May/June 2008 Feature
Israel at Sixty: Reminiscences and Reflections.
Notes on the Past Written in the Present by Elie Wiesel
Israel: Fighting for Survival and Identity at Sixty by Itamar Rabinovich
Memories of Terror; Memories of Life by Edward I. Koch
Israeli Memories: The First Sixty Years by Phyllis Chesler
An Israeli Family History on the Country’s 60th Birthday by Ram Belinkov
Congratulations Israel, You Are Going to Be 60 by Vera Stern
Laughter and Tears in Israel’s Sixty Years of Survival Under Constant Duress by Leo Haber
Notes on the Past Written in the Present
Israel, the first sovereign Jewish State since Judah was ruled by royalty, only—or already—sixty years old? Somehow it doesn’t seem possible. But then nothing about Israel’s resurrection, three years after the worst catastrophe in Jewish memory, seems possible. And yet, it is part not only of our dreams but also of our daily reality.
So many events and images, encounters and discoveries, stories and more stories: which do I remember with more vigor and surprise?
Was it David Ben-Gurion who said that, simply put, Israel’s problem is too much history and not enough geography.
And too much attention in the media?
Not a day without something about Israel in the headlines...
So…what events stand out in my diaries?
My first visit, by boat? I didn’t sleep all night, waiting to see Mt. Carmel. No one else did. Young people sang and danced, and I, a correspondent for a French newspaper, my heart sang and rejoiced with them, but my mind kept on thinking of those who were not there.
The Sinai operation in 1956? I was in a hospital room in Manhattan, following Moshe Dayan’s troops into the desert with anguish and pride.
The Eichmann trial, 1960. I was in Paris when Ben-Gurion informed the Knesset, in a trance, of his arrest. I wrote in my diary: obviously, Jewish history is endowed with a sense not only of justice but also of dramatic imagination.
1965: The Jews of Silence. The dream of Israel as preserved and lived by heroic and romantic Jews in the Soviet Union.
1967: the Six-Day war. Fathomless fear replaced by extraordinary joy and pride. I arrived one day after Jerusalem was liberated. The entire country in ecstasy. Young parachutists at The Wall. Weeping. I, too, was sobbing.
1973: the Yom Kippur war. Dramatic developments in the Sinai and on the peril so close, so grave. Still, while the battles were raging in bitter fury, at the airport, Russian Jews continued to arrive. Smiling. I saw them.
Events follow events, all become experiences, memories. Entebbe. Anwar Sadat’s historic visit to Jerusalem. Sadat and Begin, Sadat and Sharon. Miracles? Yes, they exist. Peace with Egypt. Peace with Jordan. New tragedies: The war in Lebanon. The Gulf War and the scuds. Evacuation of South Lebanon, the birth of Hezbollah. Evacuation of Gaza, rain of Qassams. More and more terror attacks. Waves of suicide bombings. Funerals, more funerals. Yitzhak Rabin’s assassination. I remember: I accompanied, in Air Force One, President Bill Clinton to the funeral. A nation, stunned in grief. The only time in my life that I went to Israel and came back without uttering a word.
From all her trials and tribulations, Israel always emerges strengthened. Every day and its challenges. New faces, old problems. Peace now? Peace tomorrow?
Perhaps our rabbis would agree to add to our daily prayers one blessing for being alive and thankfully proud to be linked to the old-new, eternally new dream called Israel. •
About the author
Elie Wiesel, world-renowned Nobel laureate and eminent spokesman against genocide and for human rights world-wide, has written many works of non-fiction and literary fiction. He is a longtime member of Midstream’s Editorial Board.
Israel: Fighting for Survival and Identity at Sixty
Within the limited space available for this exercise, I would like to address this issue on two levels.
On the most fundamental level being an Israeli means being a member of an entity that at sixty has yet to fight for its legitimacy and, more ominously, for its existence. The threat to Israel’s existence is now presented by Iran, but Israel’s legitimacy is challenged in many quarters spanning from Arabs and Muslims in the Middle East to intellectuals and academics as well as radical right wingers and left wingers in the West. Recently, two prominent American academics, John Mearsheimer and Stephen Walt published a controversial book, The Israel Lobby. By way of defending themselves against the accusation that they are anti-Jewish and/or anti-Israeli, the authors argue that they support Israel’s right to exist. So what is an Israeli supposed to do? Feel grateful or feel threatened?
