Israeli Nationalism: Social conflicts and the politics of knowledge (Routledge Studies in Middle Eastern Politics)

Israeli Nationalism The question of nationalism centres around the political, social, and cultural ways by which the c...

Author: Uri Ram

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Israeli Nationalism

The question of nationalism centres around the political, social, and cultural ways by which the concept and practice of a nation is constructed, and what it means to its various bearers. This book examines the issue of Israeli nationalism, combining a sociological study of national culture with a detailed analysis of Israeli intellectual discourse. The book thus deciphers the politics of knowledge of “Isralei nationalism”. Taking an interdisciplinary approach, the author explores the categories of thought that constitute the Jewish-Israeli “nation” as an historical entity, as a social reality and as a communal identity. Unraveling the ways in which Israeli nationhood, society, and identity had been assumed as immutable, monolithic, and closely bound objects by Zionist ideology and scholarship, he then explores how in recent times such approaches have become subject to an array of critical discourses, both in the academic disciplines of history, sociology, and cultural studies, and also in the wider sphere of Israeli identity discourse. This unique study of the issue of Israeli nationalism will be of great interest to students and scholars of Israeli Studies, Middle East Studies, and Jewish History, as well as those working in the ﬁelds of Sociology, Political Science, History and Cultural Studies with an interest in nationalism, citizenship, social theory, and historiography. Uri Ram is Professor of Sociology in the department of sociology and anthropology at Ben-Gurion University, Israel. He is the author of numerous scholarly publications in the ﬁelds of nationalism, collective memory, the sociology of knowledge, political sociology, and globalization. He is the author of The Globalization of Israel: McWorld in Tel Aviv, Jihad in Jerusalem (Routledge 2007).

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Israeli Nationalism Social conflicts and the politics of knowledge

Uri Ram

First published 2011 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 270 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2011. To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge’s collection of thousands of eBooks please go to www.eBookstore.tandf.co.uk.

© 2011 Uri Ram All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Ram, Uri. Israeli nationalism : social conflicts and the politics of knowledge / Uri Ram. p. cm. – (Routledge studies in Middle Eastern politics ; 29) Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Nationalism–Israel. 2. Group identity–Israel. 3. Political culture–Israel. 4. Israel–Intellectual life–Political aspects. I. Title. DS126.5.R299 2010 320.54095694–dc22 2010008224 ISBN 0-203-84441-6 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN 978-0-415-55316-2 (hbk) ISBN 978-0-203-84441-0 (ebk)

To Nava and Ilya with love

Contents

1

Acknowledgments

xi

Introduction: “Did you ever see Australia?”

1

History: The nation

7

The nation: imagined, invented, and narrated 8 The historians’ debate of the late nineteenth century 15 The essence of the Zionist narrative 17 Inculcation through state education 19 2

History: The others

28

Deconstructing the meta-narrative 28 Knowledge after objectivism 30 The politics behind history 34 The historians’ debate of the late twentieth century 38 3

Society: Uniformity

45

Mainstream and critical sociology 46 The Jerusalem modernization school 49 Modernization revised and revisited 52 The decline and fall of the “system” 54 4

Society: Diversity Sociology of elitism and pluralism 59 Ethno-classes and gender-classes 67 The colonization of Palestine 76 The time of the “posts” 80

59

x Contents 5

Politics: Exclusions

89

The Palestinian Nakba of 1948/9 90 The Israeli regime of forgetting 93 Ambiguities within Israel 102 Counter-hegemonic moves 105 6

Politics: Inclusions

111

Post-Zionist alternative visions 112 Post-Zionist cultural manifestations 115 Theoretical perspectives on post-Zionism 118 Ideological controversies and post-Zionism 123 Conclusion: “To accept as self-evident what I am told, this is unacceptable to me”

128

Notes Bibliography Name Index Subject Index

130 134 159 164

Acknowledgments

Some parts of the text of this book were published by the author elsewhere before, in different versions. They are reproduced here with permission, for which we are grateful. Chapter 1 is based on: Uri Ram, “Zionist Historiography and the Invention of Modern Jewish Nationhood: the Case of Ben Zion Dinur”. History and Memory, Vol. 7, No. 1: 91–124, 1995. Chapter 2 is based on the Uri Ram, “The Future of the Past in Israel: A Sociology of Knowledge Approach”, pp. 202–230 In Benny Morris editor, Making Israel. Michigan: University of Michigan Press, 2007. Chapter 5 is based on Uri Ram, “Ways of Forgetting: Israel and the Obliterated Memory of the Palestinian Nakba”, The Journal of Historical Sociology, Vol. 22, No. 3: 366–395, 2009. Chapter 6 is based on Uri Ram, “Post-Zionism: The First Decade”. Israel Studies Forum, Vol. 20, No. 2: 22–45, 2006.

Introduction: “Did you ever see Australia?”

A satirical piece by Israel’s foremost playwright, the late Hanoch Levin, recounts a conversation that takes place between two female neighbors in Tel Aviv. At the beginning of the exchange, Shuster, a teacher by profession, makes the claim that the world is ﬂat. Markus is shocked, yet Shuster continues her argument by questioning the existence of Australia: Shuster: Markus: Shuster: Markus: Shuster:

Markus: Shuster:

Markus: Shuster: Markus: Shuster: Markus: Shuster: Markus: Shuster: Markus: Shuster:

[…] Did you ever see Australia? No. Did you ever check whether Australia exists at all? What does it mean, “whether Australia exists”? Yes, yes, that is exactly what I said, “whether Australia exists.” Because who tells us about Australia, who circulates maps of Australia, material on Australia, who tries to convince us that there is such a place as Australia?—The Australian Embassy. But surely they are not objective, they are Australians. Excuse me Ms Shuster, what you said about the world may be plausible, but concerning Australia, come on. I am not saying Australia exists or does not exist, I did not investigate the matter. However, to accept as self-evident what I am told, this is unacceptable to me. It is not only books and maps Ms. Shuster; people were there. Where? In Australia. How do they know? What do you mean how? They boarded a ﬂight to Australia and landed in Australia. And how do they know they reached Australia? They were told. They were told! And who told them? The Australians. That is exactly it; and what did you expect the Australians to tell them? They say and I have to believe it? A person comes to me and says he is a doctor; and may be he is not a doctor but a decorator? In fact, this

2 Introduction: “Did you ever see Australia?” Australia thing sounds to me as a distortion of Austria, a distortion that for some reason nobody bothers to correct, although Austria too is a rather dubious business […] Markus: […] I have a cousin in Austria. I can show you letter from him. Shuster: Do not show me. Showing me does not prove anything to me. (Levin 1987) This dialogue perfectly demonstrates the gist of this book, provided “Australia” is replaced with “Israel.” Yet, it would be hasty to conclude that the book rebuts Israel’s very existence, its right to exist, or its legitimacy. On the contrary, it can be reckoned that Israel’s existence and legitimacy is equivalent to that of Australia, the United States, Turkey, Saudi Arabia, or any other country. We do not deal here with praising or condemning the “authenticity” of political, social and cultural categories such as “nation,” “society,” or “identity” of any “Australia” or “Israel,” but rather with the ways in which such categories are made “known” or imagined (to paraphrase Benedict Anderson, 1983: 15). Following the distinction between modern and postmodern intellectuals, made by Zygmunt Bauman, the role of the sociologist of politics and of knowledge is to interpret, not to legislate (Bauman 1998). Our pursuit is far from being physical or metaphysical. That “Australia” exists as solid territory engulfed by the Paciﬁc Ocean, or that “Israel” exists as a state on the east coast of the Mediterranean Sea and is bounded by the armistice lines of the 1948 war, is not questioned here. Rather, our concern here is with the political, social and cultural ways by which the concept and practice of “Australia” or “Israel” is constructed, and what it means to its various bearers—the “Australians,” the “Israelis,” or their various detractors. We wish to uncover who is included in these nouns and who is excluded from them, and on what grounds. How are the boundaries of these entities or identities demarcated and what is the substance that “identiﬁes” them as themselves rather than others? The answers to such questions, we believe, are not given “out there,” “naturally” or “positively.” Rather, we wish to argue that such answers are produced—politically, socially, and culturally, and our intention here is to analyze their production and construction. Thus, the book asks “how do we know” and “who told us” what is included in a noun such as “Australia” or “Israel”? It also evinces that whatever we know about “national identity” is not “objective knowledge,” but a self-produced and otherproduced knowledge—a “positional knowledge.” The sources of this knowledge are always “Australians” or “Israelis” or individuals of a certain circumstantial, constructed and socialized identity. We all are—social scientists included. In this book, “Israel” is our “Australia.” We shall probe here three (partially overlapping) dimensions of “Israeliness”: “nation,” “society” and “politics.” Accordingly, the book is divided into three sections. In the ﬁrst section (Chapters 1 and 2), we explore the question: what is the (constructed) Israeli-Jewish nation? In the second section (Chapters 3 and 4), we probe the question: who are the (constructed) social constituents of Israeli society? The third section (Chapters 5 and 6) is engaged in the question of how Israel’s (constructed) polity is signiﬁed.

Introduction: “Did you ever see Australia?” 3 “Israeli nationalism”, as it appears in the title of this book, is itself an imaginative construct. There is hardly an existing entity that this designation describes, as yet, but the controversies over it linger on. The common reference is to “Jewish nationalism” or to “Jewish-Israeli nationalism”; yet more than 20 percent of “Israelis” are in fact “Palestinians.” The Arabs in Israel were once called “Israeli Arabs”; later they were referred to as “Arab citizens of Israel,” and still later as “Palestinian Arab citizens of Israel” (Peled 1992; Rabinowitz 1993). Such appellations do not denote an “object,” but rather a subject, which is deﬁned by himself or by others. The same goes for our “Australia”—“Israeli nationalism.” The question is: what does the name denote? Our method of inquiry combines two major scholarly ﬁelds: the study of political culture, and especially the study of “nations,” “identities,” and “collective memory”; and the study of social knowledge, more speciﬁcally, the sub-discipline known as the sociology of knowledge, by which we refer to the history, philosophy, and sociology of discursive ﬁelds and systems of thought. The unique feature of the present study is that it examines ways by which the knowledge of the nation, its society and its polity is cultivated by its subjects and in turn, it cultivates them by processes of construction and deconstruction. This investigation is undertaken in three steps: in the ﬁrst section of the book (Chapters 1 and 2), we probe Israeli historical knowledge as it evolved in academic historiography and the controversies surrounding it. In the second section (Chapters 3 and 4) we examine societal knowledge as it evolved in the academic discipline of sociology and the debates surrounding it over the structure and constituents of society. In the third section of the book (Chapters 5 and 6) we query the knowledge of the polity—the ways in which inclusion and exclusion are demarcated and practiced by the collective. Thus, each pair of chapters addresses one relevant discursive/intellectual ﬁeld. In each section, the ﬁrst chapter presents the hegemonic perspective of the ﬁeld, and the second chapter discusses the counter-hegemonic challenges, or alternatives of the ﬁeld. The Israeli nation, society, and polity are addressed here as “epistemological projects”; as “objects” which are in fact “subjects” that are constructed through production of knowledge, and also generate counter-epistemologies or “other” knowledge, that de-construct the “givens” of the objects/subjects (for national traditions in sociology see Levine 1995; Patel 2010; and in history see Iggers, Wang, & Mukherjee 2008). Put in more concrete terms, the book unravels the ways by which the Israeli nation, society and identity has been assumed in Zionist ideology and especially in Zionist scholarship, from the emergence of Zionism and through the nation-building stage of Israel, as a ﬁxed, homogenous and cohesively bounded entity. It also explores how and why since the 1970s such perspectives were subjected to critical discourses, in such disciplines as history and sociology, as well as in the wider discursive sphere on Israeli identity. Such critical approaches indicate the variegated, heterogeneous and potentially inclusive boundaries of nation, society, and identity. *

4 Introduction: “Did you ever see Australia?” The ﬁrst section of the book addresses the discursive ﬁeld of history. Chapter 1 deals with the foundations of the Zionist narrative of the nation, and Chapter 2 deals with the counter-narratives of the nation’s others. The nation (Chapter 1) outlines the most fundamental assumptions of the Zionist historical narrative and the manner in which it constructed its object—the “Jewish nation.” It analyzes the essentialist and teleological assumptions that enabled Zionist historiography to relate to dispersed and varied actual histories, presented in an ideal manner, as a linear and monolithic national story. As such, the Zionist narrative established both the “we” group and provided a legitimization to its claim over Palestine as a lost possession of the Jewish nation, from which the group was expelled by force and hence was “temporarily” absent for two millennia. The chapter analyzes early Zionist historiography through the work of one of its leading progenitors—Professor Ben Zion Dinur. The biography of Dinur—who, in addition to being a leading historian, was Israel’s minister of education during the state’s formative years—enables us to trace how the Zionist narrative was inculcated into Israel’s educational curriculum and shaped Israelis’ identity. The others (Chapter 2), shows how in a later phase of the state’s development, the by now established hegemonic narrative that was composed by the veteran Ashkenazi elite was challenged by various “other” stories, giving expression to a variety of social categories, which up to that point were either excluded or marginalized by the established national elite. Foremost among these “new” groups are the Palestinians, the Mizrachi Jews (who immigrated to Israel from Muslim countries), religious Jews, women, and a new managerial elite. The fall of the Labor party, which was dominant from the 1920s to the late 1970s, enabled other constituencies to join the political arena. It is against this political-social backdrop that the “the historians’ debate” in Israel erupted in the 1990s. The chapter delves into the debate and its implications, by re-constructing three main historical meta-narratives that compete over the re-designation of Israeli identity: the old national meta-narrative; and the two new counter-meta-narratives of neo-Zionism—an exclusionary ethno-nationalist trend; and of post-Zionism—an inclusionary (but class biased) liberal trend. The second part of the book addresses the discursive ﬁeld of sociology. Chapter 3 deals with the depiction of society by mainstream sociology as homogeneous, and Chapter 4 deals with the depiction of social heterogeneity by the various streams of critical sociology. Uniformity (Chapter 3) discusses the rise of the earliest paradigm of Israeli sociology, which dominated the discipline from the 1950s through the 1970s, and the manner in which it conceptualized Israeli society. Established as an academic discipline at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem in 1948, sociology emerged together with the state. It was headed for more than 20 years by one ﬁgure— Professor S. N. Eisenstadt, whose disciples followed his example. Eisenstadt was associated with Talcott Parsons and under his inspiration Israeli sociology was modeled on modernization theory. The “Jerusalem School’s” approach studied Israeli society with a focus on integration and cohesion: nation-building, the gathering of exiles into a melting pot, and development. Such a conceptualization

Introduction: “Did you ever see Australia?” 5 of society was congruent with the then hegemonic Labor movement and its selfimage as an agent of national modernization. Sight was lost of inherent conﬂicts and contrasting interests that abounded in Israeli society around class, ethnic, national, and gender lines. This is the topic of the next chapter. Diversity (Chapter 4) analyzes Israeli critical sociology, which started to emerge in the 1970s, and to introduce different conceptualizations of Israeli society. As in the former chapters, attention is paid to both “internal” discursive transformations and “external” social, political and cultural inﬂuences. On the academic plane, the paradigmatic transformation in sociology was facilitated by expansion of higher education and the emergence of new research centers that challenged the “Jerusalem school.” However, of more importance were the tectonic moves in society itself that pushed for a changed sociological paradigm. Three events between 1967 and 1977 stimulated the transformation: the 1967 War and the resulting occupation of Palestinian territories; the 1973 War which brought Israel to the brink of destruction and ushered in a period of self-doubt; and the 1977 elections, the major after-shock of the 1973 War, which deposed Labor from the government for the ﬁrst time in the country’s history. Parallel with these tumultuous events, new schools in the social sciences emerged in Israel. All of them opposed the “Jerusalem School” and all of them focused on conﬂict, rather then on consensus. These trends included an elite and power school (in Tel Aviv University), a Marxist school and pluralism school (in Haifa University) and a colonialism school, as well as a new feminist sociology. After the ﬁrst wave of critical sociology of the 1970s and 1980s, the 1990s ushered in yet another seismic transformation in the socio-cultural perspective, which was ignited by processes of social globalization and cultural postmodernization, The result was of new radical approaches, which may be grouped around the preﬁx “post”: poststructuralism, postcolonialism, and post-Marxism, all of which reﬂect the further fragmentation of “Israeli society” as a concept and as a reality. The third part of the book (Chapters 5 and 6) addresses the discourse of politics. Chapter 5 deals with the “Judaization” of Israel by the exclusion of the Palestinian Arabs, and Chapter 6 deals with an inclusive concept of “Israeliness” as it is articulated in the post-Zionist discourse. Exclusions (Chapter 5) addresses the major feature that went into the construction of the Jewish polity in Israel since the 1948 War of Independence. For the Palestinians, Israel’s independence was their Nakaba (“catastrophe” in Arabic). Around 700,000 Palestinians were expelled or evacuated from the territories of the new state and were never granted permission to return to their homes. Around 400 Palestinian villages were destroyed. A dramatic demographic change was a fundamental result of the war. The Jews, who until the war accounted for 50 percent of the Palestinians, became a decisive majority (some 85 percent) of the population within the new state’s borders. The events of 1948–9 are not our concern in this chapter, but, rather, the imprinted signiﬁcation of these events on Israeli memory and identity. Our intent here is to analyze the orchestrated collective amnesia that constituted the core of Jewish national identity in Israel, the mechanisms that affected this amnesia, as well as why and how it was challenged later on.

6 Introduction: “Did you ever see Australia?” Inclusions (Chapter 6) focuses on the advance of counter-hegemonic Israeli identity, which subverts the Jewish ethno-nationalist conventions. This identity is analyzed under the heading of post-Zionism. The concept is alluded to throughout the book but in this chapter its separate threads are interwoven together. In face of the ambiguities of mainstream Zionism—that advocates Israel as a Jewish and democratic state; and the ethnic racism of Jewish neo-Zionism—that advocates Israel as a Jewish state; the concept of post-Zionism advocates that Israel becomes “a state of all its citizens,” based on “post-national” constitutional citizenship (Habermas 2001). Post-Zionism serves today as a fulcrum for an emerging array of reﬂections upon Israeli society, both analytically and normatively. The chapter offers a broad survey and analysis of “post-Zionism.” It reviews the history of the concept since its emergence in 1993; it depicts various manifestations of post-Zionist culture in Israel; and it presents different theoretical perspectives on post-Zionism: post-national, postmodern, postcolonial, and post-Marxist. The chapter ends with an evaluation of the state of post-Zionism in the ﬁrst decade of the 2000s and of its future prospects.

1

History: The nation

Jewish-Israeli nationality is a modern construct. In this it merely conforms to a general pattern of the “construction” and “invention” of nationality in modern history. This chapter deals with the role of historiography in the invention of modern Jewish (later turned into Jewish-Israeli) nationhood, and it demonstrates the extent to which nationhood is indeed a constructed—and hence also a contested— ediﬁce, even in what is ostensibly a plain case of the supposed “revival” of an “ancient nation.” The next chapter (Chapter 2) addresses the ways in which in postmodern times the constructed and invented narrative of linear, homogeneous, and essentialist notions of Jewish nationhood is challenged and deconstructed by “other” historical narratives, of dominated and marginalized groups. Moreover, the problematic ties between this notion of Jewish nationhood and Israeli nationalism are investigated. Jewish national ideologues faced a serious problem of weaving different episodes, experienced by different groups in distinct periods and distant locations, into a single collective biography. That such dispersed episodes do converge to the “collective biography” of a single historical subject was far from being obvious. The resolution of this fundamental quandary became the major purpose of the invented modern Jewish national historical narrative. To meet this challenge the narrative was constructed around the twin themes of the unity and continuity of the supposed nation. Two historiographical principles were thus employed to “invent” the nation: the organic principle of collective wholeness and the teleological principle of historical linear progression. In this chapter we investigate two facets of the narrative—its composition and its propagation, that is history-writing and history-teaching. As a vantage point from which to scrutinize these two complex practices we focus on the contribution to them of one scholar: historian and educator Ben Zion Dinur. This serves as vignette to the broader theoretical and historical issues under discussion. The ﬁrst subheading addresses the issue of the cultural construction of nationalism; the second sub-heading addresses the historians’ debate of the nineteenth century over Jewish nationalism and outlines the fundamental tenets of the Zionist historiosophical paradigm; and the third sub-heading addresses the dissemination through education of the Zionist historical narrative. Finally, at the end of the chapter we ponder the congruence between historical and political categories. We highlight the afﬁnity

8 History: The nation between traditional Zionist historiography and the primordial-conventional notion of Israeli collective identity; and in contrast, the afﬁnity between the nascent postZionist historiography and a civic-post-conventional multicultural notion of Israeli collective identity.

The nation: imagined, invented, and narrated That nationhood is a socially constructed cultural artifact is an argument made by a barrage of contemporary students of the issue. Benedict Anderson coined in this vein the celebrated term “imagined political communities”; Homi Bhabha depicts the nation as “narration”; Eric Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger propose the notion of “invented traditions”; and Ruth Wodak and her associates maintain that national identities are produced and reproduced, as well as transformed and dismantled discursively (Anderson 1983/1991; Bhabha 1990; Hobsbawm & Ranger 1983; Wodak et al. 1999). Nationalism is particularly perplexing due to its blurred temporality. As Hobsbawm put it, while generically nationalism is a modern phenomenon, it digniﬁes itself as an aged phenomenon. This perplexity has given rise to the central scholarly controversy over nationality in the recent era, the one between the “modernist” and the “primordialist” views (Smith 1986: 6–18; for the nationalism debates see Balakrishnan 1996; Hutchinson & Smith 1995). In the former view, nations are considered as the ideological corollaries of social, economic, and political modernization processes (secularization, communication, state-making, etc.) which sundered older collective ties. Ernest Gellner argues in that regard that “nationalism is not the awakening and assertion of … mythical, supposedly natural and given units. It is on the contrary, the crystallization of new units, suitable for the conditions now prevailing …” (Gellner 1983: 49). It is precisely the function of nationalism to provide a cohesive and integrative culture as a substitute for a variety of diminished identiﬁcations (religious, communal, regional, etc.). It is the distinctive feature of modern nationalism (and, incidentally, also of modern fundamentalism) that it legitimatizes present political agendas by reference to the traditional cultural arsenal of the concerned groups, or even fabricates them and presents them as immemorial. In the “primordial” (or “perennial”) view, on the other hand, nations are considered as late conﬁgurations of old social groups or communities. Nations existed, as the title of John Armstrong’s book put it, before nationalism; i.e., national identiﬁcations are anterior to their current ideological articulations (Armstrong 1982). In this view nations are bound together and are distinct from each other by common historical experiences and cultural attributes such as language, religion, ethnicity, and territory. Modern nations are therefore the “natural” or “legitimate” heirs of older collectivities. Anthony Smith suggests the category of ethnie as the “pre-existing framework of collective loyalties and identities” which serves as a groundwork for the construction of nations (Smith 1986: 3, 13). Yet the contrast between the opposing positions in this controversy is more apparent than real. A closer reading reveals that the denominator between them is

History: The nation 9 in fact more profound than their loud polemical differences. Thus a quintessential modernist such as Gellner willingly admits that “nationalism uses the preexisting, historically inherited proliferation of cultures and cultural wealth” adding only that “it uses them very selectively, and it most often transforms them radically” (Gellner 1983: 55). Likewise, a resolute modernist such as Hobsbawm maintains that “in many parts of the world, states and national movements could mobilize certain variants of feelings of collective belonging which already existed and which could operate, as it were, potentially on the macro-political scale which could ﬁt in with modern states and nations” (Hobsbawn 1990: 47). On the other hand a sworn primordialist such as Smith sounds almost similar when admitting that the “constituents of [national] identities—the myths, memories, symbols and values—can often be adapted to new circumstances by being accorded new meanings and new functions” (Smith 1986: 3) or that in some cases nationalists “use a very selective memory for the tale they wish to impart” (Smith 1986: 177). He furthermore observes correctly that the “past” is multiple and ﬂexible and “in the nature of things, the ‘past’ that is handed down is multi-layered and susceptible of different interpretations. [Moreover] it also often contains quite different strands of tradition” (Smith 1986: 178–9). Since primordialists concede that the “past” is a selective and interpretive present construction, and since modernists concede that the “present” must make use of available past cultural repertoires of the collectivities in question, the gulf between the two is indeed minor. In fact, what emerge as decisive from both angles are the social mechanisms and cultural devices by which modern national identities are constructed. This observation is valid both in cases where pre-national collective identities evidently prevailed, and in cases where they did not, because in any event national identity is an invented novelty of the last 200 years. The case with which we are concerned here is the role of historiography in the invention of modern Jewish nationhood, in the service of the Zionist movement and, later, the state of Israel. The Jewish national narrative was constructed, as mentioned, around the twin themes of the unity and continuity of the ostensible nation. The nation was staged as an historical protagonist, traveling through life’s journey. National historiography narrated a perennial “Jewish people,” which despite spatial dispersion and temporal ruptures preserved its common identity. In modern times, this aged nation ﬁnally started returning to its homeland, to its birthplace in Eretz Israel, where it revives its youthful days. Zionism is conceived as the telos of Jewishness and Judaism, as the dramatic climax—a redemption—of a lengthy period of exile replete with persecution; or, in the post-Second World War version of Zionism, that culminated in a tragic nadir of destruction: the holocaust. An exemplary summation of that narrative is provided by the foundational document of the state of Israel, its Declaration of Independence, from 1948, which condenses the whole national saga in its ﬁrst three paragraphs: Eretz Israel (the land of Israel) was the birthplace of the Jewish people. Here their spiritual, religious and political identity was shaped. Here they ﬁrst

10 History: The nation attained a statehood, created cultural values of national and universal signiﬁcance and gave to the world the Book of Books. After being forcibly exiled from their land, the people kept faith with it throughout their Dispersion and never ceased to pray and hope for their return to it and for the restoration in it of their political freedom. Implied by this historic and traditional attachment, Jews strove in every successive generation to re-establish themselves in their ancient homeland. In recent decades they returned in their masses. Pioneers, ma’pilim (immigrants), and defenders, they made deserts bloom, revived the Hebrew language, built villages and towns, and created a thriving community, controlling its own economy and culture, loving peace but knowing how to defend itself, bringing the blessing of progress to all the country’s inhabitants, and aspiring towards independent nationhood. (State of Israel 1948) In what follows are discussed some crucial moments in the invention of the Zionist national tradition, which is codiﬁed in these paragraphs of the Declaration of Independence. * Ben Zion Dinur was born in 1884 in Poltava in the Ukraine to a family of Chabad Hasidim. He received a common yeshiva (religious) education and was even accredited as a rabbi. Simultaneously he was also exposed to the Haskalah, a ﬁrst wave of Jewish secular culture (the Jewish counterpart of the Enlightenment), and found his way to a university education, ﬁrst at Berne and Berlin and later at Petrograd. Before and during the First World War he stayed in Charson and in Petrograd, where he engaged in Jewish and Zionist educational and cultural activities and completed his dissertation. After the October Revolution he decided to emmigrate to Eretz Israel (Dinur 1958a). In 1921 he ﬁnally arrived there (with his wife and son) and settled in Jerusalem, where he stayed for the rest of his life. He passed away in 1973. His life thus accompanied the crucial periods of the early Zionist Movement, the formation of the Jewish settlement in Palestine and, later, of the establishment of the state of Israel and its ﬁrst two and a half decades. Throughout this period he was one of the most entrepreneurial intellectuals of the community. Dinur was a teacher in, and later the head of, the Jewish Teachers’ Training College in Jerusalem, from 1923 to 1948. He was among the founders of the ﬁrst Hebrew High School in Jerusalem in 1936. In that year he was appointed lecturer in modern Jewish history at the Hebrew University, where he was nominated a professor in 1948. He was a member of the Committee of the Writers Association and of the Teachers Association, and a Chair of the Literary Council of the Biyalik Foundation (from 1935). He was an active member of the mapai political party (a center-left party, which emerged in the 1930s as the dominant political force in the Jewish community in Palestine), and served as a representative of it in the

History: The nation 11 Zionist Congress in Prague (1933) and in the ﬁrst Knesset (Israeli parliament) from 1949. He served as the Minister of Culture and Education of the Government of Israel from 1951 to 1955. In this latter capacity he was responsible for the formulation and implementation of the 1953 State Education Law (which is discussed below). He was a founder and, from 1956 to 1959, the president, of the Yad Vashem Holocaust Memorial, the Chair of the Directorship of the Central Archive for Jewish History, President of the World Congress for Jewish Studies, and much more.1 His scholarly productions were as extensive as his educational and political ones. He was among the founders of the Eretz Israeli Association for History and Ethnography (in 1923) and among the founders and editors of the bibliographical quarterly Kiryath Sepher (in 1924) and of the historical annual (later quarterly) Zion. He was the Chair of the Institute for Studies of Judaism (from 1942) and compiled extensive anthologies of sources and documents in Jewish history. He was among the initiators and editors of several collections of historical documents and wrote a number of books on the history of the Zionist movement. As a token of gratitude for his contribution to the Jewish national revival, Dinur twice won the prestigious Prize of Israel, in 1958 in Jewish Studies and in 1973 in Education (a prize, incidently, that Dinur himself initiated when he was a Minister).2 For Dinur the study of history was not a mere scholarly profession but rather a vocation, a historical mission in its own right. While writing Jewish history he participated in changing it, and while changing it he wrote a history suitable to his political faith. Dinur was keenly aware of the role of past images in the shaping of the present, and of his own role as an author of a national narrative. He was most concerned with the ideological and didactic effects of history and historical consciousness. He openly conceded that he cherished historical consciousness and knowledge not only for their intellectual merits, but rather, ﬁrst and foremost, for the emotions they evoke and the will-power they instill. The heritage of collective memories, he maintained, is not only a passive depository of information about the nation, but rather a foundation for the “sense of common destination,” for the “active will for continuity,” and for a “unifying empowerment” (Dinur 1938a: xiii). A “renewed historical consciousness” was for him not a matter of academic curiosity but “a ﬁrst condition for great historical deeds which historical fate tossed upon us forcefully, and which move us forward, willingly or not” (Dinur 1978f: 159). Dinur’s article on “The Historical Consciousness of the People and Problems in Its Study” is a masterly study of what we today call “collective memory” (Dinur 1978g). He designates “historical consciousness” (hacarat ha-avar) as “an ascertained knowledge which imparts emotional conﬁdence.” Historical consciousness was for him almost synonymous with “national consciousness” which consists of the “collective consciousness of the people of its singularity, the singularity of its existence, as one collectivity, which posses self-essence, distinct from others, and unbroken” (Dinur 1978g: 160). He perceived that historical consciousness is not conﬁned to literary practices only, but is encoded in folk culture, customs, and ceremonies. In introducing before the Knesset in 1953 The Law of Holocaust Memory—Yad Vashem Dinur explained the signiﬁcance of historical memory:

12 History: The nation “the ego of the nation exists only to the extent that she has a memory, to the extent that the nation knows how to combine its past experiences to a single entity” (Parliamentary Transcriptions 1953: 1352). In the same year Dinur introduced before the Knesset two other laws aimed at reinforcing the “national ego,” a law that instituted the Academy for the Hebrew Language, a state institution made responsible for linguistic policy making, and the above-mentioned law that instituted the state educational system. It was acknowledged by Dinur that history “addresses ‘those [past] days’ from the standpoint of ‘these [present] days’ ” and that it accordingly interprets the past from the point of view of the present (Dinur 1978g: 162). Nevertheless, he adhered to realistic scholarly conventions, and was convinced that his narrative depicted history-as-it-really-was, to use the Rankean terms. That set of beliefs created a somewhat uneasy tension between his openly tendentious Zionist historiography and his declared commitment to scientiﬁc conventions of representation, a tension still haunting academic Zionist historiography to date (cf. Conforti 2006). Given the role imputed to history by Dinur it is not surprising that he was greatly concerned with the “big brush” of the historical picture, and approached it not merely as a “researcher” but mostly as a “designer,” somebody who is not looking for the details but for the contours of his topic. In terms of history of knowledge Dinur was a “revolutionary” scholar, one who carves, so to speak, the paradigm boxes, which “normal” scholars then ﬁll up with more detailed and reﬁned data (Kuhn 1962). Together with other Zionist historians Dinur performed a paradigmatic revolution in Jewish historiography, and initiated a paradigm congruent with Zionist ideological imperatives.3 Its gist was clearly announced in the statement of objectives of the journal Zion: The fundamental assumption of our historiography, which should serve also as the point of departure for the discussion of the functions of Jewish history and the determination of its research objectives, is the history of the Israelite nation, which was never interrupted and whose signiﬁcance never waned. Jewish history is consolidated by a homogeneic unity which engulfs all periods and all places … (Baer & Dinur 1935: 1) Note that the assumption postulated here refers to the very existence of the “Israelite nation,” rather to any speciﬁc interpretation of its possible attributes or trajectories. It was exactly this very existence of a “nation before nationalism,” of the unity and continuity of the Jewish nation, in “all periods and all places” which Zionist historiography is concerned to establish. * The Zionist movement emerged in central and eastern Europe in the last decades of the nineteenth century. It was preceded by intensive debates among Jewish

History: The nation 13 intellectuals about the nature of Jewishness, Jewish identity, and the future of Jews in the modern world. These questions pressed themselves on Jewish thinkers since the dawn of Enlightenment and secularization, which have shaken the religious denominator of Jews and their social communities, the outcomes of cultural and social segregation enforced upon them by the Ancient Regime.4 Historian Paul Mendes-Flohr, for one, suggests that Jewish continuity may be depicted in seven contributory and complementary C’s: Creed, Code, Cult, Community, Culture, Cognitive, Covenant. And he goes on to explicate the crisis of Jewish identity in the dawn of modern times, as follows: In traditional setting the above C’s ﬂowed one into another assuring Jewish continuity. Grounded in these seven C’s, Jewish existence and constant commitment to its continuity were unambiguous. With modernity and the eclipse, if not elimination, of these C’s … Jewish existence and continuity are no longer self-evident and unproblematic. (Mendes-Flohr 1991: 59) These questions were not of course matters of intellectual disputations alone. Jews were pressed to respond one way or another to the new opportunities Emancipation opened for them as well as to new forms of persecution and antisemitism, brought about inter alia by the backlash of Romanticism. The major “identity strategies” opted for by European Jews during the later part of the eighteenth century and throughout the nineteenth century can be classiﬁed (retrospectively and schematically, of course) along two intersecting dimensions: the secular versus religious dimension and the individual versus collective dimension.5 The secular-individual option was crystallized in the arguments of “assimilationists.” They maintained that in a society based on universal citizenship the preservation of a separate Jewish identity—which had been compelled on Jews and also accepted by them for religious reasons—was senseless. This position was based on two underlying assumptions: that Judaism is a religious afﬁliation, and that therefore in a non- or post-religious society Jews could handle their identity and status issues as individuals. The secular-collective option was crystallized in the arguments of “autonomists.” Protagonists of autonomy argued that in the new tolerant world Jews can and should, as other groups do, integrate as equal individual citizens while preserving a collective cultural characteristics and limited self-rule (or, as it was sometimes called, “internal independence”). Their underlying assumptions were that Judaism is a culture and that Jews can formulate their identity and status issues as partially autonomous communities. The religious-individual option was crystallized in the arguments of the Reform trend. Its protagonists argued that Judaism is a historical religion which has always changed and adjusted while keeping its core. They thus maintained that Jews can separate their inner religious lives from their external mundane lives, and thus maintain a balance between Jewishness and citizenship without any contradiction.

14 History: The nation Their underlying assumptions were that Jews are individuals of a certain faith, yet full members of their societies. The religious-collective option was crystallized in the Orthodox trend. Orthodoxy opted for turning one’s back on modernity and for reafﬁrming traditional religious values (ironically, it even had to invent a new tradition, that of traditionality). The underlying assumptions of Orthodoxy were that Jews are a “people”—something we can retrospectively deﬁne as a proto-nation, but that did not bear the political connotations of nationality—and that what unites them are common religious customs, obedience to the commandments, and rabbinical authority. Zionism was a latecomer to the Jewish arena, and when it surfaced, in the later part of the nineteenth century, it had to steer its course through struggles with all other alternative conceptions of Jewish identity. Its singularity stemmed from its temporal and spatial claims, namely that Jews inherently share a common history and common territory, though this inherence was transiently erupted by the circumstances of Exile. As against assimilation, autonomy, reform, and orthodoxy, which addressed Jewish individuals or the Jewish proto-national culture, Zionism invented a new meaning of Judaism: Jewish nationality.6 Zionist thinkers disputed the assumptions of all other perspectives on Jewish identity. From their point of view neither individual civic integration, nor cultural preservation, nor personal faith, nor communal religion, will satisfy the basic requisite of the historical nation as a whole—a territorial polity of its own. The distinctive characteristics of the Jewish nation which Zionism invented were thus these two principles—an organic principle according to which the Jewish nation remains united across geographic barriers, and a teleological principle according to which that nation remains linked to Eretz Israel across historical ages.7 As demonstrated above, the national features imputed to Jewishness by Zionism were not initially taken for granted or widely accepted by Jews in general, and therefore their later almost universal acceptance should be considered as an outcome of invention and persuasion (and eventually Nazi persecution) rather than as a “natural” and inevitable evolvement of Jewishness as such (on the many forms of Jewish objections to Zionism cf. Abitbul et al. 1990). In fact, at the beginning of the nineteenth century Jewish maskilim (the secular Jewish cultural elite of the time) explicitly rejected the attribution of national signiﬁcance to their cultural afﬁliation, and considered the nations among whom they lived as their brethren, and the states where they lived as their homelands. Some even suggested that all mention of the return to Zion be removed from the prayer book and some actually performed this (Ettinger 1976: 830; see also Barzily 1959; Meyer 1994). At the other end of the spectrum, Orthodox Jews also rejected emphatically the attribution of modern national features to Jewish identity and some later became extreme anti-Zionists (for religious Jewish responses to Zionism cf. Almog et al. 1994). In the invention of the Zionist national tradition intellectuals have always been in the front line, and notable among them journalists, teachers, writers, and historians.

History: The nation 15 It is the role of the latter group—particularly of one representative scholar of it—to which we turn next.

The historians’ debate of the late nineteenth century Dinur’s point of departure is a polemic with conceptions of Jewish history which did not ﬁt the spatio-temporal identity claims of Zionism. For this Dinur took to task one by one the luminaries of nineteenth-century Jewish historiography (Dinur 1978e, 1978h).8 He charged each and all with a failure to discover underneath the complexity and variety of Jewish history what he deemed to be its unity and continuity, or, in his expression, its “essence.”9 Historian Isaac Marcus Jost (1793–1860) did not consider the Jewish people as a cohesive unit, but rather thought that “external” circumstances conditioned the differing perceptions of Jewish identity, an identity which may, under suitable conditions, fade away. In his view the history of different Jewish communities was shaped by the history of their distinct places of residence and the attitudes of the host societies. The relations among different Jewish communities were of small consequence to their history. Likewise, in his view Eretz Israel did not play a role in the history of the Jews, except for those who lived there under various non-Jewish regimes (Dinur 1978e: 105–9). Dinur assesses Jost as follows: The principal defect in Jost’s historical standpoint is its lack of organic unity. His virtual denial of the existance of the one living and unifying factor—the nation—in the entire chain of events reduces his account to a mechanical combination and arrangement of separate events and incidents devoid of any inner, organic signiﬁcance. (Dinur 1978e: 108. English version: from Dinur 1969: 21) Rejecting this extrinsic and mechanic view of Jewish history Dinur turns next to examine the “intrinsic” and “spiritual” perspective. In this regard he confronts the works of historians Graetz, Geiger, and Dubnow, all disciples of George Friedrich Hegel’s historically grounded philosophical idealism, for whom history is a manifestation of the development of humanity through a succession of national cultures. Heinrich Graetz (1817–1891) is favored by Dinur for his passionate style which “arouses the reader’s active sympathy and lively admiration” but mostly, of course, for: his grand conception of the whole Jewish nation, and not just individual Jews or even separate communities, as the formative factor in the history of the Diaspora. Dinur cites favorably Graetz’s reference to the Jews as a “national tribe” and sympathizes with his pictorial depiction of this tribe’s inﬁnite psychic ceremony: “all standing in one wide circle around the ruins of the temple, which had lost none

16 History: The nation of its sanctity even though reduced to ashes …” (Dinur 1978e: 109. English version from Dinur 1969: 22–3). Graetz, as is well known, articulated the notion of the Jewish nation as a cultural or spiritual entity. Accordingly, he depicted the history of the nation as a succession of cultural, especially ecclesiastical, stages which were marked by a succession of inﬂuential centers. Another version of the cultural or spiritual notion of Jewish history was offered by Abraham Geiger (1810–1874). Geiger maintained that as far as there is a uniﬁed Jewish history, it can only be a history of Jewish learning. He articulated the view that Judaism is a religion with a universal message and wished the Jewish religion to be cleansed from its national elements. Common to him and to Graetz was the contention that Eretz Israel did not play any role throughout the history of Jews outside it. While Dinur endorses the aspects of cultural unity and continuity in Graetz’s and Geiger’s thought, he considers it too incorporeal and inimical to Jewish history as a “single whole” and as a “constantly varying unity” (Dinur 1969: 28). Shimon Dubnow (1860–1941) depicted Jewish history as a grain without a crust. In the absence of the crust—political and ethnic identity—Jews ﬂocked around the grain—their cultural assets. These developed especially in different leading “centers,” communities which were most inﬂuential in distinct periods; included among them, in certain periods but not in others, was the Eretz Israel community. In the case of Dubnow too, Dinur approves the consideration of the Jews as a nation, but disapproves the rendering of this nationality into a matter of culture. He considers Dubnow basically as a disciple of Graetz, and ﬁnds lacking in the former what he had missed already in the latter: the conception of the “moving forces” of Jewish history, i.e., the expressions of “the common will of the nation and its active potency” in various times and places (Dinur 1978e: 119; see also Dinur 1978h). Finally, Dinur discusses the historiographical views of his own mentor Eugen Taubler. As against the “spiritualist” historiography offered by Graetz, Gieger, and Dubnow, Taubler represents a return to Jost’s historical realism. In his view most signiﬁcant in Jewish history were the actual circumstances of it, namely the sets of political, judicial, economic and cultural attitudes of the host nations towards the Jews in their midst. Even the intrinsic social and cultural lives of Jewish communities were to a great extent determined by such external conditions. The logical corollary of this view, as Dinur complains, is that Taubler is able to explain the history of separate Jewish communities but lacks a perception of “… the processes that unite the different parts of the dispersed nation into a single entity” (Dinur 1969: 46). In general, Dinur opposed the corpus of Jewish historiography alluded to above on one of two grounds: either it is not national, i.e., it relates to parts of Jewish life (either individuals or communities), but not to the whole (one unit); or it is not political, i.e., it does relate to Jews as one unit, but considers their common denominator to be cultural or spiritual, rather than actual. In any event this historiography did not agree with the claim Zionism made, namely that the Jews are a political nation, i.e., a consolidated spatio-temporal collective subject.

History: The nation 17 Dinur’s rejection of his predecessors’ historiographical perspectives is made sometimes implicitly and sometimes explicitly on the grounds of the ideological implications of their positions, rather than on their intellectual merit. Thus criticizing Jost, Dinur cites the “bad inﬂuence” upon him of Berlin’s Haskalah (Dinur 1978e: 108), a movement which in his condemnation withdrew the established and educated circles of the Jewish people from their “duty” as “the carriers of the political will of the nation” and placed them on a “‘Haskalah bridge’ one end of which was outside the camp” (Dinur 1938b: 168). Likewise his critique of Dubnow is overtly political: what is wrong with Dubnow’s historiography is not what it does contain—the notion of a cultural nationality with which Dinur concurs wholeheartedly—but what it fails to conclude: that this cultural nationality requires a political framework, “meaning that the ‘logical deduction’ from the ‘spiritual entity’ is precisely a ‘Hebrew state’” (Dinur 1978h: 258).

The essence of the Zionist narrative Dinur proposes an alternative agenda for Jewish historiography. This agenda evolves around six issues, all of them designed to sustain the two fundamental principles of Zionist historiography as presented above: the organic principle and the teleological principle. The six issues are: the extent of cohesiveness of the Jewish nation; the foundations of its cohesiveness; the extent of Jewish active dynamics; the reciprocal relations among distinct Jewish communities; the role of Eretz Israel in Jewish history; and the periodization of Jewish history. We shall present brieﬂy the staples of his program (Dinur 1969: 47–76). Dinur insists that the “complete and unbroken unity” of the Jewish nation did not relapse with its exilic dispersion. To sustain this contention he resorts to a distinction between “The external conditions of the nation’s existence” and its “essential character” (the Hebrew idiom he usues is “crux and essence”: atzmut u’mahut). The dispersed nation has remained throughout “a distinctive organic entity” attached by “unique life processes which cannot be understood simply as the sum total of the lives of the individual members of the nation, or as the aggregate of the separate life processes of each single Diaspora community” (Dinur 1969: 47).10 Having argued for a fundamental “organic unity” of the Jewish nation it is signiﬁcant for Dinur to single out that the nation exercises some degree of “active dynamics,” that its history is not only reactive to its environment. Thus he draws a distinction between the external framework determined by the host societies, and the internal design determined, within the given frameworks, by Jewish dynamics. In stable times Jews are able to articulate the “static” of their cultural lives. It is only during times of crisis and distress that the national dynamics is temporarily “released from its obscurity” and comes to the fore (Dinur 1978f: 125). Such crises and distresses, however, are usually not conﬁned to one country, and thus the new features generated by such changes were common to all Jewish communities. Another contention of the “organic unity” concept is that Jewish communities had not drifted away outside of the Jewish orbit, that all are reciprocally connected by social and cultural ties. In this regard Dinur broadly accepts Dubnow’s concept

18 History: The nation of “centers,” though, ﬁrst, with a greater emphasis on social (rather then merely cultural) ties, and, second, with a decisive emphasis on the role of Eretz Israel as a unifying center in Jewish life. Paramount in Dinur’s national historiographical narrative is the contention that even though the assumed nation has lived outside of Eretz Israel for almost two millennia this land continued to form the axis of its national identity. Several arguments are made on behalf of this contention. First, though at various periods various Jewish communities were obviously more inﬂuential than the community in Eretz Israel, the latter has been a “center of authority” due to its special location (Dinur 1978f: 126). Second, Eretz Israel was uniquely important due to its place in the hearts and minds of Jews, who drew aspiration from their yearning for it. Third, the special role of Eretz Israel was enhanced by the fact of successive Jewish presence there. Fourth, the fact that this Jewish presence has always been dependent upon the assistance of Jews abroad means that rather than a remnant or just any community, this one has been a common project of the combined Jewish nation. Fifth, the component of the Jewish nation which remained in Eretz Israel was the most persistent and decided part of the Jewish nation (Dinur 1978f: 128–30). Thus Eretz Israel is depicted by Dinur both as a spiritual center of gravity of the Jewish people, and, moreover, as an actual central junction of Jewish history. It is Dinur’s contention that from the days of Bar-Kokva to our own days the nation has continuously struggled for its country and for its national and political revival (Dinur 1938b: xiv). Finally, Dinur deviates from the common periodization of Jewish history in two respects. First, he marks the beginning of the galut (Diaspora) as late as the seventh century, the time of the Muslim conquest of Palestine. Usually the count of the galut starts much earlier, with the destruction of the First and Second Temple and the termination of Jewish sovereignty. Second, Dinur marks the beginning of the “new times” or “modern era” in Jewish history in the second half of the seventeenth century. This, compared to the conventional location of this threshold in the Enlightenment or the French Revolution and their consequences. The ground for this is the activity of the Sabbataic movement in this period and the Aliya of Rabbi Yehuda He-Hasid and his followers in 1700. Dinur views this episode as marking the beginning of a more realistic course of activity which ultimately culminated in Zionism (Dinur 1964c, 1964d, 1978d). Though Zionists usually tend to dissociate themselves from this “false messianism,” Dinur evokes such association in the interest of indicating the burgeoning of popular yearning toward Zion from well before the beginning of “political Zionism” at the end of the nineteenth century, and thus of demonstrating the deep-rootedness and authenticity of Zionism. He makes out of Zionism a tradition rather than a revolt against one (Dinur, 1978e: 132–7). These two moves, of shifting upward the lower threshold of galut and shifting downward its upper threshold, aim to contract the extension of the galut period and consequently to expand the extension of period in which the nation was actively related to Eretz Israel. Dinur’s historiographical paradigm thus reﬂects his political-ideological Zionist convictions. In the Emancipation era historical circumstances shattered Jewish

History: The nation 19 communities and evoked the emergence of various conceptions of Jewish identity, Zionism among them. Dinur’s historiographical agenda is anchored in this internal Jewish quarrel about Jewish identity, though most of it was worked out post factum in the pre-state Jewish community and state era. By the middle decades of the twentieth century the circumstances of Jewish life were drastically changed. The Holocaust, on the one hand, and the establishment of the state of Israel, on the other hand, seemed to have obliterated options for Jewish non-national identity or assimilation, and to have vindicated the Zionist national option, or so it seemed from the perspective of the Zionist ideology itself. While up to after the Second World War, Zionism had to grapple with other Jewish alternatives, ﬁrst from an inferior position, and later (since the Balfour declaration of 1917, which gave it the promise of support from Britain) on more equal terms, after the War and more intensively after the establishment of the state in 1948, it looked triumphant. Dinur was in the forefront of its renewed ideological offensive. He was the ultimate Zionist historian. Now the historian was given by the founder of the state, David Ben Gurion, a rare opportunity to inscribe the historical narrative he had formerly composed in the ofﬁcial history textbooks of the state of Israel. We probe next the mode of dissemination and propagation of the invented Jewish national tradition to young Israelis through the educational system.

