henry Ford had already begun to pay his workers enough money to buy the cars that he mass-produced. Yet the streets of Tel Aviv were not even designed for wagons but for donkeys and pedestrians." He adds that it was not until the 1980s, as Israel became more affluent, that most Israelis acquired private automobiles. Fordism, it seems, came late to Israel.
However, official statistics suggest that the rate of traffic accidents in Israel is not as high as I had assumed. Another commentator notes: "Contrary to popular thought (and in researching this, I found I was wrong as well), Israel has less traffic deaths than the US: a traffic accident death rate of 6 per 100,000 residents, while the US as 14.7 per 100,000 residents, making it more than twice as dangerous to travel by car in the US than in Israel. However, Israel almost catches up in the number of injuries (509 vs 626 per 100,000), and does exceed the US in accidents per distance driven (0.8 vs 0.4 per million km driven)." (The data on which these observations are based can be found here.)
All the same, I think I'll buckle up and avoid riding mopeds while I'm here in Israel.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Duck and Cover
Today, as my Hebrew class drew to a close at 10 a.m., I was jolted by the ominous sound of air-raid sirens. Not to worry, it was only a drill. Sirens sounded throughout Israel this morning (with the exception of Sderot, Ashkelon, and other towns near Gaza, which are busy dealing with real rocket attacks) as part of a five-day nationwide home-front preparedness exercise that started Sunday. The Jerusalem Post described it as "the largest national exercise for emergency situations in Israel's history." It was also the first drill orchestrated by the newly formed National Emergency Authority, which was created after the Second Lebanon War.
Since I was in class at the time, I missed the televised instructions from the Home Front Command on proper emergency procedures. (I wonder if there were English subtitles for Hebrew-challenged Americans like me?) However, my Hebrew teacher explained that school children were directed to enter the nearest bomb shelters during the drill. "What about us? What are we supposed to do?" asked a nervous fellow student. Apparently we were not far from a bomb shelter or fortified area on the Tel Aviv University campus.
Defense Minister Ehud Barak reassured the public that the drill did not mean the government anticipated war in the near future. Still, the experience was a little unsettling for an American like myself. Not since the height of the Cold War have Americans felt it necessary to conduct drills of this kind (although I do remember a run on plastic sheeting and duct tape five years ago). Here in Israel, they are a grim but prudent precaution. Israelis have bravely faced missile attacks before: Iraqi Scud missiles during the Persian Gulf War, Hizbullah missiles during the Second Lebanon War, and of course the incessant barrage of rockets that Hamas continues to fire from Gaza. And, as The Forward recently pointed out, Hamas is increasing the range of its rockets. "It is just a matter of time before they reach Tel Aviv," warned Eyal Zisser, a terrorism expert at Tel Aviv University. Minister of National Infrastructures and former defense minister Benjamin Ben-Eliezer issued a similar warning about Syria and Hizbullah this week. "In a future war," he noted, "there will be no place in the country" that is not within range of their rockets. Add to this situation the threats by Iranian president Mahmud Ahmadinejad to wipe Israel off the map, and the need for home-front preparedness should be obvious.
Is all this making me reconsider my semester in Israel? Not at all. Under these conditions, coming here – even for a few months – becomes an act of solidarity. If Palestinian sniper fire didn't scare away a delegation of Canadian Jews last Friday, then a little duck-and-cover practice is hardly going to send me running back to Wisconsin.
Since I was in class at the time, I missed the televised instructions from the Home Front Command on proper emergency procedures. (I wonder if there were English subtitles for Hebrew-challenged Americans like me?) However, my Hebrew teacher explained that school children were directed to enter the nearest bomb shelters during the drill. "What about us? What are we supposed to do?" asked a nervous fellow student. Apparently we were not far from a bomb shelter or fortified area on the Tel Aviv University campus.
