My Promised Land: The Triumph and Tragedy of Israel

by Ari Shavit

  The third circle is the Palestinian circle. Israel is perceived by its neighbors to be a settler’s state founded on the ruins of indigenous Palestine. Many Palestinians perceive Israel as an alien, dispossessing colony that has no place in the land. The underlying wish of a great number of Palestinians is to turn back the political movement that they blame for shattering their society, destroying their villages, emptying their towns, and turning most of them into refugees. As long as Israel has overwhelming power, moderate Palestinians have to conceal their wish and even suppress it. But moderate Palestinians are in retreat and radical Palestinians are on the rise. As Islamic fundamentalism and Arab extremism become dominant throughout the region, Palestinian pragmatism is besieged. Thus, if Israel weakens for a moment, the suppressed Palestinian wish will erupt forcefully. And as the overall number of Arab Palestinians overtakes the number of Jewish Israelis, they will be backed by real power. An inner circle of ten million Palestinians threatens Israel’s very existence.

  In recent years, the three circles of threat have merged. As Islamic forces strengthened, Palestinian and Israeli moderates weakened and the chance to reach a comprehensive peace diminished. At the same time, Israel’s unilateral withdrawals from southern Lebanon and the Gaza Strip cleared the ground for terrorist organizations whose rockets and missiles rattle Israel periodically. Here is the catch: if Israel does not retreat from the West Bank, it will be politically and morally doomed, but if it does retreat, it might face an Iranian-backed and Islamic Brotherhood–inspired West Bank regime whose missiles could endanger Israel’s security. The need to end occupation is greater than ever, but so are the risks.

  Up until now, Zionism was very effective in defending against these three circles of threat. Wise diplomacy prevented the Islamic circle from consolidating into a politically active circle that could strangle Israel. Military might prevented the Arab circle from acquiring the ability to defeat Israel on the battlefield. Sophisticated intelligence prevented the Palestinian circle from destabilizing Israel by the use of terrorism. But pressure is mounting on Israel’s iron wall. An Iranian nuclear bomb, a new wave of Arab hostility, or a Palestinian crisis might bring it down. So the challenge Israel faces in its seventh decade is as dramatic as the one it faced in its first years. Atop Mount Baal Hazor it is clear that we are approaching a critical test.

  From the highest summit in the West Bank I drive north to Mount Tabor. When I reach its summit, I get out of the car and walk around the Franciscan monastery and observe the valley Herbert Bentwich crossed after traveling through Samaria in 1897. At that time, not one Jewish Zionist lived here. It was all marshes, subsistence farmers, and Bedouins. But from Mount Tabor, the outcome of the hundred-year struggle is apparent: the Valley of Yizrael is mostly Jewish, but the mountains of Galilee are predominantly Arab. While Zionism won the valleys of the Holy Land, the mountains remained Palestinian. For all its efforts, Zionism did not overtake the Negev mountain or the Galilee mountain or the Central mountain. It remained a coastal phenomenon, sending long tendrils into the inner valleys. The white minarets of the villages beyond Megiddo and Nazareth make the picture clear. The vanishing Arabs are back.

  The State of Israel refuses to see its Arab citizens. It has not yet found a way to integrate properly one-fifth of its population. The Arabs who were not driven away in 1948 have been oppressed by Zionism for decades. The Jewish state confiscated much of their land, trampled many of their rights, and did not accord them real equality. In recent years, oppression lessened, but it was not replaced by a genuine civil covenant that will give Arab Israelis their full rights. To this day there is no definition of the commitments of the Jewish democratic state to its Arab minority, and that of the Arab minority to the Jewish democratic state. On the one hand, there is no real equality for Arabs in Israel, but on the other hand the government does not always enforce the law in their domain and allows their towns and villages to live in partial anarchy. What emerges is a dangerous situation of lawlessness. Many Palestinian Israelis don’t respect central government, but they also don’t feel they belong. Their affinity to the Palestinians outside Israel and the Arabs surrounding Israel mean that their situation is fundamentally different from that of ethnic minorities in North America or Western Europe. Although they are a minority within the Jewish state, they are an integral part of the overwhelming regional majority that makes the Jews of Israel a regional minority. This complexity was never dealt with, and majority-minority relationships within Israel were never defined. For the time being, the economic benefits and the civil rights that the Palestinian Israelis do have keep the peace. Although they do not admit it publicly, they are very much aware of the fact that in many ways they are much better off than their brothers and sisters in Egypt, Jordan, and Syria. But the political bomb is ticking. As the Arab minority grows in number and confidence, it endangers the identity of Israel as a Jewish nation-state. If this crucial issue is not resolved soon, turmoil is inevitable.