On another level, Israelis are still coping with the question of their identity. Who is an Israeli and what does being an Israeli mean? How are Israelis distinct from Jews in the Diaspora and how does the “Jewish State” deal with a minority of nearly 20% non-Jews, most of them Arabs and many of them who now define themselves as “Palestinian citizens of Israel?” It is difficult to gauge the opinion of the “silent majority,” but the intellectuals and politicians who speak for the Arab minority demand that Israel shed its “Jewish” or “Zionist” character and become “a state of all its citizens.” This is absolutely unacceptable to the Jewish majority, but the majority has yet to come up with its vision of the minority’s position within the Jewish state.
Like many other small states in an age of globalization, Israel is coping with the challenge of preserving its distinct character.
Some of the institutions that had shaped Israel’s unique character in earlier decades (the kibbutz is an excellent example) have lost their cutting edge, but that loss is to some extent replaced by the intensity of a flourishing cultural life—literature, plastic arts, music, theater and cinema—and by the unusual development of Israeli high tech.
The success of Israeli high tech, both in relative and in absolute terms, is to some extent a by-product of defense-related research and success, but it also reflects the compatibility of several dominant Israeli characteristics (creativity, agility, a tendency to improvise) within the requirements of the high tech universe.
The high tech industry has not only come to play a major part in Israel’s economy but has also added a new type, “the techies” to the diverse human gallery that makes up Israeli society.
And so at sixty, we Israelis are members of a society and a body politic that is still fighting for its security and legitimacy, searching for an identity and moving forward by the sense that, all difficulties not withstanding, we are one of the most successful human experiments left by the 20th century. •
About the author
Itamar Rabinovich, who was Israel’s chief negotiator with Syria and Israel’s ambassador to the U.S., was president of Tel Aviv University until his retirement. He has written major works on Israel and the negotiating process.
Memories of Terror; Memories of Life
I have had the privilege of visiting Israel numerous times over the years. But it was my visit in the summer of 2003 that left the most indelible memories and helped me understand Israel more clearly than any other visit or experience.
I traveled together with the current mayor of New York City, Michael Bloomberg, and several members of the New York City Council. Our purpose was to visit the survivors of a recent horrendous suicide attack on a bus in Jerusalem. Reading about such attacks from thousands of miles away is one thing; actually meeting the survivors is quite another. Twenty-one Israelis were murdered, and more than one hundred were injured in the bombing. Seven of the dead, and forty of the wounded, were children.
The wounded were being treated at Hadassah Hospital, in Jerusalem. Seeing the children was particularly heartbreaking for us. One infant, less than a month old, had suffered wounds that caused brain damage, and was on life support. I could not help but be moved to tears by the sight. At the same time, I was struck by their courage and fortitude. Not one of them complained or railed against their fate.
These are the forgotten victims of Arab terror. When a major bombing takes place, the news media report the number of killed and wounded, and perhaps show a scene from one of the funerals. Nobody remembers the wounded, some of them maimed permanently. Nobody knows about their suffering or what they will have to endure for the rest of their lives.
At the press conference following our hospital visit, one of the media representatives identified himself as the photographer who took the picture of me when I was injured by Arab rock-throwers during a visit to Israel in 1990. While walking through Jerusalem’s Old City with then Mayor Teddy Kollek, Arabs began hurling stones at us. I was hit in the head and needed nine stitches to close the wound. It was an awful experience, but in truth, I was one of the lucky ones. There have been many instances in which Israelis who were hit by Arab rocks lost their vision or suffered other permanent injuries. There have even been cases in which Israelis were killed by Arab rock-throwers. That experience gave me a very small taste of what Israelis endure. Of course, as I told the press conference, stones had given way to bombs and the situation was far more grave in 2003 than it had been in 1990.
Then we traveled to The Western Wall. I may not be religiously observant, but I believe in God and his covenant with the people of Israel. Saying a few words of prayer at the Wall, adjacent to the holiest site in Judaism, the Temple Mount, can only help. I asked the All Mighty to watch over the State of Israel and its brave citizens.
When we left The Wall, we boarded the Number 2 bus—the very same bus line on which the suicide bombing took place. It gave me chills to realize we were following the same path as all those innocent victims, and to think that an attack could take place anywhere, at any time.