Inculcation through state education In 1953 Ben Zion Dinur, then the Minister of Education and Culture of the Government of Israel, brought before the Knesset a motion for the Law of State Education. Among other things it implemented ofﬁcially into Israeli education the historiographical paradigm innovated by Ben Zion Dinur the historian. The declared purpose of the law was the termination of the pre-state independent educational trends associated with different ideologies—the labor movement, the liberal “civic circles” and the religious sector (which included the “Mizrachi” religious-national section and a smaller non-Zionist orthodox section)—and the establishment of a uniﬁed, centrally planned, administrated and ﬁnanced state educational system, under the responsibility of the Ministry of Education. The law made the state, as the minister put it before the Knesset, “the bearer of the full responsibility for the way in which the development of the young generation would be directed, guided and fulﬁlled” (Parliament Transcriptions 1953: 1659). The state, he explained, “is the organized unity of the sons of the nation who live together in their country.” It is its absolute and also exclusive responsibility to pass to the young generation the cultural heritage of the nation. Arguing against anticipated objections to the omnipotent and monopolistic educational role claimed for the state, Dinur compared the granting of educational functions to any other, non-state, hypothetical agency to the granting of border defense functions to any non-state agency. He asserted that in both cases the result would be suicidal. The physical defense of the state and the spiritual guarding of the nation were for him equivalent and intermingled issues. These are two sides of the same coin since

20 History: The nation it is imperative to the survival of the state that there is a “full and complete” identiﬁcation of its citizens with it, and that “each one of its citizens regard the state as a part of his own personal being” (Parliamentary Transcriptions 1953: 1661). The school, as he put it in various places, was the elementary unit of the state, and the teachers its spiritual guardians. The State Education Law was widely criticized from Left and Right.11 The center of the political spectrum, on the other hand (which included the mainstream of mapai and, most zealously, its coalition partner the General Zionists party), supported the law on the grounds that it would educate for national unity and because, as one Knesset member concisely put it: It is the only way to make out of a mechanical agglomeration of differing and opposing ingredients an organic body having a uniﬁed collective consciousness (Parliamentary Transcription 1953: 1679). The Law of 1953 did not of course inaugurate the national regulation of the structure and content of education, but rather brought to a peak a trend that was in process since the beginning of the century, and simultaneously gave it a statist turn. The ﬁrst Association of Hebrew Teachers was organized in 1903 under the initiative of Menachem Ussishkin of Hovevei Zion (the ﬁrst Zionist “practical” organization). In 1913 the teachers conducted one of the most consequential struggles in the formation of the new Jewish-Israeli nation—the struggle for the dominance of the Hebrew language in schools (Rinot 1976). In 1918 the Zionist movement took under its auspices the monitoring of education in the Jewish community in Palestine and in 1932 a major role in this regard was taken over by the National Committee (Vaad Leumi) of the community itself (Alboim-Dror 1985). The educational system, like most other social facilities, was divided along party or “political camp” lines between the trends, while being coordinated and supported by the political center. Other differences notwithstanding, the three major trends shared the basic tenets of Zionist ideology (which of course has passed through some major changes during the century), though each shaded it with its own particular ideology: socialist nationalism, liberal nationalism, and religious nationalism (Carmon 1985). The cardinal ambition of the Zionist education was the forging of a new “Jewish type”—a national Jew (Carmon 1985: 132). Education was considered as the “spearhead” of the national endeavor (Alboim-Dror 1985: 53), so much so that to use the expression “Zionist-education” would be considered tautological (Carmon 1985: 133). The situation described above basically prevailed in the ﬁrst years of the state (in 1949 a Law of Free Compulsory Education was enacted, but the agencies of its fulﬁllment remained the “trends”). The 1953 Law enhanced administrative centralism, cultural uniformity and the weight of national values and images in the educational system.12 A notable novelty was the blatant identiﬁcation of the nation with the state, an element formerly existing in Zionist ideology only as an implicit aspiration, which was now elevated to the status of a realized value.

History: The nation 21 The enactment of the Law of Education in 1953 was one component in David Ben Gurion’s grand campaign of mamlachtiut, a campaign which bestowed on the state a dominant institutional authority in the life of the community, and granted it a status of a core value in its own right (Liebman & Don Yehiya 1983; Reshef 1987; Kafkafy 1991). Dinur was the emissary of the mamlachtiut program in the ﬁeld of culture and education. Incidently, it was when nominated a Minister that Dinur “Hebrewized” his family name from Dinburg to Dinur (i.e., from a DiasporaJewish to a an Israeli-Hebrew name), a demand made by the Prime Minister on carriers of ofﬁcial positions, as a symbol of the mental return to the Hebrew ancient past (cf. Tori 1988). Dinur had an ambitious vision of a nation-state oriented uniﬁed culture. Upon assuming ministerial ofﬁce he summoned a “supreme cultural committee” to invent the new tradition (avant la lettre.) The idea was to pour into common Jewish ceremonies new Zionist substance. Among his proposals were a unitary secular national Sabbath ceremonies, and an independence-day “Seder,” the speciﬁc hymns and verses of which were to be designed by the committee. The representative of the military in the committee warmly supported these proposals, arguing that “after a period of enforced observation the ceremonies will turn into a tradition” (sic!). For various reasons these far-reaching proposals were declined, yet they provide a stark indication of Dinur’s policy and of the historical consciousness underlying it (which after all did win indirectly, since Israeli state ceremonies are imbued with Jewish religious symbols and Jewish religious holidays are today imbued with nation-state symbols). In the ﬁeld of education Dinur’s planes met an immediate success. Under Dinur’s direction, committees of the ministry had been busy since 1951 in the design of new curriculum and its adjustment to the ideological stipulations of Zionism in its mamlachtiut guise (State of Israel 1954, 1955). Zionist schooling was conspicuously ﬂagrant in three components of the curriculum: Bible instruction, Moledet (motherland) studies, and history teaching. Bible instruction In the invention of the Zionist national tradition the Bible fulﬁlled two pivotal and complementing functions. On the one hand, it attached Zionism very convincingly to Jewish history and culture, while on the other, it enabled Zionism to overlook almost two millennia of Jewish galut (exile) and reach back in time to the period of the alleged spring of the nation. This was accomplished by, ﬁrst, the singling out of the Bible, rather than exilic Jewish literature (the Talmud and other commentaries), from the corpus of Jewish traditional literature, and second, by the pertinent assortment of sections and the biased interpretation of themes from the Bible itself. The Bible was appropriated for secular national education with the explicit purpose of inspiring the creation of a “new Hebrew” based on the idealized archetype of the original old Hebrew, the one who was allegedly later corrupted to have become the galut Jew (Schoneveled 1976: 24–38).13 The old Hebrew was depicted with images of physical wholeness, bodily health, direct bond to the land and national pride and might (the galut Jew was stereotyped in the opposite

22 History: The nation images). Emphasis in the instruction of the Bible itself was shifted from the Torah religious script to the epic and moral sections, where the nation itself (rather than divinity) is the protagonist. The Bible was presented as an expression of national culture and history, rather than as a manual of injunctions for Jewish faith or everyday life. This basic attitude was adopted to the mamlachti education. The curriculum designed under Dinur’s personal instruction nationalized the Bible, so to speak. It considered the Bible as “the foundation book of the culture of Israel”—note: “culture” rather than “faith,” and “culture of Israel,” rather than “Jewish culture.” It aimed to inculcate in the pupils “the basic values of Judaism”— note: “values” rather than “beliefs.” The curriculum was concerned with “the spiritual image of the nation and its struggle for its material and spiritual existence …”— rather than with the shaping of the individual personality of the pupils. Likewise it aimed at “implementing in the heart of the children the love for the homeland … and love for the people who lived and created its culture here” rather than with preparing the children for keeping the commandments. In this spirit various sections of the Bible written in explicit religious terms were imbued with nationalistic interpretations (Schoneveled 1976: 106–13; see also Dinur 1958d). Motherland studies Moledet is a Hebrew word for one’s own country, moreover one’s country of birth (though not necessarily of actual birth. Zion is considered the moledet of every Jew). Its best rendition in English is probably “motherland.” Moledet studies are an offshoot of the rise of nationalism. The character of moledet studies was determined in the early period of the Jewish community in pre-state Palestine. They dealt with aspects of the country’s natural features—soil, wildlife, seasons, ﬂora and fauna, etc. combined with the history of man–environment relations, such as forms of settlement and agriculture. All were imbued with national connotations. The real emphasis was on the link between nature and culture, more speciﬁcally between one’s own country and one’s own nation. A case in point was the emphasized tie between the change of seasons, change of agricultural crop, and national holidays. Another case in point was the tie between certain locations and national historical events, in which case the locations are designated as “sites.” In both cases the conventional didactic process inside the classroom was often complemented with practical experience, whether in the form of growing some seasonal vegetables in the school’s yard or through journeys outside it to signiﬁcant places on certain symbolic days, and so forth. Modelet studies, like so much else in nationalist schooling, were geared towards establishing emotional ties between the learner and the spatial and temporal dimensions of the national identity. Zionist educators had a special regard for moledet studies. In fact, they linked them to the study of the Bible, in the vein explicated above, and considered it their combined function to tighten the connection to the country and foster the consciousness that this corner of the world was dedicated to the child and his nation-mates. Moledet studies purport to bond the child to the territory of his motherland (admat mechorato) by making it known to

History: The nation 23 him in all its past and present manifestations and in its possible future development (Farber 1959: 745–60). The declared goal of the designers of moledet studies was the cultivation of the love and devotion of the pupils to their nation, country and, since 1948, the state. The introduction to the curriculum of the Ministry of Education in moledet studies determined that the goal of the studies is to “root the children in Eretz Israel, the land of our fathers, the birthplace of the Hebrew nation,” and to implant in them “the consciousness that she [the moledet] is our natural habitation, the basis for the creation of our material and spiritual culture” (cited in Carmon 1985: 141). In a lecture about “How to Educate for the Love of the Moledet” given before a conference of teachers in 1953, Dinur explained that “our problem is not how well are the facts known, but rather to what extent all our being is permeated by the volition for togetherness, by a connection of sympathy, of identiﬁcation, attachment …” (Dinur 1958c: 61). He emphasized the importance of situating places in their historical nexus, so that the spatial and temporal aspects of the moledet will make every pupil feel identiﬁcation with the deeds of previous generations in the same locale. Moledet studies were, in his depiction, a junction of all other themes that might yield the same effect—studies of the surrounding nature, of recent history, and education for good citizenship and good manners.14 History teaching One of the most glaring instances of nationalist schooling in the service of inventing a tradition is to be found in the structure and content of history teaching under Dinur’s directorship. In the ofﬁcial curriculum of the 1950s, 33 out of 39 sub-topics in the section about modern Jewish history presented positively the Zionist perspective and negatively the Diaspora (Carmon 1985: 154). Thus, for instance, the chapter on the Emancipation includes a sub-chapter on “the struggle for emancipation in Germany and its negative manifestations: mixed marriages, conversion, denial of Jewish nationality …”; or, another instance, the chapter on Russian Jewry emphasizes the oppression of Jewish life while totally ignoring the cultural richness of Russian Jewry, let alone the widespread cultural creativity of non-Zionist circles in it (Carmon 1985: 154–8). Students of the 1950s curriculum in history rightly observed that [It posits] in the center selective contents, chosen conspicuously according to external considerations. The role of the teacher is to inculcate and foster certain views, and the pupil is not left a room for reﬂection … There is more than an iota of ethnocentric tendency in this curriculum. (Carmon 1985: 155) So much so that sympathetic critics argued that the curriculum’s all too emphasized, explicit and preaching, nationalist tone might create a negative reaction in the pupils and repel rather than attract them (cited in Carmon 1985: 156).

24 History: The nation Within this general ethnocentric, more correctly put, nation-centric, thrust, perhaps the central device for the invention of tradition was the teleological depiction of Jewish history, i.e., its rendition as leading towards a speciﬁc goal— the return of the people to its motherland. This trend in history studies was labeled by Ruth Firer the Law of Zionist Redemption. In her research on the content of history textbooks used in the educational system of the Jewish community in Palestine and of the state, in the period 1900–1984, she found out that in the late period of the Jewish community in Palestine, between 1930 and 1948, this said “Law” became prominent, compared to the previous period when its usage was still hesitant and non-inclusive. She also found that in the ﬁrst two decades of the state (1948–1968) its application became comprehensive. The thrust of the Law is the demonstration that the establishment of a Jewish national home in Eretz Israel is a pre-determined result of all Jewish history. Accordingly, all Jewish history is presented as preparatory for this stage, and aspects of it which do not ﬁt the line, or simply are not relevant for it, are downplayed. The major historical “lesson” taught to pupils is the “negation of Diaspora” and the inevitability of Zionist “realization.” Textbooks explicitly imparted that Zionism is the “strongest and oldest” movement in the history of the Diaspora or that there was a “Zionist policy in all ages” (historians Tartakower and Ben Yehuda, respectively, cited in Firer 1985: 167). The Law of Zionist Redemption presented nationalism as prevailing in Jewish life throughout history, presented the Haskalah and other non-national options as deviations (or in a different version, as a ﬁrst step towards renewed nationality), modern antisemitism as a catalyzer, and the Zionist settling of Palestine as the ﬁnal realization of the national principle. In the state era two signiﬁcant dramatic ingredients were added to this construct. The Holocaust was presented as an undisputed proof for the validity of Zionism, and the establishment of the state as the utmost realization of Jewish historical nationality. The intense emotional bearing of these two events, and their immediate proximity, endowed the narrative with an unprecedented apocalyptic dread and climactic relief. It was easy to conceive these events as immanent consequences of Jewish destination. The theological couplet of expulsion– redemption received a secular historical manifestation.15 Ben Zion Dinur was a major contributor to the Law of Zionist Redemption approach, both as educator and historian. In the curriculum and textbooks he implemented as a Minister of Education and Culture, the submission of Jewish history to the imperatives of a newly invented tradition reached a peak which only his own work as historian had matched. * In the last decades of the nineteenth century Zionism made its incipient steps in public life, a minor and non-inﬂuential movement with a vision much larger than its actual plans or troops. The 1920s—the time Dinur became an active

History: The nation 25 historian—evinced a marked turn in the prospects of the Zionist project in Palestine. Dinur joined the ranks of the Yishuv’s intelligentsia precisely when Zionist historiography would turn into a historical consciousness of a community and an academic discipline in a national university, rather than a mere idea in a historical debate. It is against this background that the Zionist paradigm of Jewish historiography was elaborated academically and consolidated culturally. As argued above, one does not have to accept the crude binary choice presented by disputants in the nationality debate, that is, a blatant choice between the past (primordialists) and the present (modernists). Modernists are right to argue, and this was demonstrated above in regard to Zionism, that in the act of constructing modern nationhood cultural traditions and historical trajectories are invented. Yet primordialists are right to argue, and this is also evident above, that nationalist appeal tends to be based on pre-existing popular feelings of proto-national, or ethnic belonging. The point is that in this act the past must be revised to suit present claims, and usually in the interest of wide and penetrating popular mobilization the past and its ostensible “lessons” are portrayed crudely, simplistically and one-sidedly. Zionist historiography was, indeed still is, too committed to the creation of a new “imagined community” to make an exception to the common rule of “invention of tradition.” And to imagine a community in this case was particularly difﬁcult; after all, this was a “community” lacking the commonly recognized ingredients of nationhood such as common language, common descent, common territory. What was common in this case was, in the best case, Jewish faith. But the problem of identity emerged exactly because faith was waning. And in any case it is an exception to the norm in the modern world that people of a certain faith are identiﬁed with a particular national claim (think of Islam or Christianity, for instance). The contribution of intellectuals in general and historians in particular to the inscription of the modern Jewish nationalist narrative was seminal, just as was the case in other instances of nascent nationalism. Historical consciousness is not simply an aspect of nationalism, but rather its gist. Nationalist history preserves existential meaning and sense of belonging in the desecrated and disenchanted world of modernity. No wonder that in Europe and America since the eighteenth century “historians were called on to mediate between the demands for change and the equally strong desire to see the continuity of past, present, and future preserved … presented by careful scholars with great eloquence, these histories became popular possessions rather than scholarly curiosa” (Briesach 1983: 228). Anthony Smith had seconded that when commenting that “one sign of the formation of nation out of proto-nation is the shifting of the center of collective memory from the temple and its priesthood to the university and its scholarly community” (Smith 1986: 160). Dinur and his historian colleagues, together with teachers, publicists, writers, and others, authored the “civil religion” of the Zionist movement and of the state of Israel, a religion that inherited from its Jewish background by selection, interpretation, and modiﬁcation what was functional to its own needs (Liebman & Don-Yehiya 1983). In the 1950s Zionism was no longer a marginal movement in Jewish history, but a major actor in it. Now that a Jewish state was established, the former movement

26 History: The nation could monopolize the means of education and implement its views in the ofﬁcial curriculum instructed in its schools. Dinur shouldered the mission and as an ofﬁcial shaped the Israeli curriculum in the mold of Zionist historiography. For generations of graduates of these schools, and by extension to Jews all over the world, especially in the USA, it seems obvious that there is, that there always had been, a “Jewish nation,” and that this nation had been on the move back to the Land of Israel ever since it was expelled from it. The Zionist movement invented a tradition and constructed a nation, one which did not exist, and would not have existed, if not for the Zionist initiative. It is only retrospectively—and anachronistically—that Zionism, that is modern Jewish nationalism, is regarded as anything like the mainstay of Jewish modern history, that all Jewish history is considered from its peculiar point of view, and that the state of Israel is regarded as the teleological culmination of Jewish history. When Zionism emerged, and for a long time afterwards, it was considered only one alternative among others for Jewish individual or collective, present or future, concepts of identity (and also this mainly by central and east European Jews, since for Western and Eastern Jews it was hardly relevant even much later). Several other alternative conceptions of Jewish identity in the modern world were present on the agenda prior to the emergence of nationalism, and they included autonomy, assimilation, reform, and orthodoxy, as well as variations and combinations of the said perspectives. While some of these alternatives were overtly non-nationalist or even anti-nationalist, some were indeed nationalist. Yet pre-Zionist Jewishness was a matter of communal and cultural identiﬁcation, without overt political imperatives. The novelty of the Zionist conception of Jewish identity was the transformation of the Jews into a nation in the modern sense of the term, that is a historical-territorial political subject. This involved a particular spatio-temporal rendering of Jewishness. In spatial terms Jewishness was said to be inherently connected to Zion, and in temporal terms to be a perennial continuous entity. All in all, contemporary Jews were identiﬁed as the successors of the ancient Hebrew nation whose origins were in the Land of Israel. These two ingredients— spatial concentration and temporal continuity—were presented as the backbone of Jewishness. At the same time the adverse ingredients of Jewish reality—spatial dispersity and temporal discontinuity—were presented as aberrations. All aspects of Jewish life which did not ﬁt this scheme were tarnished, ignored or modiﬁed to accord with the Zionist grand narrative. Thus the reality of Jewish life was claimed to be transitory, while its imaginary past was claimed to be essential. Today, after 100 years of Zionism, it requires a feat of imagination to perceive that Zionism in fact denied the reality of Jewish life and proposed an imaginary alternative to it.16 The point, however, is not the judgment of whether the Zionist “story” is more “truthful” than other “stories” of Jewish history. The point is, rather, that this particular story was not always considered as the story, certainly not the only true story. What requires consideration is therefore precisely the elevation of Zionist historiography to the status of the taken-for-granted version of Jewish history. Furthermore, the point is that a different story can be still told today, and, which is most important, historical stories play a crucial role in the formation of current collective identities.

History: The nation 27 In the dominant perennialist or essentialist nationalist approach in Zionist historiography and Zionist schooling, Jewish-Israeli identity is not presented for what it is—an “imagined community,” an invented tradition, a narrated nation—that is as a historical contingency, but rather as a realization of the nation’s innate historical destiny. The Zionist movement is (self-)praised as the heroic carrier of this predetermined goal, but not as the positive generator of it. Zionist settlement is considered a “realization,” the immigration to Palestine or Israel is called Aliya: an act of elevation, and the acquisition of territory is considered its geula “redemption.” Such expressions confer upon the Zionist movement the image of a carrier of a trans-historical mission, rather than viewing it as a historical political agent which proposed to Jews a new identity. * We may now close a circle, and simultaneously open another. The two contradictory historiographical conceptions designated above as “contingency” versus “destination” orientations, bear implications far beyond the ﬁeld of cognition of the past. They are the counterparts of current sociological concepts of the utmost political consequences. Destination-oriented historiography is the counterpart of a primordial, or an ethnic notion of Israeli identity. Contingency-oriented historiography is the counterpart of a civic or an associational notion. A destiny-oriented politics of identity is committed to a predetermined and rigid set of political and cultural boundaries and rules (or at least legitimizes its boundaries and rules in such terms); a contingency-oriented politics of identity, on the other hand, may consciously and self-reﬂexively modify and reformulate its own boundaries and rules. In Jürgen Habermas’s terms the former historiography is congruent with conventional identity, the latter with a post-conventional one. The difference between the two is crucial: conventional identity assumes loyalty to one’s own particular group, post-conventional identity demands adherence to universal norms (Habermas 1989, 2001). Today, the Zionist narrative creates a Procrustean bed for both the interpretation of Jewish history and for the politics of identity in Israel. It presents an obstacle for multifarious interpretations of Jewish history as well as for a pluralist conception of Israeli identity. A critique of Zionist historiography and the formulation of alternatives to it has emerged as a part of the democratization of Israeli society and the appearance in it of individualism and multiculturalism, and has met the objection of the old ideological guard, including its academic branches. A post-Zionist twentyﬁrst-century Israeli identity, one based on a universal “territorial” or constitutional citizenship, rather than on nineteenth-century romantic and ethnic nationalism, may generate interpretations of Jewish history and of Israeli identity substantially different from the one offered by the Zionist paradigm. The eruption of a “historians’ debate” in Israel during the 1990s, in which “new historians” offered alternative narratives of Jewish, Zionist, and Israeli history, is a deﬁnite manifestation of the waning of the exclusive hegemony of the Zionist historical narrative and the budding of a new historical consciousness in Israel. This is the topic of Chapter 2.

2

History: The others

Zionism has been the modern Jewish national movement. Post-Zionism and neo-Zionism are the postmodern thesis and anti-thesis that Zionism generates in the postmodern era. Postmodernism is the cultural counterpart of post-Fordist capitalism (see Lash & Urry 1987; Harvey 1989; Jameson 1992; Crook et al. 1992). In postmodernity the fundamental tenets of modern culture are deconstructed and subverted. Here we focus on one of the conspicuous aspects of postmodernization: the incredulity toward metanarratives, as Jean François Lyotard put it (Lyotard 1984). “History,” “Truth,” and “Subject” are dethroned from their capital-letter majesty, into small-letter commonalities and pluralities— histories, truths, and subjects substitute them in a volatile changeability, resulting from the destabilization effects of globalization, especially on the major identity foci of modernity, national identities. We ponder in this chapter how the general suspicion toward the big narratives of Western modernity, such as “progress” and “emancipation,” is directed in the case of Israel toward the big narrative of Zionism— Jewish national identity and its teleology, uniformity, and linearity. Such devaluation of nationalism is a foremost expression of the transition from state-centered modernization—a process involving nation building—to global postmodernization—a process involving transnational interactivity. Whereas modernity is centripetal, postmodernity is centrifugal. This transition is manifested most clearly in the sphere of collective memory. Whereas modernity tends to fashion a pattern of national memory, postmodernity tends to defuse it and to substitute the “his-story” of the one “us” with the “manifold-story” of many “others” (Jenkins 1997, 2003; Iggers et al. 2008). In the current chapter the following issues are addressed in order: ﬁrst, the deconstruction of the Zionist metanarrative; second, the epistemological challenges posed to the objectivist notion of history; third, the political context of the said shifts and challenges; and fourth, the historical debate in Israel since the late twentieth century is analyzed, and three major perspectives are explicated: nationalist, neo-nationalist and post-nationalist historiographies.

Deconstructing the meta-narrative In Israel, groups that had been previously excluded from, or marginalized in, the consensual national narrative (see Chapter 1), among them Palestinians, mizrachim

History: The others 29 (Oriental Jews), Orthodox Jews, women, homosexuals, and others, write their counter-histories and thus transform the conventional scene of a homogeneous national history. This postmodernization of collective identity and historical consciousness is examined here by looking through the prism of the “Historians’ Debate” that erupted in Israel in the 1990s and by placing this ostensive academic controversy within its wider societal and political context. Historians disagree on matters of both substance and practice: some contest accepted national truisms about Israel’s past, whereas others defend them, and some champion suppressed narratives, others proclaim the eminence of archival ﬁndings, whereas still others pledge allegiance to the sanctity of the national history. Since 1988 the lines have been drawn in Israel between the “old historians” and the “new historians.” The shift that has taken place in Israeli historiography was proclaimed by historian Benny Morris in a seminal article (Morris 1988). Morris coined for the ﬁrst time the distinction between the old historians and the new historians. The old historians promulgated a simplistic and one-sided account of the Israeli–Arab conﬂict. They produced quasi-ofﬁcial apologetic state history, which eluded issues that might have cast negative shades on the Israeli side. The old historians had taken part in the events they later researched and could never take an academic distance from their youthful experience in the saga of national liberation (see also Chapter 5). The new historians emerged in the 1980s, and in Morris’s view they are skeptical in attitude and objective in method. They grew up in the selfassured and distrustful atmosphere of the 1960s and 1970s and gained their professional education at Western universities. Moreover, the old history is largely based on (Jewish) protagonists’ memoirs and testimonies, whereas the new history is well founded on newly disclosed archival material. One illustrative expression associated with the debate was a passionate essay published in Israel’s most prestigious daily Haaretz by Aharon Meged, a wellknown author afﬁliated with the historical Zionist Labor movement. In his essay Meged lamented “all the beautifully formulated idioms in which we used to believe, and on which we were raised for two–three generations—such as the ‘redemption of the land,’ the ‘conquest of labor,’ the ‘gathering of Diasporas,’ self defense and so forth,” which are now presented as deceit and hypocrisy. He vehemently denounced the proclamation of the new history according to which, as he put it, “most of the certainties secured in our consciousness and experience are but lies,” and he went so far as to accuse the new historians of serving the enemies of the state of Israel and to compare them to a contaminating virus that “incrementally eliminates the immunities of our body and weakens our hands” (Meged 1994). The debate became an almost state affair when the then minister of culture and education, Amnon Rubinstein, a liberal Zionist law professor, joined the fray and assailed acrimoniously the new historians (as well as the critical sociologists—see Chapter 4), arguing that they aimed to “bury” Zionism by “presenting it as an essentially colonialist and racist movement, attributing to it all the evils of darkened nationalism, without displaying towards it the slightest sympathy that the left wing usually evinces towards national liberation movements; and above all, by considering the very establishment of Israel as a deed of villainy and larceny.”

30 History: The others During the 1990s the historical debate in Israel was fanned by the “peace process.” It was widely believed that the peace process signaled a new stage in Israeli history and thus was an opportune moment to review earlier periods in a new light. But at the same time, the diminution of the national sentiment and the drive toward universal “normalization” generated a backlash sentiment and a striving to rejuvenate old myths. The historians’ debate soon spilled over from scholarly journals and academic conferences into the public sphere. In 1998, for instance, the televised series Tekuma (Rebirth) that was prepared for Israel’s ﬁftieth anniversary furnished a platform for raucous controversy and came under attacks for denigrating the nation (Fisher 2000). The debate between the “old guard” who continue to stick to “the good old country” and the avant-garde who consider this a cover-up for power and domination continues to reverberate in Israeli culture. In 2004, for instance, on the occasion of the death of Naomi Shemer, one of Israel’s most popular composers of patriotic country songs, it was debated in the press whether this music is an innocent expression of the love of an adolescent society to its country or a camouﬂaged expression of the colonization of the country by the Israelis and the dislocation of the Palestinians (Benvenisti 2004; cf. Miron 1987). Frequent changes of governments and ministers of education opened up also school curricula to controversies about history textbooks and commemoration ceremonies.1 Since the late 1990s, with the decline of the peace process, the escalation of violent hostilities, and the renewed rise of the ultra-nationalist coalition, a neo-national intellectual stream also appeared (mostly around the Azure journal). By this time, however, a generation of critical intellectuals had already become established in academia and the media (most notably in Haaretz daily). Israel’s current historiographical landscape is thus divided among nationalist, postnationalist, and neo-nationalist perspectives. By the late 1990s the “newness” of the “new historians” somewhat waned and in congruence with the general turn of the political atmosphere to the Right, a new conservative wave settled in the historical profession.1 Be the current wave what it may, the historians’ debate exhibits the erosion of the national Zionist ethos in Israel and the emergence of two mutually antagonistic challenges to it: a universalistic post-Zionist ethos and a particularistic neo-Zionist ethos.

Knowledge after objectivism Two levels are intermingled in the historians’ debate: academic research and collective memory. By and large, academics in Israel, as elsewhere, tend to treat the two as utterly separate. They surmise that research is a scientiﬁc endeavor abiding by objective procedures and cautious documentation, whereas memory belongs to the popular realm and is susceptible to whim and bias. Historical research, accordingly, gradually approximates history “as it really was,” whereas collective memory usually produces distorted images of the past. Interestingly enough, Benny Morris, the historian who heralded the historians’ controversy in his writings about the origins of the Palestinians’ refugee problem

History: The others 31 (Morris 1987), subscribes contentiously to the positivist approach in historiography. He frequently declares that “there is truth,” that “objectivity is possible,” and that “the historian of the Israeli–Arab conﬂict should make an effort to write on this conﬂict as if he was writing on the war between Cartage and Rome, or as if he just now landed from Mars, and he observes the situation with no connections or commitments” (Morris 1994c). He appeals to the Leopold von Ranke ethos in maintaining that “the task of the historian is to try and get to historical ‘truth,’ to study and report ‘what really happened’” (Morris 1994c: 40). His view of the historical craft is “archivist,” that is, considering “the most important relation [of the historian] is not with the readers, the times, or the questions but with the archives—with what the historian misleadingly calls ‘the sources’ of history” (Megill and McCloskey 1987: 223). Historian Efraim Karsh, an ardent nationalist and Morris’s most acrimonious antagonist, also declares allegiances to the “bare facts” and thus rejects the distinctions between old history and new history in the name of the only appropriate distinction—that between proper and improper scientiﬁc research (Karsh 1996: 31). His critique scrutinizes the footnotes of new historians, whom he accuses of simply falsifying their archival sources, and he dubs the new historiography “falsiography” (Karsh 1996: 28). Though he openly abhors the new historians, he claims to be speaking—just like his opponent—the language of unbiased science (cf. Karsh 2000). The many reservations over the “objectivism” of most of the old historians and some of the new ones run under the banner of “relativism.” Historical objectivists consider written history to be a textual retrieval of historical reality, whereas relativists maintain that the same piece of historical reality can be rendered in more than one way. Objectivists consider written history to be a report of past events, and relativists consider written history to be a narration of past events. The language of report is, ostensibly, analytical; the language of a narrative is literary. Objectivists aim at an ideal of ultimate history, and relativists expose the horizonlike evasiveness of this ideal. For objectivists a historical text is either accurate or fallacious, and for relativists the meaning of a historical text always depends on the context of its origin and also on reception and interpretation. In a word, objectivists wish to separate history and memory, and relativists argue that the two are inseparable. The objectivist–relativist dispute is as old as the concept of truth. For our purposes, however, what is of interest is the upheaval that has taken place in the social sciences and humanities in the past two to three decades. From the 1930s to the late 1960s, academe was dominated by the objectivist view, though not necessarily by an objectivist practice. In the philosophy of science, it was known as the “received view” (Suppe 1977: 6–56), appearing under such different rubrics as empiricism, operationalism, logical positivism, and nomothetic deductivism. The relativist view gained currency in academe—abroad and in Israel—in the last quarter or so of the past century. In the philosophy of science, there has been growing consensus about the inadequacy of the “received view.” Its presumed “givens” of reality and accessibility of observational facts, and their determination

32 History: The others of scientiﬁc concepts and theories, have all come in for a good deal of criticism in science studies in general (Suppe 1977: 57–118; Hess 1997) and in the social sciences in particular (Seidman 2003; Burawoy et al. 2005). The new postpositivist view has been animated since by a number of interrelated trends. The ﬁrst trend is the sociological and historical approach to science by writers such as David Bloor and Barry Barnes (the “Strong Program”; Bloor 1991), who revived the legacy of “ideas in context” stretching from Marx to Mannheim. It maintains that the substance of knowledge cannot be divorced from the social and cultural conditions of its production, transmission, and reception. It found support in a line of philosophers from (the older) Ludwig Wittgenstein to Richard Rorty, each of whom, in his own way, strongly criticized the dogma of positivism and the notion that cognition is a kind of “mirror of nature” (to cite the title of Rorty’s seminal work; Rorty 1979). The most effective formulation of this conviction is found in Thomas Kuhn’s study The Structure of Scientiﬁc Revolutions and especially in his concept of a “scientiﬁc paradigm,” which shapes “conventional science” (Kuhn 1962). A second trend contributing to the upheaval in the concept of knowledge stems from Europe and offers a more radical, skeptical, poststructuralist critique of the nature of modernity. It deconstructs fundamental binaries, such as subject–object, knowledge–power, culture–politics, signiﬁer–signiﬁed, true–false, self–other, and so forth. Particularly inﬂuential are Michel Foucault’s studies of “regimes of truth” and his notions of archaeology and genealogy of knowledge (Foucault 1970, 1972). The poststructuralist approach, in general, and Foucault’s approach, in particular, have fueled a new kind of historical inquiry, which aims to redeem the suppressed data and submerged memories “of hostile encounters which … has been conﬁned to the margins of knowledge” Foucault 1980: 83). A third critique of the objectivist concept of knowledge emerged from the multicultural and postcolonialist scholarship that has been institutionalized (and is ﬂourishing) in cultural studies (some of its leading advocates are Partha Chatterjee, Homi Bhabha, Cornell West, Edward Said, and Stuart Hall, to mention but a few; and see Connell 2007). They exposed a deep-seated corpus of knowledge within power structures, and they espouse a new cultural politics of location and difference. Said’s study Orientalism has had a great impact in this respect, notably his contention that the general liberal consensus that ‘true’ knowledge is fundamentally nonpolitical (and conversely, that overtly political knowledge is not ‘true’ knowledge) obscures the highly if obscurely organized political circumstances obtaining when knowledge is produced. (Said 1978: 10) A fourth, highly inﬂuential, minority voice in social and human studies in recent decades has been feminist scholarship. It has invigorated traditional sociology of science, the poststructuralist critique of culture, and multiculturalist education (e.g., Harding 1998).

History: The others 33 Fifth and ﬁnally, in the discipline of history the new relativism is expressed in a restored interest in the rhetorical, discursive, and narrative aspects of historical representation (Polkinghorne 1988). In 1973 Hayden White broached the idea that history is constituted through its literary genre, style, and tropes, or that “form” is constitutive of “content” (White 1973). White maintains that historical narratives most manifestly are “verbal ﬁctions, the content of which are as much invented as found and the forms of which have more in common with their counterparts in literature than they have with those in the sciences.” He argues that histories gain part of their explanatory effect “by their success in making stories out of mere chronicles; and stories in turn are made out of chronicles by operation … [of] ‘emplotment,’ [that is,] the encodation of the facts contained in the chronicle as components of speciﬁc kinds of plot structures” (White 1973: 82, 83). In a somewhat different vein, Peter Novick convincingly demonstrates that because of the entry of “new groups” to academic and scientiﬁc life, “the idea of historical objectivity is perceived as problematic more than at any time in the past” (Novick 1988: 17; cf. Ankersmith 1993). In summary, all these trends castigate the notion of objectivity and bring out the conditions, politics, rhetoric, discursivity, and narrativity of science and knowledge and of culture and representation. They demonstrate the working of politics in historiography through the power relations of classes, nations, races, and genders. The more radical ones among the new historians in Israel have absorbed the new sociology of knowledge, the narrativist philosophy of history, the poststructuralist cultural critique, and the multicultural positions, described earlier. These historians have found a major platform for their criticism of mainstream social sciences and humanities in the journal Theory and Criticism (published by Van Leer Institute and HaKibbutz HaMeuchad), edited by Tel Aviv University professors Adi Ophir and later Yehuda Shenhav, both outspokenly postmodern, postcolonial, and post-Zionist intellectuals (the journal Notebooks for Research and Critique, published by a group of sociologists at Haifa University in the late 1970s and early 1980s was a modest, more Marxist, predecessor. See also Chapter 4). Ilan Pappe, probably the most conspicuous new historian in Israel, expressed this fresh new perspective on history most pointedly: Historians today do not profess objectivity. They display cynicism towards the historical narrative woven by past and present political elites, and endeavor to shed light on all those who were delegated to the shades by nationalism, religiosity, racism and male-chauvinism. (Pappe 1994) Although most academic historians in Israel reject any attribution of relativism to their work, Mordechai Bar On, a historian and commentator on the historians’ debate, takes a more moderate view. He concedes that some measure of relativity in history is unavoidable but distinguishes between “deliberate bias,” which is exercised instrumentally in the service of ideology, and “existential bias,” which is inadvertent and the result of unconscious cultural conditioning. To his mind the

34 History: The others national bias of which the old historians are accused is existential and unavoidable and is as legitimate as any of the new perspectives adopted by the new historians (Bar On 1996). Anita Shapira, a leading mainstream historian of Labor Zionism, also aims for the middle-of-the road approach between old and new historians and between post-Zionist, left-wing historians and neo-Zionist, right-wing historians. She considers the two sides to be mirror images and calls for the crafting of “a more subtle, intricate view of history, with intermediate hues and shadings” and for ﬁnding “a middle ground … which [embraces] justiﬁed criticism from both sides” (Shapira 2001: 75). One way or another, the new historians have radically transformed the historical consciousness and the historiographical map in Israel: ﬁrst, long-term implicit methodological and theoretical assumptions have been subjected to explicit reﬂection; second, the long-lasting national historical perspective has split into competing narratives; third, major repressed issues in Israeli history have received fresh attention and have been researched anew; fourth, the cohort of veteran historians at core establishment institutions has partly given way to clusters of youngergeneration new historians; and ﬁfth, the controversy between old and new, or Zionist and post-Zionist, historians has propelled the emergence of neo-Zionist historians. Let us now look at the context of the historians’ debate.

The politics behind history The historical debate in Israel must be understood within its wider political-cultural context. The context is the decline of Zionism and the rise of two mutually contesting challenges to it: neo-Zionism and post-Zionism. The old historiography shares the basic assumptions of the national ideology in Israel, namely, Zionism. Zionism originated in eastern Europe in the last quarter of the nineteenth century. As a national movement lacking both a state and a territory, it naturally adopted the ethnic, or integrative, type of nationalism of the region rather than the territorial, or civic, nationalism associated with Western constitutional states (Brubaker 1992). Since 1948 the state of Israel has retained this character while professing a simultaneous commitment to the liberal equality of its citizenry. This tension had swollen since the 1970s to a “culture war,” verging at times on civil war between neo-Zionism and post-Zionism, an internal Jewish “clash of civilizations,” which is arrested only because of the presumed outer Jewish–Muslim clash of civilizations in which Israel is embroiled. The basic idea behind Israel’s establishment was that it was to be a “state for the Jews.” This was underpinned by the assumption that once a Jewish majority was established, there would be no contradiction between the nationalist and the democratic principles. This model is described as an “ethnic democracy” (Smooha 2002; see also Chapter 4). But in the ﬁnal decades of the twentieth century, this ethos was challenged from both left and right. The Left spawned the concept of post-Zionism, which promotes a civic national identity based on the shared life of the states’ residents. The Right produced the concept of neo-Zionism, which promotes the reverse—the replacement of the pragmatic concept of a state

History: The others 35 for the Jews with the fundamentalist concept of a Jewish state; that is, a state committed to ethnic cultural symbols and historic destiny (Ram 1999). Sociologists Gershon Shaﬁr and Yoav Peled propose an analytical model whereby the structure of membership in Israeli society, its regime of incorporation, is deﬁned by three different types of ethos: ethno-national, republican-communitarian, and liberal. The ethno-national ethos regulates the privileges of Jews over Palestinians inside Israel; the republican-communitarian ethos regulates the privileges of Ashkenazi Jews over Oriental (Mizrachi) Jews as well as of secular Jews over Orthodox Jews and men over women; and the liberal ethos regulates individual constitutional equality inside Israel but not across the “green line” (inside the occupied territories). The liberal ethos partly conceals the other principles and partly legitimates them (Shaﬁr & Peled 2002). We suggest that these principles, in their accentuation, crystallized during the 1990s into a Zionist ethos at the center (republican), ﬂanked by the post-Zionist ethos (liberal) on one side and the neo-Zionist ethos (ethnic) on the other side. The turbulence in the historical sphere registers and articulates the struggle among these three identity magnets. The old history of the Zionist paradigm was naturally the ﬁrst historiographical paradigm that had emerged and was consolidated. The newly established nation imagined itself (Anderson 1991), invented its tradition (Hobsbawm & Ranger 1983), and narrated its historical identity (Bhabha 1990). It did so mainly by combining components of the ancient Hebraic past with the modern national project. In this frame the Bible became a kind of a secular geopolitical guide to the emerging national culture, whereas Halachic stipulations from the Diasporic times were largely neglected. Thus the social and political project of Jewish immigration to Palestine, the latter’s settlement and colonization, and the construction of a Jewish community and state were culturally rendered in terms of national revival, territorial repatriation, and historical redemption. Historians, together with other intellectuals—authors, poets, painters, sculptures, journalists, teachers, artists, and others, and at a later stage also social scientists— took an active, even leading, role in the composition and propagation of the national narrative. Academia, far from being a detached arbiter, has been part and parcel of the national endeavor. Academic disciplines such as history and sociology were shaped under the spell of national ideology. Until quite recently the dominant historical paradigm was founded on premises furnished by the national-revival school, led by Ben Zion Dinur and others (see Chapter 1) and the dominant sociological paradigm was founded on premises furnished by the nation-building modernization school, led by S.N. Eisenstadt and others (see Chapter 3). Until the 1980s, the history and sociology written in Israel conferred an ostensibly scientiﬁc, academic legitimacy on the collective memory and collective ideology needed to foster the crystallizing national identity. The ideology of neo-Zionism burst onto the scene in the mid-1970s, in the wake of the 1967 and 1973 wars, creating a new national and historical ethos of “back to the roots” and of a worship of “holy places.” Academic support came from Bar Ilan University and later also from the Shalem Center in Jerusalem and its journal Tchelet (the English version is Azure). Author Yoram Hazony’s historical treatise

36 History: The others The Jewish State, in which only a strict adherence to ethnonationalistic principles is considered truly Zionist, is an expression of this “struggle for Israel’s soul” (as the subtitle goes) (Hazony 2001). Neo-Zionism followed the occupation of the West Bank and other territories in the 1967 war, which reanimated the old (predominantly right-wing) creed of Greater Israel; this rightward turn was facilitated by the trauma of the 1973 October War, in which Israel was on the brink of destruction. The latter circumstance resulted in the ousting of Labor from power in 1977—for the ﬁrst time since the 1920s. A new social stratum, of religious-national Yeshiva graduates, hitherto marginalized and since then mobilized by the Block of the Faithful (Gush Emunim), seized the opportunity to appropriate and renew the pioneering ethos of the start of the twentieth century and “create facts on the ground.” The Jewish Orthodox community is another actor in the rise of neo-Zionism. Throughout the nation-building era, Orthodox Judaism was quite insigniﬁcant in Israel’s polity, a marginal minority tolerated by the secular Zionist majority. But in the past three decades both the political status and allegiances of Orthodox Jews have been radically transformed. They gained enormous political inﬂuence as a result of the decline of the national ethos, their high rate of fertility, their internal cohesiveness and discipline, and the fact that they became the parliamentary tip of the scale between Left and Right. The discourse of neo-Zionism, wherein Jewish identity is explicitly anchored in religiosity, strongly appeals to them and draws them to the Right. As they became more nationalistic, their national-religious counterparts became more Orthodox, resulting in a union that earned the appellation of “Chardal,” the acronym of charedim-dati’yim-le’umiyim (Orthodoxreligious-national) (see Ram 2008). In the mid-1980s the Orthodox split into Ashkenazi and Mizrachi political sectors. The Mizrachi sector formed the shas movement, which became the third-largest political party in Israel. A traditional, Jewish, ethnic (Mizrachi) movement, shas’s underlying ethos reinforces the neo-Zionist creed and its focus on Israel’s Jewish identity (Peled 1998; Pedahzur 2000). In the 1990s neo-Zionist nationalism found fresh support in Jewish immigrants from the former Soviet Union, who are politically tapped by the Israel Beteinu party (“Israel Our Home,” headed by Avigdor Liberman). This brand of neo-Zionists is staunchly secular, largely anti-Arab, and pro-occupation. In fact the much-touted clash between religious Mizrachi and secular Russian Jews simply led the two sides to concentrate on what they considered their only common denominator—ethnic Jewish nationalism. The rise of neo-Zionism since the mid-1970s was countered by the rise of postZionism, especially since the 1980s. The historians’ debate erupted in public as the intellectual counterpart of the post-Zionist spirit. This spirit facilitated the challenge to the unifying collectivist ethos, the unraveling of national myths, and the emergence of conﬂicting narratives of marginalized groups: Mizrachi Jews, Palestinian Arabs, women, the business class, and even the repressed memory of eastern European Diaspora Jewry. The early catalysts were three different wars: the Lebanon War of 1982, the ﬁrst Palestinian intifada that broke out in 1987, and

History: The others 37 the Gulf War of 1991. The ﬁrst two wars brought home to Israelis the “Vietnam effect,” and just as in that instance, television played a signiﬁcant role. Both wars were considered by many to be unjustiﬁable and to involve an amoral engagement against civilians. With respect to both, a civil protest movement sprang up, made up of a kernel of draft objectors and many other supporters who accorded precedence to human dignity and human rights over collective historical myths. The Gulf War demonstrated the vulnerability of Israel’s home front to ballistic missiles and, hence, the futility of territorial occupation (Barzilai 1996). The effects of the wars of the 1980s and 1990s were accompanied by a revamping of Israeli society and politics. The Likud-led coalition that emerged in 1977 contained, in addition to the national-religious partners, a liberal component. Though its initial attempts at economic liberalization failed, and brought the country in the early 1980s to its worst economic crisis, Israel has been moving toward intensive neoliberalism ever since the stabilization program of 1985. The new economic orientation was to become the accepted wisdom of the large political parties. Israel witnessed its ﬁrst “bourgeois revolution” (see Ram 2007). The collective institutions founded by the Labor movement collapsed like a house of cards and were replaced by the privatization ethos led by a now robust bourgeois class. This process peaked symbolically in 1994, when the Labor movement lost its historical control over the histadrut, the national federation of labor unions. High-tech became the leading sector in Israel’s economic growth and exports and turned Israel into a foremost global society. These changes provided the fold for the peace process led by the Rabin–Peres government from 1992 to 1995. Peace and privatization completed each other in the vision of the new Middle East (Peres 1993). The peace process made possible a fresh look—and, more signiﬁcant, a general acceptance of such a look—at Arab–Israeli, as well as at Israeli–Jewish and Israeli–Israeli, relations: a fresh look that was manifested in the historical revisions and controversies, which are detailed later. The clash between neo-Zionism and post-Zionism reached a climax in 1995, when Yitzhak Rabin, the leader of the peace process, was assassinated by a Mizrachi religious-national Jewish terrorist. The rest of the 1990s saw the deterioration of the peace process and the return to the old Middle East of bloodletting. Whereas the 1990s began with the rise of post-Zionism and a new history, the 2000s have begun with a return to neo-Zionism; the old history is being revived in the more extreme, more overtly ethno-nationalist, fundamentalist garb of neoZionism. The military operations of 2006 (in Lebanon) and 2008 (in Gaza) were acclaimed by the wide public and the media, except for a handful of left-wing critics. From a broader perspective, the decline of classic nationalism in Israel and the rise of the two antagonistic agendas of neo-Zionism and post-Zionism mark the Israeli version of the worldwide spread of globalization and, with it, the emergence of market society and liberal culture on one hand, and of a local tribal cultural backlash to it on the other hand. Since the 1990s Israel has witnessed the bifurcation described by Barber as “Jihad vs. McWorld” (Barber 1996). Let us ﬁnally turn from the context of the historical debate to its text.

