Fatal Embrace
http://markbraverman.org/fatal-embrace/
The State of Israel was established as a safe haven for the Jewish people, but its expansionism and treatment of the Palestinians have made the prospects for peace in the Holy Land recede further and further. In Fatal Embrace, author Mark Braverman shows how the Jewish quest for safety and empowerment and the Christian endeavor to atone for centuries of anti-Semitism have united to suppress the conversations needed to bring peace. Tracing his own journey as a Jew struggling with the difficult realities of modern Israel, Braverman delivers a strong message to Jews and Christians alike: it is not anti-Semitic to stand up for justice for the Palestinian people. Describing the spiritual and psychological forces driving the discourse in America, in Israel, within the Jewish community, and within the church, Braverman turns to the prophets’ cry for justice and to Jesus’ transformative ministry to show the way forward.
Fatal Embrace:
Christians, Jews, and the Search for Peace in the Holy Land
by Mark Braverman
Book Summary
Israel/Palestine is the longest-running problem on the world stage. The conflict pulls all who try to solve it into a quicksand of contradiction and enmity. A civil war has broken out between those Jews who staunchly defend the Jewish State against all critics and those who fear for its very soul. A powerful, well-organized system of Jewish institutions — synagogues, Jewish Philanthropic Federations, political lobbying organizations — move quickly to suppress or neutralize any possible criticism or threat to that support. The pastor who opens his or her church to a conference on Palestinian human rights faces protests and editorials from Jewish organizations charging anti-Semitism. In the U.S., powerful Christian Zionist organizations join with the pro-Israel Lobby to support the U.S. administration’s unconditional support of the Jewish State.
Meanwhile, sputtering efforts at a “peace process” to resolve the conflict between Israel and its Palestinian subjects appears increasingly futile to a growing number of stakeholders on all sides. Indeed, the entire effort to achieve a “settlement” appears to be based on a massive, collective self-deception: While appearing to hold Israel to account, the world powers actually give Israel free rein to pursue policies that breed popular resistance among Palestinians and promise only to prolong the conflict.
This book presents the struggle of an American Jew to come to terms with the dilemma of modern Israel. It presents an approach to solving the conflict through an understanding of the origins of Zionism and the contemporary Christian reaction to its own anti-Jewish past. Through a discussion of issues of faith deeply embedded in our Western culture, the book addresses two fundamental questions: (1) Why are Jews pursuing a course in Israel which, far from fulfilling the goals of the Zionist movement, is actually heightening the threat to Israel’s security and serving to isolate us in the world? and (2) Why is the Christian world enabling Israel’s tragically flawed policies rather than holding us to a faithfulness to our shared tradition of justice? In addressing the first question, I explore the tension in Judaism between the universalism inherent in our monotheistic creed and ethical code, and the particularism so deeply embedded in our cultural identity and history. I argue that the Jewish quality of exclusivism enshrined in the concept of election is being enacted in the current self-defeating policies of the modern State of Israel. In taking up the second question, I review post-Holocaust revisionist Christian theology. I discuss the attempts by contemporary Christian theologians to rehabilitate Judaism through a revised Christian theology and world view in order to atone for the horrors of anti-Semitism. I show how this effort, although courageous and commendable, has now resulted in the uncritical legitimization of Zionist strivings as well as a suppression of any honest interfaith dialogue on the issue of the State of Israel. It has and continues to give Jews license to establish and pursue a nationalist, colonial political agenda in Israel that violates principles of justice as well as international law, and which presents a formidable obstacle to peace. I show how even those Christian thinkers most committed to a social justice agenda appear to endorse the Jewish people’s right to a tragically flawed political project. This runs counter to their principles and continues to lend support to those political elements that block holding Israel to account and that impede progress toward peace.
It’s a fatal embrace: together, these two powerful, deep-seated forces combine to keep us stuck in Israel-Palestine. I argue that the persistence and power of these beliefs – the more powerful because they are unrecognized, unexamined and even denied – play a major role in thwarting progress toward a peaceful settlement of the political conflict. I believe the key to a political resolution lies in the initiation and strengthening of a broad-based movement within the major Christian denominations in the U.S., and my book will include a call to action directed at them, as well as to other groups.
Fatal Embrace should be at home on both the Religion and Current Affairs shelves of the bookstores. A deep exploration of the religious issues is fundamental to understanding the political situation in the Holy Land as well as the social and political forces in the U.S. and globally that exert such a profound influence on Israel’s politics. There is an excellent literature that covers Zionism from historical, philosophical, and sociological perspectives, and the book reviews some of these writers. However, the topic has not been approached from the perspective outlined here. The literature on the question of Zionism and Israel, from Christian and Jewish writers alike, in the fields of politics, history, sociology and religion, are devoted either to defenses of or critiques of Zionism. Furthermore, I do not believe that anyone has yet addressed the phenomenon of the Zionism – implicit and explicit – to be found in mainstream Christian thought and practice.
In the course of the book I return again and again to my personal journey. I have deep family roots in Israel, grew up as a religious Jew in the U.S., and in the past several years have become deeply involved in social and political activism with various Jewish and interfaith organizations working for peace and justice for all peoples of the region. My family background, my experiences growing up Jewish in postwar America, and my encounters with Israelis, Palestinians and Americans since my first visit to the West Bank in 2006 form the scaffolding for the book’s chapters.
I have written the book primarily in order to influence the minds, hearts and actions of Christians in the West today and to lend support to those Jews who are working to salvage our people’s moral standing in the world. I believe that only in this way can we create a future for the people of the State of Israel as well as for the Palestinian people. My hope is that by exposing the unexamined assumptions and unacknowledged strivings that are in part responsible for the failure to resolve the conflict, and by helping Christians overcome their fear of being perceived or labeled as anti-Semitic, the book will enable a more open, productive dialogue within the Christian community as well as between the faiths. I also directly appeal to the church to embrace and pursue actions that will advance the cause of peace in the Holy Land based on justice. I present specific actions that will advance the emerging global movement needed to change the political wind and bring peace to the region.
Table of Contents
Part One: Breaking the Spell
Chapter One: The Moment of Truth
Chapter Two: My Journey
Chapter Three: Anti-Semitism, Jewish Identity, and the State of Israel
Chapter Four: A Movement of Hope and Desire
Part Two: Beyond Atonement
Chapter Five: Undoing the Damage: Post-Holocaust
Christian Theology
Chapter Six: Theological Urgency and the Promise of the Land
Chapter Seven: Walter Brueggemann and the Prophetic Imagination
Chapter Eight: Progressive Christianity, Israel, and the Challenge of Reform
Part Three: Beyond Interfaith
Chapter Nine: Except Thou Bless Me: Jewish Progressives Wrestle with Israel
Chapter Ten: The Myth of Redemptive Violence
Chapter Eleven: A New Covenant
Chapter Twelve: Reenvisioning Israel and the Role of the Church
Chapter Thirteen: A Call to Action
Introduction
In the early spring of 1916, Daher Nassar stood on a hill- top in central Palestine. To his west he could see the coastal plain stretching to the Mediterranean, to his north the spires and mina- rets of Jerusalem, and to the east the mountains of Moab. Daher liked this piece of land, the highest point in the fertile hill country south of Bethlehem. For Daher, a Christian, it felt good to be close to the birthplace of Jesus and the ancient “Patriarch’s Road” to Hebron. A lover of the land and its bounty, Daher could see in his mind’s eye the terraces that would follow the contours of the hill. ␣ere he would plant the grapes that would glisten in the summer heat. He could imagine the orchards he would set out in the valley to the south, and the olive and almond trees that would soon range in rows along the crest and on the eastern slope. He thought of the shelter for his family he would find in the caves that dotted the hillside, caves used by Palestinian shepherds and farmers for millennia. Four hundred dunam—a hundred acres. Daher paid the price, signed the papers, and silently mouthed a prayer as he carefully placed the deed to the property for safekeep- ing: this is for my children and my grandchildren.
Daher Nassar, like his fellow Palestinians, paid taxes to the Ottoman sultan. And, like those other farmers and villagers, he saw the governance of the land pass over to the British Crown at the close of the World War. His sons, Bishara and Naif, who took over stewardship of the farm, saw British troops replaced by
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Jordanian regulars in 1948. And, in 1967, Bishara’s son Daoud witnessed the blue Star of David hoisted over the territory at the conclusion of the war in which Israel took control of the West Bank. ␣e Nassars have lived and farmed under four occupiers: three kings and now Israel. Only this last ruler has tried to take their land from them.