  I journey on, from Mount Tabor to Tiberias. The Bentwich delegation pitched its white tents south of the ancient city, on the shores of the Sea of Galilee. I drive farther south, crossing the Jordan River and reaching the southern edge of the lake. Here Degania, the world’s first kibbutz, tried to combine utopia, commune life, and colonialism. A breathtaking human experiment was carried out on this lakeshore: to invent a democratic version of communism that would save the Jews.

  Thirty-nine years after it was founded, Degania was attacked by an invading Syrian army: there were air raids, artillery shelling, and an armored assault. The kibbutzniks and the soldiers defending the commune stopped the tanks with antitank bazookas, rifles, and Molotov cocktails. Dozens of them were killed in the battle and were buried nearby. A small Syrian tank captured in battle stands at the gate to the kibbutz, commemorating their sacrifice.

  Facing the mythological tank, I think of the mental challenge facing Israel in the twenty-first century. What enabled the defenders of Degania to fend off the Syrian army at such human cost was the conviction they had. The dream of utopia and the burgeoning reality of the commune gave them the mental strength to withstand challenges such as the war of 1948. But contemporary Israel has no utopia and no commune and only a semblance of the resolve and commitment it once had. Can we survive here without them? Can we still fight for our banal Israel as the soldiers of Degania fought for their kibbutz dream? Can our consumerist democracy hold in times of real hardship? Within the Islamic-threat circle and Arab-threat circle and the Palestinian-challenge circle and the internal-threat circle lies the fifth threat of the mental challenge. Might it be that Israel’s collective psyche is no longer suited to Israel’s tragic circumstances?

  Herbert Bentwich crossed the Sea of Galilee by boat; I drive around the lake by car, passing Tiberias, Tabgha, Capernaum. A few miles north of the ancient fishing village where Jesus is said to have taught is the colony of Rosh Pina. In 1897 it was home to a teacher, Yitzhak Epstein, who tried to bring Jews and Arabs together, teaching their children in the same school. A decade later it was home to an agronomist, Haim Margolis Kalawariski, who was one of the first Zionist leaders to believe in peace. In the late 1920s Rosh Pina was home to a physician, Gideon Mer, who made a point of treating his malaria-stricken Arab neighbors in his clinic. But in 1937 Rosh Pina spawned the first Jewish terrorist, Shlomo Ben Yosef, hanged by the British after he tried to murder the passengers of an Arab bus climbing Mount Canaan.

  The sixth threat Israel faces is the moral threat. A nation bogged down in endless warfare can be easily corrupted. It might turn fascist or militaristic or just brutal. Surprisingly, Israelis have generally upheld democratic values and institutions while being in a permanent state of war. For a long time, they have maintained a reasonably moral society. The majority respected human rights and endorsed liberal democracy. But in recent years there is growing pressure on the very core of Israeli democracy. Occupation takes its moral toll. The ultra-Orthodox and Russian minorities do not
always cherish the democratic values that were previously taken for granted. The fear of the growing Arab minority breeds xenophobia and racism. Ongoing occupation, ongoing conflict, and the disintegrating code of humane Zionism are allowing dark forces to menace the nation. Semifascist ideas that attracted the right-wing fringe of the 1930s are now being endorsed by some leading politicians in the ruling parties. But as the 2013 elections prove, not all is dark. Israel still has a sensible, middle-class center. Still, the one-hundred-year war creates a moral challenge. The brutality that erupted in the Rosh Pina of 1937 keeps on erupting. Israel’s identity as a benign democracy is constantly being challenged.