Defense Minister Ehud Barak reassured the public that the drill did not mean the government anticipated war in the near future. Still, the experience was a little unsettling for an American like myself. Not since the height of the Cold War have Americans felt it necessary to conduct drills of this kind (although I do remember a run on plastic sheeting and duct tape five years ago). Here in Israel, they are a grim but prudent precaution. Israelis have bravely faced missile attacks before: Iraqi Scud missiles during the Persian Gulf War, Hizbullah missiles during the Second Lebanon War, and of course the incessant barrage of rockets that Hamas continues to fire from Gaza. And, as The Forward recently pointed out, Hamas is increasing the range of its rockets. "It is just a matter of time before they reach Tel Aviv," warned Eyal Zisser, a terrorism expert at Tel Aviv University. Minister of National Infrastructures and former defense minister Benjamin Ben-Eliezer issued a similar warning about Syria and Hizbullah this week. "In a future war," he noted, "there will be no place in the country" that is not within range of their rockets. Add to this situation the threats by Iranian president Mahmud Ahmadinejad to wipe Israel off the map, and the need for home-front preparedness should be obvious.
Is all this making me reconsider my semester in Israel? Not at all. Under these conditions, coming here – even for a few months – becomes an act of solidarity. If Palestinian sniper fire didn't scare away a delegation of Canadian Jews last Friday, then a little duck-and-cover practice is hardly going to send me running back to Wisconsin.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Fadela Amara on Israel, Anti-Semitism, and Islamist Politics
Upon my return to Tel Aviv, I found Adar Primor's interesting profile of and interview with Fadela Amara in Haaretz. Ms. Amara is a 43-year-old social activist from the hardscrabble, working-class quartiers de banlieue (suburbs) of France who is now serving as France's Minister for Urban Affairs. Primor described her this way: "feminist and single, an avowed secularist but also a proud Muslim. Militant in her soul and anti-Islamist in her blood. Connected to the ideological left but serving in a right-wing government." I don't know much about her, but based on this interview there seems to be much to admire.
First, I was impressed by her comments about Israel. She acknowledged that racism exists in Israel, as it does everywhere. But in contrast to Israel's most vituperative European detractors, many of whom now routinely and absurdly denounce Israel as an "apartheid state," Amara noted that Israel's ethnic and racial diversity made her feel more at home here, in certain respects, than in Europe. Her comments also challenged the tendency, also common among Israel's detractors, to class Israeli Jews as "white" and "European" in contrast to the Arab population. (In fact, roughly half of Israel's Jewish population is constituted of Jewish refugees from Arab countries and their descendants.)
Second, I was impressed by Amara's comments about the resurgence of anti-semitism in Western Europe. Anti-semitic acts in France have mainly been perpetrated by Muslim youths from the country's impoverished quartiers de banlieue ("suburbs"), which were swept by riots in 2005. Ironically, the Muslim youths who commit such acts are themselves frequently the victims of prejudice and xenophobia. Given Amara's background and her social activism on behalf of this marginalized Muslim population, one might expect her to deny the presence of anti-semitism, dismiss it as unimportant or insignificant, or make excuses for it ("an inevitable response to Israeli policies"). Instead, Amara criticized it squarely and forthrightly.
Finally, I was impressed by Amara's careful and crucial distinction between "Islam, as a religion and a faith," and "the Islamic activists who make use of it to promote their political program." This distinction allows her to avoid Samuel Huntington's flawed clash-of-civilizations thesis while recognizing (in a way some leftists have not - Britain's Respect Party comes to mind) the reactionary nature of the Islamist political project. Indeed, Amara's own activism furnishes clear evidence that the struggle against Islamist politics is as much a clash within civilizations as a clash between civilizations. As Amara put it, "I'm a Muslim who is fighting the Islamists, but not Islam.... The problem occurs when the religion [here I would add any religion - W.Y.] becomes a political project with fascist tendencies."
Based on this interview, I'd say Europe needs more leftists like Fadela Amara.