It was early spring in 2009. I was sitting in a recording studio at the oðces of National Public Radio in Chicago. To my right was Daoud Nassar, to my left my friend and colleague Bill Plitt. Bill and I had met Daoud while on an American interfaith del- egation to Israel and the Palestinian territories in the summer of 2006. Along with several others, Bill and I founded a nonprofit to support Daoud’s continued presence on his ancestral land and his work as director of Tent of Nations, an international peace cen- ter he had established on the grounds of the farm. We were on a speaking tour to educate Americans about Daoud’s work and to raise funds to help him dig cisterns, install solar power, and buy a backhoe before the Israeli government, frustrated by Daoud’s stubborn unwillingness to move oð his farm, sealed oð the last road providing access to his property. After some introductory questions, the host of the show asked me how it was that I had become involved in this project. “You mean,” I responded, “what’s a Jewish guy from Philadelphia doing defending the land rights of a Christian Palestinian farmer?” He smiled—of course that is precisely what he meant. I told him I had been horrified by what I saw happening to Daoud and his fellow Palestinians at the hands of the Israeli government. I told him that I had deep family ties in Israel, and that I felt strongly that the future of Israel’s citizens depended on safeguarding the human rights of Palestinians in Israel and the occupied territories. Working for justice and coexistence in the Holy Land, I had realized, was the only thing I could see myself doing as a Jew and as an American. ␣e host, apparently no stranger to the heated controversy taking place within the Ameri- can Jewish community over Israel’s policies, followed up with the right question: “What’s that been like for you? You must be getting some interesting reactions from your fellow Jews.”
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I had answered this question countless times since my return from the West Bank, sometimes without being asked. My answer had never been encouraging. ␣e reception that I received from the established Jewish community whenever I talked about my experiences in occupied Palestine had been like a door slamming in my face. When I talked about my horror and deep concern over the injustice I had seen and the catastrophic impact that the conflict was having on both occupier and occupied, I was told by many Jews that I was disloyal to my people, that I had “gone over to the Palestinian side.” I was informed that criticizing Israel made me an enemy of the Jewish people and that I was opening the door for the next Holocaust.
Some of the reactions bordered on the bizarre, going back to fears one would have thought we had put behind us: A rabbinical student informed his colleagues that I was obviously a convert to Christianity “masquerading” as a Jew in order to promote the destruction of the Jewish people. A reading of Israeli protest poetry that I had organized to be held at the local Jewish Com- munity Center in Washington, DC, was cancelled when it was discovered that I served on the board of directors of Partners for Peace, an organization that was on the anti-Semitic blacklist of the local Federation of Jewish Agencies. A family friend, a young rabbi who said that he agreed with my assessment of the illegality and immorality of Israeli policy, declined my request to speak at his synagogue. His frank explanation was that if he were to allow me to speak there, he would lose his job. ␣at’s why, during the years since returning from my trip, I didn’t have good things to say about the position of the American Jewish establishment on the question of Israel. I was hurt and I was angry, and I was aware that this was a problem. How eðective could I be as an activist or writer if my anger at my own community leaked out, regardless of how justified that anger was?
But this morning I had a diðerent answer. ␣e previous day we had met in a Chicago suburb with a rabbi who told us that he could not celebrate Israel’s Independence Day, the holiday commemorating the founding of the State of Israel, which was
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observed on the very day we were meeting. Because of Israel’s assault on Gaza, its human rights record in the West Bank, and its failure to take responsibility for the expulsion of three-quarters of a million Palestinians to make way for the state in 1948, this was not a day for celebration, he told us. Rather, it was a day for Jewish soul-searching. ␣e story we needed to tell ourselves, he said, was not the story of our victory over our enemies, but the story of what the Palestinian people had lost as a result of our success in founding the Jewish state. ␣e conversation had given me hope—hope that, although this was just a beginning, even the organized Jewish community in the United States might someday come to see that the very future of the Jewish people depended on our achievement of this level of honest self-scrutiny. It gave me some hope that maybe it was not too late to change course. So I had a diðerent answer than my usual one that morning, and I was glad to tell that story to my radio host. ␣ings are starting to shift, I told him.
I had let myself sound more optimistic than I felt. I had been doing a lot of thinking about my people and our national homeland project, and I had not been feeling good about the prospects for peace.
A Fatal Embrace
␣e Jewish people have always struggled with the tension between the universalism inherent in our ethical code and the particularism so deeply embedded in the cultural and historical narrative that begins with the Old Testament. Global politics is very much at play at this juncture in Jewish history. Since the founding of the State of Israel in 1948, most Jews in the West have believed that their survival depends on establishing and maintain- ing hegemony in historic Palestine. For that reason, American Jews have erected a powerful apparatus of philanthropic, educational, and lobbying organizations devoted to maintaining the stream of financial and political support for Israel from the U.S. government and from private sources. We Jews want to have our cake and eat
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it too; we want to see ourselves as universalist and humanitarian, in possession of a religious faith that is based on deep respect for human rights and a fundamental, defining commitment to uni- versal justice. We also, however, persist in supporting the policies of the Israeli government, policies that violate the human rights of Palestinians, support the continuing colonization of occupied territory in violation of international law, and represent the most significant impediment to a peaceful resolution of the half-cen- tury-old conflict.
American Jews have not created this situation by ourselves. We have been enabled by our Christian compatriots, who, because of their sense of responsibility for historical anti-Semitism, feel that they have no right to criticize any actions that Israel may take, even when these actions violate principles of human rights and justice cherished by Jews and Christians alike. Buttressed by the vigorous support of the non-Jewish community in America for anything that Israel wants or does, United States government pol- icy over the decades has remained firm in its unqualified support of Israel’s policies of de facto colonization of Palestinian lands. ␣ese policies remain the main obstacle to a peaceful resolution of the conflict. It’s a fatal embrace: these two powerful, deeply-seated forces—Christian atonement and the Jewish search for safety and empowerment—unite to help keep us stuck in Israel/Palestine. ␣e persistence and power of these beliefs—the more powerful because they are unrecognized, unexamined, and even denied— have played a major role in thwarting progress toward a peaceful settlement of the conflict.
Voices of questioning and protest have begun to emerge, however. To an increasing number of Jews, here as well as in Israel, it has become clear that Israel’s present course is tragically self- destructive, and must change if Israeli society is to continue and prosper. In addition, Christians on congregational and denomi- national levels have become concerned about Palestinian human rights based on what they have observed on their pilgrimages to the Holy Land and, increasingly, what they are reading about in the media and seeing on the Internet.
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In politics, beliefs and perceptions are just as important as facts. In the case of the conflict in Israel/Palestine, issues of cul- tural and national identity and of religious faith play a central role. It is therefore crucial that in addition to knowing the facts, we examine the power of those influences that lie at the root of our Western culture and that play a direct role in the continuation of this conflict. ␣e thesis of this book is that these beliefs play a major role in stifling productive dialogue and forward movement in the search for a peaceful resolution to the conflict. We will not have peace in the Holy Land unless we understand the power of these beliefs.
Contrary to the claims of some of my coreligionists, I do not “seek the destruction of the State of Israel.” On the contrary, I am in great fear for its peril and seek to preserve Israel’s accomplish- ments, culture, security, and, most of all, its people. I feel like two other Jews must have felt: the prophet Jeremiah and, eight centu- ries later, Jesus of Nazareth, standing before Jerusalem, weeping over the self-inflicted destruction they saw and the catastrophe to come. As I will discuss in the pages to follow, acknowledging the darkness and weeping over the brokenness is the key to finding a solution. Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann writes in ␣e Land that “‘exile,’ as either history or an ideology, has become definitional for Israel’s self-discernment” (2002, xvii). Jewish lib- eration theologian Marc Ellis has written that “we must be willing to embrace Jews of conscience who are willing to…go into exile in order to combat the abusive practices of the Jewish state” (2001). I believe, along with Brueggemann, Ellis, and others who have thought deeply about issues of faith, peoplehood, and history, and who will be our companions on this exploration, that exile can lead to restoration and even renewal. What might be the nature of that renewal, and what it means not only to the Jewish people but to people of all faiths, is the question this book seeks to address.
As Jim Wallis of the Sojourners movement reminds us, when politics fail, great social movements emerge. ␣is book is a call to action. It is my belief that if there is any hope for a lasting peace based on justice in the Holy Land, it will come about as a result
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of a broad social movement, originating at the grassroots level of faith communities and activist organizations working for peace here and in Israel/Palestine. My hope is that, by calling on Jews to examine our own shadow and by helping Christians overcome their reluctance to question the actions of some Jews, this book will advance the emerging social movement needed to change Israeli and U.S. policy in the region.
A Note on “Balance”
One of the most striking features of this discourse in the United States is the preoccupation with the need for a “balanced” perspective. Here is how this typically plays out: you may not give out information about the abridgement of human rights in occupied Palestine, or talk about targeted assassinations, house demolitions, humiliating and life-threatening restrictions on movement, or any other examples of Palestinian suðering, with- out presenting what is usually termed the “other side.” ␣e “other side” is the recognition of the suðering of the Israelis, who are faced with terrorist attacks and the threat of annihilation. What is important here is not the apparent reasonableness of this argu- ment. Of course, here in America, we are committed to fair play and the airing of all viewpoints. Rather, what is significant is the political context. In my experience, the demand for “balance” is almost always made as a way to invalidate and neutralize scrutiny of those actions of Israel that are, in my view, the root cause of the threat to its own well-being and survival.