  From Rosh Pina I travel north along the Jordan River. When Herbert Bentwich rode his horse through this Hula Valley there were Arabs in it and there was a shallow lake. In 1947–1948 the Arabs were driven away, and between 1953 and 1957 the lake was drained to make way for agricultural settlement. In the decade that preceded my birth, Zionism overcame the two great obstacles it faced in this valley. With a series of military operations it eliminated the Palestinians, and with a grandiose engineering project it eliminated the lake, clearing an entire region in which it settled veteran pioneers and new immigrants, replacing a backward Palestine with a modern Israel. This dual action of Zionism succeeded in its young days by marshalling a new and powerful Hebrew identity.

  Hebrew identity was revolutionary. It defined itself as a revolt against Jewish religion, Jewish Diaspora, and passive Jewish existence. It affirmed itself on the foundations of the Hebrew land, the Hebrew language, and the belief in a Hebrew future. It sanctified the Bible while dismissing postbiblical Jewish history and tradition. It cherished progress and action and a secular attitude to life. It was careful to balance its national zeal by having a universal dimension. One of its versions was socialist-nationalist and the other was liberal-nationalist, but both were anticlerical and unprovincial. Both combined collective determination with enlightenment. That is why Zionism could believe it was just and this is how it persuaded others it was just. It’s a long, long road, it said, but we shall walk this road and we shall walk it singing. We shall walk it believing that it is not in years to come but here and now; believing that it is not up to God but up to us; believing in this new secular religion of doing it all with our own hands; believing in our ability to drive out the Arabs and empty the lake and move mountains.

  Hebrew identity was galvanized in the first third of the twentieth century but remained dominant in the following third of the century. It was the real force that overcame the Arab uprising in 1938, the Palestinian people in 1948, and the Arab nations in 1967. It was the force that established a state and maintained it and absorbed immigration and settled the land. In some respects it was a brutal identity. It detached Israelis from the Diaspora, it cut off their Jewish roots, and it left them with no tradition or cultural continuity. In some respects, it was an artificial identity that imposed on Israelis a man-made existence based on suppression and denial. Lost were the depths and riches of the Jewish soul. But the revolutionary Hebrew identity was imperative if the Zionist revolution was to prevail. It enabled the movement to execute a megalomaniacal concept that suited the Israeli condition. It granted Israel the supremacy without which it would not have survived. And it did all this not with solemnity but with delight. It made generations of Israelis walk the long road they were required to walk with gaiety and optimism. We are on our way, they sang. We are on our way, hoppa hey, hoppa hey.

  In the last third of the twentieth century, Hebrew identity was dulled. In the early years of the twenty-first century, it seems to have disintegrated. Occupation, globalization, mass immigration, and the rise of non-Zionist minorities have worn down the hegemony of the Hebrews. For better or for worse, the more rigid way of life was replaced by wild pluralism. Gone was the balance between nationalism and universalism. Gone was the secular revolt against Diaspora and religion. Secular faith weakened, progress weakened, the collective narrative dissolved. Just as some of the brackish water of the Hula began to seep back into the lake bed, Judaism and shtetlism and Arabism returned. Just as the brutal deed done in this valley was partially reversed, so was the brutal deed done to the collective psyche of the Jews. The flourishing enterprise of Israeli self-assurance was overshadowed by existential questions: Succeed or fail? Flourish or perish?

  The seventh threat facing Israel is the threat of crumbling identity. The kibbutzim I pass are like a canvas of the model Israeli landscape: tall eucalyptus trees, upright cypresses, plowed fields, and grain silos. But behind the gates, things have changed: the common dining halls and the nurseries are empty. The Israeliness that was once here is not really here anymore. The Hebrew culture that settled this valley and stood fast in this valley is gone. It changed form and changed character and turned into something as yet undefined. As I leave the valley behind me, I know that the question of identity is the crucial one.

  At the core of the Zionist revolution was an identity revolution. Identity revolutions are tempting but dangerous. They are like gender transformations. In our case the operation seemed to succeed; the outcome was extraordinary. But the patient was not really at peace with himself and remained restless. Now it is all falling apart. Our new fierce identity is disintegrating into a multitude of identities, some of which are frail and confused. At times we do not recognize ourselves anymore. We are not sure who we really are.