First, I was impressed by her comments about Israel. She acknowledged that racism exists in Israel, as it does everywhere. But in contrast to Israel's most vituperative European detractors, many of whom now routinely and absurdly denounce Israel as an "apartheid state," Amara noted that Israel's ethnic and racial diversity made her feel more at home here, in certain respects, than in Europe. Her comments also challenged the tendency, also common among Israel's detractors, to class Israeli Jews as "white" and "European" in contrast to the Arab population. (In fact, roughly half of Israel's Jewish population is constituted of Jewish refugees from Arab countries and their descendants.)
Amara says that when she was in Israel, she actually felt quite at home. She was invited here in June 2004 as part of a delegation of leftist women that met with Israeli and Palestinian women....
"I felt very comfortable [in Israel]. I wasn't the object of special stares, as often happens toward foreigners. I didn't feel any racism, though I'm certain it exists. You have all the colors there so it's become almost natural to see white, yellow, brown."
By your appearance, you could certainly pass for Israeli. Maybe that's the reason?
"Maybe, but I'm not used to that. Here in France, I get looks. To the French, I'm not very 'French.' We're living here under a dominant culture. When your name is Francois and you're white with blue eyes, it's one thing. But when your name is Fatima and you've got a little color, the look you get is different. In Israel - because of the variety of people, I didn't feel that. In fact, I met a lot of young people there and it happened more than once that I was talking with a Palestinian and thinking he was an Israeli or vice-versa. Luckily, some of them were wearing a Star of David, otherwise I would have been confused all the time."
Second, I was impressed by Amara's comments about the resurgence of anti-semitism in Western Europe. Anti-semitic acts in France have mainly been perpetrated by Muslim youths from the country's impoverished quartiers de banlieue ("suburbs"), which were swept by riots in 2005. Ironically, the Muslim youths who commit such acts are themselves frequently the victims of prejudice and xenophobia. Given Amara's background and her social activism on behalf of this marginalized Muslim population, one might expect her to deny the presence of anti-semitism, dismiss it as unimportant or insignificant, or make excuses for it ("an inevitable response to Israeli policies"). Instead, Amara criticized it squarely and forthrightly.
Did your visit [to Israel] change your views in any way?
"The point of view of the residents of the suburbs in France regarding the Israeli-Palestinian conflict is very narrow: The young Palestinians whom I met asked me to explain to the youths of the suburbs that their anti-Semitic acts are not helping them. That it creates a boomerang that hurts them in world public opinion. I was very impressed by this talk from the Palestinians I met, which was so different than that of the youths of the suburbs - some of whom, by the way, were put up to what they did by Islamic activists."
Is France anti-Semitic? Is it Islamophobic?
"No on both counts. We're good students. We've managed to reduce the number of anti-Semitic acts, but it's not enough, we have to continually keep at it. As for Islamophobia - there's no such thing. It's an invention of the Islamists that shouldn't be taken up."
But racism against Muslims - doesn't that exist in France?
"You have to be careful with the terminology. Anti-Semitism is a fact and we know exactly what it has led to in our history. It can't be compared to anything else. I'm not prepared to accept moral preachings from some Muslim intellectuals who use the term 'Islamophobia' as a parallel to anti-Semitism. When it comes to acts against Muslims, their religion doesn't play any part. These are racists acts, period. You can't liken the Holocaust and the memory of it to my personal-family memory, which is of the colonization in Algeria. It's true that my father, who was born in the colonial period, was deprived of his rights. He was not allowed to attend school, and I can only regret these 'sad intervals' of French history. But that has nothing whatsoever in common with the Final Solution. The terrible Holocaust was the most barbaric act the world ever came up with. It's not like anything else at all. Not even the genocide in Rwanda."
In Rwanda, it was an organized genocide, though.
"But it wasn't set out or carried out in the same mechanical and sick fashion. In my opinion, the trap that some intellectuals try to use by putting everything on an equal footing in the name of some sort of competition among memories is the ultimate anti-Semitic act. A deluxe act of anti-Semitism.