␣e discourse, therefore, is handicapped by the seemingly unassailable position that there are “two sides:” the Israeli (or Jew- ish) and the Palestinian (or Arab). ␣e world is thus divided into two camps, the “pro-Israel” and the “pro-Palestine.” One must belong to one or the other. I am frequently assigned to the “pro- Palestinian” camp because I criticize Israel and talk about the abridgement of Palestinian rights. I reject this designation. ␣is is not a struggle between good guys and bad guys, with the Jews as villains and the Palestinians as blameless victims, any more than it
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is the opposite. ␣e issue is justice. ␣e issue is the fact that there will never be an end to the conflict until there is a full recogni- tion and redress of the massive abrogation of human rights that accompanied the birth of the State of Israel and that continues to the present day. To tell the story correctly, you have to include the story that until recently has not been reported in our media, or from the pulpits of our churches (for the most part) or our syna- gogues. It is a story in which the power diðerence between the two parties to the conflict is painfully apparent, and the evidence of Israel’s systematic project to accomplish the goal of ethnic cleansing and political and economic control over the non-Jewish inhabitants of historic Palestine is horrifyingly clear.
I am not alone in this; anyone who goes to see for him or herself—from former U.S. presidents, to South African human rights workers, to Israeli journalists, to American Christian tourists—arrives at the same conclusion. Christiane Amanpour, the award-winning CNN international correspondent, recently talked about the question of “objectivity” in reporting: “Objec- tivity means reporting the truth. It doesn’t mean creating a false equivalent. It doesn’t mean saying ‘on the one hand this and on the other hand that.’ It doesn’t mean equating victim with aggressor. If we do that, then we are accomplices” (NPR “Fresh Air” interview, December 3, 2008). Amanpour here is describing the sleight of hand commonly employed to deflect and derail the discussion: presenting a situation in which the rights of one group are being denied by another as a “conflict between two rights.”
Events and experiences drive our intellectual endeavors, our research, and our search for answers. ␣is book arises from what I have seen with my eyes and felt in my heart. It is a response to hor- ror and deep sadness. It comes from a Jew who is overwhelmed by the reality of Israel’s ethnic cleansing of Palestine, a project begun in the period 1947–1949, in the lead-up to and aftermath of the establishment of the State of Israel. ␣e project to rid the land of its indigenous people continued with the opportunity aðorded by Israel’s victory in the Six-Day War of 1967, and was further
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advanced through the blueprint for annexation and control served up by the Oslo Accords of 1993.1 It continues to the present day in what can only be described as an orgy of settlement activity and rush to establish the necessary facts on the ground to precede the inevitable political settlement to come. ␣is is the reality that drives and informs the writing in the chapters to follow. It is the reality that has set me on this journey.
About This Book
This book is organized in three parts. Part 1 sets out the basics of what I believe to be the barriers to achieving peace in the Holy Land. Chapter 1 provides an overview of the discourse in the U.S. over how to resolve the half-century-long conflict, and the issues it raises for the Christian and Jewish communities. In chapter 2, I tell the story of growing up Jewish in postwar America, and the crisis of identity and spirit that resulted from my encounter with Israel’s occupation of Palestine. Chapter 3 focuses on the impact of anti-Semitism on Jewish history and Jewish experience today, while chapter 4 is a discussion of Zionism—its origins, consequences, critics, and defenders. ␣is last chapter covers the eðorts of several Jewish writers to understand the historical, psychological, and spiri- tual forces driving the actions of the State of Israel and world Jewry’s support of those policies that many regard as barriers to peace.
1. ␣e 1993 Oslo Accords, or “Declaration of Principles,” was the first agreement between Israel and political representatives of the Palestinians. It was meant to be the first step leading to an autonomous Palestinian state in the West Bank and Gaza and to normal relations with Israel. ␣e Accords created the Palestinian Authority (PA), which would exercise various degrees of control over some of the area occupied by Israel. ␣e Accords also established three zones: Area A, under complete control of the PA; Area B, under Palestinian civil control and Israeli military control; and Area C, completely controlled by Israel. Area C consists of Jewish-only settlements and “security zones” oð limits to Palestinians. ␣e Accords set a transitional period of five years leading to the resolution of the “permanent issues” of Jewish settle- ments, Jerusalem, and the return of refugees, which were excluded from the 1993 agreement. ␣e outbreak of the Al Aqsa Intifada (or “Second Intifada”) is generally understood as the result of the Palestinians’ frustration at the failure of the Accords to achieve its promised goals and a reaction to the enormous growth of Jewish-only settlements throughout the West Bank and Gaza.
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In part 2, we undertake a consideration of Christianity’s post- WWII project to atone for anti-Semitism. Chapters 5 and 6 are a review of the eðort by Christians to reverse the theology complicit in two millennia of Western anti-Semitism. We’ll pay particular attention to the implications of this project for Christian attitudes toward modern political Zionism. In chapters 7 and 8, we explore the thinking of a number of contemporary progressive Christian theologians regarding the Holy Land and the Jewish people. We’ll see that even in those thinkers who have been passionately devoted to universalism, equality, and social justice, we can detect a reluc- tance to deny the Jewish people a superior right to the land.
In part 3, I propose that a return to the model of commu- nity that characterized early Christianity can provide the key to achieving peace in the Holy Land today. Chapter 9 opens with a consideration of several Jewish progressive writers. We’ll see that even as they struggle with the ethical and theological issues raised by political Zionism, their thinking reveals a persistent sense of entitlement with respect to the Jewish claim to the land. Chapter 10 considers the voices of social critics within Israel and frames this discussion through a consideration of contemporary work on nonviolence. Chapters 11 and 12 continue the discussion of alter- natives to violence as a solution to the conflict in the Holy Land. We will explore the work of contemporary scholars who see the Gospels as the record of a movement of social transformation.
Finally, in chapter 13, we consider the key role of the faith communities, in particular the American church, in the mount- ing of a broad, grassroots movement to guide the political change needed to bring peace. ␣is chapter includes a prescription for action and a vision for a new interfaith agenda based on a com- mitment to universal justice.
Chapter 3
Anti-Semitism, Jewish Identity, and the State of Israel
Anti-Semitism was an overwhelming force and the Jews would have to either make use of it or be swallowed up by it. In his own words, anti- Semitism was the “propelling force” responsible for all Jewish suðering since the destruction of the Temple and it would make the Jews suðer until they learned to use it for their own advantage.
—Hannah Arendt, on ␣eodor Herzl, “␣e Jewish State”
When I was a child, my brother and I would sometimes spend the night at our grandparents’ small row house in South Philadel- phia. South Philly in the 1950s was an immigrant enclave; there lived the Jews, the Irish, and the Italians. It was a bustling, colorful, tightly packed community. ␣ere were outdoor markets and syna- gogues and churches in abundance, all built on the models of the Old Country. ␣e neighborhood smelled of cooking and garbage. Homeless cats and dogs owned the maze of alleys that ran behind the densely packed streets of narrow, humble brownstones. My brother and I slept in a tiny back room. Leaning out the window, you looked right into the neighbors’ shoebox of a backyard.
One summer night it was noisy. As we prepared for bed, my grandmother, in her soft Yiddish accent, called our attention to the scene just outside the window that looked out over the alley: “Goyim,” she said, using the Yiddish word for non-Jews and point- ing out the window at a small gathering of people talking loudly,
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laughing, and holding drinks. “␣ey’re shikker,” she told us, and I knew without her saying that this meant that being drunk was their natural state, and that this convivial, noisy, and collective condition was a shameful thing. Continuing her lesson, my grandmother told us the story of the Jew and the goy who worked for the same employer. Over the years, the Jew advanced to fore- man, while the goy remained a laborer. One day, the goy comes up to the Jew and says, “Chaim, why is it that we started here together, and now you’re second in command and I’m still haul- ing bricks?” ␣e Jew looks at him and, saying not a word, takes him to the goy’s backyard and shows him the garbage can, which is full of empty liquor bottles. “␣at’s the reason,” says the Jew. ␣e goy’s response to this lesson is unknown. Presumably (and undoubtedly in my grandmother’s mind), in his goyish condition he remained unreformed.
I remember the moment. ␣e experience of shock for an eight-year-old is not a well-delineated emotion. It’s a damp, heavy blanket that settles over the heart; the colors of the world and the sharp lines of wonder at everyday experience are dulled, suðocat- ing underneath its weight. I asked no questions in response to her lesson, which was that the world surrounding our Jewish bubble was a drunken, ignorant (and thus dangerous) rabble. But—I know now—I didn’t buy it.