38 History: The others

The historians’ debate of the late twentieth century In the following presentation we condense the multiplicity of issues raised in the debate into three major arenas that represent the encounters between major identity groups in Israel: an Israeli–Arab encounter, an Israeli–Jewish (homeland– Diaspora) encounter, and an Israeli–Israeli (Eastern–Western) encounter. In each of these arenas we provide a sketch of the three major historical narratives: the national Zionist narrative, the post-national narrative (post-Zionist), and the neo-national narrative (neo-Zionist). The Israeli–Arab arena The national conﬂict is the core issue of the historians’ debate. The new historians have challenged the conventional view of the foreign and security policies of Israel, especially (so far) with regard to the 1940s and 1950s, though some works already raise questions regarding later wars. They have argued, among other things, that on the eve of its independence (and also later), the state of Israel spurned opportunities for negotiations with Arab states, but, on the other hand, reached an understanding with the Jordanian Kingdom to parcel between the two of them the territory known as the West Bank, so as to prevent the establishment of a Palestinian state there. This view rather contradicts Israel’s widely held self-image as a peace-loving nation drawn reluctantly into the agony of war only as a last resort and with a “no choice” situation enforced on it. Furthermore, these historians argue that Israel bears a large, in certain versions a major, responsibility for the origins of the Palestinians’ refugee problem, which is the topic of Morris’s deﬁnitive work. It is contended that during Israel’s 1948 War of Independence, senior Israeli military commanders, encouraged implicitly by Israel’s highest authority of the time, Prime Minister David Ben Gurion, evicted hundreds of thousands of Palestinians from their villages and expelled them beyond the state’s borders. An even stronger thesis holds that Zionist leaders had forged a policy of population “transfer” for years before the 1948 war. The question about massacres perpetuated by Israeli soldiers resurfaced recently with regard to the Tantura case (a Palestinian village near the city of Haifa, where it is alleged that Jewish troops massacred up to two hundred men). Regardless of whether Israel is responsible for the displacement of the refugees, it had exercised a ﬁrm “no return” policy toward them. Until these revelations scandalized academia and public opinion, professional historians simply glossed over the unpleasant aspects of the war, while popular histories and school textbooks tended to mention in brief an Arab “mass ﬂight.” Critical sociologists who researched the early stages of Jewish settlement in Palestine at the end of the nineteenth century and early decades of the twentieth century applied analogous analyses, only in more structural terms. They depicted Zionist settlement as a colonial project, entailing land acquisition, the closure of labor markets, and the displacement of native Arab peasants. This new critical sociology evidently contrasts with mainstream Israeli sociology, which offered a dualistic concept of Israeli–Arab relations, whereby the two societies developed in parallel, each according to its own inherent modernizing thrust. Critical sociologists also determined that a military culture emerged in Israeli

History: The others 39 society, contributing signiﬁcantly to the reproduction of the national conﬂict. These accounts gravely tarnish the glittering perception most Israelis have of their society as civic and benevolent. As against these views of the new historians, the classic Zionist narrative attempted to square the circle of Israeli–Arab relations. From this perspective the militarization of Israeli society is portrayed as a necessary defensive mechanism (the Israeli army is called the Israel Defense Force) and an emphasis is put on the character of Israel as a Jewish and democratic state. From the neo-Zionist perspective, secular Zionism, especially in its Labor version, tended to be weak on nationalism. It never understood the impossibility of Jews and gentiles living together in peace. The Arab attitude toward Israel is an extension of a long anti-Semitic history, as evinced by Arab support of Nazism in World War II (special allusion is made to the Mufti’s relations with the Nazis). Labor Zionism’s illusions of living in harmony with the Arabs have led to an ultra-dovish position and a wholesale compromise, which the other side interpreted as weakness to be exploited. The only way to achieve peace is by deterrence and retaliation—an idea not new to classic right-wing ideology, namely, Zeev Jabotinsky’s “Iron Wall” (Jabotinsky was founder of the Israeli right wing). The Arabs in Israel are a “ﬁfth column,” and they pose a demographic threat to Israel. Their presence can be tolerated only in the status of a foreign minority, although “transfer by agreement” is seen as the preferred solution. The Israeli–Jewish arena Zionist Hebrew culture is the main contested arena here. The lines are drawn here between homeland, territorial, or native Zionism on one hand and Diaspora Jewry on the other. In contestation is the “new person” that Zionism strove to create, not unlike other modernist movements, especially nationalism and socialism (but also fascism). This new positive Israeli identity in Eretz Israel was set against a contrived negative identity of Diaspora Jewish identity. The pioneers who settled Palestine and their “Sabra” (native-born) descendants were depicted as physical, daring biblical peasant warriors, the antithesis of Diaspora Jewry, who were the non-Zionist “other.” Furthermore, the Jewish past was condensed into a single linear metanarrative of “from dispersal to redemption,” in which Zionism emerged as the telos of all Jewish history. This train of thought of the “negation of the Diaspora” is disparaged by the new historians. Especially acute in this regard is the question of the Holocaust. New historians charge, or imply, that the cultural hiatus between Zionist settlers and Diaspora Jews explains in part the scant efforts of Yishuv leaders during the Holocaust to rescue Jews from Nazi persecution. Mainstream historians discard this charge and underline the paralyzing weakness, helplessness, and shock of the leaders in the inconceivable circumstances of that time. With regard to the historical commemoration of the Holocaust, new historians maintain that regardless of what was actually done or might have been done to rescue Jews, the memory of the Holocaust has been nationalized in Israel and used for political purposes, whereas the universal lessons from it have been ignored and basic human sympathy withheld from the survivors.

40 History: The others Neo-Zionism differs in this regard from both mainstream Zionism and postZionism. In the neo-Zionist view, the root cause of weakness of Israeli nationalism derives from its alienation from the Jewish sources of its culture. Secular Zionism, especially in its Labor version, had made a futile attempt to deny the traditional religious Jewish core of Jewish identity. This self-estrangement had made Labor Zionism unable to empathize with the victims of the Holocaust, resulting in the grave moral default of its leaders in the face of the Jewish disaster. The Six Days War (1967) united Israel with its biblical land and place of ancestors; and the War of Atonement (1973) symbolized the deep religious roots of the Israeli–Arab wars. The spiritual crisis of Zionism leads it to a drift toward a decadent normalization or Americanization and only a new national-religious and orthodox culture can heal Zionism from this moral bankruptcy. The Israeli–Israeli arena. The historians’ debate in this arena represents the encounter in Israel between those labeled Ashkenazim (Jews of European descent) and those labeled mizrachim (Jews of Muslim countries), an encounter that combines issues of both economic distribution and cultural recognition. At the center of the dispute are the social policies of the Israeli elite, especially of the Labor movement, which was dominant in Israeli society from the 1930s to the 1970s. Mainstream sociology and history depicted the movement’s founders as idealist pioneers and admired their particular blend of national development and social(-ist) construction, encapsulated by the phrases “socialist constructivism” and “utopian realism.” In sharp distinction, new historians argue today that the Jewish Labor Movement was conspicuously nationalist, modeled after east European nationalism of the time, that its egalitarian ideology was no more than a mobilization ruse, and that nothing was further from its mind than the building of a model socialist society. Since the 1970s numerous critical sociologists have expressed coinciding views (see Chapter 4). They have underscored the power-driven organizational manipulation of the Labor elite; they have exposed the discriminatory policies of Labor and its governments toward the Arab citizens of Israel in such spheres as housing, education, employment, and welfare; and they have disclosed the methods of domination and control that created an ethnically hierarchical system. With respect to Jewish immigrants from Muslim countries, the pattern of integration of the 1950s and 1960s has come in for particularly harsh criticism. Mainstream sociology has analyzed this issue in its modernization framework in terms of “absorption” and “nation-building,” a process in which newcomers are desocialized of former traditional identities and resocialized into modern Israeli culture. Critical sociology, again in contradistinction, analyzed the same process in terms of the construction of a class system in a capitalist division of labor. It argued that the Labor movement, and more speciﬁcally the leading party mapai, initiated labor-intensive industrialization, channeled the immigrants to dependent peripheral locations, and relegated them to proletarian and marginal positions. An emerging postcolonial school presents a different frame of reference to the Mizrachi issue, namely, the analysis of the essentialization of identity categories. In this view mizrachim, women, and Arabs are turned into ﬁxed and objectiﬁed

History: The others 41 categories, formed and positioned through the establishment prism and the dominant cultural hierarchies. The new postcolonial perspective poses the options of multiple voices and of ﬂuid identities, which transgress the traditional boundaries between men and women, Jews and Arabs, religious and secular, Israeli and Palestinians, rich and poor, and also mizrachim and Ashkenazim. Mizrachiyut or Mizrachi identity is considered a consequence of the differentiation between Jews and Arabs into two distinct, dichotomous, and hierarchical categories. Such a distinction is a modern national project that constructs so-called appropriate Jewish identity as essentially Western. Thus to be included in the Zionist project, Mizrachi Jews were compelled to discard their Arabic culture. Special emphasis on the “hidden history” of women is given by feminist sociologists and social historians. They argue that women too have fallen victims to the nation-building process, where their autonomy and equality were always delegated to a secondary preference. Once more, this new critical view contradicts the famed Israeli images of the female pioneer, the female soldier, and the female Prime Minister (Golda Meir). The emergence of yet another critical historical perspective is also noticeable— that of a bourgeois-liberal version of Israeli history. This version depreciates the role of the Labor Movement in the nation-building process and celebrates the role of the private sector. The entrepreneurial class is heralded as the real constructor of the economic infrastructure of the Jewish community, and collectivist ideology is presented as having been a hindrance to the further development of this community. Thus the ﬁrst and fourth waves of Jewish immigrants, petit bourgeois farmers, and urban merchants are crowned as a success story, in a narrative that hitherto considered them as failures, whereas the second and third waves of Jewish immigrants, the legendary pioneers who formulated the collectivist ethos and established the collectivist institutions of the Labor movement, are degraded as a stagnant oligarchy. In a similar vein, the neo-Zionist intellectuals, although they reject the idea of a consumer society, nevertheless adopt the entrepreneurial business ethos, imagining a culture that is both more orthodox and more capitalist. This is especially true of the American branch of the new Right in Israel, as exempliﬁed by the politics of Binyamin Netanyahu and by the group centered on the Azure (Tchelet) journal. In regard to the “ethnic problem,” since the neo-Zionist perspective takes its cue from ethnonationalist Jewish identity and focuses on Jewish–Arabic hostility, it endorses the narrative of integration, of all Jews forming a single and indivisible entity. Table 2.1 summarizes the major controversial issues and major narratives in the historical debate. In every respect, then, whether on the issue of Palestinian Arabs, European Jewry, or Mizrachi immigrants, the conventional Zionist story has come under attack and its truths been severely challenged by both left-wing post-Zionist and right-wing neo-Zionist critiques. Mainstream Zionist maxims, such as “a land with no people, to a people without land” (in reference to the Jewish settlement in Palestine), “there is no partner” (in reference to the absence of Arab partners for peace), and “all Jews are responsible to one another” (in reference to Jewish

Secular Zionism, especially in its Labor version, has tended to be weak on nationalism. It never understood the impossibility of Jews and gentiles living together in peace. The Arab attitude to Israel is the extension of a long anti-Semitic history. Zionist illusions of living in harmony with the Arabs have always led to an ultra-dovish and wholesale compromise, which the other side interpreted as weakness and exploited. The way to achieve peace is by deterrence and retaliation. The Arabs in Israel are a “ﬁfth column” and can be tolerated in the status of a foreign minority.

Israel is a settler–colonial society, on a par with other white, European societies such as Australia or South Africa. Whether the expulsion of the Palestinians in 1948 was premeditated (the “transfer” argument) or an unintentional consequence of the war, Israel is largely responsible for the refugees problem. The conquest of land and labor was an avowed principle of Labor Zionism, and its logical derivative is dislocation of, and discrimination against, the Palestinians. Israel often rejected Arab initiatives for peace negotiations and developed a militaristic culture. To become fully democratic, Israel must change from a state of the Jews to a state of all its citizens. Zionists and Israelis internalized some of the anti-Semite images of the Jews. They despise Jewish culture and history, deeming them pathetic. Against this background, the Yishuv leadership during the Holocaust gave priority to the

Israel is a state of the Jewish nation that returned to its homeland after being expelled from there two millennia ago. In the War of Independence, the Palestinians ﬂed, assuming that they would soon return after Israel lost the war. Israel constantly seeks peace, but the Arab states refuse to recognize it and periodically launch aggression and wars against her, and she must defend herself. Regarding the areas occupied in 1967, Israel would be ready to negotiate a territorial compromise should she have a responsible, non-terrorist Palestinian partner. As for the Arab citizens of Israel, they have been granted full citizenship rights and equality.

A new secular Jewish identity was crafted in Israel, transforming Jewish identity from religious to national, while preserving and adjusting ancient symbols to modern realities. The Biblical culture of ancient Jewry, including

The Israeli–Arab arena: Is Israel a settler-colonial society? Which side is responsible for the wars and the refugee problem?

The Israeli–Jewish (homeland– Diaspora) arena: Does Israeli identity jettison Jewish Diasporic culture? Was, or is, there a misuse of the Holocaust memory?

Israeli nationalism is essentially weak because of its alienation from the Jewish cultural sources. Secular Zionism, especially in its Labor version, made a futile attempt to deny the traditional, religious Jewish core a Jewish identity. This

The Neo-Zionist Narrative

The Post-Zionist Narrative

The Zionist Narrative

The Major Controversial Arena

Table 2.1 Major controversial issues and major narratives in the historical debate

national causes over rescuing Jews. After the Holocaust its memory was nationalized and used as a pretext in the confrontation with the Arabs.

alienation is also at the root of the Yishuv leadership’s mishandling of the Holocaust. The Six Days’ War (1967) united Israel with the heart of the Jewish holy land, the home of its Biblical ancestors, and the War of Atonement (1973) symbolizes the deep religious roots of the Israeli– Arab wars. The new nationalreligious and Orthodox streams will heal Zionism. Jews from all seats of exile gathered There are two versions here. First is Taking its cue from the primacy of The Israeli–Israeli (Ashkenazi– ethnonationalist Jewish identity, and the earlier Marxist version. The Mizrachi) arena: Was, or is, there in Israel to create a new Jewish– encounter between Ashkenazim and focusing on the hostility between Israeli identity. Newcomers, discrimination toward Mizrachi Jews and Arabs, this perspective mizrachim was an encounter not especially those from traditional immigrants that placed them tends to disregard the inter-Jewish between modern society and backgrounds, shed their Diasporic socially and culturally at the traditional newcomers but between a ethnic tensions or even to deny it. identities (“desocialize”) and are bottom of the ladder? state-made bourgeoisie and a statereintegrated (“resocialized”) into the melting pot. The mizrachim were made proletariat. The ethnic problem is not about unequal distribution but latecomers with a non-modern about unequal production, that is, background; their egalitarian integration required special fostering class relations. Second is the recent and time. Since the late 1970s this postcolonial version. The issue is not (only) socioeconomic but involves view has been combined with a the marginalization of Mizrachiyut novel “salad bowl” concept of a as an identity in Israel, deriving from plurality of ethnic cultures on the an Orientalist attitude to the East in symbolic level. combination with an anti-Arab identity.

the Hebrew language, was revived. Zionism is the obvious response to the Holocaust, and Israeli memory cherishes the Jewish victims and the heroes who could not be saved by the pre-state community.

44 History: The others solidarity), have been rebuffed, questioned, and challenged by the post-Zionist critique and have been reasserted by the neo-Zionist defenders. Beyond the speciﬁcs, the post-Zionist critique rejects the Zionist pretense to be the wholesome, genuine, and teleological representation of Jewish interests of all Jews at all times and in all places and of Jewish culture in all its varieties, as well as the necessary culmination of the entire sequel of Jewish history. Neo-Zionists, on the other hand, revive and reinvigorate precisely these old Zionist tenets (cleansed, of course, of mainstream Zionism’s universalistic, liberal, and socialist components). In general, claims such as those made by new historians and critical sociologists deconstruct the Zionist national metanarrative, exposing its contradictions, omissions, and its marginalizations of others, while the claims of Zionism’s new defenders reassert the unity and unanimity of the Jewish nationcum-religion identity. Impinging on the speciﬁcs of the Israeli case are general tendencies of globalization and localization. The historical revisions and debates we exposed express the diminution of the Zionist nation-state ethos and the emergence of two diametrically opposed alternatives to it: an ethno-national neo-Zionism and a civic-liberal postZionism. The three leading schools of Israeli academic history and collective memory reﬂect and articulate these political–cultural divisions: traditional mainstream history is national, mostly in the Labor Movement version. On its fringes, a critical school of history emerged in the 1980s, associated with post-Zionism (even if some of its protagonists identify as Zionists). Finally, since the 1990s efforts have been made to create a counter-school of neo-Zionist history. The future of the past in Israel depends on the future of politics in Israel. An eventual return to the peace process and settlement of the Israeli–Arab conﬂict may release Israeli political culture from its nationalist ﬁxation and may lead towards a more open, pluralistic, and critical historical discourse. The opposite option, in which Israel will continue to fail peace options and will refuse to grant the Palestinians independence, and the unavoidable resort to violent hostilities, will result in a more closed, uniﬁed, and nationalistic historical discourse. History writing always has been, and will continue to be, a servant of history making. It is history makers, not history writers, who in the future will design the pattern of Israeli collective identity and historical memory.

3

Society: Uniformity

Sociological thought, besides historical thought, is one of the main intellectual arenas wherein Israeli nationalism is deﬁned and cultivated, as well as one of the main arenas where Israeli nationalism is scrutinized critically and being transcended—at least theoretically. In Chapters 3 and 4 we discuss three basic patterns of Israeli sociology: its analysis of Israeli society and its perspective on Israeli nationality. While mainstream sociologists depicted a homogeneous image of Israeli society, the critical schools would depict an heterogeneous picture of it. The ﬁrst pattern is the mainstream sociological paradigm (also known as the “establishmentarian paradigm” and sometimes by the appellation “the Jerusalem School” [in sociology]). It was formed in the Hebrew University of Jerusalem in the early era of the state since 1948 and was dominant until the 1970s. This pattern gave expression to the Zionist etatist perspective, as it was designed and disseminated by the Labor movement in the time when it was at the peak of both its domination and its hegemony in Israeli society and state. The second perspective to be discussed in this part of the book is critical sociology. This perspective, or more accurately, perspectives, gave expression to the emergence from the 1970s of an anti-establishment protestation of a variety of kinds, and to the rise in the public space of new demands and new groups, a process that resulted, in 1977 in the eventual “Turnover” of the Labor domination and hegemony. In the elections that took place in that year Labor was deposed from power for the ﬁrst time since the 1930s (Labor was the axis of Israeli politics even before the establishment of the state of Israel) and was replaced by the Likud party. The Likud expressed then the interests of two main electoral groups—the private sector petit-bourgeoisie and the low-class mizrachim—both marginal groups under the Labor regime. Though the “Turnover” handed the government to the political right wing, the thaw of the Labor regime opened the public sphere to various voices, among them also voices to the left of Labor. Within this frame, critical sociology emerged mainly in the two universities, of Tel Aviv and of Haifa, and took a variety of forms, as we shall see below. Finally, the third pattern to be discussed here is the one associated with the preﬁx “post,” and it includes the postmodern, the postcolonial and the post-Marxist approaches. These approaches reached Israel in the 1990s, in parallel with the

46 Society: Uniformity overall process of the Americanization and globalization of Israel, and its rapid transformation from a state-centered society to a market-oriented society. This was accompanied also by the development of individualist and consumerist culture, on the one hand, and of traditional communities and multicultural sensitivities, on the other hand. Salient among the places of the growth of the “post” approaches during the 1990s were the Van Leer Jerusalem Institute and the Ben-Gurion University in Beer Sheva. While mainstream sociology represented the homogeneous-harmonious “modern social system” that Israeli society was considered as becoming, critical sociology focused on relationships of hierarchy and inequality. In the era of the “posts,” attention was removed altogether from the system—equal or hierarchic— to the excluded “others” and their identity claims (with the exception of the postMarxist school that tied these issues to class issues). Ever since it was established as a distinct discipline Israeli sociology was closely tied to the ruling establishment, and it provided the latter’s policies with an intellectual legitimization and a “scientiﬁc” gloss. This state of affairs, which had started already in the pre-state era, endured for more than ﬁve decades. In this period sociologists saw themselves as active partners in the process of nationbuilding and of state-formation, as this was perceived and presented by the leaders of society. Consequently, sociology did not form an autonomous and independent perspective, or a perspective which is informed by non-ruling groups or by nonhegemonic ideas. This linkage between academic sociology and the governing establishment started to dissolve only from the 1970s, and only after this establishment itself started to lose power. During the 1970s several processes intertwined and led eventually to the downfall of the Labor movement after half a century of domination and hegemony, and to a wider change in Israeli society and culture. In this social climate, characterized by crises and transformations, the nature of the sociological discourse in Israel changed as well, and it became more open, plural, and multifaceted, compared to the previous era. During the 1970s the pioneers of critical sociology still struggled for the right to be heard; by the 1990s their impact on Israeli sociology was already indelible. During the 1990s another qualitative leap in the inﬂuence of critical sociology took place, and we dwell on this in the last part of this chapter and the next one. Critical sociology started to appear on the margins of academic sociology in the late 1970s, but its voice has been ampliﬁed since then, so much that some even think that the “critics” have become the “new establishment” in the ﬁeld. We examine here the leading programs in the sociological discourse in Israel, or the changing agenda of this discourse, since the establishment of the state in 1948 and until the ﬁrst decade of 2000.

Mainstream and critical sociology Our discussion begins with the distinction between mainstream sociology and critical sociology. A long tradition of critical sociology—starting with Karl Marx in the nineteenth century, continuing in the middle of the twentieth century with

Society: Uniformity 47 thinkers of the Frankfurt School, such as Max Horkheimer and Theodor Adorno, and ﬁnally reaching the turn of the century with postmodern thinkers such as Edward Said or Patricia Hill Collins—argue that sociology (writ large) is not, and indeed cannot be, an “objective science,” detached from the historical and social conditions of its production, articulation, and reception. In this view, sociology is a science which is embedded in social relations and social locations. It is a way of observing, analyzing, and interpreting societies in the framework of given social-scientiﬁc legacies and from the perspective of a variety of social experiences. Substantial issues (“the body of knowledge”) are discussed and debated within disciplinary rules (“the image of knowledge”). Yet the disciplinary rules themselves are as well a product of practices and decisions in which there is a weight to extra-scientiﬁc factors (Elkana 1978; and see the discussion about Kuhn and others below). Different critical approaches diverge on the question of whether there are “foundational conditions” which make for “ﬁnal criteria” by which “truth” can be determined. Marxists and other modernists tend to believe in an ultimate historical progress towards the possibility of such truth; postmodernists and postcolonialists tend to view the social conditions as always transitional, and therefore they consider “truth” as always relative or relational. One may consider sociology as a research endeavor that studies society from within society. In the analysis of sociology one may therefore differentiate between the social conditions of its production and the intellectual conditions of its articulation, and in each of these levels one can differentiate in turn between external and internal aspects (Ritzer 1988). All these conditions—social and intellectual, external and internal—have thus to be taken into account while analyzing the sociological discourse and its output. With this general comment in mind, let us now dwell upon the distinctions between mainstream and critical sociology. These two sociologies differ ﬁrst and foremost in their attitude to the “external” world, i.e., to society, the prevailing social order and the powers that be and the dominant ideology. Mainstream sociology echoes the “common sense” of society; it either reﬂects or even elaborates societal images that reinforce present social conditions and thus willy-nilly supports the interests of the beneﬁciaries of the status quo. Critical sociology makes it its concern to expose the conditions of production and the hidden assumptions that underlie that “commonsense.” It thus either subverts or even undermines the interests of the beneﬁciaries of the status quo, and reﬂects or even articulates the interests of the “underdogs” or its victims of. Incidentally, this relational aspect of theories means that the same theory may function differently in different conditions. Liberal or Marxist sociologies, for instance, may be conservative in certain circumstances and radical in others. Mainstream sociology is thus characterized by the vested interest it has in the conservation of the “present”—the same societal presence of which it itself is a constituent. Present social conditions tend to receive in it the sense of the only possible reality and ﬁnally of a desired reality. The past seems to have led inevitably to the present and the future seems like a further development of it. Sociology is a

48 Society: Uniformity science of society, based on observations and generalizations. It is conﬁned—by deﬁnition—to that which “is.” Critical sociology tends, in contradistinction, to be interested in the change of that which “is.” It judges the “is” not only upon what is “present” but also upon that which can become present, a potential yet unfulﬁlled, or roads not taken. Prevailing social conditions are considered by it as far from being indispensible or desired; the past is considered to have contained different options; and the future is considered to uphold options that may diverge from the linear progression of past and present. The methodology of critical sociology differs from that of mainstream sociology in that it tends to be more deductive than inductive. Its point of departure is some kind of “totality” with its internal tensions and contradictions. “Facts” do not appear as given dispersed fractions, but rather take their signiﬁcance from their location and relation within a whole that is theoretically deciphered. This at least is the way that critical sociology was deﬁned by modern critics, and as we see later, postmodern critics differ on this. The consideration of sociology as part and parcel of the societal discourse—or to put it in Bourdieusian terms, a speciﬁc ﬁeld within the general ﬁeld of power (Bourdieu 1977, 1990, 1993), rather than as a detached cultural sphere—is itself a major distinction between mainstream and critical sociology. The two thus differ not only in their attitude to “external” society but also in their attitude “internally” towards sociology itself. Mainstream sociology considers itself as a neutral positive science, the role of which is to provide explanations and predictions; whereas critical sociology considers the discipline to be involved in the societal discourse, impacted by it and impacting on it, the role of which is to deepen the selfunderstanding of society (Habermas 1972). Mainstream sociology is thus “noncommitted” and it speaks the language of “objective science,” while critical sociology is normatively committed and it speaks the language progress and equality (a point, once more, on which postmodern sociologists differ as we shall see later). Yet it is not that one of them is a “science” and the other is an “ideology”; the difference is rather in the level of self reﬂexivity of the two.1 In the context of Israel, Shlomo Swirski, the county’s prominent critical sociologist, characterized in pictorial terms the distinction between mainstream and critical sociological thought, when analyzing the attitudes of students of sociology in Haifa University that he interviewed during the late 1960s. Swirski identiﬁed two groups, which he called “managers” and “critics” and wrote: The “critics” consider Israeli society as one whole. They are able to see it this way because they are not satisﬁed with it. They climbed to the summit of the Zionist vision and they observe current reality from that height. From that height they can also observe new social horizons. The “managers,” on the other hand, lack such point of view: they accept that which is as it is and do not strive for a change. This is why they do not need any summit from which to observe present society in its entirety or to watch new horizons. Social reality is depicted to them not as a panoramic landscape, but rather as a series of objects which they stumble upon while strolling in the spaces of their … private lives or their public activities. They do not perceive an overall social structure,

Society: Uniformity 49 but rather a diversity of groups, organizations and institutions. They do not perceive a general line of development, but rather a series of limited and conﬁned issues that ought to be dealt with, if they surface. They perceive social change not as an attempt by wide groups or movements to generate a transformation of the social landscape, but rather as a “handling” of society of various problems which it confronts. (Swirski 1982: 64) In the balance of this book we shall realize that there is a summit higher than that of the Zionist vision, from which present Israeli society may be observed. Such a summit is not a historically given point of view, but rather an evolving perspective. But before that, we next discuss Israeli mainstream sociology: its theoretical assumptions, its ideological afﬁliations, and its image of its object, “Israeli society.”

The Jerusalem modernization school The ﬁrst sociologist in Israel was Arthur Rupin (1867–1943), who was afﬁliated with the Hebrew University since its establishment in 1925, as a professor for the “sociology of the Jews.” Rupin is better known as the head of the local ofﬁce of the World Zionist Organization in Palestine, which was established in 1907, and for his extraordinary role in facilitating Jewish colonization in Palestine and especially the fusion between national capital and communal workers (Goren 2005). Rupin was also one of the founding members and for a while the chairperson of Brith Shalom, a small but very famous group of Jewish intellectuals who propagated the idea of bi-nationalism in Palestine. Another member of this group was philosopher Martin Buber (1878–1965), who was afﬁliated with the Hebrew University from 1938 as professor for the sociology of culture (on Buber see Silberstein 1990). Though Buber was considered as an opponent of the Zionist leadership, he was an ardent supporter of the settlement of Jews in Palestine, and an admirer of the pioneering communities and kibbutzim (collective farms). In these ways of life he found echoes of a spiritual and social utopia that he aspired to. So already in its initial steps, in the pre-state era, even before an academic department of sociology existed, Israeli sociology was tightly connected to the Zionist establishment and its national aspirations. The ﬁrst department of sociology in Israel was established in the Hebrew University in 1948–9. Buber was its head for a short while and retired in 1950. The common birth-date of the state and of the department of sociology may have been incidental, but nevertheless the two became intimately close. Sociology was shaped from the outset as an instrument of the state, an instrument of survey, inquiry, and advice in the service of the state policy-making. The main reason for the submission of sociology to the state was ideological. Sociologists were mobilized to the overall effort of state-formation ﬁrst and foremost because of their deep ideological convictions. All were members of the Jewish community in the prestate era and all identiﬁed with the aims of the Zionist movement and saw the state as the materialization of these aims. Some of the sociologists participated actively

50 Society: Uniformity in the war of independence, and it became part of their formative experience. In addition, sociology also beneﬁted from its close relationship with state authorities and the national endeavor. Sociology’s new focus on processes of national integration removed it far away from Rupin’s ethnic and racial concerns and from Buber’s romantic and idealistic concerns. It beneﬁted symbolically and materially when its members became experts, whose advice the state required. As against its initial European background, the new sociology adopted now the American style of an empirical-analytic and applicable science (see also Yair & Apeloig 2006). As a result it gained state contracts, budgets, and placements in a variety of social projects in which the state was involved, especially with regard to what was called then “the integration of [new] immigrants.”2 The sociology that developed in the Hebrew University was thus deeply immersed in the dominant ideology of its time and place: the etatist phase of Zionism. Etatist Zionism was known as mamlachtiyut, literally “kingdomship”— where the connotation is the ancient biblical kingdoms of Israel, of which the modern state is the apparent inheritor. This ideology was promulgated by the ﬁrst Prime Minster of Israel David Ben Gurion. Under his rule the state was considered as the apex of Jewish history and the moral, symbolic, and material locus of life of the nation (see Chapter 1). It was into this context that the structural-functionalist paradigm in sociology, the creation of American sociologist Talcott Parsons (1949, 1951), was imported to Israel and adopted to it. The main ﬁgure in this regard was sociologist Shmuel Noah Eisenstadt. The Parsonian “social system” was particularly correlated with the etatist perspective because it imagined society as an integrated whole, glued by common value orientations and structured functionally to preserve itself in the face of the challenges posed to it by the external environment. It is not difﬁcult to harness this theoretical perspective to the imperatives of a new nation-state. The political regime is portrayed as responsible for the formulation of the system’s goals, the mobilization of resources, and the execution of the common tasks. What is entirely omitted in this structural-functional scenario is the possibility that the regime would serve its own perceived interests or even those of a special societal interest, or that the interests of society would be refracted by any peculiarity of the regime. The conditions are givens and the regime functions for preservation of the system. This was certainly an image that the new state leadership was happy to accept. The historical aspect of this theory, which portrays an evolution from an initial homogeneous nucleolus to a large, complex and differentiated society—which requires a process of re-integration—also correlated with the self-image of the Labor state leadership, which itself transformed from a pioneering community into a state bureaucracy. These two images combined—that of system and that of development—depict “society,” or the “nation,” as a kind of social organism, rather than regarding it, for instance, as a contested arena, fractured by hierarchy, inequality, and conﬂict. The etatist-functionalist synthesis was cast by Professor Shmuel Noah Eisenstadt (b. 1923), Buber’s doctoral student (in 1940–7) and later his successor as the chair of the department of sociology in the Hebrew University (from 1951 to 1969),

Society: Uniformity 51 and it was spread to sociology by him and his students. A short postdoctoral period that Eisenstadt spent in 1948 at the London School of Economics brought him into contact with the prominent American sociologist Edward Shills, and thus opened his way to Parsons. In a short while Eisenstadt himself became a known voice in the world sociological arena. In 1973 Eisenstadt won the Israel Prize in the social sciences. His book Israeli Society: Background, Development and Problems (1967) received the blessing of Parsons. This book brings to fruition the paradigm that may be called “the Jerusalem school of sociology” (the beginning of this program was laid in much earlier works of Eisenstadt, e.g. 1954). As a whole, this book presents a mirror-image of the dominant ideology, as it is rendered into a sociological crust. With some historical irony, the year that Eisenstadt’s complete theory of the Labor regime was published—1967—was also the year on which this regime itself reached it zenith, in the Six Days War—a zenith from which, from then onwards, it experienced a downfall towards its ﬁnal end in 1977. Three analytical moments of Israeli society in this paradigm are most relevant for us: the ﬁrst is the designation of the unit of analysis of “Israeli society”; the second is the historical analysis of the development of this society; and the third is the analysis of the integration into it of new immigrants. The implicit assumption of Eisenstadt is that the term “Israeli society” is concomitant with the object “the Jewish society in Israel.” This approach enables the a priori deﬁnition of the non-Jewish society in Palestine as an external factor, part of the external environment. As such the Palestinian Arabs become (a) one of the challenges that “society” encounters and needs to functionally resolve in order to persist; and (b) a “minority” that resides within the state of Israel but is not part of “Israeli society.” Whether considered as external challenge or as internal minority, Palestinian Arabs do not belong with the core of society. Eisenstadt’s book performs these two options: he considers the Israeli–Arab conﬂict as something that belongs to the literal margins of the social space, and he considers the Palestinian Arabs within the state in a separate chapter. The overall effect is that the book duplicates Zionist ideology in assuming the “Jewishness” of Israel, and in accepting this as taken for granted matter, rather than probing the question of how Israel became Jewish and by what practical and discursive means it erected the boundaries of it identity on exclusive Jewish grounds. Thus what requires a sociological problematization—how a “Jewish society” was constituted— is simply assumed to be pre-given. In a later stage, as we shall see below, this detachment of the object of study from its actual geo-political grounds, will enable Eisenstadt to re-connect Israeli society not to its own grounds, but to the abstract notion of a “Jewish civilization.” The major analytical categories of Eisenstadt’s work on Israel are “sociological variations” on general Zionist ideological themes. Such is the conceptual distinction drawn between “immigrant” (mehager) and “ascender” (ole). Immigrants are Jews who escaped to Palestine; ascendants are Jews who chose Palestinian ideologically. The Zionist process of “constructivist” settlement, i.e., the creation of economic and organizational base by the workers themselves, is analyzed in terms of “revolutionary conservatism,” while its later bureaucratization is explained in

52 Society: Uniformity terms of the “routinization of charisma.” These categories also serve to explain the transition of Labor from a “movement” into a “state,” or even more poignantly from “socialism” to “etatism.” Sociology in fact legitimized this transition in Weberian terms as a transition from a utopist charismatic phase into a rational bureaucratic phase. Finally, it had to be added that sociology was not only associated with Zionism and the state, but also with the social sector that would in the future be called “Ashkenazim,” i.e., the Jews of European descent, who started their life in Israel in the 1920s and 1930s as pioneers or simple workers and gradually became the veteran and well-to-do middle class, compared with the new “Mizrachi” immigrants that arrived en masse during the 1950s and 1960s. We shall dwell on the relationships between these two groups later on. For now it will sufﬁce to comment that for Eisenstadt and his school, the problematique was that of “integration” (or indeed assimilation) of the “new immigrants” into “Israeli society.” It was assumed that the immigrants should shed their traditional identity and that once they do so, they will be absorbed as equals in Israeli society. It was neither the encounter between two groups, nor possible difference of interests, that was investigated, but rather one-sidedly how the new population group becomes adjusted to the old one. The old population was assumed to be benevolent in its attitude towards to the new one, and to represent faithfully and solely the interest of the whole of “Israeli society,” with which it was in fact identiﬁed.

Modernization revised and revisited The history of the structural-functional school in Israeli sociology may be divided into three sub-periods. The ﬁrst period was discussed above. This was the period of the institutionalization of the school and the formation of its ideas. This period began in 1948–9 and lasted until the early 1970s. In this period the Jerusalem School had a de facto monopoly over the discipline. This period of sociological monopoly overlapped with the period of the hegemony of the Labor party in the state. The School acted in the only academic department of sociology in the country and thus the only place in the country where sociologists were accredited. S.N. Eisenstadt was the department’s Chair for almost two full decades. His work provides the seminal representation of the structuralist-functionalist perspective about Israeli society and it was accompanied by many other publications of him and his associates, including textbooks, readers and introductory treaties (e.g., Eisenstadt et al. 1970; Eisenstadt 1985, 1996, 2004; for further analysis and references see Ram 1995). The second period in the history of the School was transitional and it lasted from the beginning of the 1970s and until 1977, when the Labor regime fell. The third period of the school began with that fall, when sociology was forced to transform its old question “why Labor wins” to the question “why Labor loses.” The second period in the history of the structuralist-functionalist school in Israeli sociology may be called the “revised functionalist” period. It represents an intellectual counterpart to the self-preservation maneuvers of the Labor regime in face

Society: Uniformity 53 of the signs of crisis that accumulated around it. In the Labor movement the distance between declared ideology and actual practice grew by leaps and bounds; in the mainstream sociology, likewise, a discrepancy between its focus on the “center” and the reality of waves emerging from the periphery also grew. The gulf between its homogeneous theoretical frame and society’s growing heterogeneity became difﬁcult to bridge. The way “revised functionalism” coped with this was the appendage of analytical sub-levels to the major level of the “social system,” so that a more sensitive and dynamic model of society would be possible without breaking the overall mold. Still, mainstream sociology did not manage to escape the Procrustean bed prepared for it by Eisenstadt. Two examples illustrate this. One example is from social anthropology. This sub-discipline was established in Israel during the 1960s, under the direct inﬂuence of the British Manchester School in anthropology. The representatives of the sub-discipline, such as Moshe Shokeid and Shlomo Deshen (Deshen & Shokeid 1974; Deshen 1976; Shokeid 1985), accorded with the “system” perspective and its assumptions on the macro-level, but criticized it for its lack of cultural sensitivity on the micro-level, i.e., the level of small-scale ethnic communities and their everyday experience. These levels, they maintained, are beset by conﬂictual manifestations that express the actual hardship experienced by the newcomers as they are pressed to adapt to new conditions that the absorbers determine for them. Yet they did not proceed to maintain that such conﬂictual expressions are indications of an essential social conﬂict, but they rather saw them as limited and bounded addenda to the absorption process, or even as “functional conﬂicts” that serve as pressure valves or as schooling in democracy. Another example is from the ﬁeld of political sociology. The work of political scientist Dan Horowitz and of sociologist Moshe Lissak, two of the main followers of Eisenstadtian theory, was also based upon the framework of the “social system” and its “center”, only adding to it another “ﬂoor” of analysis, namely of “subsystems.” This was a signiﬁcant revision of the initial perspective, yet it was conﬁned by the latter. The state of “social order” and of “social consensus,” which for the initial structural-functional approach had been a basic assumption, was seen now, from the revised structural-functional approach, as an outcome of negotiation between a “central-center,” so to speak, and “sub-centers,” which balance each other. The periphery was not related to as a passive appendage of the center (say “immigrants” versus “pioneers”) but rather as a co-partner of it. Such revision was presented in the authors’ seminal book Origins of the Israeli Polity: Palestine Under the Mandate, which was published in 1978 (Horowitz & Lissak 1978). Once again, the praising of the center turned at that particular time into a bemoaning of its crumbling. The third period in the development of the structural-functional school started in 1977, and can be labeled as the period of “revisited functionalism.” The problematique of the school had now to be reconsidered anew. Up to this point mainstream scholars were full of awe towards the Labor movement and its successes, and made the narrative of “the rise of the Labor” their focal issue. From now on they had to reckon with the curved narrative of “the fall of Labor,” or with how it is that the

54 Society: Uniformity “center does not hold.” Such perplexity brought Eisenstadt to redeﬁne his initial position, though yet again the “old Eisenstadt,” not unlike the “young Eisenstadt,” remains attached to the mainstream, even if this mainstream itself has shifted. In 1989 he published a new version of his old masterpiece, titled The Transformation of Israeli Society—An Essay in Interpretation (Eisenstadt 1985). What happened from 1977 was the big transformation. If in his youth Eisenstadt studied Israeli society as a “social system” unto itself, now he converted from a modernization perspective to a civilizational perspective, and considered Israel within a historical itinerary that starts some thousands of years ago and spans ﬁve continents. Modern Israel ﬁnally became a “Jewish state.” Eisenstadt once more expressed the zeitgeist in his sociology. More speciﬁcally, instead of center and periphery, what we have now is the universal and the particular—a tension inherent in Jewish civilization, in Eisenstadt’s interpretation. To make peace between the young Eisenstadt and the old Eisenstadt, one can easily read into it the notion that Labor used to represent the “universal” (formerly the “center”) and Likud the “particular” (formerly the “periphery”). Another interesting expression of the new era—in the political culture in and in its sociology—is found in the last common work of Horowitz and Lissak, Trouble in Utopia: The Overburdened Polity of Israel (Horowitz & Lissak 1989). In their typical comprehensive and systematic manner the authors describe post-1977 Israel as a system under pressure, that might collapse because of the burden of demands made on it by the sub-centers. But despite the truly encyclopedic quality of this work, the analytical added value is small. It offers nothing but a negative of the “social system” that used to be depicted as a positive. The system keeps trying to function, but now without the cooperation of some of its parts, and hence without the conditions of stability. The center still represents a “utopia”; it is the sub-centers that generate the “troubles.” This revisitation thus lacks a substantial examination of older assumptions about the homogeneity of the “social system,” but offers a condemnation of the groups that challenge those assumptions. In his posthumous book Blue and Dust: The 1948 Generation, A Self-Portrait Dan Horowitz depicts the “1948 generation” (the generation that fought in Israel’s War of Independence)—of which he was a member—as a declining nobility that vacillates between nostalgic longing to its past and a frustrated observation of the present (Horowitz 1993). There can be no better way to characterize the mental make-up of the late stage of structural-functional sociology in Israel.

The decline and fall of the “system” The demise of the Jerusalem school in sociology, as becomes clear by now, started in the 1970s. Let us dwell now on the relations between the text and the context. The main reason for the dominance of the Jerusalem school had been the congruence of its perspective with the zeitgeist—in the version of Labor’s etatist regime. But there were necessary auxiliary conditions. One of them had to do with the institutional make up of the “academic ﬁeld” of sociology (on the concept of “ﬁeld” see Bourdieu 1977, 1990, 1993). Up to the late 1960s the Hebrew

Society: Uniformity 55 University in Jerusalem was the supreme academic authority in the country and had a monopoly over the accreditation of sociologists. Its department of sociology was small and homogeneous, ruled even-handedly by S. N. Eisenstadt. Eisenstadt’s prestige was based also on the senior international position that he acquired for himself in American academy. Eisenstadt’s stature was compared by some to that of none other than Max Weber. In these circumstances, where sociological instruction, accreditation, research, and publication were clinched in one center, a free and critical sociological consideration of Israeli society and nationalism could not have emerged. The early 1970s brought a number of changes in this regard. First, there was the expansion and diversiﬁcation of the system of higher education. Two new academic institutions were established already in the 1950s: Tel Aviv University and Bar Ilan University. Yet in their initial period these universities were subordinated to the Hebrew University in Jerusalem, of which most of their faculties were graduates. The same applies to the two newer universities of the 1960s: Haifa University and Ben-Gurion University. Yet all these institutions grew and gradually gained academic autonomy, so that in the 1970s the academic scene already had the ﬁve new universities that are still at its core today (in addition to the Technion and the Weizman Institute, in the technical natural sciences). Later on, especially during the 1990s, tens of new colleges were added, at the BA level, so that the social scientiﬁc disciplines became dispersed more than ever before. Among the faculties many were now graduates of foreign universities, especially American, and in a later stage graduates of the new universities, especially of TAU, entered the ranks of faculties as well. The number of students at all levels of higher educations grew exponentially as well. In 1948 some 193 students were accredited by the HUJ; by 1990/1 the number of university graduates rose to 13,633. The number of MA graduates grew in the same period from 48 to 2,762 and the number of Ph.D.s from 10 to 404 (CBS 1992: Table 42: 22). By 2007 the number of university graduates in Israel was close to 35,000 (CBS 2008: Table 8: 53) and 12,000 received academic degrees from colleges (CBS 2008: Table 8: 68). All in all, in 2007–8 the number of students in universities was 121,000 and in colleges 77,000 (CBS 2008: Table 8: 49 & 8: 62). The number of senior academic staff in these institutions was roughly 5,000 (CBS 2008: Table 8: 58). This growth and branching of the academic institutions contributed to the decline in the authority and inﬂuence of the HUJ original nucleus in sociology, as well as in all other academic ﬁelds and in intellectual discourse in general. Another change that contributed to the same effect had to do with the decline in the prestige of structural-functional sociology as a whole. This resulted from the wave of radicalism that engulfed Western campuses in the late 1960s. Critics of the paradigm exposed its analytical inadequacies and its ideological conservatism. They maintained that this paradigm disregards conﬂicts of interest in society. With its systemic and organic metaphors it provided an apparent scientiﬁc veneer to the ideology of American corporate capitalism, and with its developmental rhetoric it provided apparent benevolent justiﬁcation for the spread of American inﬂuence worldwide and to an exploitation of the third world countries under this guise.

56 Society: Uniformity Yet both the changes in the higher education system and in the world sociological atmosphere could not have brought about by themselves the radical transformation in the Israeli sociological discourse that eventually took place: a crisis in the dominant approach and the emergence in the ﬁeld of a number of critical, and competing, approaches. This crisis and its results were generated at a deeper level by the social and political transformations that Israel underwent in the 1970s. The afﬁnity between the sociological text and the social and its political context may be explicated with what may be termed a “post-Khunian” approach, which is an adaptation to the social sciences of Thomas Khun’s celebrated study of The Structure of Scientiﬁc Revolutions (Kuhn 1962). Kuhn’s seminal contribution is, as is well known, in the convincing rejection of the inductive-experimental image of the “progress of science” in positivistic philosophy, and in proposing the alternative thesis that science works historically within a “paradigm,” that has socio-historical dimensions. Put succinctly, Kuhn argued that the activity of “normal science,” which is based on empirical observation and experimentation, is not founded upon un-mediated sense data (as assumed in a long philosophical empiricist tradition starting with Bacon and Descartes), but is rather enframed with a “paradigm,” which assumes its units, questions, methods, instruments, and concepts. Science thus does not develop linearly by the gradual accumulation of knowledge, but rather by the radical substitutions of one paradigm by another, i.e., by “revolutions.” Any new revolution establishes itself through leading exemplars, educational textbooks, and whole disciplinary apparatus that guarantee that it becomes and remains, for a while, the only lens that the world can be seen through. This view of Khun about the historicity of science has become a “paradigm” in itself in the ﬁeld of science studies. It opened the way for perspectivistic and relativistic approaches to science, such as the “Strong Program” of the British Bath and Edinburgh universities (that demanded a scientiﬁc—i.e., causal and realistic— comprehension of scientiﬁc activity itself [Bloor 1991]). However, Kuhn himself was very cautious with regard to those implications of his theory. He wished to retain a strong element of rationalism and was reluctant to stride along the way he himself indicated. The Kuhnian approach deserves certain adjustments, all the more so in the realm of the social sciences (and see Gutting 1980). One required adjustment is the recognition of extra-scientiﬁc or exogenic factors—social cultural, political, etc.—that impact the social sciences. According to Kuhn the status of an old paradigm starts to decline once there is an accumulation of empirical inadequacies. Yet in the social sciences it may be changes in the “object” of science itself that change the perspective on it. Another necessary adjustment is with regard to the normal activity of science. In Kuhn’s view in normal times only one paradigm is dominant in a scientiﬁc ﬁeld. This is far from being the case in the social sciences, where the a-normality of a multiplicity of paradigms is the norm. A ﬁnal required adjustment is with regard to the totality of the paradigm. In Khun’s view a paradigm is an enclosed universe, incommensurable with any other potential universe. But in the social science the boarders between paradigms are permeated, and there is a constant debate and dialogue among them. The “post-Khunian” approach which is adopted here thus includes

Society: Uniformity 57 “weak paradigms” that persists simultaneously and in debate and exchange among them. Their relative inﬂuence is determined by both intra-scientiﬁc and extrascientiﬁc factors. The structure of the sociological ﬁeld, and its discourse on Israeli society and nationalism, may be explicated by such a post-Khunian approach. The sociological discourse had passed by the 1990s three “post-Khunian” phases, and these ﬁt chronologically and thematically with transformations in Israeli society itself. The ﬁrst phase in the history of this discourse was discussed above, including three variations of it. This is the phase of mainstream “social-system” sociology. It started in 1948–9 with the establishment of the state and of the department of sociology at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem, and its head ﬁgure was Shmuel Noah Eisenstadt. The hegemony of the Labor movement reached its apogee in the immense victory of Israel over the Arab states in the 1967 war. Yet this was in many respects a Pyrrhic victory, which signaled the end of its hegemony. The actual downfall took place in between the disastrous war of October 1973 and the elections of 1977. The 1973 war was marked in Israeli political culture as the war of “The Default.” The “default” was the misreading of intelligence data that indicated a coming attack, and Israel was indeed caught by surprise when the armies of Egypt in the south and Syria in the north rolled their tanks towards it. The end result was an Israeli military victory, but at a very painful price in human life loss. The anger about these events was directed at the ruling party. This anger meshed with a more deep-seated resentment against Labor within two social groups. On the one hand, there were several segments of the middle classes that had wanted for a long time to put an end to the etatist and collectivist political culture; on the other hand, there were the lower classes, mostly of Mizrachi descent, for whom the Labor party was no more than a ruling Ashkenazi elite. Another rising sector that contributed to the fall of Labor was the national-religious one, whose members took the lead of a new settlement movement in the occupied territories, that renewed the elements of the old pioneering ethos of Labor itself, though in a religious guise. All these forces fueled a political constellation in which the historical rival of Labor, the right-wing Likud party headed by Menachem Begin, defeated Labor for the ﬁrst time in the country’s history in the elections of 1977. This was a major “Turnover” (as the event was dubbed) in the country’s history. There is no wonder that in the very same era the ﬁeld of sociology also transformed and mainstream sociology, which was the social-scientiﬁc counterpart of Labor hegemony, fell from grace. Critical sociology that started to emerge in the 1970s was the second major stage in the development of the ﬁeld. By the 1980s, when the new Likud regime was settling in power, the structuralfunctional sociology was already on the defensive and critical approaches already conﬁgured anew the ﬁeld of sociology. Unlike the 1970s, when critical sociology was marginal, as the 1980s advanced the ﬁeld was taken over by a host of new sociological approaches, critical towards mainstream sociology and towards the mainstream ideology of Israeli society. By the mid-1980s Israel underwent a signiﬁcant socio-economic shift. Its economy transformed from a state-centered management (the “un-hidden hand” as it was dubbed by Levi-Faur 2001) towards a

58 Society: Uniformity market-centered activity, and from a labor-intensive “traditional industry” geared towards domestic consumption, towards technical-intensive “new economy” geared towards the export of services and products in the international market. The ostensible relative homogeneity, which at least was ideologically claimed, and scientiﬁcally ratiﬁed, now gave place to a plurality of competing sectors, rallying by their distinct identities and conﬂicting interests: Palestinian Arabs, mizrachim, immigrants from the former Soviet Union, Orthodox Jews, National-religious Jews, immigrants from Ethiopia, foreign- or guest-workers and also other communities of taste and life-style as well as other class and status clusters. Socioeconomic neoliberalization and socio-cultural fragmentation were felt especially from the 1990s, which came to be dubbed as the era of the “globalization of Israel.” This era saw the impregnation of intellectual and social-scientiﬁc discourse in Israel with postmodern and postcolonial approaches, diverging from both the old mainstream sociology and the critical sociology of the 1970s and 1980s. The 1990s thus ushered in the third important mutation in the ﬁeld of sociological thought in Israel.3 The relationship between society and sociology had now been transformed. The transformation of the sociological ﬁeld stemmed to a large extent from the transformation of the political ﬁeld. Yet whereas politics turned rightwards, sociology turned leftwards. It was not that sociology followed politics, but that it followed the new situation of socio-political cleavages and the opportunity opened to it to take a critical distance from the dominant powers. Thus the relative place of sociology in the ﬁeld of political culture shifted from being identiﬁed with the Labor establishment, between the 1950s and 1970s, into a position identiﬁed as antagonistic to the establishment and being left of the center since the 1980s. Sociology, as said in the beginning of this chapter, is one of the main intellectual arenas wherein Israeli nationality is deﬁned and cultivated. This chapter discussed the formation and transformation of mainstream sociology between the 1950s and the 1980s. Chapter 4 discusses the critical agenda that has formed since.