On the bus, I struck up a conversation with a young man, perhaps 25 years old, whose manner of dress indicated that he was a member of the ultra-Orthodox, or haredi, community. Most of the victims of the bombing, in fact, had come from that sector. I casually asked whether he had served in the army; he said he had not— “our prayers and study of Torah are our contribution to protecting Israel,” he said. I was not impressed. “Forgive me,” I said, “but I think that’s not adequate. If you feel that way, why not give half a day to prayer and study and half a day to guarding bus stops and other public places from suicide bombers?” He replied, “We will have to agree to disagree.”
The conversation troubled me. When World War Two erupted, young men such as myself went to fight. We knew that prayers alone would not defeat Hitler. And prayers alone will not defeat the Palestinian terrorists today. Every Israeli citizen should be performing some kind of military duty or comparable national service. Everyone—secular, religious, and Israeli Arabs too. Israel can’t afford to have entire sections of the population sitting on the sidelines when there’s a war raging. And it is a long war.
A few minutes later, there were more reminders of that war. We got off the bus at the site of the bombing, and lit memorial candles with Jerusalem Mayor Uri Lupolianski. Then we ate dinner at a cafe on Ben-Yehuda Street, a pedestrian plaza which had been the scene of several major suicide bombings. It seemed as if everywhere we went, we were reminded of the terror Israelis endure.
Yet, at the very same time—and this is one of the most incredible things about Israel— we were reminded of the determination of average Israelis not to let the terror ruin their lives. Sitting in that Ben-Yehuda cafe, a few hundred feet from the recent scenes of blood and shattered glass and charred automobiles, we watched shoppers walking to and fro, street musicians performing, and young couples chatting and laughing. It was life. It was the miracle of Israel.•
About the author
Edward I. Koch served as mayor of New York City from 1978 to 1989. His most recent book, with Rafael Medoff, is The Koch Papers: My Fight Against Anti-Semitism, published by Palgrave MacMillan.
Israeli Memories: The First Sixty Years
I can’t remember a time when Israel was not central to my imagination both as a model for heroism and as a transcendent, miraculous, reality. From childhood on, Zionism was an ever-evolving example of political, theological, historical, and personal liberation.
I was born in 1940 and grew up in an Orthodox family in Borough Park. In 1946, I started learning Hebrew. And, in 1948, I “rebelled.” I joined Hashomer Ha’Tzair, a left-wing socialist Zionist youth group. Within a few years, I joined Ain Harod, a group to the left of Hashomer.
In the early 1950s, I packed machine-gun parts for Israel. Both Hashomer and Ain Harod shared a vision of Jews and Arabs living together in the Holy Land. This utopian, agrarian vision, this defiant form of idealism, got me embroiled in dangerous adventures in the Islamic world and in Israel too.
In 1972, after having wrestled with antisemitism on the left and among feminists, I traveled to Israel for a long overdue, first-time visit. I was newly famous—and I needed to go “home,” live anonymously, without having to give a speech or an interview. I instantly loved the land. I reveled in the beaches and cafes of Tel Aviv, the mountain-down-to-the-sea views of Haifa, the mystical desert of the Negev, the hot coral colors of Eilat, the radiantly golden Jerusalem.
At first glance, “everyone” (bus drivers, prime ministers, police officers, soldiers, farmers, physicians) were Jewish. Jews seemed to occupy all the niches. Certainly, I saw Christians and Muslims too, (I also saw Arab Jews); what I mean is that, in Israel, Jews had crashed through all the occupational restrictions of exile and this consoled and uplifted me. It also struck me as funny. Oh, how I did not want to return to America! My dear friend, Molly Oren, who worked at the Weizmann Institute, persuaded me to leave the night before I was due to teach my university classes.
On this fateful trip, I met a Jewish-Israeli Prince. He was born after 1948, and he was a descendant of the Baal Shem Tov. He was innocent and beautiful and had no idea that I was a firebrand feminist. He followed me back to America. Reader: I married him. He became an American citizen (perhaps my gift to him)—but we also had a wonderful son together (perhaps his gift to me). He did not want to live in Israel and so I never made aliya. And then he walked out and threatened to kidnap my precious baby if I didn’t give him money; and so, we got divorced.
I have often joked that my Zionism is a miracle because it both pre-dated and has survived even marriage to an Israeli!