It was 2006, and I was in a large room in the Carnegie Endowment outside of Dupont Circle in Washington, DC. I was attending a panel entitled “Politics and Diplomacy: Next Steps in Arab-Israeli Peacemaking.” ␣ere were eight men sitting at the front of the room: four Palestinians and four Israelis. A Palestinian spoke first, calling for—in plaintive tones, there is no other way to describe it—a resumption of negotiations before it was too late. ␣e economic embargo of the newly elected Pales- tinian government with its Hamas majority had been in eðect for five months. “We don’t have much time left!” he told us. I was brought almost to tears by the sadness of his presenta- tion, and I was a bit shocked, truth to tell, at his restraint as he described the humiliation and desperation faced by his people.
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“I am a member of the Palestinian Authority Legislative Coun- sel,” he continued, “and I haven’t been paid in four months. I am one of the privileged, and I don’t know how I’ll make ends meet in the coming year!” I felt the room darkening; there was a silence. I felt shame, embarrassment, and anger.
␣en it was the Israeli’s turn to speak. I held my breath: what would he say? How would he follow this? A journalist for a popu- lar Israeli daily and now ensconced at the Brookings Institution nearby, the Israeli sat back, smiled—and opened with a joke. He was, for all the world, a man delivering an after-dinner speech; he would enlighten us in due time, but first he would entertain, warm us up. Clearly, we were in the presence of the conqueror, the man holding all the cards. “We’ll talk to them when the violence stops,” he pontificated once the jokes were told and it was time to talk about who was to blame and how it would be fixed. It was the standard line, the old story. But it wasn’t the words; it was the arrogance. No—it wasn’t even the arrogance; it was the blind- ness, the sweeping, crushing insensitivity to the feelings expressed by the previous speaker. ␣e Palestinian sitting next to him was invisible; he simply didn’t count. And on it went. ␣e other Pales- tinian panelists, leaning forward in their chairs, protested weakly that time was running out, pleaded for a resumption of negotia- tions. ␣e Israelis sat back, opining about how the Hamas1 victory rendered the prospects for negotiations negligible, talking about unilateral actions, i.e., their intention to simply do what they wanted, take what they wanted. Among them was a former Israeli general who, in this context, on this panel, spoke about the Jews’ right to the land. But, again, it wasn’t the words, and it wasn’t the policies, shocking as they were; it was the negation, the utter, shocking, arrogant negation of the Other.
1. Hamas is a Palestinian political party that won an overwhelming majority of seats in the January 2006 Palestinian legislative election. Hamas is considered a terrorist organization by Israel, the United States, and other countries. Its name comes from the Arabic acronym for “Islamic Resistance Movement.”
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Anti-Semitism, Old and New
␣e attitudes revealed in these two memories—experiences bracketing fifty years of modern Jewish history—begin to explain why we as contemporary Jews are confronting the agonizing moral and political dilemma embodied by the State of Israel. ␣e fear, insularity, and brittle sense of superiority that my grandmother carried as the legacy of Europe are tied directly to the blindness and arrogance of the Israeli statesmen, policy-makers, and opinion shapers that I saw on display that day in Washington. ␣ey also lead to the rigid, strident attitude of institutional American Jewry toward Israel on display today, the position of hard-line support that has played such a powerful role in American policy in the Middle East and that has so riven the American Jewish community.
␣e American Jewish Committee is a case in point. According to its web site, the AJC is an international organization devoted to “defending the rights and interests of the Jewish people…here in America and around the world.” ␣e web site goes on to high- light the work of the AJC in advocating for the State of Israel as “America’s partner in democracy and peace,” specifying its role as an ally of Israel “in its fight against second-class treatment at the UN and the International Red Cross.” ␣e AJC anoints itself “the most responsible, influential and eðective voice of the American Jewish community.” Lately, however, the AJC has had to step up its eðorts to defend Jewish interests. According to the AJC, anti- Semitism is on the rise, and the evidence of this is an increase in criticism of the State of Israel. What most shocks and disturbs the Committee is that these attacks originate from the ranks of the Jews themselves.
In 2006, the American Jewish Committee published “‘Pro- gressive’ Jewish ␣ought and the New Anti-Semitism,” an essay by Alvin Rosenfeld, professor of Jewish Studies at Indiana Uni- versity. In this essay, Rosenfeld attacks a number of Jewish writers who have voiced opposition to the policies of the State of Israel and who have raised questions about the legitimacy of Zionism itself as a political ideology. Rosenfeld’s piece was the latest salvo
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in the bitterly fought battle currently underway within the Jewish community on the subject of Israel. Rosenfeld’s point, as his title suggests, is that these Jews are expressing an animus against their own people. ␣e fundamental assumption is that anything less than total support for Israel as a Jewish state is anti-Semitic, opens the door to the destruction of the state, and indeed threatens the survival of the Jewish people itself. Rosenfeld writes, “some of the most impassioned charges leveled against the Jews today involve vicious accusations against the Jewish state. Anti-Zionism, in fact, is the form that much of today’s anti-Semitism takes, so much so that some now see earlier attempts to rid the world of Jews finding a parallel in present day desires to get rid of the Jewish state” (8).
Rosenfeld’s piece is an example of a school of thought among Jewish intellectuals that first appeared in the 1970s in reaction to criticism of Israel. ␣ese writers were clearly aligned with (and some might argue were leading) the American neo-conserva- tive movement that gained momentum in the 1970s. In a book published in 1974 entitled ␣e New Anti-Semitism, its authors, Forster and Epstein, argued that concerns among non-Jews about Israel’s trampling of Arab rights in Palestine—Jewish sov- ereignty over Jerusalem, for example—were actually motivated by anti-Semitism related to the “Radical Left” (9). ␣is new threat to world Jewry, according to these voices, expressed itself chiefly in opposition to the State of Israel and to Zionism as an ideology. In the present day, defenders of Israel and Zionism continue to respond to the criticisms of Israel and of political Zionism that are beginning to appear with increasing regularity and frequency in the academic, journalistic, and activist com- munities. ␣eir arguments and tone range from the respectably academic to the strident, abusive, and even scatological. ␣e American Jewish establishment, which, since the time of Harry Truman’s endorsement of the state in 1948, has confidently kept the money flowing and eðectively controlled the public image of Israel, now feels itself in the position of having to stamp out brush fires of protest. Rosenfeld’s piece encapsulates the argu- ments and represents the mind set well.
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The Power of Fear
Mark Braverman
Rosenfeld opens his paper in full fear-mongering mode by invoking the specter of world anti-Semitism. By his account, Europe is awash in a resurgence of Jew-hatred, and world Islam is hawking Arabic translations of Mein Kampf and ␣e Protocols of the Elders of Zion2 on every street corner from Cairo to Islamabad in order to rouse the masses to exterminate the Zionist intrud- ers. Rosenfeld even serves up the rumors of Jewish responsibility for the 9/11 attacks, the South Asia tsunami, and the Kennedy assassination to make his point that anti-Semitism is on the rise. We must thus be vigilant, he implies, against any hint of anti- Jewish sentiment, in the present case as expressed in criticism of Israel. Having thus established who the enemy is, Rosenfeld then directs his ire against those fifth-column Jews who dare question Jewish moral superiority and entitlement. To question Israel is to remove the defenses against anti-Semitism and, in eðect, to invite the destruction of the Jewish people.
Rosenfeld and those who agree with this philosophy are encountering strange bedfellows these days. At the opening din- ner of the March 2007 conference of AIPAC (the American Israel Public Aðairs Committee, the largest organization among the many that comprise the Israel Lobby) in Washington, DC, Pastor John Hagee, leading Christian Zionist and founder of Christians United for Israel, received a rousing reception. To thunderous applause from the conference attendees, Hagee played expertly to these deep-seated Jewish fears. Referring to the newest threat to Jewish survival, Iran, whose leader “promises nothing less than a nuclear Holocaust,” Hagee claimed that the situation is like 1938, only “Iran is Germany and [President Mahmoud] Ahmedinejad is the new Hitler.” To drive home his point to the AIPAC audience, Hagee concluded that “we must stop Iran’s nuclear threat and stop it now and stand boldly [with] Israel, the only democracy in the Middle East.”
2. A nineteenth-century anti-Semitic work of forgery purporting to be a document outlining a plan for world domination by a secret society of Jewish leaders.
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By publishing Rosenfeld’s piece, the American Jewish Com- mittee is catering to the same appetite. Rosenfeld sets the stage by presenting a picture of anti-Semitism that will frighten Jewish readers and remind them of the need for vigilance against any threat to the Jewish state. ␣is is blatant fear-mongering; we in the United States have recently learned only too well how eðec- tive this can be in shaping policy. In this way, Rosenfeld has set up a classic straw man. Of course anti-Semitism exists. Indeed it can be said that it is deeply rooted in Western civilization, with tragic consequences throughout modern history. But to use the accusation of anti-Semitism as a club to stifle legitimate criticism of Israel is short-sighted, misguided, and dangerous.