4

Society: Diversity

The criticism of the image of homogeneous society of mainstream sociology emerged in the late 1970s. In this chapter, critical sociology and its propositions regarding Israeli society, nationhood, and identity are discussed. The presentation is carried out in the following steps: the ﬁrst three sub-headings address the modernist critical streams that emerged in the 1970s and 1980s: elitism, Marxism, pluralism, feminism, and colonialism. The fourth sub-heading addresses the postmodern streams that emerged since the 1990s, including poststructuralism, postcolonialism, and post-Marxism. For each of these streams we analyze its wide social context, the theoretical assumptions, the ideological implications, and its image of “Israeli society.” All of these approaches in their various ways present a more variegated and more divided society than the one depicted by the Jerusalem school.

Sociology of elitism and pluralism The ﬁrst frontal alternative to the homogeneous, or homogenizing, structuralfunctional image of “Israeli society” was formulated in the beginning of the 1970s by sociologist Yonathan Shapiro (1929–1997). Shapiro shaped the Israeli version of the “sociology of elites” that he consumed as a student at Columbia University. Upon graduation, in 1964, he was invited to establish the social sciences faculty at Tel Aviv University, of which he became the ﬁrst Dean. He led the formation of a Tel Avivian species of sociology which was antithetic to the Jerusalemite one. While the Jerusalem “thesis” focused on the common values integrating “society,” or the “nation,” the Tel Aviv “antithesis” diminished the role of values and integration and highlighted instead power and antagonism. Two factors propelled the emergence of critical sociology in the 1970s: one, a shift in the sociological discourse in the West at large; and two, political developments in Israel. Shapiro was associated with the formulation in Israel since the late 1960s of “conﬂict sociology” or what was also called at the time “left– Weberian” sociology. In the international arena this approach was associated with writers such as C. Wright Mills, Ralph Darendorf, John Rex, Frank Parkin, Anthony Giddens, and others. Conﬂict sociology positioned itself midway between the Parsonian analysis of the “social system” and its “value consensus” and Marxist analysis of the “capitalist mode of production” and its “class struggle.”

60 Society: Diversity As against Parsonianism, it maintained that society is inherently hierarchical and contentious; whilst, as against Marxism, it maintained that social schism and antagonism do not necessarily stem from relations of property. It was argued that in late capitalist society both private corporations and state bureaucracies had become the depositors of complex rungs of authority, and that this has become the new source of stratiﬁcation. So there is inequality (rather than equity) yet it stems from authority relations (not property relations). In a very inﬂuential treatise Darendorf argued that the main antagonism in late capitalist society is not between “owners” and “workers” (or property-owners and the property-less), but rather between employees placed higher in the rank of authority—those who issue commands; and employees who are lower on the rank of authority—those who receive and obey commands inside organizations, whether private or public (Dahrendorf 1959). In an even more inﬂuential study Mills revived in a critical mode the sociology of elites (Mosca, Pareto, Michels), and argued that in American society, power is concentrated in the upper echelons of ofﬁce holders in the three modern giant corporate orders: industry, the military, and the government, who together form the American “power elite.” This power elite overshadows both the middle ranks, in which democratic politics is played, and the large masses, who are rather passive receptors of the social order (Mills 1956). These studies largely replaced the concept of “pluralist democracy” on the one hand, and of the “dominant class” on the other hand, with that of “the ruling elite.” Shapiro received his academic education in the late 1950s and early 1960s in the London School of Economics and in Columbia University in New York, the home universities of Dahrendorf and Mills respectively. The results of this apprenticeship are well recognized in his work. The second factor in the development of the elites school in Israeli sociology was political. Just as the modernization approach provided a sociological apologia for the domination of the Labor movement, so did the elites approach provide a sociological apologia for the termination of this domination, or at the least provided intellectual ammunition to those who opposed it. In this respect the work of Shapiro reﬂected the accumulating impetus of the 1970s, which brought about the eventual fall of Labor. Though Shapiro was adamant about distinguishing politics from science, indications to the political signiﬁcance of his work are not absent. In a book about Democracy in Israel (Shapiro 1977) he put forward the contention that under a formal democratic guise, the Labor regime had been oligarchic—and then called upon the readers to draw the (obvious) conclusions themselves. A colleague of his testiﬁes that he “hated mapai” (the ruling Labor party) (Shokeid 2002: 162). The political signiﬁcance of Shapiro’s sociology became clear in the occasion of his one-time irruption into the political foray. Shapiro was one of the founders of the Shinui movement and one of the authors of its program. Shinui was the center– liberal ﬂank of the wide and varied protest movement that sprouted after the October war of 1973 and was directed against the Labor regime. In its later turn as the Dash party (after Shapiro himself withdrew) the movement contributed directly to the “Turnover” of the regime from Left to Right, when it drew the

Society: Diversity 61 electorate from Labor and after the elections preferred a coalition government with the Likud. Shapiro’s explicit political proclamations in support of the values of the middle classes and in opposition to the rule of the bureaucratic ruling Labor ﬁt neatly his sociological analysis, as we shall now turn to see. Shapiro’s sociology of elites turned upside down the image of “Israeli society” as it was depicted by the sociology of the “social system.” Shapiro maintained that Israeli democracy is such only in a formal sense, but not in the essential sense of regard to civil rights. There are periodical elections and parliamentary institutions but the rights of the individuals and of minorities are not respected and the division of powers, as well as the distinction between state and civil society, are routinely breached. In this kind of criticism Shapiro in fact anteceded the themes of the famous “constitutional revolution” that was led by the Supreme Court (under Supreme Court judge Aharon Barak) in the 1990s (Navot 2007; Lahav 2009). He especially disparaged the mix between elected bodies and the civil service and between the government and business. For him “Israeli society” was not founded upon a consensus of values but rather upon manipulation and coercion. His major work, The Formative Years of the Israeli Labor Party: The Organization of Power (1976), tells a story not of idealist pioneers (the structural-functional view) but rather of a power elite. He analyzes the consolidation of power by this elite and its creation of a ruling apparatus. The socialist vanguard of the Labor epoch turns under his pen into a bunch of ambitious and manipulative political dealers. These people brought from Eastern Europe the Bolshevik organizational culture and in Eretz Israel managed to clinch the valves of the national ﬁnancial ﬂows. The elite became powerful by monopolizing the mediation between the workers in Palestine, who submitted to its authority, and the Zionist donor organizations, who cared for settling the land. It was by positioning itself in the crucial junction between (socialist) labor and (national) ﬁnance that Labor became so essential to the whole Zionist project and thus became hegemonic. Without it, workers would not have found employment, and thus would not have immigrated to Palestine, and the national organizations would not have settled the land. This power position— not a dedication to any socialist ideals—secured the special status of Labor in Israeli history since the 1920s. Though the movement was ofﬁcially democratic, it ruled itself and the larger body politique by oligarchic means (nominations of electoral lists by committees; actual decision-making by few powerful leaders outside formal institutions; clientalistic electoral politics and so on). Until 1977 Shapiro’s work dealt with analyzing the sources of power of the Labor regime. The “Turnover” of 1977 changed his problematique and he turned instead to two new questions: one, what explains the demise of the left-wing elite in the 1970s; and second, what explains the rise of the Likud right-wing party. The answers he formulated for the ﬁrst question was in generational terms: the elite fell because it did not generate inheritors, or let them take over. The natural successor of the elite was the generation of the Palmach (special units of the Hagana, pre-state Jewish military militia, which was the kernel of the Israeli military when the state was established), or the Israeli born generation (the “Sabra”; see Almog

62 Society: Diversity 2000) that ﬁlled the ranks of combatants in the 1948 war of independence. Yet this generation, in Shapiro’s analysis, lacked the competence for political leadership. Its members were educated in the new schooling system of the pre-state community, which was poor in resources and impoverished culturally. They lacked the wide education of the former generation, whose schooling took place in Europe and who were adept in European languages. Socially, this generation was shaped in the paramilitary organizations of the pre-state period. All the training they had was in the military practice. Therefore, when the generation of the “founders” started to give way and the generations of “sons” started to get into leadership positions—a transition symbolized in 1974 with the passage of the prime ministership from Golda Meir to the Israeli-born Yitzhak Rabin—this generation did not manage to retain power and it slipped into the hands of other players (in the 1977 elections). This is the thrust of another of Shapiro’s inﬂuential works: Elite without Successors: Generations of Political Leadership in Israel (1984). In the years to come the “generation of the sons” was yet again pushed out—Rabin’s assassination in 1995 was considered as the collective symbolic death of the 1948 generation (Almog 2000) and following it a still younger generation of Israelis came to power, representative of which are Ariel Sharon (Likud and later Kadima), Binyamin Netanyahu (Likud) and Ehud Barak (Labor). Their style of rule does not seem to refute Shapiro’s main thesis. Though this generation is also military-trained, in politics it in fact expresses the transition in Israel from European party politics to American mediated politics, fueled by the professionalization and commercialization of the political (Galili-Zucker 2004; Peri 2004; Ram 2007). Be that as it may, the hold on government that Labor lost in 1977 was never resumed. While it had been “the natural party of government” up to 1977, since then the Likud has fulﬁlled that role. In Shapiro’s analysis Israeli politics moved then from the politics of “meeting rooms” to the politics of “piazza place”: the politics of agitating the masses by populist rhetoric that appeals especially to their sense of honor and identity. Administrative (pragmatic) politics was alternated with rhetorical (non-rational) politics. Shapiro addressed the rise of the Likud to power in his book The Road to Power: Herut Party in Israel (1989). It was now discovered that his disdain for the Right is no smaller than his disdain for the Left, if not even greater. Whereas he had portrayed the Zionist Labor movement in red communist colors, he now portrayed the Likud party in brown fascist colors. From his perspective, the Likud came to power not because it proposed practical solutions to actual problems, but rather because it proposed a “symbolic compensation” to two groups whose self-respect had been trampled by Labor: one group was constituted of the old nationalists of the pre-state right-wing armed undergrounds (Etzel and Lechi), who in the state period created the Herut party (the core of the Likud party, which formed in 1966); and the other group, much larger numerically, was the second generation of the Mizrachi immigrants, who provided the Likud with its mass electorate. The common denominator of these two groups was their rebuff by Labor and their reciprocal detestation of it. Shapiro saw all this as utterly irrational. In years to come, political scientist Dani Filc (of Ben-Gurion University) proposed a corrective to Shapiro’s concept of populism (Filc 2006). He maintains

Society: Diversity 63 that the “inclusionary populism” of Menachem Begin (the historical leader of the Likud) in fact broadened the political public in Israel by entering the Mizrachi population into it. On the other hand, Filc considers the “exclusionary populism” of the Likud in the 1990s (under Netanyahu) as aiming to limit the democratic political public, by rejecting from it the Palestinian Arabs in Israel. It turns out that the “sociological elitism” of Shapiro expresses a centrist political culture, which is unhappy about what it considers as Labor social leftism and Likud nationalist populism. This approach considers “Israeli society” through one narrow angle, as an arena of instrumental power struggles. Whereas such perspective is useful for criticizing the powers that be, it is useless for the search of genuine democratic politics. And so, while the Tel Aviv school in sociology aptly rejected the one-sided idealistic notion of “Israeli society” of the Jerusalem school, it itself was equally one-sided, only “realistically” so: what politics can generate is only a circulation of elites (be that oligarchic or populist ones). The normative lesson is of critical resignation, rather than of critical engagement. Both Jerusalem and Tel Aviv lacked a dialectic, which Haifa was now to offer. While the new critical sociology that formed in Tel Aviv expressed the liberal concerns of the new middle class and the bourgeois elite that characterized the Tel Aviv region (the business capital of Israel), a new sociological approach formed also in Haifa University (in the north), that expressed the new public voice of the Mizrachi population. As mentioned already, the new bourgeoisie and the low-class Mizrachim were the two main opposition groups to the Labor regime. “Mizrachim” are Jewish immigrants that arrived in Israel during the 1950s and 1960s from Middle Eastern and North African countries. By the 1970s they became a demographic majority and elements from their “second generation” ushered in a protest movement by name of the Black Panthers (Bernstein 1984; Shitrit 2004). They protested the social discrimination and economic deprivation that mizrachim suffered in Israel. “Ashkenazim”—Jews from European ancestry— were shocked by the expressions of ethnic rift in Israeli society, which was supposed to be nationally uniﬁed and homogenous. Sociology could no longer cover up the conﬂict under the terminology of modernization, which always puts the blame on the underdog’s cultural backwardness and always promises a better integration in the future. One approach that made the “ethnic gap” its focal issue was the “pluralism sociology” that was applied to the case of Israel by Sammy Smooha (b. 1941). Smooha is from an Iraqi family that immigrated to Israel in the 1951 and he became the ﬁrst senior academic sociologist whose personal background was that of an immigrants’ transitory camp (maabarot, residential camps where immigrants were accommodated temporarily, but for a considerable period of time, in rough living conditions), rather than the benches of the Hebrew University or the trenches of the war of independence. The remarkable distance that Israeli sociology traveled between the 1960s and the late 1970s is revealed by comparing the title of Eisenstadt’s magnum opus: Israeli Society: Background, Development and Problems (the Hebrew title; 1967) with the title of Smooha’s breakthrough book: Israel: Pluralism and Conﬂict (1978). Smooha indeed sharply captured in

64 Society: Diversity this title the two big themes that were absent in the structural-functional account of Israel: pluralism and conﬂict. From now on, indeed, the sociology of Israel would look less into “Israeli society” in the sense of an integrated whole, and more into the components and divisions that constitute it. Smooha’s entry into the sociological ﬁeld was typical of the 1970s and of the new universities in yet another sense: he was a graduate of an American university. Not only this, he studied for his Ph.D. in the University of California in Los Angeles (UCLA) in the peak era of the student rebellion there. Though he never identiﬁed with the New Left (or any Left for that matter), the sensibility of “pluralism” and “conﬂict” affected him. In 1974, after graduation he returned to Israel and started a career in the new department of sociology and anthropology at Haifa University. Smooha chose to analyze Israeli society in the framework of the “sociology of pluralism” that ﬂourished in that time. At its core were the social realities of postcolonial societies, which are composed of heterogeneity of ethno-cultural groups, who share a common political unit—a state (Kuper & Smith 1969). The basic question addressed by this approach is: what are the modules of integration among the different sub-groups within the common polity? Three basic modules were identiﬁed. In an “equivalent integration” the distinct groups enjoy equal status within the political framework; in a “differential integration” different groups have different status within the political framework; ﬁnally, in a “universalist integration” the political status of the sub-groups is dissolved and individuals are linked to the political framework as citizens regardless of their “original” group of afﬁliation. In Smooha’s analysis, the Israeli regime is of the second type. This regime is assumed upon a “differential integration” of ﬁve major sub-groups: the secular Ashkenazim are the dominant group. The mizrachim are regarded as a majority group that is amenable to assimilation in the nation, and they are integrated by means of paternalism and cooptation. The Orthodox Jews are regarded as a separate and dissimilar minority, but of an equal status within the nation. Palestinian Arab citizens are regarded as a separate and foreign minority, and therefore they are not assimilated or integrated, but are being dominated. The Palestinian Arabs in the occupied territories are regarded as a foreign and enemy group and therefore they are excluded from the polity and are dominated militarily. At the time—1978—this was a radical re-deﬁnition of the concept of “Israeli society,” not as a “social system,” but as a hierarchical system of differences. Some 20 years after Smooha’s path-breaking book other radical sociological critic of the modernization school, Baruch Kimmerling, in fact adopted the pluralistic approach of Smooha and updated it. In a book that summarizes his analysis of Israeli society—The Invention and Decline of Israeliness: State, Society and the Military (2001)—Kimmerling coins the idiom “pluralism without multiculturalism.” He relies on authors such as Maffesoli (1996) to depict Israeli society as an amalgamation of separate “tribes,” who are deﬁned by their cultural identities. By “tribes” he refers to secular Ashkenazim, religious Jews, mizrachim, the “Russians”

Society: Diversity 65 (1 million immigrants from the former Soviet Union that arrived Israel between 1989 and 2009), the “Ethiopians” (immigrants from Ethiopia, the Jewishness of whom is contested by Orthodox authorities) and Palestinian Arabs. Whereas Eisenstadt and his school had portrayed the strong and charismatic “center” which forms the focal point for the “periphery” and which forges the cohesiveness of society, Kimmerling is worried about a society that is ransacked by centrifugal impetus. In the time lapsed between Eisenstadt and Kimmerling, through Smooha, the image of “Israeli society” has been radically changed, from a successful integrative society into a deeply divided society. Though problems of integration are common inside Jewish-Israeli society, they are much more acute with regard to the relations between Jewish-Israeli society and the Arab-Palestinian sector (Smooha 1989, 1992, 2002; Smooha & Hanf 1992). In 2009 the population of Israel (not including the occupied areas) included 7.3 millions, of which 5.7 millions are deﬁned as Jews, 1.5 million as Arabs (plus 300,000 “others”) (CBS 2009: Table 2: 1). According to Smooha, a majority group can co-exist with a minority group in relations of assimilation (“melting pot”) or in relations of federation, based on different levels of group autonomy and on agreement among the elites of the distinct groups (Smooha & Hanf 1992). There is yet a third pattern of majority–minority relationships—that of enforced domination. Smooha maintains that this is how Israel relates to its Arab citizens. Cultural exclusion obtains—they are not invited to be part of the nation; but this without the recognition of them as a distinct political collectivity. The state behaves as if there are “Arab individuals,” who compose the “Arab minority,” but there is no “Arab collectivity” in the formal political sphere.1 As against the cultural and political means of inter-group integration in other cases (the intra-Jewish cases), in the Jewish–Arab case the domination is effected by economic dependency and clientelism and by state surveillance and coercion (Lustick 1980). Smooha estimated that since the 1970s enforced domination over the Arab minority was somewhat watered down and that the formal status of citizenship and the actual state of living together generated in the two sides a more tolerant altitude towards each other, and that this could serve as a starting point towards an integration based on a wider accord. The outcome of the 1967 war brought about a far-reaching change in the identity of the Palestinians in Israel. Between 1948 and 1967 the PalestinianArab community in Israel was entirely cut off from the Palestinian-Arabs across the border. The occupation of the West Bank and of the Gaza Strip facilitated a reunion between the communities across the border and sharpened their sense of common national identity. Smooha, who during the 1980s moved his research focus from the issue of the mizrachim to the issue of the Palestinian-Arabs, determined that despite this, they did not become more “anti-Israeli.” He distinguished between “radicalization,” which he deﬁned as the denial of Israel’s right to existence, and “politicization,” which he identiﬁed as combining two demands: an equal status in Israel and the establishment of a Palestinian state in the territories, alongside Israel.

66 Society: Diversity Smooha is well aware that the attitude of each side to the other is not a constant, but rather depends upon politics and policies. The mutual recognition between Israel and the Palestinian Liberation Organization (PLO) in the Oslo Accord of 1993, and the integrative policy of the government towards the Arabs brought a rare rapprochement between the state and the Arab community. Yet from the assassination of Rabin onwards (1995) no ruling coalition government included an Arab party, the exclusion and racist attitude towards Arabs became more explicit, and Arab politics in Israel also became more and more nationalistic. Smooha still maintains, based on periodical polls that he conducts, that the Palestinians may be content within the structure of Israeli democracy, even if with some reservations. During the 1990s Smooha moved one more step forwards. Rather than researching the Palestinian Arab status in the state or the attitudes of Arabs towards the state, he now realized that the structure of the state itself ought to be investigated. He now proclaimed that Israel is not a liberal democracy, but neither is it a state of exclusive ethnic rule. He now came to argue that Israel is the prototype of a different model of democracy: an “ethnic democracy” (Smooha 2002). By this he meant that this is a regime that respects a wide range of individual rights and formal democratic rules, but still retains the “envelope” under the rule of one ethnic collectivity (obviously the Jewish). In this account, while Arabs are full and equal citizens as individuals, their status as collectivity is structurally inferior. The domains of territory, demography, security, and so forth are exclusive prerogatives of Jewish rule. He believes that the ratio of 80 percent ethnic majority to 20 percent ethnic minority represents the limits of stability of this kind of democracy—a state that Israel is actually approaching (see more on this in Chapter 5). The implications of Smooha’s account are ambivalent. On the one hand, he accedes that “ethnic democracy” represents a “limited” or “faulty” model of democracy; yet, on the other hand, he maintains that this form of rule is an imperative for the security and endurance of the Jewish state and the Jews in it. While aspects of Smooha’s work sound extremely critical towards Zionist discrimination against the Arab citizens, he is in fact acquiescing with this state of affairs. A radical critic he is not; a “radical realist” is a better appellation. If the ethnic-democracy model can be said to be realistic and conservative, than a realistic and radical ethno-centered response to it is delivered in the form of the “ethnocracy model” espoused by Oren Yiftachel, a political geographer of BenGurion University (Yiftachel 2006). Not incidentally, the term “democracy” does not appear in the label of this model. According to it, Israel is a state under the domination of only one “ethnos”—the Jewish ethnos—and the principled rational of the regime is the “Judaization” of all material and symbolic resources of the country. According to this model, Israel does not simply fail to fairly address the concerns of its Arab citizens, but rather the inferior status of the Arabs in it is the expected outcome of the basic logic of the state. Israel therefore is not democratic but rather ethnocratic, and its democratization must mean the expiration of the superiority and special status of the Jewish nation in the state. Recently several Arab associations in Israel published “Visionary Documents,” with their criticism

Society: Diversity 67 of Israel and their demand for a constitutional change, that is founded upon the ethnocratic model of Israel (Ram 2009).2

Ethno-classes and gender-classes Another approach that was formed in Haifa University in the late 1970s was Marxist sociology. It is interesting that though the Labor movement was hegemonic in the life of the Jewish community in Palestine since the 1920s, and Marxist and socialist discussion abounded in it, the Hebrew University and its intellectuals were relatively insulated from this all inﬂuential stream of thought of their time. The Hebrew University was in fact a stronghold of the non-Marxist intelligentsia in Israel (Cohen 2006). The philosophers of the Hebrew University were mostly inﬂuenced by German idealist thought (e.g., S. Hugo-Bergamn) and the historians were mostly of the anti-totalitarian Cold War school (e.g., Jacob Talmon). Even though the intelligentsia and the ruling party became more closely associated after the establishment of the state, by that time mapai played solely the state card, and entirely discarded socialism and certainly Marxism (on mapai and the intelligentsia see Keren 1989; Sand 2000; Cohen 2006). The more leftist branches of the socialist movement were more concerned with education inside their own movements (such as HaShomer HaTzair) than in general education. Only at a later date (in the late 1960s) and for a short while were some of the Mapam (the Marxist-Zionist party) intelligentia drawn to academia, many indeed to Haifa University (e.g. Yigal Wagner, Avraham Yas’ur, and others). This disengagement from Marxist theory was bequeathed to the sociological ﬁeld through the Buber—Eisenstadt lineage, and was reinforced when Eisenstadt adopted the American structural-functionalist paradigm, for which Marxism represented a Soviet ideology. In the sociology that was produced by the Jerusalem School, there was no trace of Marxist theory and analysis. So when Marxism did arrive in Israeli academia in the late 1970s, it arrived there not from the Soviet Union or the socialist parties of the kibbutzim communities, but rather ironically from graduates of American academia. By some coincidental circumstances Haifa University became in the 1970s the laboratory of Marxist sociology in Israel. Due to its location in the Galilee region the institution drew a high proportion of students from Mapan kibbutzim and from Arab villages and towns, where the Communist Party was then very inﬂuential. To these two groups was added around 1970 a third Marxist-educated group, of Jewish students from Latin American countries, some of them radical already upon arrival and some of whom became radical after discovering the disappointing gap between their socialist-Zionist expectations and the non-socialist realities in Israel. Finally due to some other coincidence, Haifa was at that time the also birthplace of feminist radicalism in Israel, led by the then philosophy lecturer Marcia Friedman (an American immigrant) and others. The fusion of activists from all these groups made the atmosphere in the Haifa campus very leftist—and this was of course inﬂamed by waves of the student radical culture of “1968” around the world at the time. The leftist student movement by name of Yesh that thrived in Haifa University

68 Society: Diversity for only a short while drew the hostile attention of the national press (this period in Haifa University is documented in Swirski 1982). By yet another coincidence a group of young and radical sociologists and anthropologists concentrated in the new department of Haifa University at the same time, and they issued a new “anti-establishment” journal, not afﬁliated institutionally, that was called Notebooks for Research and Criticism. The founders were Shlomo Swirski, Henry Rosenfeld, Deboarh Bernstein, and Devorah KalekinFishman. The Notebooks survived for ﬁve years, between 1978 and 1984. The Notebooks served as a rostrum for the articulation of a new paradigm in Israeli sociology. The purpose of it was deﬁned by the authors as follows: First, […] to contribute to the analysis of relations of oppression, discrimination, alienation and underdevelopment, which are expression of class society […] [and] second, to facilitate in the Notebooks a platform for the critical stream that opposes the positivistic methods and “neutral” approaches common in the social sciences. Such approach pose an obstacle to the understanding of social reality and hence also to its transformation. (Notebooks for Research and Critique, Issue 1, Editorial Proclamation) This proclamation was indeed without precedent. “Oppression,” “discrimination,” “alienation,” “underdevelopment”—these were unheard-of concepts in Israeli sociology. So was the explicit bundling of all this with the notion of a “class society.” Not less scandalous was the second dimension of the proclamation: the rejection of scientiﬁc positivism and neutralism as obstacles for understanding and change. Needless to say, the response of the structural-functional sociological establishment was vehement. By 1984 Shlomo Swirski was sacked by the university and the group disbanded. The major contribution of the Notebooks group was its analysis of the formation of a new class structure in the early era of the state. This had two interconnected components: a new middle class, mostly Ashkenazi, and a new working class, mostly Mizrachi. Thus unlike Orthodox Marxist perspective, where class is prior to any other analytical category, in the neo-Marxist perspective of the Notebooks class analysis was conjoined with ethnic, national and gender analysis. Unlike later postmodern and postcolonial approaches, though, the concept of class was perceived as central, and the search was for the different ways in which the other lines of schism correlated with it. Shulamit Carmi and Henry Rosenfeld dealt with the phenomenon which they termed “a state-made new middle class.” Their view of the state as a player in the formation of a class is yet another expression of their neo-Marxist approach. Rosenfeld himself was a noticeable exception already in the 1950s and 1960s in the Hebrew University, where his class analysis of the Arab peasantry and its proletarization deviated from the common frame (Rosenfeld 1978). As it happened he found his proper place in the 1970s in Haifa University. Whereas in the pre-state era the old petite bourgeoisie was economically marginal and politically weak, Carmi and Rosenfeld argued that under the aegis

Society: Diversity 69 of the state a new middle class had been forged, constituted by the holders of senior positions in state bureaucracy, high military ofﬁcers, and executives in the public corporations and their various auxiliary professions. Though the language is Marxist, the similarity to C. Wright Mills’s concept of power elite is unmistakable. The source of power—and rewards—of the new class was its members’ positions in the public sector and the social networks they established there. This transformation of the social structure was linked to the broad change of orientation led by the ruling party mapai (the axis party of the Labor regime). It seemed to Carmi and Rosenfeld that mapai not only adapted itself to the state institutions, but rather took the opportunity to lead a “right-wing revolution” both in socio-economic affairs and in national affairs (Carmi & Rosefeld 1989). The emerging social structure was founded upon three pillars: the centrality of the state bureaucracy in economic development; massive foreign aid that enabled a high level of security expenses without taxing the population for it; and an aggressive foreign and security policy. Shlomo Swirski, Deborah Bernstein, and others analyzed the other components of the new class structure, that is the development of an ethno-class division of labor, in which the domination over capital and the rewards accruing to it were concentrated in the hands of the new Ashkenazi state-made bourgeoisie, while most of the Mizrachi population was devoid of such resources and the rewards they yield. As against the structural-functional school, they argued that the “gaps” between Ashkenazim and mizrachim were not caused by cultural differences—Ashkenazim being modern and mizrachim being traditional—but that the distributive gaps stem from domination over yielding resources, which is embedded in the ethno-class division of labor (and capital) (Bernstein 1980; Bernstein & Swirski 1982; Swirski 1989, 1995, 1999). World modernization theory referred to a “convergence explanation,” wherein the less developed society (or sector) will adopt the patterns of the more developed society (or sector), until in the end of the process the two would converge. Neo-Marxist Dependency and World-System approaches of the time argued, on the contrary, that social gaps are created by the relationship between societies (or sectors), wherein one exploits the resources and manpower of the other. So there is a common process in which one gets rich and another gets impoverished. Development and underdevelopment are not two distinct nodes along a continuum, but rather the two sides of a coin (Frank 1984; Wallerstein 2000). Swirski, Bernstein et al. argued that in the case of Israel the encounter between Ashkenazim and mizrachim is not an account of an a priori modern and traditional communities, but rather of one sector that “modernizes” while it “under-develops” the other one. In this spirit Swirski titled his seminal work about Ashkenazi–Mizrachi relations Not Backward, but Underdeveloped: mizrachim and Ashkenazim in Israel (the Hebrew version 1981; English: Swirski 1989). Swirski maintains that the underprivileged situation of the mizrachim results from the manner in which they were integrated in the Israeli economy, and is not a result of their cultural backwardness. They were unwillingly allocated to remote and isolated places—“development towns”—where they became dependent upon “town factories,” usually in textile

70 Society: Diversity or food processing. The state supported the entrepreneurs who invested in these places, while the employees had to make do with minimal wages and a low ceiling of mobility. Swirski’s book was exceptional not only in this daring thesis, which put the blame for the fate of the immigrants on the integrating society, rather than on their own failure to integrate, but it was also exceptional in bringing into the sociological account the perspective of the marginalized themselves in their own “voices.” About two thirds of the book length were dedicated to interviews and discussions with Mizrachi persons. By this Swirski aimed to turn them from being “objects” of his scientiﬁc inquiry, to be the subjects of it, and indeed partners to its authorship. It ought to be remembered that the open discussion of the “ethnic problem” was not considered at that time as legitimate in Israeli culture (Menachem Begin, who in the 1977 and 1981 elections provided a political channel to the Mizrachi voters, and was led to Premiership by them, was condemned for “fanning ethnic hatred”). This analysis of the social structure of Israel, and what “Israeli society” is, has been antithetical with the structural-functional analysis in several ways. First, the unit of analysis of the structural-functional sociology was “Israeli society” on the one hand, and “ethnic groups” (edot) on the other hand. The appellation of ethnicity was applied only towards the newcomers, in this case the mizrachim. The expectation was that the “ethnic groups” will integrate to “Israeli society.” The ethno-class approach put forward the idea that just as the newcomers are expected to change, so is Israeli society expected to change because of the presence of the newcomers. It also highlighted the fact that “Israeli society” itself was also composed of “ethnic groups”—the Ashkenazi in this case, and that the misnomers “Israeli society” and “edot” represent the Ashkenazim as the “universal” and the mizrachim as the “particular” (a typical manifestation of this is the classiﬁcation of Russian or East European inspired songs as “national popular music” and of Mizrachi or Arab inspired music as “ethnic music”) (Regev & Seroussi 2004). Another difference between the approaches is that the structural-functional approach assumes that the interests of the old-timers and the newcomers coalesce, simply on the basis of their assumed common nationality; therefore there is the talk about “desocialization” and “resocialization,” as if it was basically a matter of cultural integration (Bar Yosef 1969). The ethno-class approach assumes, on the contrary, that the two groups must have different and antagonistic interests, because the integration is not only symbolic but has to do with material domination and distribution. The “integration” is not merely into the “nation” but also into a capitalist society. An additional point of difference between the approaches relates to the expectations they had from the process of “integration.” The structural-functional school assumes that the “gaps” between the groups is transitory, and that once the newcomers “modernize” and acquire modern skills they will enjoy full and equal membership in society. The ethno-class analysis, on the other hand, expects the “gap” to reproduce itself; the mizrachim will “modernize” as workers, while their work will contribute to the further “modernization” of the Ashkenazim as owners of capital.

Society: Diversity 71 Finally, while the structural-functionalists predicted the gradual evaporation of the “ethnic issue” from the Israeli agenda, the ethno-class approach predicated that the coalescence of ethnic and class divisions would intensify the social antagonism, and would translate into ethno-class politics. All in all the social-system consensual approach to “Israeli society” was substituted by an ethno-class conﬂict approach. From this later perspective, the policy of cultivating development and of fostering modernization, the declared objective of which was “closing of gaps” and “assisting the backward strata,” was in fact a policy that shaped and reproduced the problems which it was supposed to solve. This is not, to reiterate, because the policy failed to achieve its goals, but rather because the policy created the class division of labor, which generates gaps and backwardness. Thus, for instance, the development towns indeed provided employment, but only low status and low earning employment (Swirski & Shushan 1985). From the late 1980s, when the broad policy of development by means of import substituting industry was replaced with a policy of export oriented industry and globalization, it was the development towns that were the ﬁrst victims. The new high-tech industry concentrates in the center of the country and the old laborintensive industry relocates its production sites outside Israel, in cheap-labor countries (Ram 2007). From the point of view of the workers there, the state has breached its “contract” with them. They populated the periphery on behalf of the nation, and the state was supposed to guarantee full employment to them. Of late, they ﬁnd themselves stuck in the periphery and unemployed (Bar On 2007). So the lower social strata in Israel suffered both when the state was responsible for allocation in the nation-building era, and when it retreated and left them at the mercy of the market forces. This is manifested also in the sphere of real estate and land allocation. While formerly allocation was regulated by ethno-national principles, the free market of the 1990s is supposedly indifferent to such criteria. Yet it is argued that liberalization of national land resources had in fact opened the way for new forms of biased allocation, this time legitimized on grounds of either ﬁnancial capabilities or multicultural principle of difference—which is harnessed by sectors from the Jewish majority and from the upper classes in order to create exclusive and gated settlements and neighborhoods. The city, as the focal point of society in the global era, “although apparently released from the shackles of nation- and statebuilding projects, continues to reproduce existing power structures and is a stratifying place, maintaining patterns of discrimination, exclusion, and segregation” (Yiftachel 1998, 2000; Tzfadia 2005, 2008; Yaacobi & Tzfadia 2009: 289). The sphere of education is likewise a main source of inequality. The declared aim of the “fostering program” was to assist the “weak population” in attaining higher achievements in school; yet the way it was planned actually reproduced the “weakness” of the target populations, as they were channeled to special tracks of low achievers, received reduced resources, and directed mainly to “professional training” (in manual jobs: mechanics for men; tailoring for women, etc.). In short, pupils from the weak populations (Jewish as well as Arab) were channeled to such tracks from which they came out “weaker” still. According to this analysis, which Swirski detailed in his book Education in Israel: Schooling for Inequality (1990),

72 Society: Diversity the development towns and the schooling system did not fail in their policy; on the contrary, they succeeded in preserving the status of the target populations as the proletariat of Israel. The class analysis of Swirski and others had of course radical political implications. It accompanied the wave of anger of the second generation of mizrachim, who at that time rose to political consciousness and brought about the downfall of Labor. It provided ammunition to the then popular resentment against Labor, and especially to its consideration by Mizrachi Likud voters as a party that—despite its name—represents the elites. It pulled the carpet from under the accepted logic of the classiﬁcation of parties in Israel along a Left–Right continuum, in which Labor stands for the Left and Likud stands for the Right. It now seemed that in social terms this classiﬁcation was reversed. An analysis of this kind, with an historical purview, was published in 1995 by historian Zeev Sternhell. In a book that raised a public controversy and drew angry responses from intellectuals of the Labor movement, he maintained that the Labor movement was from its inception dedicated only to one of the ﬂags it raised—the national ﬂag; and used the other ﬂag—the socialist one, only as a ruse to attract workers (Sternhell 1995). Swirski concluded from his studies that in order to overcome social inequality in Israel, a kind of “second socialist revolution” is required. He thought that mizrachim had to take their fate into their own hands—just as labor pioneers did in their days. They should take responsibility for their lives in the development towns, in the factories, in schools, by self-organizing themselves and turning themselves into a public power. It was not enough to be “represented” in politics, rather people have to dominate their everyday lives. Though voting for the Likud did not exactly represent such a call for grassroots socialism, the idea of self-rule found expressions in a variety of civil society movements that started to emerge in Israel, and even in a party like shas, which during the 1980s became a more “authentic” political home for traditional mizrachim than the Likud (on shas see Peled 1998; on the civil sector see Gidron, Bar & Katz 2003). During the 1980s the research on mizrachim in Israel started to receive attention from a new direction. Swirski and his associates were people of the “1968” generation. For them the problem was that the Labor Movement betrayed its promise of universal social equality. They venerated authentic democratic egalitarian ideas. Their intellectual model was the young Marx. By the 1980s a newer generation of intellectuals emerged, a post-1968 generation. Their new models were Michel Foucault and Edward Said. The modernist term “equality” now sounded somewhat archaic and in its place entered the intellectual vocabulary the term “identity.” A forerunner of this generation in Israel was Ella Shohat (1989). For Shohat the problem was not that socialism did not meet its egalitarian promise, but that the very universalist ambitions of European modernism served to discard the identities of the non-European “others,” or rather to construct them as “others.” The problem thus became “Eurocentrism”: the point of view of the white-Europeancolonialist-male, which was imposed on minorities of colour and of gender. Shohat was the ﬁrst scholar to apply this perspective systematically to Israel (we expand on this below).

Society: Diversity 73 In the 1980s, in addition to the Marxist approach emerged also a Left-Weberian or Marxist-Weberian perspective. The emphasis here was moved from ethno-class categories to interest groups and bureaucratic organizations. Sociologist Hanna Herzog investigated “ethnic politics” as a political source (Herzog 1986) and later on she studied the political resources of women (Herzog 1999). Other researchers, such as Michael Shalev, Lev Grinberg, Daniel Mamam, and Zeev Rosenhak, and Shimshon Bichler and Jonathan Nitzan, apply to the study of Israel the corporatist approach, according to which a small number of centralizing organizations—the political administration, the industrialists and the trade unions, act as agents who determine the structure of the labor market and of economic distribution and economic policies (Grinberg 1991; Shalev 1992; Nitzan & Bichler 2002; Maman & Rosenhak 2009). “Politics” is in fact a power struggle among these organizations and the outcome reﬂects their balance of power, while other groups are marginalized. During the 1970s the beneﬁciaries of this were the histadrut Federation of Labor, the employees of large public corporations, workers organized in the “big [workers] committees.” The losers were the unorganized workers in the smaller private businesses (who were in most cases mizrachim, women or Arabs). Since the turn to neoliberalism and privatization in the late 1980s the big beneﬁciaries are the small number of giant “business groups.” A speciﬁc branch of Marxist-Weberianism was initiated by sociologist Amir Ben-Porat. Ben Porat applied to Israel the approach of Erik Olin Wright (1996), in which Marxist class categories are operationalized as Weberian employment categories (Ben Porat 1986, 1989). The Notebook for Research and Criticism group has indeed revolutionized Israeli sociology and its understanding of “Israeli society.” It was the ﬁrst time that a critical “school” with a comprehensive world-view, impressive theoretical horizon and empirical competence, challenged the sociological mainstream.3 The authorities at Haifa University were hostile to the group and in a very crass move puriﬁed the department of sociology of some of the radical ﬁgures there, especially Shlomo Swirski. Though the group disbanded and the journal closed, its members continued to be productive and active in the sociological arena in Israel. With the passage of time, though, all the modernist trends in critical sociology lost some impetus in face of a youngish and vigorous new style of criticism. But before moving to the postmodern era in Israeli social thought, let us consider two more critical trends of the late 1970s and 1980s—feminism and colonialism. Feminist thought of the “second wave” arrived in Israel in the 1970s. It started as a new movement with groups of enthusiastic female intellectuals, and spread from there “upwards” to women of liberal mainstream circles and “downwards” to women active among the lower class Mizrachi population. The harbingers of feminist radicalism were a small number of American women professors who were afﬁliated with Haifa University. As with the Marxist stir in this campus, the feminist case was more a matter of current social changes and foreign political and intellectual inﬂuences, mainly American, than the local history, which explains the new stream.

74 Society: Diversity A struggle for women’s equality had started already with the arrival of the Zionist settlers, even before the twentieth century, and it revitalized with the arrival of the socialist Zionists in the ﬁrst decades of that century. Socialist women struggled for equal division of labor and middle-class women struggled for equal political rights. They won in terms of suffrage, but the more the national struggle was ampliﬁed, the more their struggle was marginalized in the face of issues considered more pressing and important. The image of pioneering communality that was projected also on the women’s issue, camouﬂaged the persistence of the traditional division of labor, where women always found themselves in the servicing branches (Fogiel-Bijaoui 2006). After the establishment of the state and the mass immigration from Moslem countries in the 1950s, Ashkenazi women dealt with “helping the needy,” but no longer with the quest for social transformation: so that by the 1970s feminism as such did not have internal resources to build on. The initiation of feminism in the 1970s started in university seminars, continued in consciousness-raising groups and led to the creation in Haifa of the group Nilachem—an acronym of “women for the renewal of society,” and by sound also “we shall ﬁght.” Parallel associations started to operate a little later in other places, especially Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. The leading ﬁgure was Marcia Friedman, an immigrant from the U.S. and professor of philosophy in Haifa University, who in 1973 became the ﬁrst declared feminist Knesset member in the country (Friedman 1991; Safran 2006). In the second half of the decade, the feminist activity expanded: the ﬁrst shelter for battered women opened; the ﬁrst assistance center for raped women opened; the ﬁrst feminist publisher started, and more. In conjunction with a United Nations declared Year of the Woman, the government nominated a committee of experts to examine the status of women in Israel. As a result of all this, by the 1980s the issue of women was already salient in the public discourse, though still in terms of “equality” among the sexes, and not yet in terms of “gender” differences. The academic interest in the issue of women followed those said developments. Until the 1970s the social sciences did not address women as a distinct category that ought to be researched and studied. They represented in this the common opinion that, on the one hand, women in Israel enjoy a high level of equality and “there is no such problem”; and, on the other hand, they implicitly assumed that there is a kind of natural division of social roles among the sexes (Izraeli & Tabori 1986). In 1975 the feminist movement published the ﬁrst anthology in Hebrew of feminist works under the heading of Woman, Women and Femininity (Shelf 1975). One year later Knesset Member Shulamit Aloni published a book titled Women as Human Beings (Aloni 1976). The ﬁrst academic anthology dedicated to research and study on the subject was published in 1982 by editors D. Izraeli, A. Friedman, and R. Shrift (a second and updated issue of the book was published in 1999; Izraeli et al. 1982). In the remainder of the decade other feminist studies appeared. In this decade the universities established academic programs that address women’s studies (Tel Aviv University 1977; the Hebrew University 1982; and Haifa University 1984), and a section for sex and gender started to operate in the Israeli Sociological Association (1984).

Society: Diversity 75 It seems that only in the 1990s did the domain of women’s studies start to receive an adequate width and depth. Contributing towards this was the publication of three book-collections on women: a book edited by Barbara Swirski and Marilyn Saﬁr (1991); a book edited by Deborah Bernstein (1992); and a book edited by Yael Azmon and Dafna Izraeli (1993). These three books may be seen as drawing the map of the feminist discourse of Israeli social sciences at the time. This discourse was composed of three main tracks: a liberal track; a socialist track; and a radical track. Those tracks differed in the way they conceived the issue of women, as well as in their perception of the solution to it. The liberal perspective was expressed by the work of Dafna Izraeli, a professor at Bar Ilan University (see also Izraeli 1983, 1987). Izraeli exposed what she called the ambivalent status of women in Israel. On the one hand, they thrive in a modern and dynamic society that encourages them to participate in the workforce. But on the other hand, they are still expected to fulﬁll traditional roles in the family. This is the axis of the woman problem in Israel—the tension between modern market society and traditional family values. The source of the problem is identiﬁed as a “cultural lag”: social norms lag behind economic development and a functional discrepancy occurs. The solution would come with the right education and legislation, which would raise consciousness and enable enforcement. Izraeli was one of the leading researchers of un-equal wages and un-equal career mobility between men and women in the Israeli labor market. She demonstrated, for instance, the ways by which female executives suffer disadvantages compared to male executives and how career women suffer from extra domestic burdens which suspend their professional advancement (Izraeli 1988). The work of Deborah Bernstein expresses the socialist tendency. She researches the political economy of female employment and the personal and social experiences that ensue from that (see also Bernstein 1986, 1992, 1993). In distinction from Izraeli, she does not consider “modern economy” as the engine of equality. She shows that, on the contrary, market forces as such exert pressure for the creation of low-income jobs, both historically and in the present. For instance, the transition to a sub-contracting system, in which the prime contractor of the work engages with a sub-contractor, who in turn is the employer of the labor force, creates more economic “efﬁciency,” which means lower wages and social conditions as well as lack of long-term commitment for the employees. This system is especially spread in service jobs (such as cleaning) where females are the bulk of workers. Bernstein inquires why the Labor movement, which ofﬁcially was committed to women’s equality, failed in this regard and what are the consequences of this failure. She maintains that the struggle of women for equality was swallowed by the priority given by the movement to national and social matters. Women, in turn, consented to this order of priority and therefore to their secondary place in it. In a later period, after the establishment of the state, the status of women on the lower rungs of the employment ladder was already well established. Another difference between the liberal and the socialist feminist strands was that Bernstein believed more in selforganization of women and the creation of alternative social forms, something some women already experimented with in the earlier days of settlement.