  Herbert Bentwich climbed from the river Jordan to the shoulder of Mount Hermon. I am more ambitious: I aim for the summit. Above the Crusader’s fortress of Kalat Nimrod and above the Druze village of Majdal Shams and above the Israeli settlement of Neve Ativ and above the lower and then the upper cable cars of the ski resort, I reach the closed military base atop the Hermon. At 2,230 meters above sea level, I stand on the highest summit of the land.

  Seven circles of threat: Islamic, Arabic, Palestinian, internal, mental, moral, and identity-based. By choosing this land we put ourselves at the epicenter of seven concentric circles of threat. But in the twenty-first century what is especially dangerous is that the forces that have backed us since our arrival are growing weak. The West is in relative economic and political decline. The Jews of the Diaspora are in demographic decline. The alliance of Israel with the enlightened Jews of the West is flagging. At the very same time, the Western powers’ ability to maintain order in the Middle East is diminishing, as is their ability to prevent the proliferation of nuclear arms in the Third World. While Islamic fanaticism is rising in the East, there are fewer Western forces that would stand by Israel. Israeli occupation, Jewish extremism, and religious fundamentalists are undermining support for Israel among its remaining friends.

  In 1967 Israel conquered Mount Hermon and built a strategically vital military intelligence base at its summit. On October 6, 1973, Syria conquered the base and captured its men. Two weeks later dozens of Israelis gave their life on these steep slopes so that Israel could regain dominance over this dominating mountain. Now the most advanced technologies are employed in this science-fiction-like mountainous station. The Hermon high-tech fortress enables Israel to keep an eye on Syria and beyond.

  So as I observe the harsh Syrian plains beneath and the sophisticated Israeli high-tech fortress nearby, it occurs to me that Israel itself is a fortress. Like the Crusaders, who preceded us by eight hundred years, we live on a cliff facing east. Like the Christian knights, we depend on our high walls and sharp swords to keep ourselves alive in a region that wants us gone. But the strength of the modern Israeli fortress lies precisely in the fact that it does not act or feel like a fortress.

  This was not always so. At first, we tried to take this land with the water towers of utopia under which we built our red-roofed kibbutz houses and watered the brown plowed fields of our ancient homeland. Then, when reality struck, we took the land by establishing tower-and-stockade settlements: prefabricated fortresses that were designed to allow Jews to settle the land as the Arabs were viciously attacking them.
For a generation or two, Israel was pretty much tower-and-stockade. Like the Crusaders, it led a life of religious-like devotion that was based on ideology, modesty, and discipline. The Zionist entity lived by a rigid code that enabled it to conquer the land, settle it, and defend it.

  But in the last generation our citadel was so successful that it stopped feeling like a citadel. Every few years we came up with a new invention: Dimona, Mossad, air force, Shin Bet, Arrow missiles, Iron Dome. All these inventions had a common denominator. The might created by normalcy enabled normalcy to perpetuate itself. A free society and a free market gave us an advantage over our adversaries. There was no longer any need for the Crusader-like ethos of tower-and-stockade. On the contrary. While the Crusaders needed a collective chastity to maintain their fortress, we turned liberation and individualism into our source of power. The Israeli fort had become a nonfortified fort producing perpetual supremacy.

  But times are changing. The gradual decline of the West and the turmoil in the East are shifting the tectonic plates on either side of the Syrian-African Rift. And on Mount Hermon this is almost visual. Old Syria is gone, Iraq is in transition, Jordan’s stability is in doubt. As the mass killing of civilians and the use of chemical weapons prove, brutality is beyond comprehension. The howling winds of change that can be felt on this frontier summit are turning into a hurricane that is sweeping the Middle East. So the future of the fortress on the cliff is not clear. As I look out at the land Herbert Bentwich left behind in the end of April 1897, I wonder how long we can maintain our miraculous survival story. One more generation? Two? Three? Eventually the hand holding the sword must loosen its grip. Eventually the sword itself will rust. No nation can face the world surrounding it for over a hundred years with a jutting spear.