The Jewish Narrative
We must pay attention to the historical experience that has brought us to this pass. For this is the Jewish narrative, the story we tell ourselves: We have survived through the ages by managing to protect ourselves from a world that seeks our destruction. We have preserved our dignity in the face of marginalization, disenfranchise- ment, and demonization by maintaining a fierce pride and sense of superiority over the ignorant, violent forces surrounding us. For anti-Semitism, like all racist ideologies, is not simply an attack on the physical security or economic viability of a group. Rather, it assaults the dignity and the very humanity of its targets. Zion- ism was European Jewry’s response to the devastating eðects of anti-Semitism and in particular to the despair at the failure of the Enlightenment to confer rights and equality to the Jews of Europe. ␣e Zionist national movement was driven as much by a fierce need for dignity and self-determination as by a feeling of physical vulnerability. Modern Israel is, more than anything, a source of pride for Jews: it is good to have survived, and Israel is the proof of our survival. As such, Israel embodies an ideal: the desert made to bloom; the “new Jew,” tanned, proud, and strong; Jerusalem reclaimed. Challenge this image, and you strike at the very heart of the deep-rooted Jewish need for security and
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well-being. You mobilize in us a fear so deep, so thoroughly inter- nalized, that we have forgotten how much it drives us.
Rosenfeld’s attack on Jews who criticize Israel and question Zionism has its source in that fear. ␣e Rosenfeld who takes his fellow Jews to task for their criticism of Israel is not only attacking ideas that he finds unacceptable or threatening to his worldview; for him, it’s personal. ␣e Jews he wants to discredit are threatening to break through a powerful form of denial; they are challenging the attitude, now commonplace among American Jews, of not wanting to see anything, not wanting to feel anything, that chal- lenges the powerful symbol of Israel as a source of power, security, and goodness. Our wars are pure—acts of heroic self-defense against merciless enemies. Our project is noble and good for the world—we encountered a barren, primitive land and made the desert bloom. Our actions, therefore, are not only necessary, but partake of the righteousness of the Zionist project.
In Rosenfeld’s strident call for a circling of the wagons—an attitude representative of the position of the majority of religious and secular Jewish leaders throughout the United States today—I see the tragedy of modern Jewry in its confrontation with the uncomfortablerealitiesofIsrael.Tobesure,andasdiscussedabove, there are historical reasons for this attitude, and we are doubtless not the only group to have been guilty of this willful blindness, this sense of entitlement and specialness. But this tendency among many Jews today is so powerful and pervasive that it reaches the level of outright denial. Nowhere to be found in Rosenfeld’s piece is even a gratuitous nod to the suðering of the Palestinians—not even the minimizing, grudging, disingenuous acknowledgment of the “unfortunate abuses” suðered by the occupied Palestinians often heard from the more “liberal” elements of the “pro-Israel” camp. But even more important, and ultimately more disturbing and potentially tragic, is the absence of any consideration of the issue of justice. To be sure, Israel may be threatened—the future is uncertain and geopolitical alliances are unstable and fickle. In the global arena, what gives you birth and supports you one day can turn against you the next. And to be sure, anti-Semitism is
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alive, and where not active it is very likely dormant. But where is justice? What is the state of our conscience? Given our history of persecution, disenfranchisement, displacement, and humiliation, given the still-pulsating ache in our collective heart of the experi- ence of genocide itself, where is the sadness, where is the pain, where is the horror at what is being done to another people in our name by the State of Israel? Where is the recognition of our violence?
Jewish History: Survival and Its Shadow
Zionism was the answer to the anti-Semitism of Christian Europe. ␣e failure, despite the Enlightenment, to establish the Jews as an emancipated, fully enfranchised group in Europe in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries and the rise of political anti-Semitism in the late nineteenth century gave birth to politi- cal Zionism under the leadership of ␣eodore Herzl. Zionism expressed the powerful drive of the Jewish people to establish themselves as a nation among other nations, with a land of their own and the ability to achieve self-determination. ␣is is why, in sermons from synagogue pulpits, in lectures on Jewish history, in classroom lessons for small children, and in spirited discussions about the Israel-Palestine question, you will so often hear the pre- amble “throughout the centuries…” followed by a description of the suðering of the Jews at the hands of our oppressors. It’s in our liturgy, notably in the Passover seder. ␣e story of Jewish survival in the face of unending persecution is in many ways our theme song; it’s in our DNA; it’s the mantra of our peoplehood. It runs deep.
␣is unique Jewish quality is not the product of some cul- tural aberration or collective character flaw. ␣e Nazis’ campaign to eradicate world Jewry has become part of our uniquely Jew- ish “Liturgy of Destruction” (Ellis 2004, 103), the way we Jews throughout the ages have made sense of our suðering by turn- ing to the broader context of Jewish history. Arising from this matrix of vulnerability and victimization comes the Zionist cry “Never again!” Developing this particular brand of “character
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armor” has been part of our survival throughout ages of per- secution, marginalization, and demonization. We survived, in part, by creating rituals, habits, and attitudes of insularity, pride, and persistence that allowed us never to forget, never to let down our guard, and to always be proud of our stub- born vitality in the face of “those who sought to destroy us.” When, in our modern liturgical idiom, we talk of the State of Israel as “the first flowering of our redemption,” we are reflect- ing the reality of our survival, the meaning of the achievement of political self-determination in the context of Jewish history. It is good to have survived.
In chapter 1, we touched on the impact of the Nazi Holocaust on Christian theology. ␣e Nazi era produced a similarly pro- found eðect on Jewish thought. Irving Greenberg, an orthodox rabbi, has been a prime articulator of the modern orthodox view- point of the place of the State of Israel in contemporary Jewish history. His vision of the place of Israel in modern Jewish life is shot through with messianic meaning. Greenberg writes,
If God did not stop the murder and torture, then what was the statement made by the infinitely suðering Divine Presence in Auschwitz? It was a cry for action, a call to humans to stop the Holocaust, a call to the people of Israel to rise to a new, unprec- edented level of covenantal responsibility. It was as if God had said: “Enough, stop it, never again, bring redemption!” ␣e world did not heed that call to stop the Holocaust. European Jews were unable to respond. World Jewry did not respond adequately. But the response finally did come with the creation of the State of Israel. ␣e Jews took on enough power and responsibility to act. And this call was answered as much by the so-called secular Jews as by the so-called religious. Even as God was in Treblinka, so God went up with Israel to Jerusalem. (1981, 15, 18)
␣is vision is articulated here by a rabbi, but it is held across a wide spectrum of modern Jewry. ␣e Holocaust and the subse- quent establishment of the State of Israel have taken their places as the major events in modern Jewish history.
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As Jews, we must understand the shadow that this history casts on us today. We have striven to be the masters of our fate, but, having achieved this, we must also realize that we are responsible for our actions and for the consequences of these actions. Being free, we have free choice. ␣e tragedy of Jewish Diaspora history, in our own cultural narrative as well as in reality, is rooted in our history of powerlessness and passivity. Zionism came to correct this, and it has undeniably succeeded, far beyond the expecta- tions of Jews and non-Jews alike. But if we now become slaves to the consequences of empowerment, then we are not free, and we are not truly powerful. ␣e Jewish state, by using the Holocaust as justification for unjust actions, is betraying the meaning we should take from our history of persecution and marginalization. You cannot achieve your own deliverance, even from the most unspeakable evil, by the oppression of another people. Indeed, in this current era of power and self-determination for Jews in Israel, we face risks to our peoplehood that far exceed the physical perils brought by millennia of persecution.
American Jews: Asking the Unasked Questions
Jews must become willing to overcome our profound denial about the injustices committed in the name of Zionism. Walter Brueggemann writes about the prophetic call to grieve and to mourn. Only in this way, he explains, can we hope to move on to a new and better reality. In Brueggemann’s view, only when we are able to cry, in the prophet Jeremiah’s phrase, for our own brokenness, and to confront the implications of the suðering we have caused, can we be the beneficiaries of God’s bounty. In other words, we must break through the denial about what we have done. ␣e power structure, of course, is committed to the very opposite. ␣e state turns the story on its head in order to paper over the truth: We do what we do in the name of national security. ␣ese others are the terrorists, the obstacles to peace.
One particularly “slippery” form of denial, and evidence of this failure to grieve, is how some Jews take issue with some of the
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actions of the Israeli government while still avoiding a confronta- tion with the fundamental issues of justice. ␣is can take several forms. ␣e first is the “pragmatic” approach, essentially an appeal to enlightened self-interest. ␣e occupation, so this position goes, was a mistake. It’s bad for Israel. Denying self-determination for Palestinians and subjecting them to the humiliation of a military administration breeds hatred and desperation, which is then vis- ited upon Israelis in the form of violence. We need to get out of the territories, for our own sake. Some American Jewish organizations, hoping to avoid being marginalized by the mainstream commu- nity or labeled “pro-Palestinian,” adopt this position. Israel, they say, should get smart and change its policies if it wants to live in peace and limit the economic drain of unending conflict. In informal conversations with some Jewish Americans who artic- ulate this position, I have heard confessions that their position is really much more extreme with respect to their feelings about Israeli policy, but that they feel it important to hew to this line for strategic purposes, in order to maintain credibility with the Jewish establishment as well as with government legislators.