76 Society: Diversity The quest of establishing alternative autonomous cells of women was shared by the radical strand of feminist sociology that was expressed at that time by Barbara Swirski. From this perspective, women suffer not only a status deprivation that emanates from cultural lag (the liberal position) and from socio-economic inequality (the socialist position), but also and mainly from domination and oppression that inhere in the relations between the sexes. The oppression of women is implicit in all social relations and built-in to the structure of the patriarchal family. The oppression of women inheres in society even when it does not receive explicit violent expression; yet, the widespread violence against women and rape of women, most often by their male partners, is not an “exception” but rather a way to signal the relations of domination among the sexes. Even though such forms of extreme violence are not performed by all men, they serve all men. Swirski’s experience in the shelter of battered women served her as model for an alternative empowerment of women, where they create a world of solidarity and sharing among themselves. These three feminist positions that were signaled, as mentioned, by the three books that were published in the beginning of the 1990s, marked the coming of age of feminist thought in Israel, a thought that indicated yet one more analytical schism in the benign concept of “Israeli society” of the old school of sociology. Yet they also diverge substantially among themselves. In the liberal perspective the main problem is unequal opportunity between men and women in the labor market. This approach does not conceive of class divisions in the labor market even among women and does not conceive of deeper layers of sexual and gender oppression. It conceives of the “market” as a mechanism that generates equality, and of inequality as a result of traditional culture. All this is obviously different for socialist feminism as well as radical feminism, for which inequality is generated by the present social reality and not by older cultural remnants. Socialist feminism emphasizes the double binding of inequality in market societies—gender inequality and class inequality. Radical feminism rejects any extra-gender sources to women’s oppression, and regards it as a sui generi sphere. Towards the end the 1990s a new generation of feminist scholars reshaped the discourse of academic feminism once again. From a question of “women” the question became that of “gender,” and from an “issue” in itself, the issue became one of the character of society as such. Israeli society itself, with its bold forms of nationalism and militarism, came to be analyzed as a masculine entity.4

The colonization of Palestine The ﬁnal school of thought that we classify as “critical” at this point is the school of colonization. Of all the critical sociological perspectives that we discuss here, the colonization perspective is the most critical towards the foundational myths of Israeli society. From the point of view of this approach, the most crucial factor in shaping Israeli society is its being a settler-colonial society. What shaped Israeli society was neither its “values” (the Jerusalem school), nor internal hierarchies (the Tel Aviv elite school) or class relations (the Haifa Marxist school), but rather the process of penetration and settling in a country which was already taken. This

Society: Diversity 77 process led of necessity to an enduring conﬂict with the local Palestinian Arab society. The institutional structure of Israeli society, as well as its cultural characteristics, were shaped by the conﬂictual encounter with the local society. The designation of Israel as a settler-colonial society rebuffs of course the common Israeli self-perception, which is so conspicuously expressed in the Zionist idiom “a land with no people to a people with no land.” Assumed on this ethos, mainstream sociology was bounded in what was dubbed as a “Jewish bubble.” It presumed a “dual” concept of a parallel existence of two societies, Arab and Jewish, side by side and with only a minimal impact on each other (for a criticism on this dualism see Swirski 1979). A blatant case of it is Eisenstadt’s work, in which the Israeli-Palestinian conﬂict does not play any substantial role. Arabs beyond Israel’s borders are conceived as an external environment and Arabs inside Israel’s borders are discussed as “minorities.” Until the surfacing of the colonization approach there was no approach in Israeli sociology that considered the conﬂict, with its components—Jewish society, Arab society, and their encounter— a major explanatory framework for the understanding of Israeli society itself (for an exposition of this see Ehrlich 1987; Ram 1993a). Not that a colonization perspective was entirely absent before the 1980s. It was the common way in which Israel was conceived by Palestinian Arabs (e.g., Zureik 1978; Nakhleh & Zureik 1980; Tamari 1980), but it was absent in Jewish Israel. During the 1950s and 1960s it was voiced there only by radical and marginal leftwing groups such as Mazpen (literally “compass”) and Etgar (literally “challenge”) (Schnall 1979). These two organizations sought to understand Israeli society within its geo-political context. The former, by applying to the case a global class analysis— Israel as an imperial partner of the United States; and the latter by applying to the case ethno-geographic categories—Israel as belonging to the “Semite space.” A colonization perspective was ﬁnally accepted by circles inside Israeli academe only in the 1980s, somewhat cleansed of its immediate political overtones. This acceptance was facilitated by the political strife over the occupied territories of the 1967 war (the West Bank, the Gaza Strip and the Syrian Heights). The policy of ﬁxing “facts on the ground” by settlement, and the annexation and dispossession of the Palestinians, opened up the questions of how the land was acquired and what happened to its dwellers, that were repressed in Israeli memory until 1967 (see Chapter 5). In the sociological rendering of the colonization perspective two approaches may be discerned: a Weberian approach that highlights the struggle over territories; and a Marxist approach that highlights the struggle over the labor market. An exemplary exponent of the Weberian approach is Baruch Kimmerling and an exemplary exponent of the Marxist approach is Gershon Shaﬁr. Kimmerling (1939–2007) was the utmost “rebellious son” of the Jerusalem school in sociology. A student of the school who later became a prominent sociologist in the same department of sociology at the Hebrew University, he turned into a strong critic of his former teachers. In one of his earliest publications, Zionism and Territory (Kimmerling 1983) he made a resourceful application of the seminal “frontier thesis” of the American historian Frederick Turner (Turner 1956).

78 Society: Diversity Turner explained major staples of American political culture, especially its celebrated individualistic ethos, as a result of the continuous expansion westward, from which emanated “frontierism.” Kimmerling related to “frontierism” as a changing variable, which may have different “values.” A “high frontierity,” meaning a high degree of open frontier, may generate individualism, as was the case in America, but a “low frontierity,” meaning a hard to penetrate frontier, because of dense and sedentary population, may generate just the opposite, namely “collectivism,” as he deemed the Israeli case to have been. The most efﬁcient method to penetrate into and get hold of “low frontierity” territories is by the concerted mobilization of resources and their deployment. In Palestine, the interests of Zionist national capital and of the Zionist work force intersected. The nation became the de jure patron of the lands it purchased and the workers became their de facto collective owners. The triangle which formed Zionist settler-colonial society was thus shaped as a result of the Palestinian-Arab frontier: national purchase, communal settlement, and collective defense. Thus Kimmerling proposes an overall colonization-model explanation to the major characteristics of Israeli society; central among them is the hegemony which the Labor movement won in the nation-building process. Kimmerling’s main thesis is thus that inter-societal processes that took place within Israeli-Jewish society are in fact explainable by the logic of the international struggle. The settlement process had—and is continuing to have—a formative impact on Israeli society. These encounters, and not internal affairs as such, are those that generate the dynamic of Israeli politics. Above else, therefore, major riddle in Israeli history—the primacy of Labor—receives here a nonconventional explication: it emanated from the peculiar imperatives of the settler-colonial encounter. Shaﬁr, a prominent sociologist of Israel who works at the University of California Berkeley, also maintains in his book Land, Labor and the Origins of the Israeli-Palestinian Conﬂict (1989) that the settlement and the conﬂict are the major determinants in the shaping of Israeli society in general and of the role that Labor ﬁlled in it in particular. Yet, with him, the emphasis moves from the struggle over the lands to the struggle over employment. Following comparative literature on colonization (Fieldhouse 1981) the Jewish settlement that formed in Palestine is analyzed by him as a “pure colony” type, or a non-mixed colony, i.e., a colony that is based on the settlers’ own labor power. This is as against the “plantation colonies” model, where the employed labor consists of local or indentured labor force; or the “mixed-colonies” model, where both settlers and indigenous populations are involved in the labor market. In Shaﬁr’s analysis, three groups competed in the labor market in Ottoman Palestine: Jewish capitalists (the employers) and Jewish and Arab workers. The matrix of relationship among them is analyzed in terms of the “split labor market” model (Bonacich 1972). This model differs from both neoclassical economics, where wages are considered to be determined by the supply/demand equation, and from orthodox Marxist sociology, were wages are considered as determined by the workers/employers balance of power. The split labor market model considers the sub-division of the labor power into distinct sub-categories as a mediating factor in

Society: Diversity 79 employment relations. In real-life situations there is no one homogenous “working class,” but rather a variety of sub-groups that differ either on inscriptive grounds (gender, race etc.) or on grounds of legal status (well-organized versus nonorganized workers etc.) or on grounds of interests (skilled versus non-skilled workers etc.). In such situations, workers may attempt to secure their relative advantages by enclosing a sector of employment to some other groups, or, in other cases, employers may attempt to preserve their advantages by closing a sector of employment to certain segments of workers. Such strategies create splits in the labor market, where two or more labor markets operate simultaneously but separately without a possibility of transition of employees from one to another. Applying this model to the history of Jewish-Arab relations in Palestine, Shaﬁr argues that the major problem of First and Second Aliya Jewish workers around the turn of the centuries was the large supply of cheap Arab workers, who were preferred by Jewish employers. After some other failed experiments, the Jewish workers’ chosen strategy was to split the labor market between them and their cheap Arab competitors. It turns out that the struggle over the conditions of Jewish workers was not waged between them and the Jewish employers, but in fact between them and Arab workers. The split was achieved by securing the exclusivity of “Hebrew work,” which was presented as imperative for Jewish immigration, that depended on employment opportunities. Yet the raising of wages by the creation of Jewish exclusivity imposed on Jewish private farming a load it could not bear. Some employers tried to outﬂank the demand for “Hebrew work” by bringing into the equation another category of Jewish workers, whose wages were expected to equal those of the Arab workers— Jews from Yemen. They were said to be accustomed to “non-European” wages, work discipline and social conditions. This initiative ﬁxed the position allocated from then on to Jews from Muslim countries as a whole—mizrachim—who would be placed in between low earning Arabs and high earning Ashkenazi Jews. In any event, when this initiative faltered, the struggle of the Jewish workers entered its second and more advanced stage: from a struggle over the “conquest of work” to the struggle over the “conquest of land.” At this point the interests of the Jewish workers and of Jewish national capital merged. National capital purchased lands and settled on them Jewish communities to till and guard it. From now on the settlement process would bypass the competition in the free market between Jewish and Arab workers, and would create hothouse conditions for the former, outside of the market, in the new realm of the “working settlements.” The process of nationbuilding and the hegemony of Labor in it are thus portrayed by Shaﬁr as outcomes of the split labor market that separated Jewish from Arab labor. The ultimate creation of Zionist socialism, the kibbutz, is understood through this interpretation not as the Israeli way to an alternative social order, but rather as the Israeli way of settlement, as an outpost of Zionist takeover of the country. The national Israeli elite of farmers and soldiers, the Sabras, the kibbutzniks, are by-products of a split labor market, not an outcome of the quest for the just society. Kimmerling and Shaﬁr shared the view that the protracted domination by Israel over the occupied territories of 1967 threatens to extinguish the civil and

80 Society: Diversity democratic dimensions of Israeli society. Kimmerling regarded 1967 as a transition from a “nation-state” into a “state of communities” (Kimmerling 1985, 1989, 1993). The overlap between state and nation was breached, and one nation came to dominate another. The state’s boundaries of military control became larger than the state’s boundaries of legitimate sovereignty. This is the reason why the JewishIsraeli collectivity starts to substitute its civic-national identity with a primordial ethnic identity. Shaﬁr suggests that 1967 signals a transition from the moderate “pure colony” model of the Labor Movement to an extreme model of “pure colony” of the Likud. The difference is that the former gave priority to demography—the creation of Jewish majority in certain areas and later the drawing of the boundaries of the state along these areas; while the latter gives priority to geography, i.e., to the expansion to territories with disregard to their demographic components. The moderate model enables a moderate democracy (based on guaranteed Jewish majority) while the extreme model requires a non-democratic rule of one group over the other. At least in the 1990s both scholars regarded the “two states solution” along the “green line” of 1948 as the viable pragmatic resolution of the Israeli– Palestinian conﬂict. The colonization perspective enriched the understanding of Israel in comparative geo-political terms. Its most radical departure from the mainstream approach is its epistemological shift—from a national perspective into a geo-political perspective. Thus Israel is not analyzed as a “Jewish state” pure and simple, the telos a Jewish history or even of Jewish theology—but rather as a modern settler-colonial state in a particular historical era and geographical region.

The time of the “posts” The new orientation that emerged within modernist critical sociology in the 1970s and the 1980s, which thought in terms of “social categories,” received an even more stinging edge with the emergence in the 1990s of poststructuralist theory, which thought in terms of “constructed categories.” By the 1990s the ﬁeld witnessed the transformation of its problematique once more, when the problematique of equality was substituted with the one of identity; the problematique of “society” as “us” was substituted with the problematique of the “others” within the “us”; and the end of attaining universalism with that of preserving and even promoting particularism. Yet again, sociology probed into the concept of “Israeli society” from a new angle and envisioned new vistas of it. The three postmodern perspectives on which we dwell below are: post-structuralism, postcolonialism, and post-Marxism. The decade of the 1990s was extremely innovative and productive in the ﬁeld of Israeli social thought. The journal Theory and Criticism started to appear in 1991 under the auspices of the Van Leer Jerusalem Institute. The journal was established by Adi Ophir and edited by him until 2000. Ophir gained his Ph.D. in philosophy from Boston University in 1984 and he afﬁliates with the Institute for History and Philosophy of Science and Ideas at Tel Aviv University. He brought to Israeli academe the ﬂavor of contemporary continental critical theory (yet again, via America—as with any other theoretical novelty in Israel), associated with names

Society: Diversity 81 such as Michel Foucault, Jean François Lyotard, Emmanuel Levinas, Giorgio Agamben, and others. He has been the major importer and promoter of poststructural critical thought in Israel and the journal he edited quickly became the shibboleth of postmodern intellectual life there. It thus opened entirely new dimensions of critical research and thought in Israel. It took a few more years for post-structuralist thought to inﬁltrate into the universities and to become a bon-ton of at least some circles in the social sciences and humanities. By now a “cultural studies” approach was adopted by many in these ﬁelds. Regarding the spread of post-structuralist thought and cultural studies in Israel, a mention should be made also of a new publisher by the name of Resling, who began operating in the mid-1990s and specializes in both translated and original books in contemporary post-structuralist philosophy and cultural studies. Other publishers also joined the “new times.” Sifriyat Poalim launched a series called “The French” (Lyotard, Foucault, Baudrillard, and so forth), edited by Ariella Azoulay, an important postmodern theorist and expert on art history and on visual culture (Azoulay 2008), and HaKibbutz HaMeuchad launched a series called “Dark Red,” which publishes continental philosophy with an emphasis on German authors (Jürgen Habermas, Axel Honneth, and others). In 1993 a sociological anthology was published under the title Israeli Society: Critical Perspectives (Ram 1993). The title referred to Eisenstadt’s famous account of Israeli Society from 1967, yet the subtitle obviously countered the latter’s perspective with an offer of critical perspectives. The itinerary of the book attests to the shift that Israeli sociology went through in the decade before it appeared. The book was edited by the present author, Uri Ram, a former student of Swirski in Haifa University, who later gained his Ph.D. from the New School for Social Research, in New York (in 1992). Ram afﬁliates with the department of sociology and anthropology at Ben-Gurion University, in Beer Sheva—a university that to the chagrin of its management has gained since the 1990s the reputation of a critical stronghold (after Haifa had lost this reputation). The book was published by a small critical publisher and it offered, on the one hand, a kind of retrospective look at the work of the older school of critical sociology, and on the other hand, a prospective look into the potential future agendas of critical sociology. The year 1993 was the year in which the Israeli government and the PLO recognized each other, and the book’s preface was dated to the very day that the Oslo Accord was signed on the White House loans in Washington DC. At the time many considered these events as an historical turning point and as the end of a chapter in Israeli history and the opening of a new one. Though it is difﬁcult to reconstruct this sense after almost two decades of ferocious bloodshed between Israel and Palestine that passed since, the spirit of the time played a role in the transformation of social thought in Israel. Be that as it may, the reception of the book as a kind of alternative textbook in courses on Israeli society in Israeli universities is a clear sign to the naturalization by that point in time of critical sociology as a legitimate and inﬂuential stream of sociological discourse. Another relevant new publication that started towards the end of the 1990s was the journal Israeli Sociology, edited in the department of sociology in Tel Aviv

82 Society: Diversity University (started in 1998). This journal reﬂects the maturation of sociology as an academic discipline in Israel, and it tries to steer away from an identiﬁcation with any speciﬁc stream or ideology, unless the very idea of a “discipline of sociology” is considered as such. This journal provides a platform for sociological publications, after tens of years in which the only such platform was the journal Megamot: Behavioral Sciences Journal, which started in 1949 (published by the Sold Institute and emphasizing issues of education). The orientation of Megamot has been mostly functionalist and positivist. The 1990s saw also the issuing of new academic journals about Israel in the English language: Israel Studies, Hagar, and Israel Studies Forum. In 2007 a new critical social scientiﬁc journal was established: The Public Sphere, edited by the radical political scientist Yoav Peled of Tel Aviv University. Another platform where social thought and criticism has been articulated from the 1990s was provided by the schools of law, that were either new (e.g., in Haifa University) or experienced a generational shift (e.g., in Tel Aviv University). Bridges between political theory, social history, cultural studies and judicial thought in Israel have been constructed by a line of socio-judicial scholars.5 Israeli poststructuralism ﬂourished in the 1990s: a poststructural approach; a postcolonial approach; and a post-Marxist approach. Common to the various postmodern perspectives is their distance from and criticism towards both the nationalism and the scienticism of mainstream social discourse. These new approaches expanded the critical horizons of thought in Israel, and at the same time they reﬂected changes that have occurred in society itself. The ﬁrst new approach that shattered the intellectual grounds in the 1990s was poststructuralism, and a leading vehicle for its articulation and dissemination was the new journal Theory and Criticism, that was mentioned above. Poststructuralism spread ﬁrst in the spheres of aesthetics, literature and philosophy, before it had reached the social sciences. The spread of postmodern styles among a certain cohort of intellectuals—relatively young people of middle-class background, usually living in the center of the country—was associated with the arrival of late-capitalist economic, social, and cultural patterns. This was experienced in Israel as a general transition from collectivism—national and social—towards individualism; from a state-centered society towards a market decentralization; from social cohesion to social fragmentation; from mobilizing nationalism to hedonistic consumerism; and from public economy to private business. These processes were also at the bottom of the “peace process” that started in the 1990s, and was based to a large degree on the assumption that Israeli society has passed its nation-building stage and is concerned now with economic development, which requires security and stability (on the link between the spread of capitalism and the peace process in Israel see Shaﬁr & Peled 2000, 2002; Ben Porat 2006; Ram 2007). The Theory and Criticism group has blown into academic culture the winds of post-structural philosophy and postmodern culture.6 It was the deconstructive spirit of the “big narratives”: rationalism, scientism, nationalism, socialism—all were deemed as legitimatory hoaxes, the promised telos of which is used for the manipulation of human energies. Of major inﬂuence was Michel Foucault and

Society: Diversity 83 his archeological and genealogical criticisms of power/knowledge (Foucault 1970; 1972; 1980). In the cultural studies and in cultural psychology Derrida and Lacan also held sway, but less so in the “hard” social sciences. The editorial of the ﬁrst issue of Theory and Criticism declared that “In the present state of affairs the academic system contributes to the production and conservation of dominant social representations” and that the role of criticism is to expose the apparatuses of representation that take part in the construction and reproduction of the social order, as well as to engage in self-reﬂexivity of the researchers themselves and their own position in the cultural ﬁeld (Theory and Criticism 1991: editorial). To understand the boldness of this approach, one should recall that Megamot, the major social-scientiﬁc journal until that point, still adored scientistic conventions such as “objective and professional judgment” and the “research methods common in the social sciences” (Megamot 1992: editorial). The adoption of poststructuralism and of cultural studies was especially conspicuous in anthropology but became also widespread in sociology. So much so, that since the late 1990s the common language of those in the social sciences who are not practitioners of “quantitative methods” is most often that of cultural studies. Thus to a large extent the social sciences since the 1990s have been engaged more than ever before in the questioning of meta-narratives, essentialist identities, and so on. One corollary of this was that the Left versus Right ideological split that characterized intellectual debates (wherein most critical approaches were identiﬁed with a vague “left”) was re-calibrated to a modern versus postmodern axis. The postmoderns regarded both Left and Right (e.g., socialism and nationalism) as modern oppressive and totalistic meta-narratives and essentialist identities, and they sought to deconstruct and relativize those. Among the expressions of the emergence of postmodern thought in Israel was the eruption of the historians’ debate in Israel in the 1990s (see Chapter 2), changes in the Israeli regime of memory (see Chapter 5), and the articulation of a the post-Zionist approach to Israel (see Chapter 6)—all major stepping-stones in the itinerary of the discourse over Israeli nationality and society. During the 1990s, and on the foundations laid by postmodern thought, there emerged in social thought in general, and in the case of Israel as well, a second radical perspective that received the appellation of postcolonialism. In the emergence of postcolonialism—as in the rise of almost any other stream in Israeli social thought in the last four decades, from the most conservative to the most radical— American inﬂuence was the leading factor. The Israeli intellectual elite had been exposed to radical third-world thinkers who articulated postcolonialism only once their writings were published in English and became inﬂuential in the USA (Said 1978; Bhabha 1990; and see Chaturvedi 2000). Yet these external intellectual inﬂuences fell on internal fertile grounds of political processes that took place inside Israel independently—and foremost among them, in this regard, is the meteoric rise of the shas party into prominence in the political system and political culture. shas represents low class Mizrachi traditional and orthodox Jews (Peled 1998). The novelty it brought to Israeli political culture was its outspoken representation of mizrachim, something that was—and still is—considered as a “jinni in

84 Society: Diversity the bottle” in the hegemonic political culture. Postcolonial intellectuals made a parallel move when establishing in 1990s the movement Mizrachi Democratic Rainbow (in Hebrew Knesset Mizrachit Democratit, known for short as the Keshet). The leading ﬁgure of the Keshet was Yehuda Shenhav. Shenhav (born 1950) is a professor of sociology at Tel Aviv University and between 2000 and 2009 he served as editor of the Theory and Criticism journal. He used the journal, and a series of books he produced for the Van Leer Institute, as a platform for the promotion of a Mizrachi postcolonial perspective in Israel (Yona 2005; Shenhav & Yona 2009). The harbinger of postcolonialist thought in Israel was Ella Shohat (b. 1959), who from her New York University post was the ﬁrst to articulate a feminist Mizrachi postcolonial agenda. (Shohat 1989, 2006). Shenhav and Shoat split between a more dichotomous orient/occident approach, attributed to Edward Said and a more hybrid orient-occident approach, attributed to Hommi Bahbha (Shohat 1999, 2003). While postmodernity poses a challenge to modernity from within the core of European metropoles of Enlightenment (foremost Paris), postcoloniality challenges modernity from its outpost, i.e., from the perspectives of the non-European colonized, whether in India, Palestine or elsewhere. This latter perspective adopts the postmodern critical method; however, it does not consider it as a mere philosophy, but rather as a history—a history of the encounter between the colonizing West and the colonized “rest” (Hall 1996).7 In this view the hegemonic culture is faulty not only as it is a specimen of national and modernist culture (the postmodern criticism), but also because it is a specimen of Western culture—in Israeli terms, an Ashkenazi culture—which constructs its own supposed modernity and rationality by attributing traditionality and irrationality to the Oriental and Arab other. The postcolonial scholars identify a jigsaw of identities, in which new traditions are invented and new narratives are authored, when new subaltern subjects are constructed and excavated out of their obscurity and marginality under the hegemonic Western-Askhkenazi culture. The discourse of the “New mizrachim”—the avantgarde of the postcolonial approach in Israel—is self-portrayed as subversive towards the hegemonic Zionist project, which is deemed as an orientalist project that aims to subordinate the rest, including “Arab Jews” and Palestinian Arabs. Finally, towards the end of the 1990s another new type of critical social perspective started to emerge in Israel, which is post-Marxist. The systematic attack of the Israeli governments since the 1990s on the welfare state and on social rights has resulted in the enlargement of social gaps and widening of poverty (Swirski et al. 2008). The triumphant neoliberal ideology has become the economic common sense of economists, journalists and politicians across party lines. Yet the social negligence, the deterioration of social services, and the decomposition of workers union, generated a thin stream of counter-culture. Central to it have been various socially oriented NGOs, such as Kav Laoved—an alternative center for defense of workers rights, or Adva Center—an organization devoted to the formation of knowledge about inequality and for advocacy and others. Some non-afﬁliated scholars provided an “ideological umbrella” for such civilsocietal activities. Their effort was directed to a novel combination of the classical

Society: Diversity 85 “social equality” concerns of Marxist theory with the novel “cultural recognition” concerns of postmodernism.8 The post-Marxist perspective is materialist in the sense of viewing economic power relations as infrastructural and in considering politics in that context. Especially signiﬁcant in this analysis are the changing class structure and class relations. However, this approach is post-Marxist in the sense that it is not reductionist and deterministic with regard to the famous basesuperstructure metaphor, and in the sense that it is not teleological or even progressivist in its historical analysis and expectations. Rather than rejecting in toto the postmodernist and postcolonialist perspective, it adopts dimensions of it, such as skepticism towards meta-narratives, the deconstruction of essentialist subjects and the view of the generative role of culture. The advantage of post-Marxism over poststructuralism is its capacity to link novel cultural changes with changes in the social and economic spheres—namely the spread of advanced capitalism; so that postmodern culture itself is situated in its historical context (Harvey 1991; Jameson 1992). Likewise, its advantage over postcolonialism is in its capacity to relate East/West relations to issues of socialeconomic globalization. Post-Marxism offers a Marxist analysis without Marxist messianism (Burawoy 2000). At the core of its analysis of Israel is the argument that this society has been undergoing since the mid-1980s an intensive process of becoming an advanced capitalist and globalized society. Whereas in its phase of initial settlement and nation-building the code by which society operated was collectivist, in the present postmodern era the elite is initiating a neoliberal process of privatization that in the 1990s conjoined with processes of globalization. The model of society thus shifted from a national-Fordist model towards a global postFordist model; from ethnic citizenship to liberal citizenship and from state-centered order to a market and private business domination. This overall shift decomposes social solidarity and state responsibility, and opens the way for struggles among social “sectors” deﬁned by group identities. Shlomo Swirski characterizes it as a change from the modernization approach of universal development to the globalization approach of selective development—development of the elites only (Swirski 2004). As mentioned, the forte of the post-Marxist view is in the linkage it identiﬁes between structural social shifts and congruent shifts in the political culture. One exemplar is the “triadic citizenship model” offered by political scientists Gershon Shaﬁr and Yoav Peled (2002). According to this model there is in Israel a compound social regime of incorporation that includes three distinct discourses of citizenship: a republican Zionist discourse, an ethnic Jewish discourse, and a civic liberal discourse. The relative weight of each component depends on changing circumstances and power relations among the groups in society. The relative democratization that takes place in Israel since the 1990s is related to its rapid transition to capitalism since 1985. The effect of the latter process is the decline of the “republican” Zionist discourse and thus the surfacing—in a more contentious manner—of the two adverse discourses—the ethnic and the liberal. The liberal discourse reinforces the universalist civic component in Israeli citizenship; the ethnic discourse reinforces the particularistic-Jewish component of it.

86 Society: Diversity Another version of post-Marxist analysis is the “bifurcation model” offered by Uri Ram (2007). This version focuses upon the recent transformation of Israel into a neo-liberal society under the impact of capitalist globalization. According to this model, in the last two decades, Israel has moved from its modernization dynamics, which was carried out under homogeneous and centralized national elite, into a dynamic process of globalization, and the result is a bifurcation of it between the two contrasting poles of post-nationalism and neo-nationalism, and oscillation between them. This has potential implications for the relations between the state and society, different state agencies, and distinct groups. Thus, in the wake of the exhaustion of nation-building and the modernization stage—underpinned by the collectivist orientation of the Labor movement—Israel has passed into a market-building and globalization stage underpinned by neoliberal economic orientation, which is accompanied by a multi-cultural inter-group orientation. In this new post-Fordist reality, Israel is bifurcating between a capitalist, liberal and decolonization vector, on the one hand, and a nationalist, communalist and pro-colonization vector on the other hand. One important effect of the shift to post-Fordist capitalism was the growth of import of “foreign labor” to Israel. In the ﬁrst stage, Palestinians from the occupied territories became a commuting labor force; but after the outbreak of the ﬁrst Intifada they were substituted by global labor immigrants. Today close to 10 percent of the labor force, and a much larger proportion in agriculture, construction and personal care services is composed of “foreign workers.” Needless to say, this form of employment, based on subcontracting practices, is a source of huge proﬁts for employers (for a thorough analysis see Kemp & Raijman 2008). Another signiﬁcant effect of the globalization was the changing social composition of the military. The military service, especially in combat units and the ofﬁcers’ corps, was the practicum of the Israeli national elites (together with the Kibbutz movement). Members of the political, economic and cultural elites were recruited through the military channel. Yet since the 1980s, the Ashkenazi middle classes adopt cosmopolitan culture and invest their skill and education in integrating themselves with the international market and ripping social and economic beneﬁts from it. As they gradually withdraw from military functions, “new groups” are ﬁlling their places—mizrachim, national-religious, immigrants from the former Soviet Union and from Ethiopia, and certain sectors of the Arab population (especially Bedouins and Druze). Yet when the newcomers try to convert resources from military service to the civil sphere, they discover that they are climbing up descending stairs, as political scientist Yagil Levy put it, i.e., with the withdrawal of the elites the convertible prestige of military service decreased (Levy 1997, 2003, 2006, 2008; Ben Eliezer 2004; Levy et al. 2007). Both versions of the social model mentioned above maintain that Israel’s globalizing elites and wide middle classes have developed in the last two decades an interest in civil and market society, and have relegated nationalism to secondary preference. This may result in a relative release of the ethnocentric nature of the state. On the other hand, it is exactly against this de-ethnization (or de-Judaization), and the accompanying retreat of the welfare state, that the lower classes are being

Society: Diversity 87 politically mobilized, whereas Jewish identity—religious and ethnic—is deployed as their call to arms.9 Thus, we witness in Israel a growing tension between liberalization, on the one hand and ethnization or “tribalization”, on the other hand (or, ﬁguratively “McWorld” versus “Jihad”, as rendered in Ram 2007). One great lacuna in the new (and certainly in the old) sociology must be noticed, though: this is the paucity of research and study on the occupation of the Palestinian territories and its implications. In the last four decades the Israeli regime has changed from the “nation-state” that it had been until 1967 to a colonial or even an apartheid state. Yet this major, not to say the major, aspect of Israeli society, has not received the attention it deserves (exceptions are Gordon 2008; Grinberg 2009). The history of Israeli sociology and its conception of “Israeli society” as we have discussed it (in Chapters 3 and 4) was discerned by us to have the four following phases: 1

2

3

4

The initial phase. In the pre-state era sociology was not yet a distinct discipline. Sociological thought thrived mainly within the context of the Zionist movement and it is difﬁcult to draw a distinction between the ideological and the sociological in this era. The formative phase. In the era of the state, since 1948, sociology has crystallized institutionally and ideationally as a discipline. This phase is identiﬁed academically with the department of sociology at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, and theoretically with the modernization approach. The critical phase. Critical sociology—which was manifested in various forms, as elitism, pluralism, Marxism, feminism, and colonization approaches, emerged since the mid-1970s and is associated with the new universities that gained autonomy at that time (especially Tel Aviv University and Haifa University) (on the second and third phases see extensive coverage in Ram 1995). The postmodern phase. The turn towards postmodernity started in the 1990s. The three postmodern perspectives which we discussed are: poststructuralism, postcolonialism, and post-Marxism. They all captured in different ways the tectonic shift that Israel has experienced in the era of globalization, neoliberalization and initial struggles over decolonization of the occupied Palestinian territories.

As we saw in the discussion above, in its six decades as a discipline, the agenda of sociology has passed through far-reaching changes, and with them also its notions of what “Israeli society” is. The discipline started as a small homogeneous community seated in one institution, and after three decades transformed into a large diversiﬁed profession, spread over a number of academic institutions. The crucial change in its agenda was the decline of its initial identiﬁcation with the national mainstream and a signiﬁcant emergence of critical streams in it. The center of gravity of its discussion passed from the problematique of order and consensus of “Israeli society,” to that of its multi-facets and the contradictions and tensions within it. As a discipline, the ﬁeld shifted from a deference to the nation-state,

88 Society: Diversity towards an autonomous professional orientation, tinged with criticism. Considering it on a larger scale, one can say that sociology shifted its research lenses from the established elite towards the non-dominant and marginalized groups in society. Within the different streams of critical sociology as it developed in Israel from the 1970s there emerged a new understanding of “Israeli society” and of the structures and policies required for democratization and equalization. This change of agenda can be summarized as follows: mainstream sociology fosters identity among un-equals (i.e., the idealized “society” above actual parts), whereas critical sociology fosters equality alongside differences (i.e., actual equality without the loss of symbolic identities).

5

Politics: Exclusions

Nations, as was famously proclaimed by Ernest Renan, are characterized by “the possession in common of a rich legacy of memories,” yet at the same time also by the fact “that they have forgotten some things” (Renan 1990 [1882]: 11). This chapter addresses national ways of forgetting “some things”: the Israeli-Jewish forgetting of the uprooting of the Palestinians in the war of 1948. The formation of Israel as a Jewish nation-state was achieved by the exclusion of the Palestinian Arabs from the core of its territory and identity. The most acute act of exclusion was carried out in Israel’s war of independence in 1948–1949. This war was fought between Israel and invading Arab armies and the local PalestinianArab population, who aimed to revoke the UN resolution over the establishment of a Jewish state in a part of the country that the Jews call Eretz Israel and the Arab world calls Palestine. By the end of the war Israel’s borders were ﬁxed along the armistice lines—the “green line”—and became the recognized boundaries of Israel. The end of this war did not put an end to the hostilities between the sides and many wars followed since—the Sinai War (1956), the Six Days War (1967), the Attrition War (1967–1973), the October War (Atonement Days War) (1973), the Lebanon War (1982), the Gulf War (Israel was hit by Iraqi missiles) (1991), the ﬁrst and later the second Palestinian Intifada (1987, 2000), the Second Lebanon War (2006), and many occurrences of violence in between. The great losers of the 1948–9 war were the Palestinians. Within the state’s boundaries only about 150,000 of them were left, out of a population of 850,000 or 900,000. The rest became refugees, many of them in camps in the Arab states that surrounded Israel—Egypt (the Gaza Strip), Jordan (the West Bank), Syria, and Lebanon. In the war of 1967 Israel occupied some of the territories populated by these refugees, who now grew to about 3.5 million souls. As for the Palestinians who remained in Israel, they were conferred Israeli citizenship, but up to 1966 were subjected to strict military governance, and even after this governance was removed they remained citizens of a second class—de facto if not de jure. The relations between Israel and Palestinians remained at the core of the Israeli–Arab conﬂict. The Palestinians from the outside demand a “right of return” to the refugees and their descendants, and the Palestinians from the inside demand equal rights and collective recognition (Ram 2009). Israel adamantly rejects both demands, as threatening its own existence as a Jewish state, or the national state of the Jews.

90 Politics: Exclusions Israel demands a recognition of its right to exist as such (though since 1967 it did not offer the Palestinians in the occupied territories a political resolution acceptable to them) and in its view the refusal of the Arab world and the Palestinians to accept it are at the bottom of the protraction of the conﬂict. It is not our aim to discuss here the history of the Israeli–Arab conﬂict or even the political sociology of Israeli–Arab relations inside Israel (Ghanem 2000; Reiter 2009). It is rather the exclusion of the Palestinian-Arabs in Israeli political culture on which we shall dwell in this chapter, and this issue will be scrutinized here from the peculiar angle of the obliteration of the act of exclusion itself from the collective memory of the nation. Following the eminent British anthropologist Mary Douglas, we relate here to “forgetting” not as an absence of remembering, or as ignorance, but rather as a certain kind, or certain kinds, of (active) remembering: “forgetting includes different kinds of selective remembering, misremembering and disremembering” (Douglas 2007: 13). We discuss in this chapter three facets of the collective forgetting of the Palestinian uprooting in Jewish-Israeli collective consciousness: In the ﬁrst sub-heading we analyze the foundations of the Israeli regime of forgetting and discern three mechanisms of removing from memory of selected events: narrative forgetting: the formation and dissemination of an historical narrative; physical forgetting: the destruction of physical remains; and symbolic forgetting: the creation of a new symbolic geography by ﬁxing new place and street names. In the second sub-heading we dwell upon a tenacious ambiguity that inheres in the regime of forgetting because it does not completely erase all the traces of the past. And ﬁnally, in the third sub-heading we discuss the budding of subversive memory and counter-memory that at least indicate the option of a future revision of the Israeli regime of forgetting and exclusion.

The Palestinian Nakba of 1948/9 What Jewish-Israelis label their “War of Independence” is called by the Palestinians Al Nakba—“The Disaster.”1 For the Jews in Israel, 1948 is the historical turning point in which their state was established and their sovereignty constituted. For the Palestinians, the opposite is the case: 1948 is the point at which their society was destroyed, a large part of them were expelled, they lost their country and the opportunity for statehood. Hundreds of thousands of Palestinians were uprooted and went to exile outside of the boundaries of the state and turned into refugees in the surrounding states; hundreds of their villages were destroyed; those of them who remained in the state were subjected to a military regime (though they received full formal citizenship); Arab states annexed the rest of the territories of Palestine that had been allotted by the United Nations resolution 181 to the Palestinian Arab state, and their national movement was extinct for decades (on the Palestinian history and Palestinian perspective see Sa’di & Abu-Lughod 2007; Farsoun & Aruri 2006). The core of the Israeli-Palestinian conﬂict is a clash over a territory between two national movements, one of them, the Jewish, a settler-colonial movement that

Politics: Exclusions 91 claims repatriation to its ancient homeland; the other, the Palestinian, a movement of an indigenous nation. As in many other such encounters the conﬂict generates a rigid dichotomy between “us” and “them” categories, wherein each side assembles a composite culture that aims to legitimize its own claim over the land. Each side strives to prove its own ancient or prior presence in the land; or in any event its “legitimate cause”; and each rebuts the other’s parallel claims; each presents its own community as “peaceful” and “civilized” and the other side as “barbarous” or “primitive,” or as “racist” and “annihilationist.” Each side musters the best sources it can to construct a material and symbolic ediﬁce which buttresses “our” identity and “our” rights, as against “theirs.” Each of the groups thus creates its own distinct narrative that “provides the prism through which group members perceive, evaluate and eventually act” (Bar-Tal & Teichman 2005: 84). As it happens, the fate of each of the national narratives does not depend necessarily, in the ﬁnal analysis, on its historical veracity, but rather on the capacity of its social bearers to sustain it. Many times in history, the group who wins in the battleﬁeld is the one who has the better chances to win also in the battle of narratives. And at times when such triumphal narratives are being challenged, it is a sure sign that either the grip of the dominant group is also being weakened, or, alternatively that its power is so well entrenched that it can afford to contain the “other” graciously and sometimes even express remorse or offer reparations for past wrong-doings (Barkan 2000; Torpey 2003). Social psychologists Daniel Bar-Tal and Yona Teichman condense their thorough study of the culture of national conﬂict in Israel in the following depiction of the triumphant Israeli narrative: This narrative, called also collective memory, tells the history of the conﬂict and its continuity as remembered by the Israeli Jews. It is selective, biased, and full of distortions. In essence it comes to maintain a positive image of Israeli Jews, present them as victims, strengthen their case in the conﬂict, explain the course of events, and justify their own deeds. The narrative delegates the responsibility for the outbreak and maintenance of the conﬂict to the Palestinians and other Arab groups and portrays them as intransigent and evil. (Bar-Tal & Teichman 2005: 123) It ought to be emphasized that such regime of memory and forgetting is not unique to Israel, but rather represents the typical functioning of “time past” in social life, which, as Mary Douglas put it, is “remembered, privately or publicly, when it can be used in time present to control the future” (Douglas 2007: 23). * Research on memory in Israel abounds. Scholars have produced studies of the myths and rites of the establishment of the nation (Zerubavel 1995; Fiege 2002); of the changing memory of the Holocaust (Zertal 2005; Feldman 2008); of rites and monuments in commemoration of the wars and of fallen soldiers (Ben Amos 2002; Lomsky-Feder 2004); of national traumas (Vinitzky-Seroussi 2002) and much

92 Politics: Exclusions more. These issues were also subject in recent times to a spirited debate between “old” and “new” historians and Zionist and post-Zionist scholars, those who uphold the sanctity of national memory and those who practice the “slaughtering of holy cows” (see Chapter 2). Yet what is common in most of these studies is the interest in “memory,” whereas we are here concerned with “forgetting.”2 So while the genre in general as well as in Israel is concerned mainly with the question of “how societies remember” (Connerton 1989), we turn the spotlight here to the question of “how societies forget.”3 Even though the uprooting of the Palestinians and the destruction of Palestinian villages was a momentous historical event, and even though tens of thousands of Jewish Israelis took part in the events that led to this outcome, the topic became a strict “taboo” in Israeli culture in its ﬁrst decades, something not spoken about in the open, and thus made unknown to most young or newcoming Israelis for at least one or two generations to come. Here are just a few testimonies to this state of oblivion. Gannit Ankori, an art historian, recounts an episode which altered her “point of view”—literally and ﬁguratively. Traveling in a car in the 1980s with an American visitor and a Palestinian friend (Said Kutab) and passing by Canda Park (near Jerusalem) the tourist asked the locals: “What is this beautiful place?” to which he received two dissimilar answers. From the Israeli: “This is Canada Park. It is a wonderful place for picnics. The pine trees were planted by the Jewish National Fund. Forestation was part of the Zionist ideology of making the desert bloom.” From the Palestinian: “Yes, this place, Latroun is now called Canada Park. The trees were planted as part of the Zionist effort to cover up villages that were destroyed and depopulated after the war of 1967” (Ankori 2006: 9). This episode opened the eyes of Ankori to the “burden of multiple narratives” that the country carries and, she attests: As I listened to Kutab narrate the repressed subtext embedded within the landscape, the once familiar homeland became an unheimlich site of interlaced tragedies. My eyes had been opened in a way that forced me to open my mind. Not only my perception of the landscape but also my perception of perception itself had changed forever. Indeed I learned about historical revisions, multiple narratives, “scopic regimes” and “ways of seeing.” (Ankori 2006: 10) Anita Shapira, the renowned Zionist historian, reports that when she exposed students to selections from a television movie (based on a story by S. Yizhar; on which more below) that depicts the expulsion of Arab villagers in 1948, the students’ response was invariably of a shocked silence and unease, as if they were totally oblivious to these facts. She was surprised likewise by the responses to the book by historian Benny Morris (on which more below) about the uprooting of the Palestinians, which was widely received with indignation, as if the Israeli public “had just heard of the Palestinian refugee problem and Israel’s role in its creation.” Writing more than 50 years after the events, she rightly observes that

Politics: Exclusions 93 “many Israelis still react as if the subject didn’t exist, is unknown, or is under wraps—best not mentioned” (Shapira 2007: 82). On the other side of the historiographic barricades, so to speak, Ilan Pappe, a renowned non-Zionist Israeli historian, is not surprised by such responses, since for him it is common to cases of “ethnic cleansing” (on which more below) that “Later on, the expelled are then erased from the country’s ofﬁcial and popular history and excised from its collective memory” (Pappe 2006: 3). This is how he understands why “Hundreds of thousands of Israelis commute daily on [the roads between Haifa and Tel Aviv], most of them without having the slightest notion of the places they are driving through, let alone their history. Jewish settlements, pine forests and commercial ﬁshing ponds have replaced the Palestinian communities that once ﬂourished there” (Pappe 2006: 133). The uprooting of the Palestinians in 1948 thus gets here a doubly-layered meaning—ﬁrst, their actual uprooting from the place, and, second, the later ideational uprooting of the actual uprooting from the Israeli collective conscience for decades to come.4

The Israeli regime of forgetting The regime of the forgetting of the Palestinian uprooting in 1948 was constituted in Israeli historical consciousness by three major mechanisms, which this sub-heading analyzes. The ﬁrst mechanism consists of narrated forgetting: the composition and dissemination of historical narrative, in which the relevant events acquire the weight and signiﬁcance that the victorious side ﬁnd ﬁt. The second mechanism consists of material forgetting: the obliteration of the physical remains of the relevant events, by the demolition of villages, neighborhoods, landscape objects, and other physical sites which may have had served as mute monuments to their vanished past. The third mechanism consists of symbolic forgetting, in which a new symbolic map is created, by changes in names of places, streets, and landscape items, in a way that purges their past and “domesticates” them into the dominant narrative.5 Narrated forgetting Tens of thousands of Israeli-Jews participated in the war of 1948 in which the state of Israel was constituted and one consequence of which was the uprooting of the Palestinians. But these numerous individuals kept silent about “some things” that they did or saw that others did or heard so. They self-censored the testimonies they left, beautiﬁed the histories they wrote, and shrouded with fog the embarrassing facts of the near past. Censorship was not only imposed from above but was also exercised voluntarily from below. Beno Rothenberg, for instance, a war photographer, testiﬁed tens of years after the event that he did not furnish his photo agency with all his negatives, but rather selected them by the criteria of “what is good for the Jews, and what is bad for the Jews” that the world would set eyes on. Thus the exposure of his photos of convoys of Palestinians evacuated from their

94 Politics: Exclusions villages or of lootings by Israeli soldiers, had to wait until almost 60 years later (Rothenberg 2007; for a meticulous analysis the role of photography in the Israeli regime of forgetting see Rona Sela 2000, 2009a, 2009b). The narration of the history of the war started during the war itself in the form of diaries and reports and was expanded later with the compilation of memorial books of settlements and military units. But the initiative of writing an authoritative and comprehensive history of 1948 came from the new state’s leadership and the high military command. The ﬁrst history books that were published in the new state of Israel were the creation of Ma’arachot (literally “battle campaigns”), the ofﬁcial publication house of the military and the ministry of defense. These books did not go to press before the parties concerned—military leaders of 1948—were asked to offer their comments and to grant their consent. Thus the history written in Israel during the 1950s was a straightforward “ofﬁcial version” of the events. The foremost and most inﬂuential exemplar of this was The History of the War of Independence, a book compiled by Lieutenant Colonel Netanel Lorch, in his capacity as the head of the Historical Division of the Israeli Defense Force (henceforward IDF), together with an accompanying committee (Lorch 1961; 1st Hebrew ed. 1957). It was published in various editions (in Hebrew and later also in English) and came to be the main manual “for a generation of readers, who wished to ﬁnd out what in fact happened in that war” (Bar On 2001: 191).6 Moshe Dayan, an iconic Israeli war hero and the Minister of Defense at the time of the preparation of the book, instructed that “The Minister of Defense or the Chief of Staff will indicate what sensitive issues should be included or left out of the book” (Bar On 2001: 188). The “sensitive issues” related primarily to practices of the IDF in the war that may have undermined its image or reputation. Basically these were issues that related to the expulsion of Palestinians, the killing of war prisoners or the looting of possessions (even though the editors were keenly careful to censor such aspects anyhow).7 Since Lorch’s book has congealed in the national memory as the primary version of the events of 1948, it is important to characterize its account of the uprooting of the Palestinians. Most of the book consists of detailed descriptive accounts of military campaigns. The uprooting of the Palestinians is mostly portrayed in terms of a “ﬂight and abandonment” narrative, an escape that took place either because of overblown fear fanned by Arab media, or in compliance with a call issued by the Arab leadership—all with the anticipation of returning soon afterwards with the victorious Arab states. Jewish leaders are portrayed in general to have had pleaded with the Palestinians not to leave. No policy or plan of expulsion is mentioned. The attitude of the Israeli Defense Force (IDF) to the Palestinians is portrayed in general as fair, except for irregular events, and the tendency is to attribute unruly behavior to the right-wing underground units. The book’s depiction of the Arab evacuation of the city of Haifa is emblematic to the above-mentioned narrative: The Arabs asked for time for consultation. When they returned they announced that they were not prepared to sign a surrender agreement and preferred to

Politics: Exclusions 95 leave the city. The Jewish mayor addressed them movingly, requested them to remain in the city where they had so long lived and worked side by side with the Jews. The Arabs persisted in their refusal. During the following days most of the Arabs were evacuated by sea […] Only a few thousands stayed behind. It is to be assumed the Arab decision to leave the city rather than surrender to the Jewish forces was inﬂuenced by the advice of the Mufti of Jerusalem, who hoped to use the stream of refugees to stir the neighboring Arab countries to war, and on the other hand assured the Haifa Arabs that within a few weeks they would return in the wake of the victorious Arab armies. (Lorch 1961: 100) The description in this paragraph is partly valid; yet other “sensitive issues” are absent—such as a purposeful frightening of the Palestinian population by shooting that aimed to effect a mass ﬂight (on the conquest and uprooting of Haifa see Morris 1987: 73–101). The “packaging” of the events in semi-truths and slippery phrasings belittles the causes and signiﬁcance of both the methods and the outcome: in a few days only 3,000–4,000 out of 70,000 Palestinians remained in the city; those who left were barred from returning; and their quarters and houses were either demolished or repopulated. The evasive and misleading language is exercised in other cases as well. The events in the village of Dir Yassin near Jerusalem won already during the war the reputation of one of the worst cases of atrocities inﬂicted by Israeli forces against Palestinians. Below we present the depiction of the events in Lorch’s book (left column) juxtaposed against that of a later account by sociologist Barch Kimmerling and political scientist Joel Migdal (right column).

The Dir Yassin case as depicted in Lorch’s book

The Dir Yassin case as depicted in Migdal and Kimmerling’s book

[…] units of the dissident organizations, IZL and LHI,8 captured Deir Yassin outside of Jerusalem, massacred hundreds of the villagers, took the rest prisoner and paraded them proudly through the streets of Jerusalem. The Jewish Agency and the Haganah High Command had immediately expressed their deep disgust and regret. The massacre at the Deir Yassin was to become a weapon in the hands of the enemies of Israel from that day on (Lorch 1961: 92).