Israel-related memories include: housing and feeding some young Israelis who were pressed into government service in New York City during the 1973 Yom Kippur war; choosing and accompanying journalists to Israel in 1974-1975 in the hope that their views of Israel might be somewhat tempered by reality; working with the nascent Israeli feminist movement—standing in Haifa with Israeli feminists and envisioning a future shelter for battered women and a rape crisis center where indeed, one now stands; walking with the late Meir Levin for hours in Netanya as he described the cruel reactions to his view that the Anne Frank story had been “hijacked” by Jews who wished to de-Judaize her story (he was obsessed, but he was also right); working with the Israeli delegation (Tamar Eshel, Mina Ben Tzvi, Yael Etzmon, Nitza Libai, and my own guest, Shula Aloni) at the United Nations conference in Copenhagen in 1980; flying to Israel immediately thereafter and meeting with David Kimche in the Foreign Office; trying to explain what antisemitism is and does to uncomprehending Israelis; davening at the Kotel with the women who did so for the first time in 1988.
In 2000, I became an advocate for Israel and have been documenting Israel’s demonization by fairly lethal propaganda ever since. I have lost nearly all of my politically correct friends and allies, including other Jews and feminists, because I do not view Zionism as a form of racism; that, indeed, I view anti-Zionism as a form of racism and as the new antisemitism.
While I know that Israel is far from perfect—many of its leaders are arrogant and deluded and have not pursued justice on behalf of women or on behalf of other vulnerable citizens—I also see that Israel, alone among nations, is existentially endangered.
I understand more than ever how a Holocaust can happen. I hope and pray that God continues to watch over tiny Israel and that humanity refuses to collaborate with radical evil and chooses instead to resist it in heroic and principled ways.•
About the author
Phyllis Chesler is Professor Emerita of Psychology and Women's Studies and is the author of thirteen books and thousands of articles. She is co-founder of the Association for Women in Psychology, the National Women's Health Network, and the International Committee for Women of the Wall. She writes a blog (http://pajamasmedia.com/xpress/phyllischesler) and may be reached through her website (www.phyllis-chesler.com).
An Israeli Family History on the Country’s 60th Birthday
How can I explain my feelings about my country Israel on the 60th anniversary of its independence? I think if I tell the story of my family in Israel, it will speak for itself.
My father’s family came to Israel at the beginning of the 20th century in the second aliyah of the pioneer generation from Russia, which also sent David Ben-Gurion to Israel. My mother’s family left Germany for Israel at the beginning of Hitler’s infamous rule. Cousins of mine who remained in Germany were murdered by the Nazis in the Shoah.
My father, Yonatan Belinkov was not one who talked much about the past; what I know about his own heroism and that of his family comes mainly from stories told to me by my mother, Dvora. He grew up in Herzliya, joined the Haganah, as did his two brothers, in the pre-state battle for independence against the British. A young brother of his was killed in such a battle in Tel Aviv. The story is told that when army buddies of his brother came to attend the shiva, his mother said to them, “When you go forth on your next military operation, take along at least one of my two remaining children to protect you.”
That was not the first death in the family on behalf of the Zionist cause. My father’s aunt was killed with Yosef Trumpeldor at Tel Hai in 1920. An uncle was killed eight years later defending Hulda in a battle against an Arab onslaught. His brother’s son died by accident while serving in the Israeli army. The son had been named in memory of the martyred uncle, as I am.
My father fought in the 1948-49 War of Independence when Arab armies invaded on all sides on the day of Israel’s Declaration of Independence in an attempt to destroy the new State of Israel. My father served on the southern front and was among the first soldiers to enter Eilat and to secure it for the fledgling state. My father was the quintessential Israeli—a man of the soil—loving, humorous, never a braggart. He survived the multiple tragedies within his family, but when he and my mother lost a baby son in 1967, he could not recover. The nine years of his remaining life were years of great sorrow.
During the War of Independence, my mother, fourteen years of age, and her mother and countless relatives in Jerusalem suffered miserably under the siege of Jerusalem, as the Arabs cut it off from contact with the rest of the country. Provisions were few, but no U.N. or European aid came to the beleaguered Jewish population. Nevertheless, they all struggled through to victory and freedom. She told my two sisters and me of the bombings during the war and the privations they all endured, but she also told us of the determination of the Jewish population to survive and to win the war.
Those were also the years when the family learned more and more about the horrifying events of the Holocaust and the destruction of the Jewish communities in Europe, which included the murder of our cousins in German hands. The rise and growth of the State of Israel was the sole consolation, if consolation was possible.
The more than a hundred years of the Israeli history of my family is a legacy that inspires all of us. It symbolizes the people of Israel’s determination, tenacity, and willingness to sacrifice.