A second kind of denial, for me more disturbing, is to be found in the ranks of Jewish progressives. In his critique of this element of American Judaism, Jewish liberation theologian Marc Ellis notes that whereas Jews in this group recognize the valid- ity of Palestinian aspirations and condemn the human rights abuses committed by Israel, they also accept the idea of Jew- ish ascendancy as a solution to Jewish history. ␣is viewpoint acknowledges the issue of justice, but attempts to do this within the context of Jewish mainstream assumptions of entitlement with respect to the rights of the Jews to historic Palestine: ␣e occupation is wrong, claims the progressive Jewish camp. It goes against our Jewish values. If we can just clean up that messy busi- ness, things will come out all right, and we will be able to enjoy the land with a clean conscience.
␣is viewpoint limits the discourse to actions post-1967; it denies the history of Palestinian displacement prior to that. Consistently, progressive Jewish organizations and individuals
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avoid discussion of the Nakba, the Arabic word meaning “catas- trophe”—referring to the ethnic cleansing of three-quarters of a million Muslim and Christian Palestinians from historic Palestine by Israeli forces between 1947 and 1949. Finally, it avoids the fundamental question: how can a Jewish state, founded as a haven and a homeland only for Jews, be a true democracy, providing jus- tice and fair treatment for its non-Jewish citizenry? It also avoids the related and equally fundamental question of demography: how do you maintain a Jewish majority in Israel when the major- ity of people who have legal claim to that land are not Jewish? ␣is question, above all others, drives Israeli foreign policy and fuels the current political and military conflict. On the whole, Jews outside Israel across a wide spectrum from “establishment” to “progressive” want to avoid these questions—they are oð limits.
␣is is denial. It is a fundamental failure to accept the conse- quences of Jewish actions in pre- and post-1948 Israel/Palestine, and thus a failure to grieve over the particularly Jewish tragedy of the displacement and persecution of the Palestinian people from which we as Jews suðer today. Returning to the pre-1967 bor- ders will not make everything better. It will not make Israel a just society with respect to the Palestinian citizens living within its borders. It will not erase what was done to the Palestinians who were driven out of their cities, towns, and villages in 1948. It does not place the issue of justice as primary. Rather, it places the interests of the Jews of Israel as primary, and promotes an enti- tled, supremacist stance with respect to non-Jewish inhabitants of historic Palestine, on whichever side of the final status border they may reside when a political settlement is finally achieved. It preempts our horror over the crimes we are committing and the suðering we have caused. It muðes our own cries of pain over our sins and our cruelties. It suppresses the agony of confronting the contradictions and the excruciating dilemmas. It blocks the discussion. It closes our hearts.
Here is Walter Brueggemann describing the necessity for pro- phetic consciousness if a people is to grow and survive: “I believe that the proper idiom for the prophet in cutting through the
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royal numbness and denial is the language of grief, the rhetoric that engages the community in mourning for a funeral they do not want to admit. It is indeed their own funeral” (2001, 46; emphasis in the original).
Although it is painful and deeply troubling, I see the ferocity and depth of the current splits within the Jewish com- munity in the Diaspora as an opportunity for dialogue. ␣is is an issue of crisis proportions for Jews, and we need to take it seriously. We must encourage this conversation—we stifle it at our great, great peril. It is our responsibility as Jews to examine our relationship to Israel, rather than to passively accept the story fed to us by the Jewish establishment: the synagogues, Jewish federations, lobbying organizations, and the rest of the apparatus devoted to maintaining the mighty stream of finan- cial and policy support for Israel from the U.S. government and from private sources. We must examine our convictions and feelings about the meaning of the State to us personally, especially in relation to anti-Semitism. For example, do I, as a Jew living in America, believe that the State of Israel is impor- tant to me as a haven if I should feel unsafe or disadvantaged in my home country? Do I personally feel that the existence of a Jewish state is an essential part of my Jewishness, or of the religious values and beliefs that I hold as a Jew? Do I believe that the world owes a state to the Jews because of the centuries of violence against and persecution of the Jews, culminating in the Nazi Holocaust?
As Diaspora Jews, we need to question where we get our information about the history of the State of Israel and about the current political situation. What news services do we rely on, and what web sites do we visit? What do we know about the discussion going on inside Israel today, exemplified by the active dialogue found in the pages of the Israeli daily newspaper Haaretz, in the organizations voicing opposition to Israeli government policy, and in the accelerated pace of revisionist Zionist history being produced by Jewish Israeli historians?
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Anti-Zionism Is Not Anti-Semitism
But this discussion is largely muzzled today in the United States. To be critical of Israel is to be, quite simply, anti-Jewish. “Anti-Zionism” is another of Rosenfeld’s straw men. For Rosen- feld, to question Zionism is to be anti-Semitic. It is not only actual criticism of Israel but almost any discussion that questions Israel’s present course that fails Rosenfeld’s loyalty test. ␣is accu- sation is the favorite of the “my Israel right or wrong” camp, and its members wield it like a club against Jews and non-Jews alike. But it is important to distinguish “anti-Zionism” from criticism of Israel stemming from horror, shame, and outrage at the illegal actions of the Jewish state. Zionism is an ideology, and as such it can be subscribed to and debated like any other. In contrast, the State of Israel is a political entity—a nation state, that, like any other, should be held to standards of human rights, international law, fairness, and common decency. One could argue that one can be an ardent Zionist and still feel horror at—or at least feel grave concern about—Israel’s policies and actions, and thus be moved to voice these opinions or even to political activism. Does this point up the need for an updated definition of Zionism or the need to ask whether the term is even relevant any longer as we consider the future of Judaism? “Zionism,” stated Avraham Burg, Israeli statesman, author, and well-known critic of Israeli society and politics, in a recent address at a Washington, DC, synagogue, “is not the Torah. It’s a chapter in our history. Let us go on to the next chapter!” (2008).
Contemporary Jewish historians, social theorists, and theo- logians have begun to weigh in on the implications of statehood for the Jewish religion itself. Israeli professor of social psychology Benjamin Beit-Halahmi holds that for American Jews, Zionism has become a “‘religion,’ kept by the class of high priests in Jew- ish organizations” (1993, 198). But, he writes, it is a “passive” religion, “more of an abstract faith than a plan of action” (198). Beit-Halahmi argues that the actual actions of Israel as a state are irrelevant to the role played by Israel in providing ideological
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content to make up for the decline in religious traditions and for the growing hunger among American Jews for spiritual ful- fillment. Marc Ellis has written that “mainstream Jewish life has evolved into a new form of Judaism, one that seeks and maintains empire, not unlike Constantinian Christianity” (2004, 206). Ellis also points out in his 2004 Toward a Jewish ␣eology of Liberation that prior to WWII the Reform movement of Judaism in America was deeply split over the question of the Jewish state, but that following the Holocaust all dissent was eðectively silenced. ␣us it was that for me, born in 1948, Zionism—meaning unquali- fied love for and support of the State of Israel—was inextricably intertwined with my religious education and practice. Once an ideology and a movement among some Jews, Zionism is now eðectively inseparable from Judaism itself. What is striking is that the term is subject to use or misuse by extremists on both sides: by the uncritical “defenders” of Israel’s expansionism and militarism, ever vigilant against a possible threat to Jewish survival and ever watchful for the signs of an approaching holocaust, as well as by outright anti-Semites.
The Loyalty Oath
Rosenfeld maintains that the goal of Israel’s critics is not Isra- el’s withdrawal from the occupied territories or a change in state policy toward its own Arab citizens, but to bring an end to the Jewish state itself. For some of Rosenfeld’s targets, this is true, if by this one means their principled stand against the concept and reality of a state founded and maintained on the basis of an eth- nic nationalist ideology. But is this anti-Semitism? By this logic Rosenfeld would have accused Rabbi Judah Magnes, chancellor of the Hebrew University until his death in 1948, and Martin Buber, the eminent Jewish philosopher, of being anti-Semitic. ␣ey both opposed the establishment of Israel as a Jewish state. But Rosen- feld is not interested in a principled discussion about the nature and future of the State of Israel. Rather, he requires a declaration of allegiance, not to the State of Israel, but to an ideology of which
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the State is the primary manifestation.3 For him, loyalty to the State of Israel is a test of one’s loyalty to the Jewish people. If you challenge the State and Zionism on a fundamental level, you are operating out of unalloyed anti-Semitism. Recall that the article begins with a cataloging of the rise of virulent anti-Semitism, especially in the Islamic world. Anti-Semitism and anti-Zionism are conflated.