The sequence of events in Dayer Yasin is now scarcely disputed. The village’s nonbelligerent pact with local Jewish forces did not spare it being swept into the Jewish offensive of breaking the Arab stranglehold on Jerusalem. Following an intense battle between Palestinian militiamen and Irgun forces with some Hagana mortar support, Palestinian forces departed and the Irgun entered the village on April 9. In brutal acts of revenge for their losses, the Jewish ﬁghters killed many of the remaining men, women and children and raped and mutilated others. Those not killed immediately were ignominiously paraded through Jerusalem and then sent to the city’s Arab sector. (Kimmerling and Migdal 1993: 151)9

96 Politics: Exclusions The Lorch text is evasive: it is not entirely clear from it that the killing took place after the battle was over; it is not mentioned that brutalities took place also against women and children; rape and mutilation is not mentioned; the repulsion of the Hagana High Command is highlighted; and ﬁnally, the bottom line is that the event became “a weapon in the hands of the enemies of Israel from that day on.” But beyond the speciﬁc cases hovers the overall question of whether there had been on the Jewish part an ofﬁcial plan and an operative policy which designated the eventual expulsion of the Palestinians. “Plan D’” is mentioned as a candidate for this status. Plan D’ is an operative order dispatched by Hagana (later turned into IDF) high command on March 10, 1948. It instructed the battle units how to deal with Arab settlements, and decreed that in case of resistance and security considerations villages may be destroyed and their population evacuated. In Lorch’s book, Plan D’ is represented as a straightforward tactical plan that instructs the military to capture the territories allotted to the Jewish state and to defend its boundaries, in anticipation of an invasion of the Arab armies. In the short section that reviews Plan D’ no connection to the expulsion of the Palestinians is mentioned (Lorch 1961: 87–9) (more on this issue below). And yet again, apart from the speciﬁc details of the events and apart from the rhetoric chosen to represent them, it is beyond debate that in the dominant and pervasive Israeli narrative of 1948, as it was determined in the ofﬁcial account and as it was disseminated later on by the educational and communication systems (on which more below), the uprooting of the Palestinians and the destruction of their society is not discussed and is not even mentioned as an important aspect of the war or as one of the consequential outcomes of it. Little wonder therefore that many Israelis are indeed ﬂabbergasted when the forgotten history of the uprooting is exposed to them, as we saw above. * The initial narrative of the uprooting of the Palestinians in 1948, as portrayed above, has spilled into the national educational system. It was, as mentioned, a “ﬂight and abandonment” narrative.10 It even conveys the idea that by “forsaking” the country, the Arabs demonstrated that they are not deeply attached to it. Most textbooks do not mention Plan D’. In some cases, testimonies of Arabs are quoted in support of the dominant Jewish narrative. There are a few cases where the evacuation of population during the war is mentioned, or the prevention of the return of population, but as Ruth Firer, a prominent researcher of Israeli historical textbooks, summarizes: “compared to one and half lines of the mentioning of such cases, the overall trend is to emphasize the Jewish effort to prevent the ﬂight and the Arabs’ own responsibility for the refugee problem” (Firer 1985: 33). Historian Eli Podeh also found, in his research of history textbooks, that the main motif in them is, on the one hand, the fearful “ﬂight” (in Hebrew bricha) and “abandonment” (netisha) of the Arabs, and, on the other hand, the “blame” that is laid on the shoulders of their leaders for encouraging the departure (Podeh 2000).

Politics: Exclusions 97 The narrative of “ﬂight and abandonment” was not conﬁned to the 1950s or 1960s. In fact, with the passage of time the events tended to be portrayed even more schematically and one-sidedly. One gallant expression of this trend was in the television series Pillar of Fire that was screened by the state channel in 1981. In the book that accompanies the series, the uprooting of the Palestinians is referred to as a “ﬂight” and the causes of it are reduced to the one event of Dir Yassin. The details of the case are not discussed and it is reported, in the passive voice, that some 250 Arabs “found their death” during the battles (Lossin 1983: 532). In the end, the Palestinians are portrayed yet again as responsible for their own fate, since their “irresponsible propaganda” made tens of thousands of Palestinians escape without a shot being ﬁred at them. A similar narrative recurs again in the 1990s and further on. In albums that were published around 1998 to commemorate the 50thanniversary of Israel, the uprooting is hardly mentioned and to the extent that it is, it is within the same frame mentioned above. A mass circulated historical album published by Am Oved and the Ministry of Defense retells the battle stories of 1948 but without mentioning the consequences to the Palestinians. Thus for instance, the “conquest of Ramle, Lyddia, Nazareth and many Arab villages” is mentioned—but without any reference to the Palestinians who lived in these places (Naor 1997: 243). The album reports that the population census on November 8, 1948 registered only 69,000 Arabs compared to 713,000 Jews, but the history of the creation of this disparity remains shadowed (Naor 1997: 243).11 The uprooting of the Palestinians is not discussed, and the same goes also for the term “refugees” or for the UN decision 194(11) from 1948, which calls for the return of the refugees. Another very popular Jubilee album dedicates a column of seven lines to the uprooting of the Palestinians, in the following words: During the War of Independence some 250,000 Arabs abandoned their homes—some with the encouragement of the IDF—and escaped to the neighboring Arab States. They were convinced that soon after the war, after the annihilation of the state of Israel, they will return to their forsaken homes, but reality dashed their hopes. Israel did not allow them to return, and so emerged the problem of the Arab refugees, that was not solved up to now. Through the years, the problem has been blown up by the Arab states, who used it to assail Israel in every event and every international forum. (Mishal 1998: 22) Aside from the recurring of the “ﬂight and abandonment” narrative and the employment of the generic term “Arabs” at such a late date in the 1990s, when Palestinian nationality was no longer questioned, the text is interesting in several respects. First, it contains some admission of a partial IDF responsibility, though the gentle word “encouragement” is selected for this purpose. Second, the number of “escapees” is mentioned as 250,000, about a third of the commonly accepted number. Third, the endurance and worsening of the refugee problem is thrown into the court of the Arab states.

98 Politics: Exclusions While this narrative contains some historical truisms, it is partial, selective, and misleading, ﬁtting the terms offered by Mary Douglas mentioned in the outset of this study: selective remembering, misremembering, and disremembering. It disregards, among else, both the “test of intentions”—the undisputed interest that the Jewish community had in a radical change of the Jewish-Palestinian demographic balance, as well as the “test of the outcome”—the undeniable fact that even if part of the evacuation was “voluntary,” the state decided upon “retrospective expulsion”— i.e., the barring of the refugees return to its territory even after the war was over and ever since. Physical forgetting The narrated forgetting has been backed-up by another method of forgetting—a physical one. By “physical forgetting” we mean the demolition of Palestinian objects and sites—houses, neighborhoods, villages and other landscape objects— that might have served as mute monuments to the lives that had taken place in them, and possibly might have served as a basis for a demand to reclaim them. The demolition of physical remains started to take place simultaneously with the uprooting of the Palestinians, even before there was time to compose and disseminate the new historical narrative. Physical forgetting was exercised by two main methods—an actual destruction of Arab premises or, alternatively, their fast repopulation by Jews, many times new immigrants, or in other cases the lease of Arab landed property to Jewish cultivators. The immediate purpose was to create an irreversible situation on the ground and to determine Jewish ownership over formerly Arab places. From the point of view that interests us here, the outcome was the physical annihilation of sites that might have stayed as monuments to the former Arab presence and the abolishment of such presence from the country, by the transformation of its material landscape. Historian Ilan Pappe labeled this practice “memoricide” (Pappe 2006: 225–34). Plan D’, which was already mentioned above, included a stipulation that hostile and resistant Arab villages were to be destroyed by “burning, demolition and mining of the ruins” (Morris 1987: 63). And indeed most of the 350 villages that were depopulated during the war were already completely or partially in ruins by 1949 (Morris 1987: 155–6). In some of the maps published in Israel in the 1950s by the Government Mapping Authority, the location of destructed Arab villages was marked by the word “demolished,” but later on these locations were expunged from the maps, though some landscape details which are identiﬁable as Arab remained marked (such as “remains,” caves, wells, hills, and Sheikh graves). In some cases demolished villages were marked as “ancient remnants” or were labeled in a word “ruins” (in Hebrew, iyyim), but later on also many “ruins” were ﬁltered out (Benvenisti 2000). With the process of demolition of built areas going on, a process of taking over of the surrounding agricultural plots and their conﬁscation began. At the beginning of the war, Jews owned only 7 percent of the territory west of the river Jordan, which is about 1.7 million dunams (1 dunam equals about 1/4 acre). By the end of the war 1

Politics: Exclusions 99 more million dunams of “deserted” Arab agricultural land had been leased to Jews (Morris 1987: 170–9). In between, the summer crops were harvested by Jewish farmers (as a compensation for their war damages). In 1950 the conﬁscation of Arab lands came to be “organized” legally in the “Absentees’ Property Law.” All these physical aspects of the handling of Arab built and landed property was a “well known secret” among tens of thousands of Jews who participated in the war, and who manned the institutions that handled the property (the Ministry of Agriculture, the apostrophe of absentees’ property, the National Fund, the Jewish Agency, the Agricultural Center, the municipal committees, the kibbutzim movements, the Farmers’ Union and more). Nevertheless, these aspects of the war and its consequences were obscured in the history books and textbooks of Israel and became truly unknown to the next generations of Israelis and newcomers. The collective amnesia that developed within Jewish Israel with regard to the uprooting of the Palestinians was based, therefore, on actual expulsion and “retrospective expulsion,” on a selective and misleading narrative, and on the destruction of the built environment and the passing of the surrounding agricultural lands to Jewish cultivators, or the repopulation of forsaken urban neighborhoods by newcoming Jews. The cities, the lands, and the landscape all were thoroughly “Judaized”—de facto, de jure, and in the historical conscience. Evidence and testimony to the recent Arab past of the country were suppressed.12 According to historian Benny Morris the practices of “physical forgetting” that were mentioned above were started incrementally by local ofﬁce holders, but were gradually adopted and formalized until they received legal status. The “grand vision” of expulsion, destruction and inheritance was articulated by the circle of close advisers around Ben Gurion, especially in the form of the “Transfer Committee,” while he himself avoided open and direct involvement (Morris 1994). Morris estimates that Ben Gurion, while cautious to avoid explicit policy that might have stained him morally, was an accomplice to what took place under his authority: Ben Gurion clearly wanted as few Arabs as possible to remain in the Jewish state. He hoped to see them ﬂee. He said as much to his colleagues and aides in meetings … But no expulsion policy was ever enunciated and Ben Gurion always refrained from issuing clear or written expulsion orders; he preferred that his generals “understand” what he wanted done. He wished to avoid going down in history as the “great expeller” and he did not want the Israeli government to be implicated in a morally questionable policy. (Morris 1987: 292–3) This two-faced policy determined the initial model for the Israeli regime of forgetting that emerged, wherein a “well known secret” was secluded from public awareness. It should be mentioned in passing, that the elimination of the physical remains of the recent Palestinian presence in the land, is doubly conspicuous against the background of the noted Israeli tendency to accentuate and blow up the memory

100 Politics: Exclusions of any miniscule remains of even the remotest and most obscure traces of Jewish presence. The side which lost the war—the Palestinians—also lost the capability to foster material sites of a memory inside Israel (on this see Sorek 2008). Geographer Arnon Golan summarizes concisely: “The formerly Arab space was almost entirely wiped out of earth and remained in the form of imaginary geography ﬁxed in Palestinian consciousness” (Golan 2001: 266). In conclusion to this discussion of the physical forgetting, the words of architect Sharon Rotbard, which are addressed to the speciﬁc case of Jaffa, seem to be applicable to the overall regime of forgetting that obtained in Israel: The passage of Jaffa from an Arab city into a Hebrew city is in fact an act of erasing. Not a selective erasing of certain such and such events, but a total erasing of all the stories, all the memories, with their numerous shades and nuances and the materials which made them up and the prevention of the creation of other stories. (Rotbard 2005: 201) To return to Mary Douglas’s observations once more, the disappearance (or weakening) of a “memory-bearing sector” of the population may create a “memory hole” (Douglas 2007: 19). From the perspective of the Israeli regime of forgetting, the physical demolition of the evidence of Arab presence was indeed meant to create such a “memory hole,” and in terms of its own target population it proved effective for a long while. Symbolic forgetting Of no lesser importance than the narrative forgetting and the physical forgetting was the symbolic forgetting, and a major method for this was the creation of a new “Hebrew” map of the country. This meant the substitution of Arab names of settlements, sites, and streets with Hebrew ones, many times names that allude to an ostensible biblical past. The Bible is conceived in Jewish-Israeli culture as a document that conﬁrms the claim of Israel over the land (Shapira 1997). As Meron Benvenisti put it, the act of “Hebraization” of the country was in fact an act of conquering it (Benvenisti 2000). In 1949 the government nominated a committee of experts for the designation of place names in the Negev region, in the south of the country. In the ﬁrst two years of its activity the committee renamed 533 places, while obliterating their former Arab, or even Greek or Latin, names. In contrast to the 533 new Hebrew names, only eight place names remained intact. Inadvertently, in many cases, by offering Hebrew names that followed the Arab sound or by slightly changing the Arab names, many places still carry traces of the original Arab names. The protest of some intellectuals in the face of the massive expunging of the Arab place-names were rejected “for reasons of state,” as Ben Gurion put it in a letter to the committee: “We are obliged to remove Arab names for reasons of state. Just as we do not recognize their political proprietorship over the

Politics: Exclusions 101 land so also do we not recognize their spiritual proprietorship and their names” (cited in Benvenisti 2000: 14). The new Hebrew names were marked on maps but also inscribed on the ground by their bureaucratic and everyday usage, until the past names almost entirely vanished from memory. Out of the 533 new Hebrew names, 65 places received biblical names, even though their identiﬁcation with the remote biblical places was barely vindicated scientiﬁcally (Benvenisti 2000: 17–19); another 50 names based on the Bible were related to places in a completely arbitrary manner, again, all with the purpose of creating a line of descent between ancient and contemporary Israelis (Benvesnisti 2000: 20–3). In 1951 a national names committee was nominated and it continued to pursue all over the country the same policy of symbolic forgetting as the one prescribed to the Negev. By 1967 the task of Hebraizing the map was accomplished, and the principles and lessons of this policy could have from then on been implemented in the newly conquered territories of the Six Days War. The substitution of Arab names with Hebrew ones was practiced not only with regard to settlements and sites but also with regard to city street names. One case in point is Ramle, an Arab city that was established by the Caliphs of the Omaya Dynasty in the eighth century.13 One of the ﬁrst decrees of the new Israeli local military regime in 1948 was the removal of the Arab street names and the marking of all streets by alphabetical names. The “old quarter,” which remained populated by Arabs, became the quarter most dense with names associated with Zionist and national themes. As Pinchevski summarizes: The conquest of the city and its turn into an Hebrew city took place on two levels: the physical level, at which the city was re-populated with Jews, and the symbolic level, at which the signs of the city’s past were obliterated and a new system of meaning was imposed. (Pinchevski 1999: 60) Leaping tens of years later, in 2007, out of 248 street names in Ramle, not a single one is an Arab name or relates to the city’s Arab history. In recent years Arab citizens started to demand recognition of their presence and tradition in street names in the old quarter. The response of the Jewish mayor was callous: “we shall not mar the Zionist tradition […]. If somebody does not like it, he can move to Jaljulia [an Arab village] … Why should I change the street name because of certain Jamal or Mohammad?! Let them change their God … fuck them all” (Galatz 2006). Another case in point is that of Jaffa, which was mentioned already. There too, the physical demolition of the built area was accompanied by symbolic demolition and the substitution of Arab street names with national Hebrew ones. Streets that carried the names of local dignitaries or were associated with Arab history were changed to Hebrew names, following the notion that Jaffa “turned again” to be a Jewish city—which it never had been. The function of the biblical Hebrew names was, once again, to convey an impression of long Jewish continuity. Other streets

102 Politics: Exclusions received numerical signs and they continue to be replaced up to now with Hebrew names (see Pinchevski 1999: 111–12). Under the heading of symbolic forgetting one should include also Arab houses of worship, churches and mosques, and Arab cemeteries, Christian and Muslim, which were either destroyed or left to crumble, or the function of which was transformed. The Arab Association for Human Rights reports on 247 mosques and 19 churches within the state of Israel that became unusable since 1948 (Arab Association for Human Rights 2004: 46). The ruining of Arab holy places was encompassed since 1948 by sheer negligence and by the prevention of access to them and prevention of their renovation. Some such places were leased for regular businesses and others were trampled upon by construction projects (see also Zochrot site [2]; and Rappoport 2007). We shall dwell upon just one example in this regard—the central mosque in Beer Sheva, which was built under Ottoman rule in 1906. In 1948 the premise was turned into a court and in 1953 it was turned into “The Negev Museum.” In 1994 the place was declared a “dangerous structure” and was locked up. In 1997 Arabs tried to conduct prayers outside the building. Jewish activists reacted with demonstrations and threats and they scattered refuse around the building in order to prevent the prayers. In 2002 the Adala Center appealed to the high court of justice, demanding that the city enable the re-opening of the mosque. A Jewish activist threatened “riots,” explaining that “the mosque is the symbol of the conquest of city—in this site it was determined that we captured the city. Here stood the ﬁrst Mayor […] and spread candies to ﬁrst grade pupils, myself among them. The mosque symbolizes Israeli statehood in its entirety. If they succeed, it will be a [historical] reverse that will endanger our very presence here” (Hason 2005). In 2007 the Supreme Court proposed a compromise by which the building will serve as a “museum to Muslim culture and the people of the East.” Adalla Center objected, arguing that it is inconceivable that in a city in which there is one synagogue to every 700 dwellers there will not be even one mosque to the city’s 5000 Muslims, let alone that the city is an urban center to 180,000 Muslim Bedouins from the south (Mousa 2005).

Ambiguities within Israel Though the regime of forgetting purports to cast a veil over “some things” of the past, it usually cannot completely wipe from the surface all traces of the past, or completely check the budding of new perceptions of it. National consciousness thus tends to contain an implicit subversive dimension. So it happens that some elements of the memory of the Arab past crept into the overall tendency of obliterating it. The element of the conservation of the Arab past in Israeli memory is very peculiar: it is premised on a distinction that is drawn between the Arabs—whose past-presence is, as said, obscured, and “Arabness”—towards which the Israeli attitude has been replete with ambivalence.14 Arabness stands here for a certain “style” that is associated with authenticity and rootedness in the country. Such ambivalence towards the “Orient” is of course a well-known dimension of what

Politics: Exclusions 103 Edward Said termed as Orientalism—an attitude of repulsion-attraction towards what is portrayed as the European colonialist’s “other” (Said 1978). In the early days of Zionist settlement some Jewish leaders and artists outlined the notion that Arab peasants in Palestine are in fact direct descendants of the ancient Hebrews. Like other Western travelers in Palestine before them, they imagined they saw in the Arab natives of the country descendants of the ancient Hebrews. The implicit political implications might have been huge—a containment of Arab objection by an inclusion of the Arabs in the Zionist saga or return and revival (Ben Gurion & Ben Zvi 1979). Such an option never materialized of course, and quite soon it became clear to both sides that they were moving on a collision course. Yet the thrust of the basic intuition did not disappear altogether. The ﬁrst armed Jewish organization, HaShomer (the Guard), which was established in 1907 in order to protect Jewish settlers from Arab larceny, adopted the image of the Arab armed horse rider and imitated the Arab masculine appearance in its drive to create an antithesis to the image of the “weak” Diaspora Jew. In the 1940s members of the Palmach Jewish underground unit continued to adopt some Arabic manners as symbols of their own indigenous belonging (e.g., Almog 2000: 185–208). Such ambivalence towards Arabs and Arabness was expressed towards the landscape, architecture, and the general habitus. On the one hand, the European Jewish settlers looked upon the Arab society as backward and primitive, yet on the other hand, they considered it “of the land”—authentic and authochthonic. And so the yearning of the Zionists for the imagined ancient Jewish past was refracted in part through the adoption of some “Arab” styles and manners—while all the while the process of the uprooting of actual Arabs was set in motion. The culture of the settlers integrated various aesthetic Arab manifestations in order to express its own anchoring in its new place. This is in common with the tendency of settler-colonial peoples to produce a “colonialist subjectivity,” the identity of whom depends so much on the subjectivity of the indigenous people. In Israel such dependency manifests itself, as architectural historian Alona Nitzan-Shiftan puts it, in the Israeli desire to achieve and appropriate Arab indigenous identity, which was perceived as the ultimate expression of local attachment and intimate tie to the landscape, the stones, the tastes, the smells and light of the place (Nitzan-Shiftan 2004).15 The artists’ village of Ein Hod and the Andromeda Compound in Jaffa are two emblematic cases that exemplify the inherent ambivalence of the Jewish-Israeli regime of forgetting, wherein the Arabs are excluded as people yet Arabism as a style is incorporated. Ein Hod is an artist village in the Carmel Mounts slopes, overlooking the Mediterranean. When the Arab village Ein Chud was subjugated in 1948 its villagers were driven away. A small section of them stayed in the area, but were never allowed to return to their village. They settled down a few kilometers away from there in what came to be a “non-recognized” village. In the beginning Ein Hod was settled by Jewish new immigrants and other transient populations. In 1953 the village was handed to a cooperative of artists that was established by the Dada artist Marcel Yanco, a Jewish refugee from Romania who arrived in Palestine in 1941.

104 Politics: Exclusions The European Jews who settled in, cherished and preserved the architecture and the landscape of the Arab village, which made them feel at home in their new homeland. Ironically, their strict preservationist attitude made for a kind of an aesthetic “freezing” in time of a “1948” Arab village in a rare manner, because other 1948 villages were either demolished, as we saw, or continued to change with the passage of time. In its new guise the village became a bustling center of Israeli bohemian circles in the 1950s and 1960s. The local mosque was turned into a café, which imitated the famous Café Voltaire in Zurich, one of the birth-places of the Dada movement in Europe. On its ofﬁcial web-site the village is depicted in terms of its location and landscape, with only implicit hints to Arab scenery, but with no explicit reference to its Arab past: “Nestled in the heart of the Hof Carmel region, among olive groves and fruit orchards, the village glides down Mount Carmel green hills to the sea shore. This pictorial setting is enhanced by the special and intensive cultural and diversiﬁed artistic scenario” (Ein Hod Artists Village Ofﬁcial Site). Anthropologist Susan Slyomovics proposes in her study of Ein Chud/Ein Hod in the Palestinian and Israeli memory, that while the village structures preserve or restore the original Arab vernacular, the new ownership of it and its new functioning as an Israeli art resort attest to its colonialist appropriation (Slyomovics 1998).16 In the Hebrew culture, as in other colonial cultures, two contrasting tendencies subsist simultaneously: a modernist tendency, that craves for “internationalism” and is associated with Western concepts of progress and development, and an Orientalistic tendency, that craves the locale and searches for the roots that are found in the colonized scene. Ein Hod represents a cherished colonial preserve, delimited from the otherwise urban and technological everyday lives in Israel. During the 1960s, components of the Arab-Palestinian architectural style already spread from such enclosed preserves well into the mainstream of Israeli architectural approach, as expressions of dissatisfaction with the high modernist style that dominated up to then, and in a search for a more local Israeli vernacular. This tendency was only augmented after the 1967 Six Days War, when Israeli architecture moved far from its characteristic modernist practices, and got ever closer to the architecture of the Arab other (Nitzan-Shiftan 2004). And so in various places around the country one may ﬁnd urban planning since the 1960s and 1970s that is ornamented with typical local elements, such as dwelling clusters, vaulted walkways, internal yards, gradated buildings, arched gates, etc. The generation of architects who led this change (Ram Karmi, Avraham Yaski, and other prominent ﬁgures) were all Israeli born (“Sabras”) and participants in the 1948 War of Independence. They aspired, as Karmi attests, to “transform the Diaspora Jew to a person who grows from the land” (cited in Nitzan-Shiftan 2000: 247). The Sabra architects found the basis for such recreated autochthonic Jewish identity in the architectural culture and life habitat of the local Palestinian Arabs. Yet, very conveniently, in the discussions and creations that related to the “Arab village,” the villagers themselves have disappeared from the “local” picturesque (Nitzan-Shiftan 2004). Another exemplar of the exclusion-preservation orientation is provided by the case of the recent gentriﬁcation of Jaffa. After 1948 Arab Jaffa remained in its war

Politics: Exclusions 105 ruins, let to decompose in its negligence and impoverishment for tens of years. But since the 1980s and especially the 1990s, with the rapid and intensive neoliberalization of the economy and the globalization of the life-style of the elites (Ram 2007a), Jaffa started to undergo a process of gentriﬁcation. Carefully styled, stone and glass crafted compounds of gated communities started to appear in the city, with rocketing housing prices. Gentriﬁcation is a term that refers to the passage of an urban quarter from low status to high status; the original poor inhabitants are encouraged to move out, and the location is re-styled to ﬁt the taste of mobile yuppies. Yet in Jaffa, the social transition from “low” to “high” is concomitantly a national transition from Arabs to Jews. This trend is conspicuous in the Andromeda Compound, an expensive and enclosed block constructed on a hill atop of the old Jaffa seaport and overlooking a spectacular view of the Mediterranean sea (Monteresco & Fabian 2003; Marom 2006). The tradition of the appropriation of Jaffa by cultural celebrities had started already many years before that, when leading Tel Avivian Bohemia ﬁgures settled in Arab houses in Jaffa and turned the local guesthouse into a night club. The combination of modernism and colonialism that Ein Hod stands for is substituted today in Jaffa by the combination of globalism and localism. Yet a common denominator remains—a reiﬁcation of Oriental style combined with the exclusion of the “Orientals” themselves.

Counter-hegemonic moves A series of momentous events that took place in Israel since the 1970s had gradually challenged the regime of forgetting that was established in Israel in its ﬁrst decades of statehood. The outcome of the 1967 war was the conquest of Arab territories which are heavily populated by Palestinians, many of them refugees of 1948 and their descendants, especially in the West Bank and in the Gaza Strip. Though the Israeli entrenched habit of not recognizing the Palestinians as a national entity had its own inertia for some time, the Palestinian continuous national struggle, ﬁrst through armed organizations, and later through wide popular revolts: the ﬁrst Intifada that started in 1987 and the second one that started in 2000, completely transformed the Israeli perception of the Arab–Israeli conﬂict. While up to and beyond the 1970s Israel was at war with Arab states, it became undeniable through time that the contest over the land is between Israelis and Palestinians, an issue that the 1948 regime of forgetting was meant to obscure for posterity. The Oslo Accord between Israel and the Palestinian Liberation Organization in 1993 marked an exceptional opportunity—though so far a missed one—for a mutual recognition of Israelis and Palestinians. The wearing away of the regime of forgetting started already in the 1960s and inside Jewish Israel the agent of it was the small left-wing organization Mazpen (literally “compass”). Only in the pages of the semi-clandestine publications of Mazpen was it possible to read in the Hebrew language about the colonial nature of Israel and the uprooting of the Palestinians. Another occasion for the airing of the issue was Jewish and Arab protest activities that took place in the 1960s in the

106 Politics: Exclusions Galilee in the face of the continuous conﬁscation by the state of Palestinian lands. The shooting by the armed forces of several Palestinian citizens in 1976 was the trigger to the tradition of the “Land Day,” a memory day in which Palestinian-Arabs in Israel march and demonstrate against the continuance of their uprooting and discrimination. All these brought about harbingers of conscious change, especially among leftist intellectuals, but these did not spread in the wider population. The attitude of the Zionist left towards the Palestinians had suffered from a split consciousness already from the early days of settlement; universalist declarations of international solidarity were hardly congruent with the national practices of competing with the Palestinians over the country’s resources (Shapira 2000). Two seminal literary creations of the post-1948 generation exemplify the cracks that appeared in the surface of the regime of forgetting already from its inception: one is the short story Hirbet Hiza, by author S. Yizhar and the other is the novel Across the Forests, by author A.B. Yehoshua, both considered milestones of Hebrew literature. Hirbet Hiza recounts a day in the activity of an Israeli military unit in the War of Independence in 1948. This unit takes part in the expulsion of the population of an Arab village. The operative order of the unit is reminiscent of Plan D’: they are instructed to “burn-burst-capture-upload-and-transfer” (Yizhar 1949 [2006]: 34). The story was written in 1949. In 1964 it found its way into high school curricula. It received artistic expressions (Zalmona & Manor-Friedman 1998), was articulated into a TV movie (Levi 1978), and came to be a pivot of controversies over the morality of the 1948 war and its consequences (Shapira 2000). Interestingly, the story not only recounts the past but also relates to the tenuous blanket of silence that had been thrown over it. The story depicts the dread, anguish, and vulnerability that engulfed the people of the village in face of the destruction, the expulsion, and the loss; yet it also exposes the conscience of the perpetrating soldiers, banal protagonists, who are aware that “some day these vacant villages will start screaming.” The story is told in the voice of one of the soldiers who suffers from a bad conscience as the day proceeds. When he utters his anxiety he is boldly requested to suggest an alternative course of action. In face of his uncertainty he is roughly silenced: “If you don’t know—shut up” (Yizhar 1949 [2006]: 66). The upshot is that the soldiernarrator is tortured for the rest of his life by the acts that he took part in and the silence he acceded to, until he decides to break the silence and tell the story. The novel Across the Forests by A.B. Yehoshua (1959 [1970]) is also an emblematic metaphor on the relations between Israelis and Palestinians. Even more than Yizhar’s story it addresses the regime of forgetting and its feared consequences. The forests—to which the above-mentioned exchange between Kutab and Ankori referred—are the arena of the events and stand metonymically for the cover-up of the uprooting of the Palestinians. There are two protagonists in Yehoshua’s forest: a Jewish student who becomes a forest ﬁre-watcher in a desolated watching tower, and an Arab caretaker. The two ﬁgures are iconic stereotypes: the Jew is a “Diaspora character”: sightless, weak, detached, and immersed in reading; the Arab is a son of the place, almost a natural creature: physical, strong, and dark; but above all his tongue was cut—probably in the 1948 war—and he is thus mute and can not really be “reasoned” with. The Jewish student’s topic of study is the crusades,

Politics: Exclusions 107 an obvious allusion to the contemporary presence of the Jews in Palestine. An atmosphere of dark disaster hovers over the forest and threatens its future. Finally the unavoidable happens: the Arab ignites the forest and among the ﬂames emerges the contours of the past secret—the remnants of a destructed Arab village. As in Yizhar’s story, the Jewish protagonist feels deep sympathy with the Arabs, but does not really take action. The Jews who care only become estranged in their own society. Yizhar’s story ends up with a cosmic silence, which anticipates an apocalypse. An echo to the forthcoming revengeful apocalypse is found in the work of the artist Hila Lu Lu Lin, especially in her work entitled In Cold Blood, in which the skies over Israel are covered with a cloud of blood, which is in actuality bloodied cuts of meat (in Zalmona & Manor-Friedman 1998: 178–9). These two works of literature stand for an important and constantly growing body of artistic expressions that delve into the silenced past of 1948, and sometimes, when looking for Hebrew “roots,” discover uprooted Palestinian ones. The work of Dani Karavan, of a literally uprooted olive tree, hanged upside down in Israel Museum in Jerusalem, with its roots towards the ceiling and its branches towards the ﬂoor, is perhaps the epitome of this trend.17 And so, despite the elaborate regime of forgetting that we analyzed in the ﬁrst two sub-headings of this study, the uprooting of the Palestinians was always present subliminally in Israeli consciousness. In the 1990s the issue re-emerged to the surface. One expression of this was the famed “historians’ debate” in Israel (see Chapter 2). Here we dwell only upon those aspects of the debate which relate directly to our present concern. One of the ﬁrst comprehensive and explicit challenges to the dominant narrative was offered in 1988 in a book by Simha Flapan, which was dedicated to the foundational myths of Israel (Flapan 1987). Though not an academic historian, Flapan determined in this book the agenda of the historians’ debate. The two big questions that he posed continue to be at the center of the debate: a. did the Palestinian escape or were they expelled? and b. if and to the extent that they were expelled, was it by an order from above or by sporadic initiatives from below? Flapan reaches a conclusion that will be a little later vindicated by historian Benny Morris, according to which there was no overall Israeli plan to expel the Palestinians, yet a pressure to this effect was built from below, and once the mass ﬂight of them began, the Jewish leadership adopted it as the solution to its concern with the ethnic homogeneity of the future state. Benny Morris’s book The Birth of the Palestinian Refugee Problem is recognized as a milestone in the research on the issue. All in all Morris splits the responsibility for the fate of the Palestinians about half and half between them (the ﬂight and abandonment narrative) and Israel (the expulsion narrative). Though he documents a substantial Zionist discourse of “population transfer” he denies that there was an explicit policy or order to this effect. He concludes that “The Palestinian refugee problem was born of war, not by design, Jewish or Arab. It was largely a by-product of Arab and Jewish fears and of the protracted, bitter ﬁghting that characterized the ﬁrst Israeli–Arab war; in smaller part it was the deliberate creation of Jewish and

108 Politics: Exclusions Arab military commanders and politicians” (Morris 1987: 286). In his later works he comes closer to the claim that even though there was no document of expulsion Plan D’ could have been interpreted this way, and the practice of expulsion was based on a wide unspoken (or undocumented) consensus in the Israeli leadership regarding Israel’s clear interest in as much territory as possible with as few Palestinians as possible (Morris 1994). Whereas historians debated the “events” of 1948, Israeli sociologists analyzed the “processes” involved and in the 1980s started to consider Israel as a typical case of a settler-colonial society (see Chapter 4). Baruch Kimmerling drew a comparison between Frederick Turner’s American “frontier thesis” and the case of Israel. He concluded that while in America a relatively “open frontier” generated an individualistic ethos, in Israel a relatively “closed frontier” generated a collectivistic ethos. Hence the explanation for the dominant role that the Labor movement ﬁlled in the Jewish colonization process. Since the expansion of the settlers was checked by the indigenous residents, until 1948 they could have purchased only some 7 percent of the territory. Only in 1948 the rules of the game were dramatically changed, so that whoever would win the violent contest would gain the country. Kimmerling and Migdal conclude that the uprooting of the Palestinians was thus a result of fears and anxieties: the Jews felt that they fought with their “back to the sea” and that without a Jewish majority there would be no Jewish state; and the Palestinians feared the Jewish rage during the battles and also their fate in a future Jewish state. While in the beginning of the war the Jews were mainly driven by existential anxiety, as it proceeded they resolved to catch the moment for a creation of a geo-demographic reshufﬂe (Kimmerling and Migdal 1993: 127–58). The result amounts to an almost “ethnic cleansing” (Benvenisti 2000: 147; Kimmerling 2006: 27). The term “ethnic cleansing” became famed in the 1990s in association with the murderous ethnicity in the former territories of Yugoslavia. Historian Ilan Pappe deﬁnes “ethnic cleansing” as “an effort to render an ethnically mixed country homogeneous by expelling a particular group of people and turning them into refugees while demolishing the homes they are driven out from” (Pappe 2006: 3). He maintains that this describes the events in Palestine in 1948 and that Plan D’ was the de facto blueprint of expulsion and destruction. This was supported by at least 31 cases of mass killings that were intended to compel the Palestinian population to ﬂee.18 Two historiographical paradigms thus contest today over the events of 1948: the mainstream “war paradigm” of Morris, according to which the uprooting was a result of war eventualities; and the radical “ethnic cleansing paradigm,” of Pappe, according to which the Palestinians were uprooted by an order from above, in accordance with the long-term Zionist policy. The historians’ debate has echoed far beyond the “ivory tower” of academia, and it spilled over into the media and the schools. One illustration is the television series Tkuma, which was aired by the state channel to mark the state’s 50th anniversary (Fisher 2000). As against a previous such series from 1981, Pillar of Fire (Lossin 1983), which celebrated the monolithic myth of national awakening, the approach of Tkuma was much more heterogenic and inquisitive. It opened the ﬂoor for counter-narratives and other-narratives, such as those of the Palestinians and the

Politics: Exclusions 109 mizrachim, for which it drew a lot of criticism, even if those narratives were always treated as complementary to the national one. The series enlists all the possible reasons for the uprooting, from ﬂight to expulsion, and comments that “once the Arabs disappeared nobody asked futile questions. It was morally embarrassing but practically useful” (Kleinberg 1998: 32). The erosion of the regime of forgetting invaded also the educational system. Repeated attempts are made to open up the curriculum, and expose pupils to different points of view, and they meet repeated counter-attempts to intensify the monolithic ethnocentric narrative.19 A heated controversy erupted in the turn of the centuries around new textbooks in history, and especially about their coverage of the uprooting of the Palestinians, even if they did not surpass the moderate thesis of Morris as depicted above (Al Haj 2005). In 2005 a controversy erupted around two instructive manuals: “100 Concepts in Zionism”, which was initiated by the then right-wing minister of education, and “Belonging and Identity”, which was initiated by Palestinian intellectuals. In 2007 yet another controversy over educational material took place, this time around a textbook for Arab schools which describes the events of 1948 as “Al Nakba” (Marenda and Nachmias 2007). From all the above it becomes obvious that by the ﬁrst decade of the third millennia the regime of forgetting that was constructed in Israel between its War of Independence in 1948 and the 1970s, has become today a contested arena. We shall conclude this chapter with a brief allusion to a new movement of alternative memory that made it its cause to counter the Israeli regime of forgetting. Its name is Zochrot: in Hebrew, “those who remember” (in the feminine). What is remarkable about Zochrot is not its size or impact, but rather the fact that it openly offers an explicit and direct antithesis to the Israeli regime of forgetting as we documented it here, and proposes a new regime of memorizing. Zochrot’s self-claimed purpose is “[T]o make the history of the Nakba accessible to the Israeli public so as to engage Jews and Palestinians in an open recounting of our painful common history” (Zochrot site; Bronstein 2008; Bronstein & Mussi 2008; Mussi 2008). The movement was established in recent years, in the belief that the continuous elusion of Israelis from their historical and moral responsibility for the Nakba of the Palestinians poses a major hindrance for future reconciliation between the two nations. The practical activity of Zochrot is directed to the creation of informational resources on the Palestinian Nakba, initiation of memorial events, historical tours, and judicial and public advocating of relevant causes. One typical activity of Zochrot is the campaign to ﬁx around the country planks that will indicate the destructed Palestinian villages from 1948; the very objects the concealment of which makes up the core of Israel’s regime of forgetting. * We have analyzed here the ways in which the uprooting of the Palestinians by Israel in 1948 was obliterated from Jewish-Israeli collective memory, as well as an implicit ambiguity and budding subversions that inhere in this “regime of forgetting.” We saw that forgetting was not the result of passive ignorance, but was rather produced in a deliberate manner. In its creation and dissemination were involved

110 Politics: Exclusions state institutions and social organizations as well as ordinary people in a variety of ofﬁces and roles. We also saw that forgetting was not conﬁned to the “ideational” level, but rather involved practical and physical dimensions. It not only offered abstract symbols but also inscribed material signs. It not only re-presented reality but actually re-constituted it. And ﬁnally, we saw that the regime of forgetting is not ﬁxed and monolithic, but at least to some extent may be susceptible to historical changes, and to the challenges of subversive and alternative voices. It tends to inadvertently contain some traces of the obliterated past that may in some circumstances generate subversions. Yet, despite the persistence of subversive voices and the budding of alternative ones, the Israeli regime of forgetting and exclusion has remained quite stable for six decades. Why is that? Several societies around the world that in the past were torn by inter-group violence and repression, witnessed recently processes of recognition and reconciliation between past perpetrators and past victims. Some settler-colonial societies, such as Canada or Australia and conspicuously South Africa as well as several ex-Communist societies are cases in point. In such cases new cultural mechanisms for the elaboration and overcoming of negative legacies were experimented with, in an attempt to create more inclusive, plural and tolerant societies. In some cases material compensation is added to symbolic expression, in the intention to turn over the historical page and open a new one (on this see Torpey 2003; Barkan 2000; Barkan & Karn 2006). The Israeli–Palestinian conﬂict—despite some good-willed exceptions—is still far away from such a process of reconciliation. Israelis still refuse, by and large, to take their share of the responsibility for the uprooting of the Palestinians and the refugees problem, and the Palestinians still refuse, by and large, to recognize their part in the breaking out of the 1948 war and in the consequences of their long-term rejection of Israel’s right to exist. So why are there no signs of historical reconciliation between Israel and Palestine? The answer is sadly simple. The struggle and its actual and potential threat to both sides is not, in this case, a matter of the past but rather of a continuous present. Popular reconciliation usually follows a political resolution or at the least is simultaneous with it. Yet Israel and Palestine are still engaged in a bitter intractable war; the Israeli occupation and oppression of the Palestinians has continued for decades now and the end of it is not in sight; on the other hand, the threat of the annihilation of Israel by the large Arab world, is still expressed by Palestinian leaders and is backed by radical Muslim movements and states, and has even gained momentum as of recently. This is a vicious circle—the ongoing violent struggle leads to the accentuation of each group’s antagonistic “prism through which group members perceive, evaluate and eventually act”—to cite Bar-Tal and Teichman again (Bar-Tal & Teichman 2005: 84) and to each group denial of the other side’s claims; and this state of consciousness leads, on its part, to the accentuation of the violence in a determination to overcome the other by force. In Israel and Palestine remembering and forgetting thus continue to serve as weapons in the national battleﬁeld, the ﬁeld of exclusions and inclusions. In the next chapter we explore post-Zionism as an alternative discourse of inclusion.

6

Politics: Inclusions

The construction of the Israeli “self” was founded upon the destruction of the identity of the Palestinian “other.” The Palestinian-Arab other, and the memory of their fate, had been excluded from Israeli memory and identity (Chapter 5). In previous chapters we discussed several historical and sociological aspects of the self-same construction of Jewish-Israeli nationhood and society through exclusions. In this chapter we scrutinize and interpret the budding in Israel of a counterhegemonic alternative to Zionist ethno-Jewish identity; an alternative that indicates a potential of an inclusionary nationality, based on “territorial” or “constitutional” membership in the nation, rather than upon pre-political mythical origins of ancestry and belonging. This alternative is labeled post-Zionism. It diverges from the Zionist discourse in its demand for the opening of the boundaries of the nation beyond the Jewish ethnic group, to include all the citizenry; yet it diverges also from the anti-Zionist discourse, in its recognition of the state of Israel as a legitimate political shell for its citizens. Since the 1990s post-Zionism has become a prism through which the augmenting tensions between the democratic and the Jewish dimensions of the state of Israel are explored. The present chapter focuses upon post-Zionism as an emergent counterhegemonic discourse in contemporary Israel, in the following order: ﬁrst, a review of the history of the concept “post-Zionism” since its emergence in 1993, as well a retrospective view of its sources. Second, an exposure of manifestations of post-Zionist culture in Israel. Third, an analysis of four distinct approaches to post-Zionism: postnational, postmodern, postcolonial and post-Marxist. Fourth, an account of some ideological controversies surrounding post-Zionism. And ﬁnally, ﬁfth, an evaluation of the present state of post-Zionism today and an estimation of its future prospects.1 As we have seen throughout the book, in its ofﬁcial self-presentation, as well as in the popular mind of the Jewish majority, the state of Israel is depicted as “Jewish and democratic.” Post-Zionists argue against this that the actual social, cultural, and political realities of the country invalidate the claim about the benign association of the Jewish and democratic dimensions. They maintain that these two dimensions are in fact contradictory, and that there is a growing tension among them. The Jewishness and the democracy of the state are not two complementary dimensions, but rather two diametrical poles of the political-cultural spectrum; two alternative

112 Politics: Inclusions models for the future of Israel—either to transmute into an ethnic Jewish state (the neo-Zionist pole), or to transmute into a democratic state of its citizens (the post-Zionist pole). In face of the unresolved strain within mainstream Zionism (Israel as Jewish and democratic) and the ethnic racism of Jewish neo-Zionism (Israel as a Jewish state), the concept of post-Zionism (Israel as a democratic state) emerged in the 1990s as a democratic liberal alternative. In the time that elapsed, postZionism has in fact become a broad perspective upon Israeli society, and it serves as a fulcrum for an emerging array of research and discussion of Israeli society and its ethos.

Post-Zionist alternative visions The term post-Zionism entered the public discourse for the ﬁrst time following the publication of the book Israeli Society: Critical Perspectives (Ram 1993). This book proclaimed the initiation of a “post-Zionist sociology.” The new agenda was to address “difference among equals,” rather than, as with the old agenda, the “identity of the non-equals.” The book was formally sealed on September 13, 1993, the day that the Oslo accord between Israel and the Palestinian Liberation Organization was ratiﬁed in the White House’s lawns. To the extent that postZionism has a birth-date, this was it. There had been indeed some coalescence between Post-Zionism and the Oslo Peace Process, and this is why the subsequent breakdown of this process seems to some to have also brought about the end of post-Zionism. Others, on the other hand, may regard “Oslo” (details aside) as merely the beginning of a long-term structural change of a separation into two states, which despite grave interruptions and heavy blood toll, is still on its curved way. From this angle, post-Zionism may still have a future ahead of it. Though the concept of post-Zionism entered public discourse in 1993, it had been approached in approximation before that by some intellectual predecessors. One is philosopher Menachem Brinker, who in 1986 coined a parallel term in Hebrew—tekufa betar Zionit (the period after Zionism) (Brinker 1986). Though the word “betar” translates approximately into “post,” the Hebrew usage indicates the lack of allusion to postmodernity at that time, an angle which would be added only a few years later. Another early harbinger is sociologist Erik Cohen, who used the term explicitly in a lecture he delivered in 1989, which was published in 1995 (Cohen 1995). Two other harbingers of the post-Zionist approach are the culture critic Boaz Evron and philosopher Yosef Agassi. Though none of them used the precise term, they both had originated the term “Israeli nation,” that is based on common citizenship and local history, which differs from the proffered “faith community” of the conventional notion of the “Jewish people” or “Jewish nation” (Evron 1995; Agassi 1999; the latter refers also to Hillel Kook, as an early inspiration regarding Israeli nationality). A disciple of this legacy is Moshe, Berent who regards the historical development of “Israeli nationalism” as a normal outcome of the Zionist transformation of Jewish history. He surmises that what is required for the completion of this process is a separation of Jewish

Politics: Inclusions 113 religiosity from the national identity of Israelis (Berent 2009). Shlomo Sand published a book addressing the invention of the Jewish people, in which he undermines the notion of a ﬁxed organic Jewish entity, and exposes the diverse heterogeneity of the contemporary amalgamated “Jewish people” (Sand 2009). One of the spiritual fathers of post-Zionism is the radical publicist Uri Avnery. Avnery maintains that he already used the term in 1976, to depict a new form of Israeli patriotism, in distinction from the traditional Jewish belonging. In 1968 he indeed published a book in English titled Israel without Zionists (Avnery 1968. In Hebrew he chose the less controversial title: The Seventh Day War). Whether he used the speciﬁc term post-Zionism or not, Avneri, as well others in the “Canaanite” Movement, and later the Semitic Movement, bequeathed to the post-Zionist discourse the distinction between the “Israeli nation” of indigenous Israelis (or Ivrim—Hebrews, as they used to be called in earlier days), and Diaspora Jewry. One distinction though, is that the Canaanite/Semitic interpreted the new nationalism in term of a “thick” primordial ancient Israelite nation, while contemporary post-Zionists interpret Israeliness in a rather “thin” post-national, civic, or constitutional manner (on the Canaanite movement see Shavit 1987). Some ﬁnd the origins of post-Zionism in the more veteran anti-Zionist approach, which in the pre-state and early state periods was associated with communist circles (not to mention Arab anti-Zionism), and since the 1960s with the dissenting group of Mazpen. Some refer to this supposed origin in order to condemn the apparent hidden agenda of post-Zionism (Aharonson 1997), while others refer to it in order to request a recognition of ancestry, sometimes alongside a critique of the “softness” of the “post” in comparison with the original “anti” one (Ehrlich 2003). Yet such an identiﬁcation blurs the distinction between the post- and the antipositions. Anti-Zionism is widely perceived as an objection to the entity of the state of Israel as such; whereas post-Zionism is an internal critique of the political culture of the state. Despite this qualiﬁcation, it is correct to argue that components of post-Zionism were implicit already in the anti-Zionist position (Yuval-Davis 1977; Orr 1994, esp. chapter on “Israeliness”: 44–52). From a diametrically opposite direction, once the term post-Zionism became common parlance, some imputed its origins to the “founders of the nation.” One candidate mentioned as a possible ancestor of post-Zionism is none other then Theodor Herzl himself (Segev 1996; Alboim-Dror 1997), and this is due to his explicit anti-religious and liberal positions. Another candidate for parenthood, neither less honorable nor less surprising, is none other than David Ben Gurion, who was mentioned in this role by no lesser historians than Anita Shapira and Yossef Gorni (Shapira 1977: 227–31; Gorni 2003: 457–9), and this is due to his Israelo-centric perspective and strong objection to Diaspora Judaism. There are even those who identify post-Zionism as “true Zionism” (Aloni 1997). Two ﬁgures from the early history of Zionism, the cultural critic Asher Ginzburg, famed as Ahad HaHaam, and author Yosef Haim Brenner, were lent a post-Zionist reading (Shechter 2004). Hanna Arendt is also referred to as an early post-Zionist (Zimmermann 2001).