"Unfortunately, the problem of anti-Semitism isn't fully resolved in my country. It's returning in a new formula in the suburbs, where the Islamists have rotted our children's brains. If we had properly fulfilled our roles and if we had radically reduced anti-Semitism in France, including in administration, we wouldn't be witnessing its renewal today in the suburbs, in its Islamic form, together with its discourse, which has fascist overtones. It's all because of our cowardice and because we didn't want to admit and we didn't want to know.
"I have Jewish friends who tell me - Fadela, we don't want to talk about memory. That's a choice that I respect, but if these things aren't said, then no one will be protected."
...
"People talk about so many memories - colonization, slavery, etc. - but the emphasis has to be on the Holocaust, because we haven't sufficiently internalized the memory of it: Just two years ago, a young man from one of the suburbs was tortured for a month. And why? Because his name was Ilan [Halimi - A.P.] and he was a Jew. For a whole month. Can you imagine? A whole month. Thirty days. Do you understand what that means? Everyone knew about it. Or a lot of people, at least. And afterward they threw him out like a dog, and all because of his Jewish origin. It's intolerable. Just intolerable."
Finally, I was impressed by Amara's careful and crucial distinction between "Islam, as a religion and a faith," and "the Islamic activists who make use of it to promote their political program." This distinction allows her to avoid Samuel Huntington's flawed clash-of-civilizations thesis while recognizing (in a way some leftists have not - Britain's Respect Party comes to mind) the reactionary nature of the Islamist political project. Indeed, Amara's own activism furnishes clear evidence that the struggle against Islamist politics is as much a clash within civilizations as a clash between civilizations. As Amara put it, "I'm a Muslim who is fighting the Islamists, but not Islam.... The problem occurs when the religion [here I would add any religion - W.Y.] becomes a political project with fascist tendencies."
Based on this interview, I'd say Europe needs more leftists like Fadela Amara.
Avoid LHR but read Rabinovich
Greetings, chaverim v'mispocha. I returned to Tel Aviv on Friday after spending last week in New York. Since a travelogue should presumably contain information that is useful for other travelers, let me issue the following travel advisory: avoid London-Heathrow like the plague! That airport mishandled my luggage twice -- on the way to New York and again when I returned to Tel Aviv. They couldn't keep track of a bag if it was tied around their necks.
Even when I'm not in Israel, it's never far from my mind. While I was in New York, I went to hear a public lecture at NYU on "The New, New Middle East" by Itamar Rabinovich, Israel's former ambassador to the United States, the chief negotiator with Syria under Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin, and the president of Tel Aviv University from 1999 to 2007. He is also the author of several books, including Syria Under the Ba'ath; The War for Lebanon; The Road Not Taken: Early Arab-Israeli Negotiations; The Brink of Peace: Israel and Syria; and Waging Peace: Israel and the Arabs at the End of the Century. Having just recently blogged about Shimon Peres's 1993 book The New Middle East, I thought it would be interesting to attend Dr. Rabinovich's lecture, and I was not disappointed. I found it cogent and convincing -- enough so that I'd like to read his published work.
Even when I'm not in Israel, it's never far from my mind. While I was in New York, I went to hear a public lecture at NYU on "The New, New Middle East" by Itamar Rabinovich, Israel's former ambassador to the United States, the chief negotiator with Syria under Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin, and the president of Tel Aviv University from 1999 to 2007. He is also the author of several books, including Syria Under the Ba'ath; The War for Lebanon; The Road Not Taken: Early Arab-Israeli Negotiations; The Brink of Peace: Israel and Syria; and Waging Peace: Israel and the Arabs at the End of the Century. Having just recently blogged about Shimon Peres's 1993 book The New Middle East, I thought it would be interesting to attend Dr. Rabinovich's lecture, and I was not disappointed. I found it cogent and convincing -- enough so that I'd like to read his published work.
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