␣e eðect is to stifle—indeed to render totally impermissi- ble—any criticism of Israel on political, philosophical, historical, or ethical grounds. It’s a slippery slope, Rosenfeld would argue: anti-Israel equals anti-Semite, and anti-Semites want to bring an end to the Jewish people. Actually, Rosenfeld has set us on a slippery slope, but not the one he fears. What we see here, in full flower, is the tyranny of the ideologue: it’s the kind of thinking that leads to oppression in the name of God or the Nation. For example, in his rant against any notion of economic sanctions or conditions that might be imposed on Israel, Rosenfeld lumps those who would hold Israel to human rights standards required by international law with those who call “into question Israel’s legitimacy and moral standing…[and] those who demand an end to Jewish national existence altogether” (2006, 24). Again, the thrust is all too clear: we are in the right, and if you are not with us you are against us. Criticizing Israel is providing aid and comfort to the enemy. Even certain words are out of bounds: according to Rosenfeld, using words like “brutal…oppressive,
3. ␣is issue has recently surfaced in Israeli politics. Following the national elec- tions in early 2009, Avigdor Lieberman, head of the Yisrael Beiteinu (“Israel is Our Home”) party, introduced a bill to require a loyalty oath to Israel as a “Jewish, Zionist and democratic state” (“Yisrael Beiteinu To Advance Bill on Loyalty Oath,” Haaretz, May 29, 2009). Given the ultra-nationalist platform of his party, this bill is understood to target Palestinian citizens of Israel and move Israel toward transfer of non-Jews out of the state. In a recent interview, Daniel Levy, codirector of the Middle East Task Force of the New America Foundation, credited the “Lieberman phenomenon” with creating a “moment of truth” for Israel (“Israel’s Loyalty Oath,” ␣e Real News Network, February 20, 2009, (http://therealnews.com/t/index. php?option=com_content&task=view&id=31&Itemid=74&jumival=3330).
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or racist” to describe Israel’s actions equals anti-Semitism and is simply not to be permitted (16).
␣is reasoning is not only logically flawed, it is dangerous. In Rosenfeld’s argument, permission is not granted to hold any views outside of what is what is commonly termed “pro-Israel” by the mainstream. “Behavior”—to use Rosenfeld’s word—such as identifying with the suðering of oppressed Palestinian people by wearing a pin of the Palestinian flag, or seeking to find a path to peace through an understanding of the root causes of the horror of suicide bombing, is “bizarre” and “grotesque” (24).
Easy Targets
Rosenfeld never directly discloses his right-wing leanings and how they condition his position on Israel. However, he repeatedly exposes his ideological bias, which in his case is expressed as an animus toward and outright vilification of any views or persons associated with the political Left. He discounts what he terms anti- Israel “hysteria” as “politically motivated”—clearly code for “left wing” (20). In other words, criticism of Israel is nothing more than adherence to a radical political viewpoint, one that requires oppo- sition to the State of Israel as a kind of left-wing litmus test. In one passage, using author and professor Jacqueline Rose as his poster child for the leftist anti-Zionist camp, he submits that “there are many like Rose today. Some are probably no more than ideological fellow travelers…” (25; emphasis added). Having thus dismissed any writers who may fall into this class, Rosenfeld argues that anti- Zionism is simply one more way for these people to “establish their leftist credentials.” ␣en, in another characteristic thousand- league leap of logic, Rosenfeld alleges that “anti-Zionism…shares common features with anti-Jewish ideologies of the past…” (25). What these ideologies are, or what the “common features” shared with anti-Zionism are, is never made clear. ␣e fact that these benighted ideologues do not see this connection, and the mortal danger it poses to the Jewish people, is “more than just a pity—it is a betrayal,” cries Rosenfeld (25).
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Rose is only one of the high-profile critics of Israel identi- fied with the political Left singled out by Rosenfeld, but she is one of his favorites. A British academic, Rose is best known for her work on the relationship between psychoanalysis, femi- nism, and literature. Rose’s leftist credentials alone are enough to discount her entirely in Rosenfeld’s view, but, again, he uses her simply to set up his argument. In her writing about Zion- ism, Rose has attempted, in her words, to “steer a clear path between an elated identification with the state’s own discourse and a string of insults” (Rose 2005). But Rosenfeld will have nothing to do with nuance. He advances a shallow critique, tak- ing aim at concepts like “messianism” that Rose introduces as part of a careful analysis but that Rosenfeld, incredibly and cyni- cally, takes literally, charging that Rose believes the Zionists to have been inspired directly by Jewish Messianic madmen from medieval times. In like fashion, Rosenfeld seizes upon Rose’s use of the word “catastrophe” to describe the current state of aðairs in Israel and occupied Palestine. He, however, links it with the Arabic Al Nakba, the Palestinian term for the ethnic cleansing of Palestine between 1947 and 1949. He thus charges her with being “aligned…with this reading of history…[that] the cre- ation of Israel led to a historic injustice against the Palestinians” (2006, 10). ␣is is the damning charge? ␣at she acknowledges that injustice has been done to the Palestinians? Here Rosenfeld again shows his true colors: flat-out denial of the injustices per- petrated by Israel. In other words, if you acknowledge this fact, you are his enemy and an enemy of the Jewish people, as well as a person who has abandoned all rational discourse. Jews do not have the right to criticize Israel, indeed to even entertain the notion that Israel is not perfect—or perfectly entitled to do as it wishes. Further on in his attack on Rose, Rosenfeld, in another fallacy-ridden argument, challenges her question, “How did one of the most persecuted peoples of the world come to embody some of the worst cruelties of the modern nation-state?” (Rose 2005, 115). To this he responds: “Compared to the truly horrendous crimes of…Sudan, Cambodia…Serbia…or Chile—
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Israel’s record actually looks relatively good” (2006, 11). By any standards of logical discourse and decency, this is a despicable argument and merits no further comment.
Muzzling Voices of Protest
Is Alvin Rosenfeld my “straw man”? Is it fair or accurate to use this obviously polemical article to represent the attitude of the American Jewish establishment toward criticism of Israel? Are there not moderate, more responsible voices? ␣e answer is that Rosenfeld’s piece is the tip of the iceberg of Jewish institutional opposition to all voices that challenge the status quo of unques- tioned and unconditional American support of the State of Israel. Accusations of disloyalty, anti-Semitism, and left-wing leanings find expression in myriad ways throughout the Jewish religious and secular establishment in the United States today in response to individual Jews who challenge the prescribed allegiance to the policies of the Jewish state. ␣is vigilance against threats to sup- port for Israel is not limited to Jews and Jewish institutions. ␣e Israel lobby—a “loose coalition of individuals and organizations who actively work to steer U.S. foreign policy in a pro-Israel direc- tion,” to use the definition advanced by Mearsheimer and Walt as well as Rabbi Michael Lerner of Tikkun Magazine—casts a wide net in its mission to muzzle “anti-Israel” speech and activism perceived as hostile to the Jewish state.4 Mearsheimer and Walt’s term “loose” does not accurately characterize the well-funded, well-organized, and highly strategic matrix of organizations that
4. Lerner’s definition from a recent piece in Tikkun Magazine is worth quoting: “When I talk about the Israel Lobby I mean to refer not only to AIPAC or ␣e Con- ference of Presidents, but to a range of organizations, including the American Jew- ish Congress, the American Jewish Committee, the World Jewish Congress, B’nai Brith, the Anti-Defamation League (ADL), Hadassah, the Wiesenthal Center, the Federation, and the United Jewish Appeal (UJA), the various Jewish Community Relations Councils, most of the local Hillel Foundations on college campuses, most of the Hebrew schools and day schools introducing their students to Judaism or Jewish culture, the array of Federation sponsored newspapers that are distributed in almost every Jewish community in America” (2007).
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together monitor the press, the United States Congress, academic institutions, and the major Christian denominations. Well-pub- licized cases in recent years include the successful blocking of Professor Norman Finkelstein’s tenure at DePaul University, the unsuccessful attempt to block the tenure appointment of Barnard professor Nadia Abu El-Haj, and the cancelling of Archbishop Tutu’s appearance at St. ␣omas University (the archbishop has become an outspoken critic of Israel’s apartheid-like policies and of the blockade of Gaza). Mearsheimer and Walt’s article on the Israel lobby, ultimately published in a British journal, had been commissioned by ␣e Atlantic Monthly but was rejected for rea- sons that have not been revealed by any of the parties.
Meanwhile, our best thinkers and writers keep producing. In spite of himself, Alvin Rosenfeld in his piece on the new anti- Semitism has made an important contribution to the cause for justice and renewal: his “enemies list” provides those of us hungry for these courageous voices with a superb recommended reading list. One only wishes he had given more attention to the work of Sara Roy, Senior Research Scholar at the Center for Middle Eastern Studies at Harvard University, whom we must count as one of today’s most courageous—and intensely Jewish—voices of conscience. Rosenfeld dispatches Roy in two short sentences, cit- ing a passage in which she comments on the “heresy” within the Jewish community of comparing the actions and policies of Israel with those of the Nazis (in the next paragraph, he eðectively dem- onstrates her point by characterizing any comparison between today’s Jews and their former victimizers as “unseemly”) (17).