114 Politics: Inclusions In the course of time, a whole gamut of meanings was related to the term postZionism. One such branching was post-Zionist feminism. Marcia Friedman, one of the founders of Israeli feminism, considers post-Zionism as a welcome inculcation of a feminine dimension in Israeli culture, which has been male-dominated (Friedman 1998). In this vein, sociologist Hanna Herzog maintains that post-Zionism is a process of “civilizing” Israeli society, which is most congruent with the mission of the feminist movements, to subvert the masculine-nationalistic-militaristic and exclusionary traits of Israeli society (Herzog 2003). Another branching of Post-Zionism is Diasporic post-Zionism. While the indigenous post-Zionist position is usually identiﬁed with the “de-Judaization” of Israel (in terms of its constitution; not to confuse with de-Jewish-ization in the sense of excluding the Jews) some Jewish intellectuals discover here an opportunity to de-Israelize Jewish communities, i.e., to displace the role of Israel in the center of Jewish life, and to generate local pluralistic Jewish identities. The emphasis may shift from a “new Enlightenment” multiculturalism (Nimni 2003) to a “post-Enlightenment” spiritualism (Lerner 1998). Yet the principled return to Diasporic Judaism, as heralded by Amnon Raz-Karkozkin (1993–4), Daniel and Jonathan Boyarin (1994), Ilan Gur Zeev (2004) and others, is a double-edged sword. While one edge might release Judaism from Zionism, showing Zionism the door, so to speak, the other edge might shove back nationalism in through the back window, in the form of integral Judaism—which is exactly neo-Zionism (and therefore post-Zionism in this sense is welcomed by Block of Faithful speakers; see Noam 1996. For a critique of the Diasporic view see Peled 1994). This may move us to an even more peculiar twist in the meaning of post-Zionism—its identiﬁcation with the nationalist-fundamentalist doctrines of the Block of Faithful and other politicized forms of Judaism (e.g. Karpel 2003). It is peculiar, because in common parlance post-Zionism is associated with the secular non-national Left; yet in this case the term receives the meaning of a right-wing doctrine and of serving as an ethno-fundamentalist alternative to secular liberal Zionism (this is what historian Zeev Sternhell terms “settlers post-Zionism” (Sternhell 2003). Left and Right indeed use “post-Zionism” as a derogatory term against their contenders. On the Right side of the spectrum, Yoram Hazony, a new-conservative ideologist, proposes that post-Zionism goes back and deep into the intellectual veins of the Hebrew University professariat and liberal-left intellegentsia in Israel. This allegation is based on the universalistic approach of this group and its search for compromise or even cooperation between Jews and Arabs in Palestine (Hazony 2001). On the Left side of the spectrum, Yossi Beilin, a leader of the “peace camp,” denigrates the Greater Israel annexationalist program of the Likud as being post-Zionist, because it is bound to create a state with a non-Jewish majority. Furthermore, historian Daniel Gutwein considers Hazony himself as post-Zionist, since he opposes all forms of Israeli collectivism and supports the American Republican combination of nationalism and neoliberalism. Gutwein considers post-Zionism to be the ideological expression of privatization (Gutwein 2001, 2009). From yet another direction, another writer blames post-Zionism as being

Politics: Inclusions 115 the best advocacy for Zionism, by displaying to world public opinion a “softer” version of Zionism (Boger 1996). In this or that interpretation, it is difﬁcult to ﬁnd today any public discussion of the state of Israel or of Israeli identity, which can afford to elude the challenge of post-Zionism, whether willingly or not (see for instance Ravizki 1997; Ben Rafael 2001; Eisenstadt 2004; Sheleg 2004).

Post-Zionist cultural manifestations So what is post-Zionism? From the initial discussion above it is clear that there is no single accepted deﬁnition. Therefore, rather than attempting to provide a “correct” deﬁnition of the term, it is our aim here to “unpack” its discursive status and functions. A journalist’s account of post-Zionism is indicative of the meaning that the term usually has in the public discourse: Post-Zionism is a school of thought that recognizes the legitimacy of Zionism as the national movement of Jews, yet points to a certain date, a kind of watermark line, that from which onwards Zionism has terminated its historical role or lost its legitimacy because of faults committed by it to others (not only to Arabs, but also, for instance, to European Jewry, Holocaust survivors, Yiddish speakers, Oriental Jews, Orthodox Jews, women). From this perspective a political conclusion is drawn, by which the state of Israel ought to shed its Zionist components, which are the foundation of its Jewish nature, because they deter it from becoming a democratic state. (Livneh 2001: 20) By 1998, the year of Israel’s Jubilee, Post-Zionism had become a major pivot around which an account was drawn about the state’s past achievements or failures and future prospects. Between the years 1994 and 1998 the national printed press had published on the average two items about post-Zionism in a week (Goldberger 2002: 53). The major vehicle for these publications was Haaretz newspaper, which carried 90 percent of these items, hence in a much-heightened frequency. This strengthens the sense that during the 1990s post-Zionism became one of the most discussed issues among Israeli public intellectuals.2 Some foreign observers of Israel in its Jubilee year had looked at it as well from a post-Zionist perspective. The prestigious British weekly The Economist, for instance, headed a supplement devoted to Israel in its Jubilee with the title “After Zionism” (The Economist 1998). The journal estimated that following the success of Zionism in building a strong state and a viable economy, Zionism had lost its ideological appeal. Many Israelis, even sworn Zionists, sense that Zionist aspirations are no longer relevant for a modern society, and they wish to “move forward,” even if they ﬁnd it difﬁcult to project the direction. For some of those, post-Zionism provides a conceptual framework for the consideration of this “move forward.” As manifestations of this new situation the supplement refers to a major change in Israel’s political culture: the emergence of identity ﬁssures on account of former

116 Politics: Inclusions ideological schisms. In its discussion of Israel the magazine uses among else terms such as “hyphenated-identities” and a “nation of tribes.”3 Post-Zionism is the topic of an expanding number of scholarly works; some favor it, others condemn it. One can speak in this regard on the recent ﬂourishing of a “post-Zionist book-shelf,” even if it is quantitatively small, compared to the more extensive “Jewish book-shelf” which spreads in Israel simultaneously in direct or indirect association with neo-Zionism. Several books in English appeared bearing the concept of post-Zionism in their title. Most substantial among them are Laurence Silberstein’s books Post-Zionism Debates (1998) and Post-Zionism: A Reader (2008) (among the others are Fuhrer 1998; Segev 2003; and Nimni 2003). There are several other books, which though they do not mention post-Zionism up-front in the title, nevertheless relate to fundamental post-Zionist themes (among them Kimmerling 2001; Shaﬁr & Peled 2002; Feldt 2004; Kemp et al. 2004; GhaziBouillon 2009). Several collected volumes that deal with Israeli historiography were in fact triggered by the post-Zionist debate and they are loaded with postZionist chapters.4 A number of scholarly journals had either published issues dedicated to postZionism and closely related issues, or they publish continuously on the topic (e.g., History & Memory; Response; Constellations; Tikkun; Israel Studies Forum; and in Hebrew, Alpayim). The journal Israel Studies carries a regular section on “Zionist Dialectics” which might have been titled “Post-Zionist Dialectics.” The most important forum of post-Zionist thought is the Hebrew journal Theorya U-Bikoret (Theory and Criticism). In addition to its broad postmodernist and postZionist agenda, the journal has published a special expanded volume on “critical moments” in Israeli culture, titled Fifty to Forty-Eight: Critical Moments (Ophir 1999). The Journal Hagar is also considered as post-Zionist in its orientation. The output of anti-post-Zionist publications also expands. An anthology of this genre was published in Hebrew under the title An Answer to a Post-Zionist Colleague (Friling 2003); and another one was published in English—Israel and the Post-Zionists: A Nation in Danger (Sharan 2003). The neo-Zionist nationalistic journal Nativ (published by Merkaz Ariel) regularly publishes Anti-Post-Zionist commentaries.5 The same goes for the neo-Zionist/neoliberal journal Tchelet (published in English as Azure). In addition to explicit discussions of Post-Zionism as an intellectual or ideological trend, observations evince that post-Zionism has become a staple of Israeli culture on all levels, from the level of everyday language, through the level of history writing, to the level of the Supreme Court verdicts. The dissemination of post-Zionist attitudes and arguments in Israeli culture is so pervasive that in the framework of the Jubilee events the public television channel had presented a series—Tekuma—which was considered by many as subversive and post-Zionist in spirit (Pappe 1997; Fisher 2000; Feldt 2004). Post-Zionism has also become a staple of Hebrew common language, and is used to describe works of art, cultural patterns or policies which transcend old Zionist dictates and tastes. A few illustrations from daily newspapers will sufﬁce to exemplify this: the movie Late Marriage dealing with immigrants in Israel, was described as “post-Zionist”

Politics: Inclusions 117 (Duvdevani 2000); a recent disk of the group Snake Fish was described as “postZionist hip hop, or even post-post-Zionist hip-hop” (Wolk 2004); the plan to create in Dimona an entertaining “nuclear museum” was deﬁned as “a suitable postZionist response to Zionist heroism” (Zanberg 2003); the transvestite singer Dana International is declared to carry a post-Zionist message (Gross 2003: 230); and the decision of the state attorney that the Israel National Fund will not exclude Arabs when selling its lands was described as post-Zionist (Oz & Barkat 2005). In the academic sphere, post-Zionist studies include a study by sociologists Luis Roniger and Michael Feige of the “Freier culture.” The “Freier” is translatable into a “Sucker,” and the study relates to the frequently used expression of Israelis “I am not a sucker.” In the authors’ interpretation, this syndrome is an expression of a new post-Zionist Israeli culture, in which assertive individualism and egoism substitutes the adherence to the collectivist ideology of national unity and sacriﬁce (Roniger & Feige 1992). In another work Feige offers a comparative study of the political imagery of two of the most inﬂuential political movements in Israel since the 1970s—the right-wing Block of Faithful (Gush Emunim) and the left-liberal Peace Now (Shalom Achshav). It emerges from this study that the pragmatic and utilitarian assumptions of Peace Now with regards to history, territoriality and identity (as against the mythic-romantic assumptions of the Bloch of Faithful) are basically post-Zionist (even if not labeled as such by the protagonists) (Feige 2002). In a similar manner, the (late) political scientist Charles Liebmann argued that in the recent era there are three—rather than two—distinct political-cultural publics in Israel: the secular (nationalist), the religious (nationalist), and the post-Zionist. The latter is associated in his view with “current Western consumerist patterns and with the Western emphasis on the individual rather than on society” (Liebman 2001: 252). Political scientist Yaacov Yadgar, who studied the collective Israeli narrative as it is expressed in the editorials and articles of the leading daily newspapers, concluded that there are two narratives—universalist and particularist (Yadgar 2002). Sociologist Michael Shalev, who has analyzed data from public opinion polls on issues of national policy and social welfare, found that the population may be divided into a large section of mainstream Zionists, accompanied by two minority trends to its left and right: post-Zionists and neo-Zionists respectively (Shalev 2003). Many supportive indicators attest to the development of (partial but signiﬁcant) post-Zionist components in Israeli society. These include the decline of the ideological parties and the recess in the role of parties in politics (Koren 1998); the emergence of identity-politics and of sectarian parties (Peled 1998); the relative thinning of the state as compared to the relative thickening of a multifarious civil society (Peled & Ophir 2001; Gidron Bar & Katz 2003; Yishai 2003); the spread of a Western-Democratic ethos in Israel (Almog 1997); the profusion of “new age” lifestyles (Beit-Hallahmi 1992; Inbari 1999); the subversion of the Zionist ethos by parts of the immigrants from the former Soviet Union (Lomsky-Feder & Rapoport 2001); a variety of rebuffs to the Israelo-centric culture of the national ideology and an ideational return to Diaspora Judaism (a new popularity of Yiddish language and of Arabic music; a resumption of Jewish names that were formerly Hebrewized;

118 Politics: Inclusions nostalgic “roots travels” to Poland, Morocco, and more. See Ben Ari & Bilu 1997; Levy & Weingrod 2004). Other indicators of the presence of post-Zionism are also noticeable. Such is the famed “Constitutional Revolution” of the 1990s and a number of Supreme Court rulings, which have privileged “citizens rights” over nationalist priorities (Barak-Erez 2003; Gavison 2003; Barzilai 2004). Such are also changes in the sphere of military-society relations, where a split takes place between postmilitaristic tendencies and neo-militaristic tendencies (Ben Eliezer 2004), or demilitarization and remilitarization processes (Levy 2003). Other aspects of Israeli society that are associated with post-Zionist themes are American-style consumerism (Ram 2004, 2007); a “New Wave” of postmodern and post-Zionist literature (Balaban 1995; Gurevitch 1997; Shaked 2003; Feldt 2004) and visual art (Direktor 2004; Gilerman 2003; Chinski 2002), as well as various attempts to enrich school curricula and textbooks with a multicultural perspective and varied ingredients of skepticism (Ben Amos 2002; Naveh & Yogev 2002; Matiash & Zabar Ben-Yehosha 2004). In fact, the post-Zionist critique on what may be called “nationalist epistemology” (or nationalist point of view) is felt today in all disciplines of knowledge and creative arts in Israel (even if not always explicitly under the post-Zionist heading). This is the situation in the ﬁeld of history, where the “new historians” or “revisionist historians” had a lasting impact on history writing and on historical memory (Ne’eman-Arad 1995; Pappe 1995; Weitz 1997; Ram 2003); in sociology (Shenhav 2003); in Anthropology (Rabinowitz 1997, 2004; Abuhav 2004); in archeology (Herzog 1999; Levine & Mazar (2001); Finkelstein & Silberman (2002); in geography (Bar Gal 1999a, 2002; Newman 2004; Yiftachel 2006); in planning and architecture (Segal et al. 2003; Nitzan-Shiftan 2004; Yaacobi 2004); in literature (Hever & Silberstein 2002); in women’s studies (Feldman 1999; Lubin 2003); in ﬁlm studies (Shohat 1989; Gertz, Lubin & Neeman 1998); in studies of the body and of sexuality (Kedar 2003; Weiss 2005); in studies of law (Shamir 1999; Barak-Erez 2003; Barzilai 2004; Mautner 2008) and more. The presence of post-Zionism in Israeli culture in general and of post-Zionist studies of Israeli society in particular is pervasive and unequivocal. But how to explain this phenomenon? Let us turn now to a sketch of several theoretical perspectives on post-Zionism.

Theoretical perspectives on post-Zionism Since the 1990s a number of explanations have been provided for the phenomenon of post-Zionism. It is convenient to classify the theoretical approaches to post-Zionism into the four following headings, which are discussed below: a post-ideological approach; a postmodernist approach; a postcolonial approach; and a post-Marxist approach. The post-ideological perspective. In the post-ideological perspective, postZionism is considered as a process of cultural “normalization” that comes naturally after the successful accomplishment of the basic ends of Zionism, i.e., Jewish

Politics: Inclusions 119 “ascendance” (Aliya) to Israel and the establishment and consolidation of a Jewish state. Zionism is considered here as a scaffold, which becomes redundant after the building is accomplished, or as author A.B. Yehoshua put it in his famous essay In Praise of Normalcy—a “climber” is no longer a “climber” once he has reached the peak of the mountain (Yehoshua 1984). Such a notion of post-Zionism was proposed, among others, by philosopher Menachem Brinker (1986) and political scientists Moshe Berent (2009). This may be described as the most Zionist approach to post-Zionism, or even as a Ben-Gurionian approach to it, as it resembles the attitude of the state’s ﬁrst prime-minister to the Jewish Agency. He argued that with the establishment of the state the latter’s role had expired. The preﬁx “post” represents then, in this case, the distinction between “becoming” (the Zionist stage) and “being” (the post-Zionist stage). Sociologist Erik Cohen has presented the Durkheimean-Weberian, or shall we say Eisenstadtian, version of the post-ideological approach to post-Zionism. According to it, Zionism was a charismatic movement of radical transformation; in the course of time it passed routinization, and left behind it a vacuum of “anomie.” Post-Zionism is thus an anxiety, arising out of the absence of a generally accepted system of legitimization (Cohen 1995). This perspective is in congruence with recent views of S. N. Eisenstadt on the breakdown of the “original mold,” which was designed by the dominant elite, and the subsequent proliferation of alternative discourses, including the post-Zionist one, but without the emergence of a substitute which will unify society (Eisenstadt 1996). Eisenstadt may be thus termed a “cognitive post-Zionist,” as distinct from normative ones, i.e., someone who acknowledges the post-Zionist situation, without being happy about it. Not a few of Israel’s veteran Zionist intellectuals share this position with him. In somewhat parallel terms, coined within the framework of an earlier discussion by political scientists Charles Liebman and Eliezer Don Yehiya, post-Zionism may be considered as a situation of a “state without vision” (or a “service state”), in distinction from a “visionary state” (which they deem the Zionist state to have been) (Liebman & Don Yehiya 1976). The works of Baruch Kimmerling also contribute to the post-Zionist analysis, even though he avoids the explicit concept (Kimmerling 2001, 2004). This post-ideological approach is in fact a late Israeli version of the “end of ideology” thesis (Bell 1960). It is an evolutionary “historical stages” approach, according to which Israeli society is experiencing a normal transition from a nationbuilding phase into an institutionalized phase; or from a “stormy nationalism” to “banal nationalism,” as beﬁts a mature liberal state (Billing 1995). It is from this perspective that some commentators draw a distinction between “positive” and “negative” post-Zionism—positive or negative in terms of acquiescence with Zionism (see Gorni 2003; Wheeler 2003). The post-modernist perspective. As against the post-ideological approach, from a postmodernist approach, post-Zionism is not considered as the maturation of Zionism, but, on the contrary, as signifying its demise. Nationalism is not considered simply as the conventional expression of peoplehood, but rather as a rack, forced

120 Politics: Inclusions upon ﬂuctuating identities. Nationalism is thus a form of oppression; postnationalism a form of liberation. The incredulity towards nationalism is a private case of the incredulity towards the other great emancipatory narratives of modernity (Lyotard 1984). The ambition of nationalism to “melt” various identities into a cohesive “universal” identity, and its simultaneous strive to exclude differing identities, is substituted in postmodern times by a discourse of otherness, difference and multiculturalism—and the umbrella term for this trend in Israel is post-Zionism (Azoulay & Ophir 1998). The proponents of this perspective view post-Zionism not as a new historical phase, but rather as a new point of view, a new epistemology, which subverts and undermines the linear and essentialist point of view of nationalism. Post-Zionism is the exposition of the multifarious identities which have been repressed under the national banner and an expression of the heterogeneity which Zionism attempted to homogenize. Laurence Silberstein, author of the most comprehensive text on postZionism to date, deﬁned the relations between postmodernism and post-Zionism as a complex web, which has its nodes of joint as well as nodes of disjoint (Silberstein 1999). The most signiﬁcant node of joint is the deconstruction of the “regime of truth” or the power/knowledge network, and the attention given to different voices and new narratives. To sum up, as against the post-ideological approach, which considers post-Zionism as a “Zionism with a normal face,” so to speak, the postmodern approach considers post-Zionism as a subversion of Zionism and as a deconstruction of it into components and narratives it used to deny or marginalize. Thus Eliezer Schweid from the Hebrew University, committed opponent of post-Zionism, considers it as the “Israeli version” of postmodernism (Schweid 1996, 1996b).6 While the above is a Foucauldian, identity-oriented version of the postmodern approach, there is also a Habermasian, citizenship-oriented approach to postZionism. This approach refers to the distinction between ethnic-nationalism and territorial-nationalism (Brubaker 1994). In this view, post-Zionism represents a post-national concept of Israeli citizenship, or even of Israeli constitutional nationalism, de-linked from the Jewish (or any other) communal belonging. This type of nationalism, based on a present common framework of life, rather than on past myth, may overcome the unresolved tension between the Jewish component in Israeli identity, which may turn into a matter of private or sub-communal afﬁliation, and the democratic component of Israeli identity, which must turn into the state’s constitutional basis. As long as Israel is a state of the Jewish ethnos, rather than of its citizens, it cannot be considered as a proper democracy (Ram 1999, 2001; Yiftachel 2006). The most thorough analysis from this perspective is offered by Shaﬁr & Peled (2002). In their view, three distinct citizenship regimes (or incorporation regimes) obtain in Israel: an ethno-nationalist regime, which ensures the primacy of Jews; a liberal regime, which ensures equal rights to individual citizens; and a republican regime, which allocates ranks and privileges on the basis of “civic virtue,” which practically means contribution to the common Zionist cause. Up to recent times the contradictory ethnic and liberal regimes could dwell together under the

Politics: Inclusions 121 legitimization provided by the republican regime. As of recently, republicanism is receding and the conﬂict between the ethnic and the liberal regimes comes to the fore—in the terms of our current discussion it is the conﬂict between neo-Zionism and post-Zionism. A speciﬁc question within the postmodern approach to post-Zionism is the question of the relationship between Israeli and Jewish identities. In both the Foucauldian and the Habermasian versions mentioned above, post-Zionism is understood to draw a sharp distinction between Israeli and Jewish identities. Yet the constitutional-oriented version is keen on emphasizing the autonomy of Israeliness as a basis for democratic legitimization, while the identity-oriented version is keen on emphasizing the autonomy of Jewishness, as a basis for new Diasporic Jewish identities (Raz-Krakotzkin 1993, 1994; Levy & Weingrod 2004). In the latter spirit, critic Dan Miron presents post-Zionism as: “a position that does not see the state of Israel as a necessary response to the home quest of the protagonists … [but rather one that deconstructs] the binary pairs from which the Israeli ethos was constructed, such as Holocaust versus heroism, death versus new life, Diaspora versus homeland, weakness versus power and passivism versus activism” (Miron in Lev Ari 2004). The postcolonialist perspective. The postcolonialist approach to post-Zionism is a particular case of the postmodern perspective. It shares the latter’s challenge to modernity but superimposes on the self-other dichotomy the West–East dichotomy. Zionism is thus rendered as Western and post-Zionism receives an Eastern tilt— ideally conjoining both Arab-Palestinian and Jewish-Oriental identities, as in Yehuda Shenhav’s “Jewish-Arab” conceptualization (Shenhav 2003). This approach of course draws heavily on the Orientalism perspective of critics like Said (1978), as well as on the hybrid version of it, by critics like Bhabha (1990) (Chaturvedi 2000; Shenhav 2004). The postcolonial discourse invents new-old identities and composes new narratives, which give voice to subaltern sectors of the population, and which (re)create old-new hyphenated identities, which defy the simplicity of the nationalist boundaries. When this perspective is applied to Israel, post-Zionism receives the sense of the empowerment of the “internal other” of Zionism, i.e., Oriental Jews, and concomitantly of the transgression of the internal–external national boundaries, which are substituted (conceptually) with the Occidental–Oriental distinction. In other words, Zionism is conceived as a European-Ashkenazi-White-Colonial movement, which has victimized both the internal Orientals and the external Arabs (Shohat 1989, 2001). The goal of postcolonial post-Zionism is, in any event, to undo the “conspiracy of silencing” which clouded the Mizrahi identity in Israel. By exposing exclusionary practices it also undoes the national narrative, which assumes a common essence and denies inherent otherness (Motzaﬁ-Haller 1998, 2002). According to the new postcolonial post-Zionism, the denial of Mizarahim was performed, ﬁrst, by mainstream sociology, which imputed to them cultural backwardness, and thus denied the Israeli context of their underrate situation, but second, also, by critical sociology, which considered Mizrahim in class terms, thus

122 Politics: Inclusions denying their cultural history and identity (Shenhav 2003). Postcolonial post-Zionism thus deconstructs the tissue of the national “we” to its distinct hierarchical layers, and thus subverts the concept of a pre-given “nation,” and proposes alternative notions, or at the least complementary ones, of collective identity. Whereas the postcolonial approach to post-Zionism aims to speak in the name of the Orient—Jewish and Arab combined—it remains in fact mostly an in-Jewish affair. The Palestinian Arabs, being excluded from Israeli society and identity and being the ultimate “others” in the country, ﬁnd it more difﬁcult to perform the delicate postcolonial conceptual dance on the inside-outside boundary; they are mostly “outsiders,” even when they are full citizens. Thus while for post-Zionism the question of the status and conditions of the Palestinian citizens in Israel is absolutely central (Ozacky-Lazar et al. 1999; Yiftachel 1999; Shaﬁr & Peled 2002), Palestinians in Israel usually speak from a national point of view, rather than from a post-national one. Post-nationalism seems to be the privilege of well established nations (Ram 2009). The post-Marxist perspective. The post-Marxist perspective differs from the three mentioned above in considering economic and social changes as major factors in the shaping of the political and cultural transformations associated with postZionism. In other words, this approach is post-Marxist in the sense that it relates postmodernism itself to the recent transformation of the capitalist mode of regulation, namely the emergence of post-Fordism, and to the subsequent transformations in the balance of power between the classes. It is the only approach cognizant of the afﬁnities between the economic and social changes and the political-cultural changes. It is a post-Marxist perspective nevertheless, in the sense that it shares some aspects of postmodern thought, such as non-deterministic and non-linear analysis, and also in the sense that it recognizes the postmodern dimensions of contemporary culture. Post-Fordist capitalism differs from Fordist capitalism in the following aspects: a transition from a hierarchical bureaucratic ﬁrm to a ﬂexible entrepreneurial network; a transition from Keynesian interventionism in the economy and productionside developmentalism to neoliberal and consumption-side economics; a transition from labor market collective regulation to a non-organized labor market and “new forms” of employment; a transition from a universal welfare state (the European model) to a safety network welfarism (the American model); and a transition from a national economy to a global economy (Aglietta 2001; Jessop 2003). Overall, this transition disrupts the balance of power between capital, labor, and state, which prevailed in the corporatist (Fordist) state, and it ushers in an unbalanced power structure under capital’s tutelage. Two “non-economic” results of this major shift of the social regime are the rise of inequality in the distribution of income; and a trend of fragmentation of the population into identity groups. How does all this relate to post-Zionism? To make a long answer short, the argument is as follows: the Israeli “traditional” social regime was collectivist because this was mandatory to the success of the early settlement and conquest phase of Zionism in Palestine, a region which was

Politics: Inclusions 123 unattractive to capital and labor alike. The national project could take off only on the basis of labor enclaves and the exclusion of Arab laborers, based on injunction of Jewish capital. The combination of “public” ﬁnance and privileged labor made the Labor strategy triumphant (Kimmerling 1983; Shalev 1992; Shaﬁr 1996; see Chapter 5). In the early state era, during the 1950s and 1960s the national project was bequeathed to the state administration, which was manifested in the mamlachtiyut etatist ideology of the era. In the 1970s, especially since the rise of the Likud in 1977, a liberal change started, but until the mid-1980s, the new economy ﬂoundered because of failed management (which caused three-digit inﬂation). Only since the new economic program of the mid-1980s, and in conjunction with the hi-tech revolution of the 1990s, has the transition from Fordism to post-Fordism in Israel ﬁnally materialized. By this time, the veteran elites have already turned their preference from military mobility to entrepreneurial accumulation, and from national adherence to postnationalist aspirations (Levy 2003). The state and the histadrut privatized their large corporations (a process completed for the histadrut, not yet so for the state) and together with the new inﬂux of international investment (in the early 1990s encouraged by the peace process), the ideology of the business sector has become dominant in Israel. The inter-class pact was disbanded, and inequality bounced. As a reaction to it, the lower classes, a category which in large part overlaps with Oriental descent, low education and traditionalist culture, turned en masse to look for consolation for the loss of identity and compensation for the loss of status, which it ﬁnds in populist propaganda and chauvinist politics. Thus emerged inside Israel a local post-Zionist/neo-Zionist version of the global dialectics of “McWorld versus Jihad” (Jewish Jihad in our case, to make sure) (Barber 1996; Shaﬁr and Peled 2000; Ram 2007). Hence the change from Fordism to post-Fordism is associated with the change from a nation and class coalition into a clash between localist neo-Zionist ethno-fundamentalism and globalist post-Zionist civic-liberalism.

Ideological controversies and post-Zionism During the 1990s post-Zionism was a pivot around which the past, present and future of Israel were evaluated and disputed. One may venture here only a sketch of the intellectual and ideological controversies surrounding post-Zionism. A hostile attack on post-Zionism germinates obviously from neo-Zionist quarters. Post-Zionism is naturally the nemesis of neo-Zionism. This is obvious since these are the two diametrical opposites in contemporary Israeli political culture (instances of this clash from the neo-Zionist side include the writings of Eliezer Schweid (e.g., Schweid 1996, 1996b) as well as the daily diatribes of Yisrael Harel in Haaretz). This is a clear case of “clash of civilizations”—the universalistic, cosmopolitan, libertarian civilization on the “post” side, and particularistic, chauvinist, communal civilization on the “neo” side. It will not be far-fetched to argue that this clash is a late incarnation of the Enlightenment-Romantic clash in turn of the century European culture and of an even earlier clash between Enlightenment

124 Politics: Inclusions Judaism (Haskala) and Orthodox Judaism (Feiner 2003). A variety of controversies in contemporary Israel receive a coherent structure when looked at from this perspective. Another source of antagonism towards post-Zionism is mainstream liberal Zionism. The thinkers of this stream share with the neo-Zionists the nationalistic assumptions, yet they pledge allegiance to liberal democracy. The debate between national-liberals and post-Zionists is centered on the idiom of “a Jewish and democratic state.” The idea behind this formula is that the “and” which combines the sides of the equation is viable, i.e., that there is no contradiction here. Some argue in this vein that Israel is not an exception among other liberal democracies (Yacobson and Rubinstein 2003), while others argue that Israel is the epitome of a new version of democracy, namely “ethnic democracy” (Smooha 2002). Post-Zionists argue that “Jewish and democratic” is an oxymoron, and that Israel’s regime is better described as an “Ethnocracy” (Yiftachel 1999, 2006). Shaﬁr and Peled frame the question, as was mentioned, in terms of three regimes of incorporation that have prevailed in Israel: the liberal, the ethnic and the republican. The latter mitigated between the former two. In the recent era, they maintain, the republican ethos is tarnished, and hence the emerging clash between liberalism and communalism (Shaﬁr & Peled 2002). Hence post-Zionists think that Israel faces a stark choice: either Jewish or democratic. A third source of objection to post-Zionism is the circle of intellectuals afﬁliated with the “social” agenda of the Labor party’s left wing (this wing had in fact evaporated from actual Labor politics long time ago). The defense of old nationalism is performed in this case in the name of socialism, or—in its glaring absence—of “social solidarity.” The argument is that post-Zionism supports inadvertently the neoliberal attack on the Israeli welfare-state. Like in classical Zionism, these thinkers collapse under the banner of “collectivism” both social sense (socialism) and cultural sense (nationalism), and they reject the unpacking of this parcel. Post-Zionists rebuff this argumentation on three grounds: ﬁrst, that because of its entanglement with the Zionist project, the Israeli welfarestate was segmental and exclusive towards categories of people who did not form the “hard core” of the nation (women, Mizrahim, Arabs). Second, that social solidarity may draw also on civic and constitutional sources, rather than on “national” ones. Third, that post-Zionism is not exclusively liberal (thus expressing the middle classes) but also multicultural (thus expressing the excluded and marginalized populations).7 A ﬁnal source of disapproval of post-Zionism is a trend which aims to outﬂank it from the left, so to speak—postcolonialism. Some of the speakers of this trend tend to deride post-Zionism as representing the rebellious intellectuals of the Ashkenazi elite (exuberant exemplars are scattered in Livneh 2000). Yet in the general public discourse these speakers themselves are usually conceived as post-Zionists (for instance Linveh asserts, rightly, that the Democratic Mizrahi Rainbow “was founded upon a post-Zionist position” (2001: 20)). Postcolonialism is indeed a particular case of post-Zionism, and in fact in recent years some of the best of

Politics: Inclusions 125 post-Zionist research comes from writers who afﬁliate with a postcolonialist critique (e.g., Hever et al. 2002). Finally, some advance the argument that post-Zionism is inherently Jewish. Since Arabs were not Zionists in the ﬁrst place (obviously!) why should they become post-Zionist anyway?! Post-Zionists regard this as an ad absurdum rhetoric. Post-Zionism is a vision of a civic and multi-cultural Israeli society, which will be a democratic version of the state of Israel. Some other thinkers prefer the vision of “bi-national state” to the vision of “a state of citizens.” From a post-Zionist perspective, this vision colludes with the fundamental assumptions of nationalism, which are inherently not democratic (even if in some circumstances bi-nationalism may be more democratic, relative to a one nation rule). Yet on a principled level (to be distinguished from practical politics), post-Zionists prefer, as said, the liberal “state of its citizens,” which leaves to the level of voluntary civil society the options of communions around cultural preferences (religious, national, sexual or any others). * Before closing this interim account of post-Zionism in its initial period, one last issue should yet be tackled—the announcement of the early death of post-Zionism, even before it passed its 10th birthday. Let us consider the life span and future prospects of post-Zionism. The ﬁrst thing to note is that post-Zionism is indeed very young; as said above, it entered the public domain only since the end of 1993. It should not be a surprise then, to ﬁnd out that despite the burgeoning of post-Zionist elements in Israeli culture, the status of post-Zionism is still “merely” of an “emerging” counter hegemonic culture. A number of reasons may account for this. First is the usual conservative inertia of existing national institutions. Second is the depth in which Zionist culture is ingrained in the population by a huge educational and ideological enterprise. Third is the robust development of the counter-trend of neo-Zionism, which has succeeded in consolidating ethno-nationalism as a common denominator of Israeli political culture. A fourth cause for the currently low status of post-Zionism is the change of global atmosphere since September 11, 2001, which has caused a setback to multiculturalism and libertarianism all over the Western world. And, last but not least, the second Intifada (started in 2000) with its undifferentiating attacks on Israeli civilians had certainly contributed to an emotional “closing of ranks” among Israeli Jews. The backward rolling of post-Zionism in the early 2000s generated a widespread sense that it had been a passing incident that may be considered, posthumously, as an episode belonging to the “Oslo” period. Some noted that post-Zionism “lost much of its ‘trendy’ glitter” (Yuval Davis 2003: 182), and announced its “decline and fall” (Livneh 2000), or its “expiration” (Pappe in Livneh 2002: 18. For a realistic consideration see Kelman 1998). In 2003 it was announced on national television news that “post-Zionism is out; Zionism is in” (Mabat Lachadashot, Channel 1, 2003). It is only logical to conclude that, during some period before that breaking

126 Politics: Inclusions news, post-Zionism was “in.” Despite this news about the “ousting” of postZionism, the Likud ruling party remained worried and the ﬁrst clause in its 2003 program proclaimed that “the continuation in the thrive of Israel will be guaranteed despite post-Zionism and the condition of the global village” (Likud 2003). But the great savior of Zionism in its struggle with post-Zionism happens not to have been the Likud, but rather the Palestinians, as was explained in Yediot Achonot daily: Recent Palestinian violence had one positive outcome: the arousal of Jewish nationalism, namely Zionism. Whereas until the recent Israel was bloomed with post-Zionist ideas and sophisticated concepts of a global village, which conveyed the message that Zionism is lost for posterity, the recent events in the territories and among Israeli Arabs revived Zionism anew and showed its relevancy to our times. Zionism went out of citizenship courses and returned to be a relevant political position. (Guy Bechor, cited in Goldberger 2002: 101) It is evident, as mentioned above, that the events of September 11, 2001, their military fallout from Afghanistan to Iraq, and their cultural fallout within the Western world, as evinced by the reception of Huntington’s concept of “Clash of Civilizations” (Huntington 1998), and on top of it the refueling of hostilities in Israel-Palestine since 2000; all these indeed encouraged the ethno-nationalist agenda of neo-Zionism. Yet, while in political terms post-Zionism is not at its peak at present, this is not necessarily the case with regard to the impact of post-Zionism on Israeli culture, especially the elite culture. In this regard the talk of “decline and fall” is in all probability short-sighted. Post-Zionism seems to have been diffused rather deep into the public consciousness. Hence, the circumstantial political state of postZionism should not be confused with its structural position. It may be argued by post-Zionists that the proclamations of its expiration are founded upon the categorical mistakes of weighting post-Zionism prematurely in the positivistic terms of popular spread or of political effect. It should be remembered that what is discussed here is an emergent counter-hegemonic trend, and that its discursive achievements are what matters. In other words, in critical theory terms, post-Zionism is a concept of both “immanence”—tapping actual undercurrents; and “transcendence”—pointing towards an exogenous normative horizon (Horkheimer 1975; Fraser & Honneth 2003). The category of post-Zionism may thus be better thought about as an “actual potentiality,” rather than as a “potential actuality.” To sum up, post-Zionism has become the prism through which the augmenting tensions between the democratic and the Jewish dimensions of the state of Israel are exposed. We have presented four approaches to post-Zionism. The post-national approach considers post-Zionism as a process of “normalization”; the postmodern approach considers it a shaking-off of the oppressive nationalist grand-narrative; the postcolonial approach considers it a Mizrahi counter-hegemonic politics of identity; and the post-Marxist approach considers it the political-cultural

Politics: Inclusions 127 counterpart of post-Fordist restructuring of the inter-class balance of power. Taken together, these four approaches highlight the various dimensions of post-Zionism: the decline of nationalism; the rise of individualism; the spread of pluralism; and the overarching hegemony of neoliberalism. The inter-relationships between these dimensions, the combined weight of these developments, and their relationship with the continued colonial domination of Israel over the Palestinians, are yet to be seen. The progression of post-Zionism in Israel is certainly not linear; the backlash of ethnonationalist collectivism and fundamentalist neo-Zionism lurks around the corner, awaiting a chance to be inﬂamed by an eventual new cycle of Israeli-Palestinian hostilities, or in fact awaiting a chance to inﬂame such hostilities.

Conclusion: “To accept as self-evident what I am told, this is unacceptable to me”

This book begins with Hanoch Levin’s satirical question “whether Australia exists at all?” and with Ms Schuster’s claim: “I am not saying Australia exists or does not exist, I did not investigate the matter. However, to accept as self-evident what I am told, this is unacceptable to me.” It is in this spirit that the chapters of the book investigate “what we are told” about Israel, or rather what, by whom, when, where, and why is “told” about Israel? How do we come to “know” Israeli identity, society, and citizenship? It is neither the bare existence, nor the very legitimization of Israel that we question, but rather the “self-evident tales” that shape its identity, composition, and membership. In order to deconstruct conventional “truisms” we apply a methodological suspension of the supposedly “realist” status of Israeli historical identity, social composition and political membership. Rather than inquiring into these features as mere “facts”, we inquire into them as “stories” about these facts; meaningproducing narratives, generated by historians, sociologists and other politically engaged intellectuals. We demonstrate, in Chapter 1, how the very concept of a primordial or perennial “Jewish nation” was constructed by modern Zionist historiography since the midnineteenth century; and, in Chapter 2, how after the formation of a Jewish nation in Israel was accomplished, by the 1970s, new historical narratives arose, that undermined the homogeneity and teleology of the ofﬁcial national one. In the “New History” Israel is depicted less as a nation of exiles who return to their ancient homeland and more as a new settler-colonial society—just as Australia is. The ensuing conﬂict between the indigenous people—the Palestinians—and the settlers’ society become the axis of the new history. We demonstrate further, in Chapter 3, how the very concept of “Israeli society” as a solid functioning system was constructed by the “Jerusalem school of sociology,” at the Hebrew University, from the independence of the state in 1948 and onwards. In Chapter 4 we demonstrate how critical sociology that emerged since the demise of Labor’s hegemony in 1970s—around the universities of Tel Aviv, Haifa, and Beer Sheva (Ben Gurion)—opened up the sociological terrain to the points of view of marginalized groups: women, mizrachim, Palestinian Arabs, and others, and exposed the antagonisms and cleavages that

Conclusion 129 cut across society. To this dissent was added since the 1990s the postmodern and postcolonial challenges to the dominant modern and modernist political stance. We demonstrate, ﬁnally, in Chapter 5, how the indigenous Palestinian population was ousted from the body politic and expunged from its collective memory since the war of 1948, and what physical, narrative, and symbolic mechanisms have sustained this regime of forgetfulness and appropriation; and, in Chapter 6, how a new subversive regime of remembering and an alternative concept of inclusion— post-Zionism—purport to undo Jewish ethnic supremacy in Israel, and offer a new concept of a constitutional “Israeli nationalism”, or a post-national Israeli state. “Israeli nationalism” furnishes the book with its title. But it is a moot point whether Israeli nationalism exists. Some—though not many—propose that it does exist; or at the least, that it is a historically emergent potentiality, an unintended consequence of Zionism itself. Yet the state of Israel adamantly rejects such ideas. The category “Israeli” is barred from the rubric of “nationality” in ofﬁcial Israeli identiﬁcation cards, though scores of other nationalities are permitted, mostly “Jewish” and “Arab.” In the ofﬁcial (as well as popular) view of Israel, it is and must remain a state of the “Jewish people.” The concept of an “Israeli nationality” is conceived as a threat to the ethnic “Jewishness” attributed to the state, and its substitution with a pragmatic “Israeliness,” that is a contingent outcome of the shared life and common citizenship in Israel. The Israeli Supreme Court had decreed already in 1972 that there is no such thing as an “Israeli nation” that stands apart from the “Jewish nation.” It turns out then, that while the subject matter of this book is the actual state of nationalism in Israel, its title—Israeli nationalism—refers to a still potential subject matter. The answer to the question whether Israel exists at all? depends on one’s concept of historical identity, societal composition and political citizenship. In an obvious sense Israel actually exists; yet in another, it exists only potentially. This book has probed the different perspectives from which the distance between the actual (read ethnic) and the potential (read civic) states of existence of Israel may be gauged and assessed. As for me, in an answer to the query “whether Australia [read Israel] exists at all?” I feel obliged to heed Ms Schuster’s exclamation: “I am not saying Australia [read Israel] exists or does not exist, I did not investigate the matter. However, to accept as self-evident what I am told, this is unacceptable to me.” To do not “accept as self-evident what I am told” is what animates critical sociology, this book included.

Notes

1 History: The nation 1 For biographical details see Dinur 1958a; Even Shoshan 1973; for a succinct overview of Dinur’s life and work see Ettinger 1978b, and Myers 1988. Interesting commentaries on aspects of Dinur’s work are to be found also in Katz 1979d and in Scholem 1982. 2 See selected list of Dinur’s work in bibliography. See also Baer, Gutman, & Shova 1949, and Cohen 1953. 3 About the “Jerusalem School” of history see Shmueli 1986. In an instructive study Shmuel Finer detects the origins of Zionist nationalist historiography in Smolenskin’s thought. Cf. Feiner 1991. 4 For introductory survey of “Jewish identity” cf. Hertzberg 1971. 5 In the interests of concise mapping we obviously condense a very complex and diverse phenomenon into a four-cell scheme. The impact of the Emancipation and modernization processes on European Jewry are discussed in Ettinger 1976 and in Katz 1971 and 1985. See also Bartal 1994. 6 For an overview of Zionist history see Laquer 1972. See also discussions of the origins of Zionism by Katz 1979b, 1979c and Ettinger 1978a. 7 Our depiction is more easily applicable to the romantic wing of East European Zionism than to Western liberal Zionism. 8 For a thorough discussion of modern Jewish Historiography see Michael 1996. 9 For a comprehensive account of Jewish historical writing and historical consciousness from a Zionist point of view see Michael 1993. Also see Meyer (ed.) 1974. For the Zionist historiographic imagination see Almog 1987, 1988. 10 What is the foundation of this extraordinary cohesiveness of the Jewish nation? Dinur alludes to three bases of Jewish unity: a social-psychological base; a social-political base; and a religious base. On the socio-psychological level Jews share past memories, a recognition of their historical-cultural unity, and sense of common fate. This provides for the cultural “static” of Jewish history. On the socio-political level Jews share a common aspiration for the land of their origins. On the religious level Jews share a singular fusion, though a tense one, between “the national uniqueness and the religious destination” of the nation (Dinur 1978f: 124). 11 The Mapam left-wing party lamented the loss of hegemony of the Workers Trend, and in any event of its autonomous operation, while the Herut right-wing party warned against a back-door creeping of the Workers Trend’s inﬂuence under the state’s wings (through the de-facto hegemony of the labor trend, the 25 percent of the curriculum which was designated for “complementary” programs, etc.) (cf. Kafkafy 1991). 12 In practical terms the Law annulled only one trend out of the four prevailing: that of the workers (with the exception of education inside the kibbutzim (collective settlements). The religious trends were left intact (in fact their situation even improved since now they

Notes 131

13

14 15 16

gained the state’s ofﬁcial approval and subsidy), and the civil trend was actually adopted as the model for the state’s system. The foundations of the Zionist reading of the Bible were laid at the beginning of the century by Ben-Zion Mossinson (1878–1942), the ﬁrst teacher of the Bible in the ﬁrst Jewish secondary school in Eretz Israel. For an intriguing study of the Bible in Israeli education see Schoneveled 1976; see also review by Refael 1959. For a comprehensive study of the schooling of moledet see Bar Gal 1992b; see also review by Farber 1959. There is a growing literature on the Holocaust theme in Israeli collective memory, and the issue deserves a study of its own. Of special worth is Segev 1992 and Zuckermann 1994. For intriguing interpretations of Jewish history and Israeli nationality from a non-Zionist perspective see Evron 1995 and Sand 2009. See also the critique of Zionist identity and historiography offered by Raz-Krakotzkin 1994.

2 History: The others 1 There are several books and anthologies that represent and review the historical scene in Israel. They include: Ne’eman-Arad 1995; Weitz 1997; Cathedra issue no.100; Conforti 2006; Zion issue no. 44 2009. 3 Society: Uniformity 1 On “classical” critical sociology see Horkheimer 1975; Mills 1961; Gouldner 1971; for a renewal of it in the form of “public sociology” see Clawson et al. 2007; Nichols 2007. 2 On the relationships between the intellectuals and the state see Keren 1989; Cohen 2006; Sand 2000. 3 For an exchange between conservative and critical sociologists see Lissak 1996; Shalev 1996; Shaﬁr 1996; Peri 1996; Penslar 2001; Lustick 2003. 4 Society: Diversity 1 On Palestinian Arabs and their politics in Israel see Al Haj 1995; Ghanem 2001; Reiter 2009. 2 These are the documents: “The Future Vision of the Palestinian Arabs in Israel,” published by The National Committee for the Heads of the Arab Local Authorities in Israel (2007). http://www.mossawacenter.org/ﬁles/ﬁles/File/Reports/2006/Future% 20Vision%20(English).pdf, accessed August 1st 2007. “The Democratic Constitution” document, published by Adalah, The Legal Center for Arab Minority Rights in Israel (February 2007). “The Haifa Declaration” published by Mada al-Carmel–Arab Center for Applied Social Research (2007). http://www.mossawacenter.org/ﬁles/ﬁles/File/ Reports/2006/Future%20Vision%20(English).pdf, accessed August 1st 2007. Two other important documents in this “series” are a judicial position document that was produced by the Moussawa Center (NGO) in conjunction with a United Nations agency and an initiative by the Ibn Khaldun Center to create a separate elective representative body for the Palestinian citizens of Israel. See Ram 2009. 3 The previous challenges of elitism and pluralism, which we discussed above, were headed by one single ﬁgure and were of a different intellectual style. 4 Cf. Helman & Rapoport 1997; Helman 1999; Sasson-Levy 2002, 2003, 2006; SassonLevy & Rapoport 2003; For an updated review of feminist approaches in Israel and references see Fuchs 2009. 5 An illustrative list of some of the best socio-judicial scholars in (and of) Israel includes: Daphne Barak-Erez 2003, 2007; Leora Bilsky 2004, Gad Barzilai 1996, 2004; Ran Hirschl 2004; Menachem Mautner 2008; Pnina Lahav 2009; Guy Mundlak 2007; Aeyal Gross 2000, 2003; Ronen Shamir 1999; and others.