Rosenfeld’s attack on Roy for daring to address the similarities between the actions of Nazi Germany and those of Israel in its occupation of the West Bank and blockade of Gaza is perhaps the ultimate symbol of the frightening blindness of his perspective. Roy’s powerful evocation of the central meaning of the Holocaust in her personal history is a cornerstone of her human rights work. Along with the work of other Jewish writers such as Norman Fin- kelstein, who have chronicled the distortion and misuse of the tragedy of the Holocaust, Roy calls on us to honestly confront our
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current predicament in the light of the incalculable significance of this chapter in our history, and, indeed, of two millennia of anti- Semitism. She calls on us to draw from it the very moral clarity required to see our way forward. In a moving 2007 essay, Roy, the daughter of a survivor of the Nazi Holocaust, writes:
My mother and her sister had just been liberated from the con- centration camp by the Russian army. After having captured all the Nazi oðcials and guards who ran the camp, the Russian sol- diers told the Jewish survivors that they could do whatever they wanted to their German persecutors. Many survivors, themselves emaciated and barely alive, immediately fell on the Germans, rav- aging them. My mother and my aunt, standing just yards from the terrible scene unfolding in front of them, fell into each other’s arms weeping. My mother, who was the physically stronger of the two, embraced my aunt, holding her close and my aunt, who had diðculty standing, grabbed my mother as if she would never let go. She said to my mother, “We cannot do this. Our father and mother would say this is wrong. Even now, even after everything we have endured, we must seek justice, not revenge. ␣ere is no other way.” My mother, still crying, kissed her sister and the two of them, still one, turned and walked away.
What then is the source of our redemption, our salvation? It lies ultimately in our willingness to acknowledge the other—the victims we have created—Palestinian, Lebanese and also Jew- ish—and the injustice we have perpetrated as a grieving people. Perhaps then we can pursue a more just solution in which we seek to be ordinary rather than absolute, where we finally come to understand that our only hope is not to die peacefully in our homes as one Zionist oðcial put it long ago but to live peacefully in those homes. (Roy, 2007)
Where Do We Go from Here?
Roy’s powerful story points the way. Turning from our anger, sorrow, disappointment, and outrage at the evil we our- selves have experienced, we open ourselves to our membership
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in the larger human community. ␣is impulse is deeply rooted in the Jewish psyche. We demonstrated it in the Jewish Left’s opposition to the Iraq War, and in our synagogue-based cam- paigns to oppose the genocide in Darfur. We expressed it in our passionate involvement in the American civil rights movement from its beginnings in the 1950s. My earliest memories include accompanying my father to countless appearances at Philadel- phia synagogues where he presented talks and workshops about what we then called “prejudice”—racism against black people. Dad was a member of ␣e Anti-Defamation League of B’nai Brith, which in those days was at the forefront of the struggle for racial equality. For my father, as for the ADL, being Jewish could only mean actively working for human rights as a member of the society in which one lived.
I am a Jew born at the midpoint of the twentieth century. I don’t need to be lectured about anti-Semitism. Psychically, as a Jew, I have a packed suitcase under my bed and an eye ever watchful for the anti-Semitism present in Western civilization that, under the right conditions, can turn from latent to virulent. But I am unwilling, on the chance that I might someday need a refuge from discrimination or outright physical danger, to sup- port the continued building of a militarized, expansionist state that is doing more today to fuel anti-Semitism than to construct a solution to it.
But let us grant that anti-Semitism is on the rise on a global basis. Let us even set out that it is deep-seated anti-Jewishness, and not sixty years of dispossession and ethnic cleansing, that is the cause of outbreaks of violence against Israelis by Palestinians. Even if this were all true, is the solution to build a hideous wall that steals land, blocks commerce and agriculture, and cuts fami- lies and communities in half? Is the solution to train your sons and daughters to hate and fear an entire people and to order them to invade their cities, villages, and homes, to humiliate and debase them in front of their children, and to terrify those same children and rob them of a future in their own land? Can anyone believe that this is an answer to anti-Semitism?
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History and Memory
Historian and author Tony Judt is a British Jew who has recently come under attack for his criticism of Israel’s policies and, in particular, of the destructive eðects of Zionism on Jewish life in the Diaspora. Rosenfeld does not miss the opportunity to excori- ate Judt for raising the question of whether the Jewish state as it now exists is the best solution to anti-Semitism and whether, in fact, Israel’s actions may be contributing to anti-Semitism around the world. In a recent Washington Post/Newsweek blog, Judt cou- rageously placed the issue of Israel and American Jewish attitudes in the larger context of world aðairs. He writes:
I see the hysteria surrounding the “Israel issue” in American life—and the shameful silence about what actually happens in the territories Israel occupies—as one more symptom of the pro- vincial ignorance and isolation of the U.S. in world aðairs. We can continue assuring ourselves that the whole of the rest of the world is awash in inexplicable, atavistic, exterminationist anti- Semitism. Or—in this as in other matters—we can re-enter an international conversation and ask ourselves why (together with an Israeli political class recklessly embarked on the road to self- destruction) we alone see the world this way and whether we might be mistaken. (2007)
I agree with Judt that the need for American Jews to emerge from our historical attitudes of insularity and self-protection is all the more urgent because of the implications of these atti- tudes for our world at large. As Jews, we can no longer aðord to think only of ourselves—seeing ourselves as victims, as a beleaguered minority. ␣is attitude and the behavior it engen- ders has not only put us at great risk—it adds significantly to the peril of the entire world. If we are indeed to be a “light to the nations,” we must make common cause with the forces of progressivism and the advancement of human rights. As Jews, we must be part of the solution. Sadly—and Rosenfeld’s essay is but one indication of this fact—we are still learning how not to be part of the problem.
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Sara Roy’s recent book, Failing Peace: Gaza and the Palestin- ian-Israeli Conflict, is an impassioned plea for an awakening to the moral issues confronting the Jewish people at this juncture in our history.
Why is it so diðcult, even impossible to accommodate Palestin- ians into the Jewish understanding of history? Why is there so little perceived need to question our own narrative (for want of a better word) and the one we have given others, preferring instead to embrace beliefs and sentiments that remain inert? Why is it virtually mandatory among Jewish intellectuals to oppose racism, repression and injustice almost anywhere in the world and unac- ceptable, indeed, for some, an act of heresy—to oppose it when Israel is the oppressor? For many among us history and memory adhere to preclude reflection and tolerance, where “the enemy become(s) people to be defeated, but embodiments of an idea to be exterminated.” (2007, xx–xxi)
Jews understand human rights issues—we feel the moral imperative in our bones. But we are human. We make mistakes; we require correction. ␣is is what the prophets were telling us in ancient times, and this is what our modern prophets are telling us now. Despite the increasingly vigorous protest of the Jewish estab- lishment against even a murmur of opposition to Israel’s actions, the voices of conscience within the Jewish community are grow- ing stronger. What we are being forced to see is that we have a distance to travel; we are at one of those historical turning points. We have a choice. For us as Jews, and for all Americans contem- plating our relationship to the world at large and to the urgent human rights issues of our day, there can be no more important questions than the ones Roy asks here, and no more chilling con- clusion that the one she articulates. ␣e choice of the quote from Northrop Frye with which she closes the passage above is telling, the choice of the word “exterminated” pointed. As long as we allow our minds to be closed, our voices silenced, and our eyes shut before the injustices and horrors in plain view, there will be more conflict, more dispossession, and the deaths of countless
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more innocents. And there will be no peace—not in the Middle East, not in our own midst, and not in our hearts.
I loved my grandmother. She was a sweet woman with a big heart. She brought her large family through the Great Depression and struggled her whole life with the personal legacy of a tyran- nical father and the denial of higher education that was her lot as a girl growing up in an ultra-orthodox household. Most of all, as illustrated by my opening story, she was very much a product of her time and our collective history. Among my many memories of her is a framed group portrait that hung in her house, a black and white photograph dating from the early 1950s. In it, my grandmother sits with perhaps sixty other women, in neat rows, wearing drab dresses and sensible shoes. Before them is a banner proclaiming the local chapter of Pioneer Women, an American women’s Zionist Organization founded in the 1920s to promote Jewish culture and Zionist principles and to provide material sup- port for the struggling yishuv, or Jewish settlement, in Palestine and, after 1948, for the State of Israel. My grandmother looks out from the front row, clearly proud of her aðliation and steadfast in her commitment to the survival and health of the young Jewish state. For her there were no Palestinians and there was no Nakba. ␣ere was only this precious reality of Israel, this wondrous repos- itory of Jewish culture, this bulwark against the nations who seek to destroy us. She was a product of her upbringing and of her times—and for the Jews of America those were simpler times.
We don’t have the luxury of that simplicity anymore. We are engaged in a struggle to confront the consequences of our current situation, and to undertake the diðcult work of self-examination and necessary reform. But to do that, we need to reach an under- standing of who we are. To continue to answer this question, we need to take a deeper look at how we have come to this pass. ␣ere are many facets to that question, but surely one crucial issue is the relationship of Judaism with Zionism. ␣is is the subject of the next chapter.
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