132 Notes 6 The group included, in addition to the editor Adi Ophir: Yehuda Elkana, Jose Brunner, Azmi Bishara, Hannan Hever, Shlomit Cnaan, Haim Lapid, Shlomo Fischer, Avigdor Feldman, and Gideon Kunda. By the second issue joined in Amnon Raz-Karkotzkin, Ariella Azoulay, Yehuda Shenhav and Yoav Peled. Since then there were several turnovers of the editorial board—these also included for a time the present writer. 7 The rendering of the postcolonial perspective to the case of Israel was done by many scholars since the 1990s, among them Henriette Dahan-Kalev 2001, Yossi Yona 2005, Aziza Khazzoom 2003; Andre Levy Levy & Weingrod 2004; Pnina Motzaﬁ-Haller 1992, 1998, 2002, Amnon Raz-Krakozkin 1993–4; 1997, 2001; 2003, 2006, Ella Shohat 1989, 1999, 2006, Sammy Shalom Shitrit 2004, Yehuda Shenhav 2004 and others. For studies that combine gender, ethnicity, and culture see Tamar El-Or 1994, 2002, 2006. 8 Belonging to this category are publications such as The Power of Property: Israeli Society in the Global Era (Filc & Ram 2004), In/Equality (Ram & Berkovitch 2007), Being Israeli (Shaﬁr & Peled 2000) The Globalization of Israel: McWorld in Tel Aviv, Jihad in Jerusalem (Ram 2007). 9 See, e.g., Yoav Peled 1998; Yagil Levy 2006; Dani Filc 2007. 5 Politics: Exclusions 1 The war started in 1947 and ended in 1949, but is widely referred to as the “1948 war” and we shall stick to this shorthand. 2 On historical memory see Hutton 1993; Olick 2003; Irwin-Zarecka 2007. 3 The few recent exceptions to this rule include Berger 1998; Weiss 2007; Yaacobi 2003; and Rabinowitz 2007. 4 We prefer here the word “uprooting” as a descriptive term, in distinction from politically charged terms such as “expulsion,” used commonly by Palestinians, and “abandonment,” commonly used by Israelis. 5 The scope of this latter topic is more expanded than what can be covered in this study. There are numerous lexical novelties that register the new dominant narrative (such as the Hebrew term “purity of the arms”), a whole range of rituals and visual symbols that highlights the dominant narrative, there is a legal vocabulary that is founded upon the victorious narrative (categories such as “deserted property,” and “present absentees”— for “unrecognized” Palestinian refugees inside Israel), a whole system of practices of appropriation of the country (by walking trips and agricultural ceremonies) and more. In fact the whole of Israeli culture is suffused with the dominant national narrative, and of course all this goes well beyond the boundaries of this single piece. 6 The book was ﬁrst published in 1957 as an instruction manual, with an introduction by Prime Minister David Ben Gurion. It was later published for civilian circulation in 1958 (this time under Lorch’s name and with introduction by one of the military architects of the war General Yigael Yadin). Until 1978 the book was published in 20 issues. An English edition was published in 1961, to be followed by later editions (Lorch 1961). 7 Other “sensitive issues” relate to internal Jewish affairs and aspects of the war management. 8 IZL stands for Irgun Zvai Leumi (National Military Organization) and LHI stands for Lohamei Herut Israel (Israel’s Liberation Fighters). 9 On Dir Yassin see also Morris 1997: 113–15. 10 For wider aspects of the Israeli-Arab conﬂict as portrayed in school textbooks see Firer 1985: 107–39. 11 On the ﬁrst population census see Leibler & Breslau 2005. 12 For an overall study of the theme of Judaisation of the land see Yiftachel 2006. 13 The discussion of the case of Ramle is based on the study of Amit Pinchevski (Pinchevski 1999). 14 One such ambivalence is the attitude towards the Jewish Arab culture of the mizrachim, a topic beyond our purview here.

Notes 133 15 On the Orient in Israeli culture see Zalmona & Manor-Friedman 1998. On the perception of the Arabs in Zionism see (Gorni 1985 and) Almog 1997: 289–309. On Arabs in Israeli poetry see Rogani 2002. 16 On the relationships between Israeli and Palestinian memories see also Gur-Ze’ev & Pappe 2003, and Beinin 2005. 17 Among the noticeable creators who addressed the issue in their artistic works are Yitzhak Danziger, Micha Ulman, Dani Karavan, Yehoshua Glutman and others. (See Zalmona & Manor-Friedman 1998.) 18 In a well media-covered judicial case, Teddie Katz, a student from Haifa University (who was backed by Dr. Ilan Pappe) was sued by a battalion of veterans, whom he accused of mass-murdering Palestinians in the village of Tantura nearby Haifa in 1948. On this see Pappe 2001. 19 A comprehensive discussion of the history curriculum is to be found in Yogev & Naveh 2002. The encounter of Israeli and Palestinian historical narratives is discussed in Rotberg 2006. 6 Politics: Inclusions 1 For a discussion of the post-Zionist and other debates in Israeli academe see GhaziBouillon 2009 (the work was brought to my attention after the manuscript for the present book was completed). 2 Much of the newspaper material of the post Zionist controversy, with an emphasis on the Holocaust, is compounded in Michman 1996. 3 Tony Judt, a New York based historian, drew a lot of attention, arguing in a post-Zionist spirit that Jewish-Israeli ethono-nationalism is an anachronism, that the two-state solution (Israel and Palestine) is not viable, and that therefore a bi-national state has to be seriously considered (Judt 2003). 4 Noticeable among them are, in Hebrew, Weitz 1997 and Ginossar & Bareli 1996; and in English, Shapira & Penslar 2003. 5 See index in Nativ 2004, under the heading post-Zionism/self-hatred/the Left and the media. 6 On the relationships between post-Zionism and postmodernism see also Levine 1996. 7 For a theoretical discussion on the relations between the interests and identities see Fraser 1997.

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Name Index

n ¼ note Abitbul, Michael 14 Abu-Lughod, Lila 90 Adorno, Theodor 47 Agamben, Giorgio 81 Agassi, Yosef 112 Aglietta, Michael 122 Ahad Ha’am (Asher Ginzberg) 113 Aharonson, Shlomo 113 Al Haj, Majid 109, 131 (n 1) Alboim-Dror, Rachel 20, 113 Almog, Oz 61–2, 103, 117, 133 (n 15) Almog, Shmuel 14, 130 (n 9) Aloni, Shulamit 74, 113 Anderson, Benedict 2, 8, 35 Ankersmith, F. R. 33 Ankori, Gannit 92, 106 Apeloig, Noa 50 Arendt, Hanna 113 Armstrong, John 8 Aruri, Naseer 90 Avnery, Uri 113 Azmon, Yael 75 Azoulay, Ariella 81, 120, 132 (n 6) Bacon, Francis 56 Baer, Yitzhak 12, 130 (n 2) Balaban, Avraham 118 Balakrishnan, Gopal 8 Bar, Michal 72, 117 Bar Gal, Yoram 118, 131 (n 14) Bar On, Mordechai 33, 34, 94 Bar On, Shani 71 Bar-Tal, Daniel 91, 110 Bar Yosef, Rivka 70 Barak, Aharon 61 Barak, Ehud 62 Barak-Erez, Daphna 118, 131 (n 5)

Barber, Benjamin 37, 123 Bareli, Avi 133 (n 4) Barkan, Elazar 91, 110 Barkat, Amiram 117 Barnes, Barry 32 Bartal, Israel 130 (n 5) Barzilai, Gad 37, 118, 131 (n 5) Barzily, Issac 14 Baudrillard, Jean 81 Bauman, Zygmunt 2 Bechor, Guy 126 Begin, Menachem 57, 63, 70 Beilin, Yossi 114 Beinin, Joel 133 (n 16) Beit-Hallahmi, Benjamin 117 Bell, Daniel 119 Ben Amos, Avner 91, 118 Ben Ari, Eyal 118 Ben Eliezer, Uri 86, 118 Ben Gurion, David 19, 21, 38, 50, 100, 103, 113, 132 (n 6) Ben Porat, Amir 73 Ben Porat, Guy 82 Ben Rafael, Eliezer 115 Ben Zvi, Yitzhak 103 Benvenisti, Meron 30, 98, 100, 101, 108 Berent, Moshe 112–13, 119 Berger, Tamar 132 (n 3) Bergman, Shmuel Hugo 67 Berkovitch, Nitza 132 (n 8) Bernstein, Deborah 63, 68, 69, 75 Bhabha, Homi 8, 32, 35, 83, 121 Bichler, Shimshon 73 Billing, Michael 119 Bilsky, Leora 131 (n 5) Bilu, Yoram 118

160 Name Index Bishara, Azmi 132 (n 6) Bloor, David 32, 56 Boger, Hagit 115 Bonacich, Edna 78 Bourdieu, Pierre 48, 54 Boyarin, Daniel 114 Boyarin, Jonathan 114 Brenner, Yosef Haim 113 Breslau, Daniel 132 (n 11) Briesach, Ernst 25 Brinker, Menachem 112, 119 Bronstein, Eitan 109 Brubaker, Roger 34, 120 Brunner, Jose 132 (n 6) Buber, Martin 49, 50, 67 Burawoy, Michael 32, 85 Carmi, Shulamit 68–9 Carmon, Arik 20, 23 Chatterjee, Partha 32 Chaturvedi, Vinayak 83, 121 Chinski, Sara 118 Clawson, Dan 131 (n 1) Cnaan, Shlomit 132 (n 6) Cohen, D. J. 130 (n 2) Cohen, Erik 112, 119 Cohen, Uri 67, 131 (n 2) Conforti, Yitzhak 12, 131 (n 1) Connell, Raewyn 32 Connerton, Paul 92 Crook, Stephan 28 Dahan-Kalev, Henriette 132 (n 7) Dana International 117 Danziger, Yitzhak 133 (n 17) Darendorf, Ralph 59, 60 Davis, Uri 113 Dayan, Moshe 94 Derrida, Jacques 83 Descartes, Rene 56 Deshen, Shlomo 53 Dinur, Ben Zion 4, 7, 10–12, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 21–26, 35, 130 (n 1, 2, 10) Direktor, Ruti 118 Don Yehiya, Eliezer 21, 25, 119 Douglas, Mary 90, 91, 98, 100 Dubnow, Shimon 15, 16, 17 Duvdevani, Shmulik 117 Ehrlich, Avishai 77, 113 Eisenstadt, Shmuel Noah 4, 35, 50–2, 53, 54, 55, 57, 63, 65, 67, 77, 87, 115, 119 El-Or, Tamar 132 (n 7)

Elkana, Yehuda 47, 132 (n 6) Ettinger, Shmuel 14, 130 (n 1, 5, 6) Etzyon, Refael Yitzhak 131 (n 13) Even Shoshan, Avraham 130 (n 1) Evron, Boas 112, 131 (n 16) Fabian, Roy 105 Farber, Shlomo 23, 131 (n 14) Farsoun, Samih 90 Feige, Michael 91, 117 Feiner, Shmuel 124, 130 (n 3) Feldman, Avigdor 132 (n 6) Feldman, Jackie 91 Feldman, Yael 118 Feldt, Jakob 116, 118 Fieldhouse, D. K. 78 Filc, Dani 62–3, 132 (n 8, 9) Finkelstein, Israel 118 Firer, Ruth 24, 96, 132 (n 10) Fischer, Shlomo 132 (n 6) Fisher, Eran 30, 108, 116 Flapan, Simha 107 Fogiel-Bijaoui, Sylvia 74 Foucault, Michel 32, 72, 81–3, 120–121 Frank, Andre Gunder 69 Fraser, Nancy 126, 133 (n 7) Friedman, Ariela 74 Friedman, Marcia 67, 74, 114 Friling, Tuvia 116 Fuchs, Esther 131 (n 4) Fuhrer, Ronald 116 Galili-Zucker, Orit 62 Gavison, Ruth 118 Geiger, Abraham 15, 16 Gellner, Ernest 8, 9 Gertz, Nurith 118 Ghanem, As’ad 90, 131 (n 1) Ghazi-Bouillon, Asima 116, 133 (n 1) Giddens, Anthony 59 Gidron, Benjamin 72, 117 Gilerman, Danna 118 Ginossar, Pinhas 133 (n 4) Glutman, Yehoshua 133 (n 17) Golan, Arnon 100 Goldberger, Dorit 115, 126 Gordon, Nave 87 Goren, Yaakov 49 Gorni, Yossef 113, 119, 133 (n 15) Gouldner, Alvin 131 (n 1) Graetz, Heinrich 15, 16 Grinberg, Lev 73, 87 Gross, Aeyal 117, 131 (n 5)

Name Index 161 Gurevitch, David 118 Gur Zeev, Ilan 114, 133 (n 16) Gutman, Yisrael 130 (n 2) Gutting, Gary 56 Gutwein, Daniel 114 Habermas, Jurgen 6, 27, 48, 81, 120, 121 Hall, Stuart 32, 84 Hanf, Theodor 65 Harding, Sandra 32 Harel, Yisrael 123 Harvey, David 28, 85 Hason, Nir 102 Hazony, Yoram 35–6, 114 He-Hasid, Yehuda, Rabbi 18 Hegel, George Friedrich Wilhelm 15 Helman, Sara 131 (n 4) Hertzberg, Arthur 130 (n 4) Herzl, Theodor 113 Herzog, Hanna 73, 114 Herzog, Zeev 118 Hess, David 32 Hever, Hannan 118, 125, 132 (n 6) Hill Collins, Patricia 47 Hirschl, Ran 131 (n 5) Hobsbawm, Eric 8, 9, 35 Honneth, Axel 81, 126 Horkheimer, Max 47, 126, 131 (n 1) Horowitz, Dan 53, 54 Huntington, Samuel 126 Hutchinson, John 8 Hutton, H. Patrick 132 (n 2) Iggers, Georg G. Q. 28 Inbari, Assaf 117 Irwin-Zarecka, Iwona 132 (n 2) Izraeli, Dafna 74, 75 Jabotinsky, Zeev 39 Jameson, Frederick 28, 85 Jenkins, Keith 28 Jessop, Bob 122 Jost, Isaak Markus 15, 17 Judt, Tony 133 (n 3) Kafkafy, Eyal 21, 130 (n 11) Kalekin-Fishman, Devorah 68 Karavan, Dani 107, 133 (n 17) Karmi, Ram 104 Karn, Alexander 110 Karpel, Motti 114 Karsh, Efraim 31

Katz, Hagai 72, 117 Katz, Jacob 130 (n 1, 5, 6) Katz, Teddie 133 (n 18) Kedar, Yair 118 Kelman, Herbert C. 125 Kemp, Adriana 86, 116 Keren, Michael 67, 131 (n 2) Khazzoom, Aziza 132 (n 7) Kimmerling, Baruch 64–5, 77–8, 79, 80, 95, 108, 116, 119, 123 Kleinberg, Aviad 109 Kook, Hillel 112 Koren, Dani 117 Kuhn, Thomas 12, 32, 47, 56 Kunda, Gideon 132 (n 6) Kuper, Leo 64 Kutab, Said 92, 106 Lacan, Jacques 83 Lahav, Pnina 61, 131 (n 5) Lapid, Haim 132 (n 6) Laquer, Walter 130 (n 6) Lash, Scott 28 Leibler, Anat 132 (n 11) Lerner, Michael 114 Lev Ari, Shiri 121 Levi, Ram 106 Levi-Faur, David 57 Levin, Hanoch 1, 2, 128 Levinas, Emmanuel 81 Levine, Donald N. 3 Levine, Mark 133 (n 6) Levine, Yisrael 118 Levy, Andre 118, 121, 132 (n 7) Levy, Yagil 86, 118, 123, 132 (n 9) Liberman, Avigdor 36 Liebman, Charles 21, 25, 117, 119 Lin, Hila Lu Lu 107 Lissak, Moshe 53–54, 131 (n 3) Livneh, Neri 115, 124, 125 Lomsky-Feder, Edna 91, 117 Lorch, Netanel 94–96, 132 (n 6) Lossin, Yigal 97, 108 Lubin, Orly 118 Lustick, Ian 65, 131 (n 3) Lyotard, Jean Francois 28, 81, 120 Maffesoli, Michel 64 Maman, Daniel 73 Mannheim, Karl 32 Manor-Friedman, Tamar 106, 107, 133 (n 15, 17) Marenda, Amnon 109

162 Name Index Marom, Nati 105 Marx, Karl 32, 46, 59, 72 Matiash, Yehoshua 118 Mautner, Menachem 118, 131 (n 5) Mazar, Amichai 118 McCloskey, Donald 31 Meged, Aharon 29 Megill, Allan 31 Meir, Golda 41, 62 Mendes-Flohr, Paul 13 Meyer, A. Michael 14, 130 (n 9) Michael, Reuven 130 (n 8, 9) Michels, Robert 60 Michman, Dan 133 (n 2) Migdal, Joel 95, 108 Mills, C. Wright 59, 60, 69, 131 (n 1) Miron, Dan 30, 121 Mishal, Nissim 97 Monteresco, Daniel 105 Morris, Benny 29, 30, 31, 38, 92, 95, 98–99, 107, 108, 109, 132 (n 9) Mosca, Gaetano 60 Mossinson, Ben Zion 131 (n 13) Motzaﬁ-Haller, Pnina 121, 132 (n 7) Mousa, Eva 102 Mukherjee, Supriya 3 Mundlak, Guy 131 (n 5) Mussi, Norma 109 Myers, David 130 (n 1) Nachmias, Roi 109 Nakhleh, Khalil 77 Naor, Mordechai 97 Naveh, Eyal 118, 133 (n 19) Navot, Suzi 61 Ne’eman-Arad, Gulie 118, 131 (n 1) Neeman, Jad 118 Netanyahu, Benjamin 41, 62, 63 Newman, David 118 Nichols, T. Lawrence 131 (n 1) Nimni, Ephraim 114, 116 Nitzan, Jonathan 73 Nitzan-Shiftan, Alona 103, 104, 118 Noam, Vered 114 Novick, Peter 33 Olick, Jeffrey K. 132 (n 2) Ophir, Adi 33, 80, 116, 117, 120, 132 (n 6) Orr, Akiva 113 Oz, Yuval 117 Ozacky-Lazar, Sara 122

Pappe, Ilan 33, 93, 98, 108, 116, 118, 125, 133 (n 16, 18) Pareto, Vilfredo 60 Parkin, Frank 59 Parsons, Talcott 4, 50, 51, 59 Patel, Sujata 3 Pedahzur, Ami 36 Peled, Yoav 3, 35, 36, 72, 82, 83, 85, 114, 116, 117, 120, 122, 123, 124, 132 (n 6, 8, 9) Penslar, J. Derek 131 (n 3), 133 (n 4) Peres, Shimon 37 Peri, Yoram 62, 131 (n 3) Perkin, Frank 59 Pinchevski, Amit 101–102, 132 (n 13) Podeh, Eli 96 Polkinghorne, Donald 33 Rabin, Yitzhak 37, 62, 66 Rabinowitz, Dan 3, 118, 132 (n 3) Raijman, Rivka 86 Ram, Uri 35, 36, 37, 52, 62, 67, 71, 77, 81, 82, 86, 87, 89, 105, 112, 118, 120, 122, 123, 131 (n 2), 132 (n 8) Ranger, Terence 8, 35 Ranke, von Leopold 12, 31 Rappoport, Miron 102 Rapoport, Tamar 117, 131 (n 4) Ravizki, Aviezer 115 Raz-Krakozkin, Amnon 114, 121, 131–132 (n 16), 132 (n 6, 7) Regev, Motti 70 Reiter, Yitzhak 90, 131 (n 1) Renan, Ernest 89 Reshef, Shimon 21 Rex, John 59 Rinot, Moshe 20 Ritzer, George 47 Rogani, Haggai 133 (n 15) Roniger, Luis 117 Rorty, Richard 32 Rosenfeld, Henry 68–9 Rosenhak, Zeev 73 Rotbard, Sharon 100 Rotberg, Robert I. 133 (n 19) Rothenberg, Beno 93, 94 Rubinstein, Amnon 29, 124 Rupin, Arthur 49, 50 Sa’di, Ahmed 90 Saﬁr, Marilyn 75 Safran, Hanna 74 Said, Edward 32, 47, 72

Name Index 163 Sand, Shlomo 67, 113, 131 (n 16, 2) Sasson-Levy, Orna 131 (n 4) Scholem, Gershon 130 (n 1) Schoneveled, J. 21, 22, 131 (n 13) Schweid, Eilezer 120, 123 Segal, Raﬁ 118 Segev, Tom 113, 116, 131 (n 15) Seidman, Steven 32 Sela, Rona 94 Seroussi, Edwin 70 Shaﬁr, Gershon 35, 77, 78–80, 82, 85, 116, 120, 122, 123, 124, 131 (n 3), 132 (n 8) Shaked, Gershon 118 Shalev, Michael 73, 117, 123, 131 (n 3) Shamir, Ronen 118, 131 (n 5) Shapira, Anita 34, 92, 93, 100, 106, 113, 133 (n 4) Shapiro, Yonathan 59–63 Sharon, Ariel 62 Shavit, Yaacov 113 Shechter, Nathan 113 Sheleg, Yair 115 Shelf, Ruth 74 Shemer, Naomi 30 Shenhav, Yehuda 33, 84, 118, 121, 122, 132 (n 6, 7) Shills, Edward 51 Shitrit, Sammy Shalom 63, 132 (n 7) Shmueli, Efraim 130 (n 3) Shohat, Ella 72, 84, 118, 121, 132 (n 7) Shokeid, Moshe 53, 60 Shova, Moshe 130 (n 2) Shrift, Ruth 74 Shushan, M. 71 Silberman, Neil A. 118 Silberstein, Laurence 49, 116, 118, 120 Slyomovics, Susan 104 Smith, Anthony 8, 9, 125 Smith, Michael G. 64 Smooha, Sammy 34, 63–6, 124 Sorek, Tamir 100 Sternhell, Zeev 72, 114 Suppe, Frederick 31, 32 Swirski, Barbara 75, 76 Swirski, Shlomo 48, 49, 68–73, 77, 81, 84, 85 Tabori, Ephraim 74 Talmon, Jacob 67 Tamari, Salim 77 Tartakower, Arie 24 Taubler, Eugen 16

Teichman, Yona 91, 110 Tori, Gideon 21 Torpey, John 91, 110 Turner, Frederick 77–78, 108 Tzfadia, Erez 71 Ulman, Micha 133 (n 17) Usshiskin, Menachem 20 Vinitzky-Seroussi, Vered 91 Wagner, Yigal 67 Wallerstein, Immanuel 69 Wang, Edward 3 Weber, Max 55, 77 Weingrod, Alex 118, 121, 132 (n 7) Weiss, Meira 118 Weiss, Yiffat 132 (n 3) Weitz, Yechiam 118, 131 (n 1), 133 (n 4) West, Cornell 32 Wheeler, Deborah 119 White, Hayden 33 Wittgenstein, Ludwig 32 Wodak, Ruth 8 Wolk, Dvir 117 Wright, Erik Olin 73 Yaacobi, Haim 71, 118, 132 (n 3) Yacobson, Alexander 124 Yadgar, Yaacov 117 Yadin, Yigael 132 (n 6) Yair, Gad 50 Yanco, Marcel 103 Yaski, Avraham 104 Yas’ur, Avraham 67 Yehoshua, Avraham B. 106–7, 119 Yiftachel, Oren 66, 71, 118, 120, 122, 124, 132 (n 12) Yishai, Yael 117 Yizhar, S. (Smilanski) 92, 106–7 Yogev, Esther 118, 133 (n 19) Yona, Yossi 84, 132 (n 7) Yuval-Davis, Nira 113, 125 Zabar Ben Yehosha, Naama 118 Zalmona, Yigal 106, 107, 133 (n 15, 17) Zanberg, Esther 117 Zertal, Idit 91 Zerubavel, Yael 91 Zimmerman, Moshe 113 Zuckermann, Moshe 131 (n 15) Zureik, Elia 77

Subject Index

Notes: ‘n’ refer to note numbers and ‘t’ refer to tables.

A

C

Across the Forests (novel) 106–7 Adva Center 84 Aliya (Jewish immigration) 18, 27, 79, 119 Americanization 40, 46 Anti-totalitarian Cold War school 67 Anti-Zionist (anti-Zionism) 14, 111, 113 Arab Association for Human Rights 102 Arab past 99, 102, 104; conservation of 102; Arab-Palestinian architectural style 104 Ariel Sharon (Likud and later Kadima) 62 Ashkenazi 4, 35, 36, 40, 41, 43, 52, 57, 63, 64, 68, 69, 70, 74, 79, 84, 86, 121, 124 Ashkenazim 40, 41, 43, 52, 63, 64, 69, 70 Attrition War (1967–1973) 89

Canaanite Movement 113 Clash of Civilizations, concept of 34, 123, 126 Collectivism 78, 82, 114, 124, 127 Colonialism 5, 59, 73, 105 Columbia University 59, 60 100 Concepts in Zionism, instructive manual 109 Contingency-oriented historiography 27 Counter-hegemonic moves 105–10; Ethnic cleansing 108; Hirbet Hiza (story) 106; Instructive manuals: “100 Concepts in Zionism” 109; “Belonging and Identity” 109; Land Day, tradition of 106; Oslo Accord 105 Critical sociology 45, 46, 131 (n 1); decline and fall of system 54–8: normal science 56; changes in early 1970s 55; fall of Labor, reasons 57; Likud regime (1980s) 57; “post-Khunian” approach 56–7; prestige of structural-functional sociology 55; The Strong Program 32, 56; transformation of sociological/political ﬁeld 58; wave of radicalism 55–6; Israeli sociology in 1990s 46: Jerusalem modernization school 49–52; Labor movement, downfall of 46; Likud party 45; Mainstream vs. critical sociology 46–9; Mainstream sociological paradigm 45; Modernization revised and revisited 52–4; Postmodern approaches 45; Postcolonial

B Bar Ilan University 35, 55, 75 “Belonging and Identity,” instructive manual 109 Ben-Gurion University 46, 55, 62, 66, 81 “Bifurcation model” of Israel (Uri Ram) 86 Bi-nationalism 49, 125 Binyamin Netanyahu (Likud) 41, 62 (The) Birth of the Palestinian Refugee Problem (book) 107–8 Blue and Dust: The 1948 Generation, A Self-Portrait (book) 54 Bolshevik organizational culture 61 Boston University 80 “Bourgeois revolution” 37 Buber–Eisenstadt lineage 67

Subject Index approaches 45; Post-Marxist approaches 45; older school of critical sociology 81 Culture war (1970s) 34

D De-ethnization 86 Democracy in Israel (book) 60 Destination-oriented historiography 27 Diaspora: character 106; eastern European Diaspora Jewry 36; gathering of 29; Jewry 36, 39, 113; Judaism 113, 117; negation of 24; post-Zionism: “de-Judaization” 114; vs. homeland 121; “weak” Diaspora Jew (image of) 103 Dinur, Ben Zion: 1953 State Education Law 11; early Zionist Movement 10; Haskalah 10; “historical consciousness” (hacarat ha-avar) 11; “The Historical Consciousness of the People and Problems in Its Study” (article) 11; Mapai political party 10; positions held 10–11; Prize of Israel 11; statement of objectives (journal Zion) 12; Zionist Congress in Prague (1933) 11 Diversity sociology; colonization of Palestine 76–80; elitism and pluralism 59–67; ethno-classes and gender-classes 67–76; time of “posts” 80–8; “dual” concept, parallel existence of two societies 77

E Education in Israel: Schooling for Inequality (book) 71 Ehud Barak (Labor) 62 Ein Hod, artists’ village 103–4, 103–5 Elite without Successors: Generations of Political Leadership in Israel (book) 62 Eretz Israel 9, 10, 14–18, 15, 23, 24, 39, 61, 89, 131 (n 13) Eretz Israeli Association for History and Ethnography 11 Establishmentarian paradigm 45 Etgar (journal; literally “challenge”) 77 Ethiopians 65 Ethnic cleansing 93, 108 Ethnic democracy 34, 66, 124

165

Ethno-classes and gender-classes 67–76; “state-made new middle class” (Rosenfeld & Carmi) 68; ambivalent status of women in Israel (Dafna Izraeli) 75; “anti-establishment” journal 68; anti-totalitarian Cold War school 67; Buber–Eisenstadt lineage 67; convergence explanation 68; desocialization and resocialization 70; development towns 69; difference between approaches 70; Ella Shohat (1989) 71; Eurocentrism 71; Export oriented industry 71; feminist radicalism in Israel (Marcia Friedman) 67; “gaps” between Ashkenazim and mizrachim 68; Left-Weberian or Marxist-Weberian perspective 73; Mapai (axis party of the Labor regime) 68; Mapam (Marxist-Zionist party) 67; Marxist sociology 67; Notebooks group 68; Notebook for Research and Criticism (journal) 73; Political implications, class analysis of Swirski 71; “Right-wing revolution” 69; Socialist feminism 76; Struggle for women’s equality 74; “Weak population,” assistance to 71; Women: academic interest in issue of 74; autonomous cells of 76; equality/initiation of feminism 74; Yesh (leftist student movement) 67 Eurocentrism 72 Exclusionary populism 63 Exclusions: counter-hegemony see counter-hegemonic moves; forgetting, Israeli regime of 93–102; Israel’s War of Independence 89; Palestinian Nakba of 1948/9 90–3; Palestinians, impact of loss in war 89, 102–5

F

“Falsiography” (Ephraim Karsh) 31 feminism 59; post-Zionist 114; scholarship 32–3; socialist 76 Forgetting, Israeli regime of 93–102 The Formative Years of the Israeli Labor Party: The Organization of Power (book) 61 “Freier” culture (Roniger & Feige) 117 Frontierism (Kimmerling) 78

166 Subject Index G Gentriﬁcation 104–5 Globalization 5, 28, 37, 40, 44, 46, 58, 71, 85, 87, 105 (The) Globalization of Israel: McWorld in Tel Aviv, Jihad in Jerusalem (book) 132 (n 8) “Green Line” 35, 80, 89 (The) Gulf War 37, 89

H Hagar (Journal) 82, 116 Haifa University 5, 33, 48, 55, 63, 64, 67, 68, 73, 74, 81, 82, 87, 133 (n 18) HaKibbutz HaMeuchad 33 Haskalah 10, 17, 24 Hebrew University of Jerusalem 4, 10, 45, 49, 50, 55, 57, 63, 67, 68, 74, 77, 87, 114, 120, 128 Hegemonic culture 84, 125 Historians/historical debate: issues and narratives 42, 42t–43t; of late nineteenth century see late nineteenth century, historians debate of; of late twentieth century see late twentieth century, historians debate of Historiography, contingency/ destination-oriented 27 History: debate of late nineteenth century 15–17; debate of late twentieth century 38–44; deconstructing meta-narrative 28–30: Israeli–Arab conﬂict 29; mizrachim (Oriental Jews) 28–9; “old/new historians” 29; “peace process” 30; protagonists’ memoirs and testimonies 29; school curricula controversies 30; Zionist Labor movement 29; knowledge after objectivism; “received view” 32 see also objectivism, knowledge after; old/ new, distinctions 30, 31 The History of the War of Independence (book) 94 The Holocaust 19, 24, 39, 40, 42–3, 91, 115, 131 (n 15), 133 (n 2); vs. heroism 121

I In Praise of Normalcy (essay) 119 Inclusions: events of September 11, 2001 125; hegemonic culture, reasons 125; ideological controversies and post-Zionism

123–7; post-Zionist alternative visions 112–15; post-Zionist cultural manifestations 115–18; theoretical perspectives on post-Zionism 118–23; see also Post-Zionism Institute for Studies of Judaism 11 Integration of (new) immigrants 50 The Invention and Decline of Israeliness: State, Society and the Military (book) 64 Israel, ambiguities within 102–5; Arab-Palestinian architectural style 104; artists’ village of Ein Hod 103–4; conservation of Arab past 102; gentriﬁcation of Jaffa 104–5; Orientalism 103; Sabra architects 104 Israel Beteinu party (“Israel Our Home,” headed by Avigdor Liberman) 36 Israel, Declaration of Independence 9–10 Israel Defense Force (IDF) 39, 94 Israel: Pluralism and Conﬂict (book) 63 Israel Studies, Hagar, and Israel Studies Forum (journals) 82 Israel without Zionists (book) 113 Israeli nationalism 3, 7, 39, 40, 42, 45, 58, 112, 113, 129, 131 (n 16) Israeli regime of forgetting; narrated see narrated forgetting; physical see physical forgetting; symbolic see symbolic forgetting Israeli society 4–6, 27, 35, 37, 39, 40, 45, 46, 49, 51, 52, 54, 55, 57, 59, 61, 63, 64, 65, 71, 73, 76–8, 80–2, 87–8, 112, 114, 117–19, 122, 125, 128, 132 (n 8); conception of: formative phase 87; initial phase 87; phases 87; postmodern phase 87 Israeli Society: Background, Development and Problems (book) 51, 63 Israeli Society: Critical Perspectives (book) 81, 112 Israeli Sociological Association 74 Israeli Sociology 4, 38, 45–6, 49, 52, 60, 63, 68, 73, 77, 81, 87 Israeli–Arab arena: 1948 War of Independence 38; Arab “mass ﬂight” 38; Labor Zionism 39; Palestinian’s refugee problem 38; secular Zionism 39; Tantura case 38; “transfer by agreement” 39 Israeli–Arab conﬂict 29, 31, 44, 51, 89, 90, 132 (n 10)

Subject Index Israeli–Israeli arena (of controversy): absorption and nation-building 40; critical school of history 44; ethno-national neo-Zionism 44; “hidden history” of women 41; idea of consumer society 41; Jewish identity 41; Jewish Labor Movement 40; mizrachim 40; pattern of integration of 1950s and 1960s 40; socialist constructivism and utopian realism 40 Israeli–Jewish arena (of controversy): Eretz Israel 39; Nazi persecution 39; negation of Diaspora 39; neo-Zionist view 40; secular Zionism 40; Six Days War (1967) 40; War of Atonement (1973) 40; Zionist Hebrew culture 39–40 Israeli-Palestinian conﬂict 77, 78, 80, 90, 110 Israel’s war of independence in 1948–1949 54, 89

J Jerusalem modernization school 49–52; Ashkenazim 51; bi-nationalism 49; Buber, Martin 49; Etatist Zionism (mamlachtiyut) 50; etatist-functionalist synthesis 50–1; ﬁrst department of sociology in Israel 49; “immigrant” (mehager) and “ascender” (ole) 51; Israeli society 51; Labor state leadership 50; “Mizrachi” immigrants 51; Parsonian social system 50; “revolutionary conservatism” (Eisenstadt) 51; Rupin, Arthur 49; Six Days War 51 “the Jerusalem School” 4, 5, 45, 51, 52, 54, 59, 63, 67, 76, 77, 128, 130 (n 3) Jewish identity 13–15, 19, 26, 36, 39–43, 87, 104, 111, 130 (n 4) Jewish immigration 35, 79 Jewish-Israeli nationalism 3, 7, 20, 111 Jewish maskilim 14 The Jewish State (book) 36 “Jewish-Arab” identity (Shenhav, Shohat) 79, 121 Jewish–Muslim clash of civilizations 34 Jihad vs. McWorld 37 Judaization 5, 66, 86; de-Judaization 114

167

K Karl Marx 46 Kav Laoved (NGO) 84 kibbutz, Zionist socialism 79, 86 kibbutzim 49, 67, 99, 130 (n 12) Knesset 11, 12, 19, 20, 74

L Labor Movement 5, 19, 29, 37, 40, 41, 44–6, 53, 57, 60, 62, 67, 72, 75, 78, 80, 86, 108; “pure colony” model of 79 Labor regime 45, 51, 52, 60, 61, 62–3, 63, 69 Labor Zionism 33–4, 39–40, 42 “Land Day,” tradition of 106 Land, Labor and the Origins of the Israeli-Palestinian Conﬂict (book) 78 late nineteenth century, historians debate of: Dubnow, Shimon: conception of “moving forces” 16; Geiger, Abraham 16; Graetz, Heinrich 15; Hebrew state 17; intrinsic and spiritual perspective 15; Jost, Isaac Marcus 15; national tribe, Jews as 15–16; Taubler, Eugen 16 late twentieth century, historians debate of (arenas of controversy): Israeli–Arab arena 38–9; Israeli–Israeli arena 40– 4; Israeli–Jewish arena 39–40; see Individual entries Law of Free Compulsory Education (1949) 20 The Law of Holocaust Memory—Yad Vashem 11 “Law of Zionist Redemption” (Ruth Firer) 24 Lebanon War (1982) 36, 89 “Left-Weberian” sociology 59, 73 Liberal ethos 35 Liberal sociologies 47 Lorch, Nathanel 95–6

M Ma’arachot (publication house) 94 Mamlachtiyut (kingdomship) 50, 123 Mapam (Marxist-Zionist party) 67, 130 (n 11) Marxism 59, 60, 67, 87; post-Marxism 5, 59, 80, 85, 87 Marxist messianism 85 Marxist sociology 67, 78 Marxist-Weberianism 73

168 Subject Index Mazpen (Left organization; literally “compass”) 77, 105, 113 McWorld vs. Jihad, concept of 123 Megamot: Behavioral Sciences Journal 82 Messianism: false 18; Marxist 85 Mizrachi 4, 19, 28, 35, 36, 37, 40, 41, 43, 52, 57, 62, 63, 68–70, 72–3, 83–4 Mizrachi Democratic Rainbow movement 84, 124 Modern nationalism, distinct feature 8 Modernist 8–9, 25, 39, 47, 59, 72–3, 80, 84, 104, 119, 129; post-modernist 47, 85, 116, 118, 119 Modernization school: ﬁrst period 52; second period (“revised functionalist” period) 52–3: political sociology (example) 53; social anthropology (example) 53 third period (revisited functionalism) 53–4 Mordechai Bar On 33

Nazi persecution 14, 39 Neo-Marxist approach see ethno-classes and gender-classes Neo-Marxist Dependency School 69 Neo-Zionism 4, 6, 28, 34–39, 44, 112, 114, 116, 121, 123, 126, 127; clash between post-Zionism and 37, 121; “culture war” 34; difference with Zionism and post- Zionism 40; ethno-national 44; ideology in mid-1970s 35; “Jewish book-shelf” 116; Jewish Orthodox community 36; 1973 October War 36 Nilachem, (“women for the renewal of society”) 74 Not Backward, but Underdeveloped: mizrachim and Ashkenazim in Israel (book) 69–70 Notebooks for Research and Criticism (journal) 33, 68

O N Narrated forgetting 93–8; Arab evacuation of city of Haifa 94–5; censorship 93; Dir Yassin 95; “ﬂight and abandonment” narrative 97; Hagana High Command 96; Jubilee album 97; Lorch, Nethanel 95–6; Ma’arachot 94; “Plan D” 96 Nationalist epistemology 118 National-revival historical school (Dinur) 35 Nation/nationhood: anti-Zionists 14; “collective biography” 7; ethnie 8; historians’ debate of late nineteenth century 15–17; inculcation through state education: Bible instruction 21–2; history teaching 23–7; Motherland studies 22–3; Jewish maskilim 14; Jewish national narrative 9; modern Jewish (Jewish-Israeli) nationhood 7; modernist/primordial (or perennial) view 7–8; nationhood, deﬁnition 8; natural or legitimate heirs 8; organic/ teleological principle 14; Renan, Ernest 89; Zionist narrative 17–19: Aliya of Rabbi Yehuda He-Hasid 18; beginning of galut (Diaspora) 18; Eretz Israel, importance and role of 18; The Holocaust 19; “organic unity” concept of 17–18; organic/teleological principle, six issues 17–19

Objectivism, knowledge after 30–4; academic research and collective memory 30; conventional view of science 32; deliberate bias and existential bias 33–4; “falsiography” (Ephraim Karsh) 31; form and content 33; Labor Zionism 33–4; new postpositivist view 30: feminist scholarship 32–3; historical representation 33; multicultural and postcolonialist scholarship 32; nature of modernity 32; sociological and historical approach to science 32; objectivist–relativist dispute 31; Orientalism 32; Palestinian’s refugee problem 31; radical transformation 33–4; regimes of truth 32; relativism 31; scientiﬁc paradigm 32 October War (Atonement Days War) (1973) 36, 60, 89 Organic unity, concept of 15, 17–18 Orientalism 32, 103, 121 Origins of the Israeli Polity: Palestine Under the Mandate (book) 53 Oslo Accord 66, 81, 105, 112

P Palestine, colonization of 76–80; frontierism (Kimmerling) 78; high/ low frontierity 78; “Jewish bubble”

Subject Index (Kimmerling) 77; “plantation colonies” model (Shaﬁr) 78; “pure colony” model of Labor Movement (Shaﬁr) 79; non-mixed colony model 78: Shaﬁr’s analysis 78–9; “Hebrew work” 79; “two states solution” 79 Palestinian Liberation Organization (PLO) 66, 81, 105, 112 Palestinian(s): impact of loss in war 89, 102–5; Intifada (1987) 36, 89; Nakba of 1948/9 90–3: core of Israeli-Palestinian conﬂict 90–1; national conﬂict in Israel 91; testimonies, uprooting of Palestinians 92–3; “War of Independence” (Al Nakba—“The Disaster”) 90; refugee problem 31 Parsonianism 60; social system 50, 59 Physical forgetting 98–100; actual destruction of Arab premises 98; demolition of Palestinian objects/ site 98–100; “Judaized” 99; Plan D 98–9 Pillar of Fire (television series) 97, 108 pluralism 5, 59, 63, 64, 87, 127, 131 (n 3) Political parties: Dash 60; Israel Betienu 36; Kadima 62; Likud 37, 45, 54, 57, 61, 62, 63, 72, 80, 114, 123, 126; Mapai 10, 20, 40, 60, 67, 69; Mapam 67, 130 (n 11); Sinui 60; Shas 36, 72, 83; Politics behind history 34–7; 1973 October War 36; analytical model, types of ethos 34; assassination of Yitzhak Rabin 37; “bourgeois revolution” 37; “Chardal” charedim-dati’yim-le’umiyim (Orthodox religious-national) 36; “culture war” (1970s) 34; eastern European Diaspora Jewry 36; “ethnic democracy” 34; Gulf War of 1991 37; Jewish “clash of civilizations” 34; “Jihad vs. McWorld” (concept of) 37; Lebanon War of 1982 36; Left (concept of post-Zionism) 34; Likud-led coalition 37; neo-Zionist ethos (ethnic) 35; Orthodox, split in 36; Palestinian Intifada (1987) 36; post-Zionist ethos (liberal) 35; 1990s neo-Zionist nationalism 36; state for Jews 34; worship of “holy places” 35; Zionist ethos at the center (Republican) 35

169

Populism 62; concept of 62; inclusionary/exclusionary/Likud nationalist (Filc) 63 Postcolonialism 5, 59, 80, 83, 85, 87, 124 Post-Fordist capitalism 28, 86, 122 Post-Khunian approach 56–7 Post-Marxism 5, 59, 80, 85, 87; advantage of 85; “bifurcation model” 86; “cultural studies” approach 80, 81; de-ethnization 86; Israeli poststructuralism 82; Israeli Sociology (journal) 81; Left vs. Right ideological split 83; Mizrachi Democratic Rainbow movement 84; post-Fordist capitalism, shift to 86; “posts,” time of 80–8; Shas party 83; social categories 80; “triadic citizenship model” 85; tribalization 87 Post-Second World War version of Zionism 9 Poststructuralism 5, 59, 82–3, 85, 87 Post-Zionism 4, 6, 28, 34, 36, 37, 39, 44, 110-129, 133 (n 5), 133 (n 6): alternative visions 112–15: anti-Zionism 113; Canaanite Movement 113; diasporic post-Zionism 114; Israeli nationalism 112; new Enlightenment multiculturalism to post-Enlightenment spiritualism 114; post-Zionist feminism 114; tekufa betar Zionit (Hebrew) 112; true Zionism 113; cultural manifestations 115–18: American-style consumerism 118; Constitutional Revolution 117, 118; “Freier” culture 117; Late Marriage (movie) 116; nationalist epistemology 118; nuclear museum 117; post-Zionism, meaning 115; scholarly works 116; universalist and particularist narratives 117; ideological controversies and 123–7: Enlightenment Judaism (Haskala) and Orthodox Judaism 123–4; Enlightenment-Romantic clash 123; ethnocracy 124; liberal Zionism 124; postcolonialism 124–5; “social” agenda of the Labor party’s left wing 124; vision of “bi-national state” 125; theoretical perspectives see post-Zionism, theoretical perspectives

170 Subject Index Post-Zionism: A Reader (book) 116 Post-Zionism Debates (book) 116 Post-Zionism, theoretical perspectives 118–23; postcolonialist perspective 121–2: “Jewish-Arab” conceptualization 121; West–East dichotomy 121; Zionism as European-Ashkenazi-White-Colonial movement 121; post-ideological perspective 118–19: Ben-Gurionian approach 119; cultural “normalization” 118; Eisenstadt, cognitive post-Zionist 119; “end of ideology” thesis 119; post-Marxist perspective 122–3: combination of “public” ﬁnance and privileged labor 123; ethno-fundamentalism vs. civic-liberalism 123; “McWorld vs. Jihad” 123; post-Fordist capitalism vs. Fordist capitalism 122; post-modernist perspective 119–21: constitutional-oriented/identity-oriented version 121; Foucauldian/ Habermasian approach 120; nationalism 119–20; republicanism 121 Power elite, concept of 60, 61, 69 Primordialist 8, 9, 25

R Relativism 31, 33 Republican-communitarian ethos 35 “Revised functionalist” period 52 “revolutionary conservatism” 51 Right-wing revolution 69 The Road to Power: Herut Party in Israel (book) 62

S

“Sabra” (Jewish-Israeli native) 39, 61, 79; architects 104 Science: conventional 32; sociological and historical approach 32 Scientiﬁc paradigm, concept of 32 Second LebanonWar (2006) 89 Secular Ashkenazim 64 Secular Zionism 40 September 11 (2001), events of 125 Shlomo Deshen 53 Shmuel Noah Eisenstadt 50 Sifriyat Poalim 81; “The French,” series 81 Six DaysWar (1967) 89

Smooha, Sammy: Arab minority, domination over 65; differential/ universalist integration 64; ethnic democracy 65, 66; Israel and PLO 66; New Left 64; Palestinian-Arabs 65; sociology of pluralism 64; universalist integration 64 Socialist constructivism 40 Sociological elitism 63 Sociology, mainstream and critical 46–9; critical sociology, characteristics 48; Karl Marx 46; mainstream sociology, characteristics 47; managers and critics (Swirski) 48–9; Marxists and other modernists 47; sociology as science, view of 47; substantial issues/disciplinary rules 46 sociology of elitism and pluralism 59–67; 1967 war 65; American power elite 60; Black Panthers movement 63; constitutional revolution 61; Dash party 59; emergence of critical sociology, factors 59–60; Ethiopians 65; ethnic-democracy model 66; Herut party 62; inclusionary/exclusionary populism (Filc) 63; Integration (problems of) 65; Jerusalem thesis/Tel Aviv antithesis 59; Labor party 62; “Left–Weberian” sociology (conﬂict sociology) 59, 73; Likud right-wing party 6, 61; Pluralism sociology 63; Pluralist democracy 60; Shapiro’s sociology of elites 60, 61; Shinui movement 59; Sociological elitism 63; Symbolic compensation 62; “Turnover” (electoral) of 1977 6 state education, inculcation through: Aliya 27; Bible instruction 21–2: creation of new Hebrew 21; curriculum design 22; Torah religious script to epic and moral sections 22; Civil religion of Zionist movement 25; Contingency vs. destination (in historiography) 27; History teaching 23–4: Holocaust, presentation of 24; “Law of Zionist Redemption” 24; negation of Diaspora 24; 1950s curriculum 23; Invention of tradition 25; Law of Education in 1953 19–21; Law of Free Compulsory Education (1949) 20; Mamlachtiut, campaign

Subject Index of 21; Menachem Ussishkin of Hovevei Zion 20; Motherland studies 22–3: “How to Educate for the Love of the Moledet” 23; Modelet studies, goal of designers 22–3; Primordialist vs.modernist theories of nationalism 25; Pre-Zionist Jewishness 26; Zionism in 1950s 25–6; Zionist movement (1918) 20; “State-made new middle class” (Rosenfeld & Carmi) 68 Strong Program (in sociology of knowledge) 32, 56 The Structure of Scientiﬁc Revolutions (Thomas Kuhn) 32, 56 Symbolic forgetting 100–2; The Negev Museum 102; Hebraization 100; Renaming places, committee for 100; Ruining of Arab holy places 102; Substitution of Arab names with Hebrew 101

T Tchelet (journal, English version is Azure) 35, 41, 116 Tekuma (Rebirth) (television series) 30, 108, 116 Tel Aviv University 5, 33, 55, 59, 74, 80, 82, 84, 87 Theory and Criticism (journal) 33, 80, 82–3, 83, 84, 116 Theorya U-Bikoret (Theory and Criticism) 116 The Transformation of Israeli Society—An Essay in Interpretation (book) 54 Trouble in Utopia: The Overburdened Polity of Israel (book) 54 “True Zionism” 113

U University of California Berkeley 78 University of California in Los Angeles (UCLA) 64 “Utopian realism” 40

V Van Leer Jerusalem Institute 46, 80 Vietnam effect 37

171

Visionary Documents of Palestinian citizens of Israel 66–7

W Wars, Israeli-Arab: War of Attrition 89; War of Independence (1948) 2, 5, 21, 38, 50, 54, 62, 63, 65, 89, 90, 93, 94, 97, 104, 106, 109, 129, 132 (n 1); The Gulf War 37, 89; Intifada, the First 36, 89; Intifada, the Second 89; Lebanon War (the First) 36, 89; Lebanon War (the Second) 89; October War, (War of Atonment) (1973) 5, 35, 36, 40, 43, 57, 89; Sinai War (1956) 89; Six Day War (1967) 5, 35, 36, 40, 51, 57, 77, 89, 101, 104, 105 World War, the First 10 World War, the Second 9, 19, 39 Woman, Women and Femininity (book) 74 Women: equality, struggle for 74; “hidden history” 41 Women as Human Beings (book) 74 World Zionist Organization in Palestine 49

Y Yesh, leftist student movement (1970s) 67

Z Zionist Congress in Prague (1933) 11 Zionist historiography 4, 8, 12, 17, 25, 26, 27, 128 Zionist ideology, tenets of 20 Zionist movement 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 20, 25, 26, 27, 49, 87; “autonomists” 13: contributory and complementary C’s 13; “identity strategies” of European Jews 13; Jewish nationality 14, 23; Orthodoxy 14; religious/secular: collective option 13–14: individual option 13–14 Zionist education 20 Zionism 3, 6, 9, 14, 15, 18, 19, 21, 24–26, 28, 34, 39, 40, 44, 50, 52, 109, 112–115, 118–122, 124–126, 129, 130 (n 6, n 7), 133 (n 115) Zionism and Territory (book) 77 Zochrot (remembering) 102, 109

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