It also reflects a national desire to excel in every aspect of life, from scientific research, medical advances, business growth, to cultural achievement. My family has contributed more than its share in these spheres of endeavor.
My uncle Gideon Lahav (my mother’s brother) served in Golda Meir’s administration as General Director of the Ministry of Business and Industry, and in private industry, was chairman for many years of the Israel Discount Bank. His wife, Sara Lahav, is the daughter of Mordechai Shatner, one of the signers in May 1948 of the Israeli Declaration of Independence.
Ehud Yaari (a cousin on my father’s side) is one of Israel’s most prominent journalists, and David Sambursky (also on my father’s side) was one of the great composers of Hebraic song in the earlier pioneer era.
Yehoshua Kenaz, my mother’s cousin, is an internationally celebrated novelist. His work has been translated into English and many other languages.
In 1972, the Los Angeles Times called Meyer Levin the most significant American Jewish author when he published a historical novel called The Settlers (Ha-Mityashvim in Hebrew translation). Though a novel, the dramatic story in the book was based on the history in Israel of my father’s family. In sum, I am proud of the dedication to Israel and achievements in Israel, frequently at great personal cost, of my family in this past century. I assure you that I’m equally proud of all other families that have a similar history and were the source of Nobel laureates and many other great achievers and heroes.
In all modesty, it is what has impelled me to give up “the big money” in the business sector and to serve my country in the Ministry of Interior, and now, as Director of the Budget of the State of Israel in the Ministry of Finance.
May Israel prosper in peace and security, both financially, culturally, and spiritually, as the sole sovereign Jewish state in the world since ancient days. Happy 60th birthday. •
About the author
Ram Belinkov was born in Jerusalem in 1955. He served in the Israeli army for three years, received a B.A. in economics and international relations and an MBA in finance at the Hebrew University. He began his career in the Ministry of Finance where he became Deputy Director of the Budget. Subsequently, he launched a very successful career in business as vice president of Bezek, CEO of a telecom company, chairman of a cable company, and CEO of the merged cable industry in Israel (today known as HOT). He then decided to leave the private sector and return to government service where he became General Director of the Ministry of Interior. Since January 2008, he is Director of the Budget of the State of Israel at the Ministry of Finance.
Congratulations Israel, You Are Going to Be 60
I met you first in 1950—you were an infant. The second time when I visited you in 1951, you had grown in every aspect: physically, emotionally and culturally.
One of your great achievements was to open your doors to Jews from all over the world, especially musicians who survived the bitter war years.
A first-class orchestra had been created and invitations to colleagues from abroad were extended.
My luck was to meet Isaac Stern. In 1951, he was on his second tour; you Israel and all your music lovers embraced him enthusiastically.
You remember, we met at a concert in Jerusalem on August 1 that year and got married on the 17th.
This was the beginning of a wonderful life, in which music played a vital role.
At every return visit, Isaac and I were introduced to talented youngsters whose parents were anxious to have my husband listen to them.
At that time, an organization, fundraising in America to support conservatories and academies started to grow.
From the early fifties until now, many of the young teenagers in Israel under Isaac’s guidance developed into mature artists, namely Itzhak Perlman, Pinchas Zukerman, Daniel Barenboim, Gil Shaham, Orli Shaham, Yefim Bronfman, Miriam Fried, Joseph Kalichstein, and many others. All these have become major players on the international concert circuit. I'm now looking fondly at an old photograph of my husband, Isaac Stern, surrounded by his protégés, young Israeli musicians whose development and international careers he fostered. I see the bright young faces of Itzhak, Pinchas, Joseph, and others who received scholarships from the American-Israel Cultural Foundation that I headed for some years.
I am grateful to America-Israel Cultural Foundation for having strengthened the cultural scene in Israel, and by extension, in America and in the world.
Congratulations, and happy birthday, Israel. •
About the author
Vera Stern, who was born to Russian-Jewish parents in Berlin and fled in 1938 to Paris, witnessed her father being arrested and subsequently deported to Auschwitz in 1942. She was saved in Sweden in 1943. Returning to Paris after the war, she applied for a visa to Mandate Palestine which was denied her by England’s restrictive policy at that time. Ms. Stern immigrated instead to the U.S.A. Upon visiting Israel in 1951, she met and married Isaac Stern, as described above. Her work on behalf of the Israel Bond organization as Chairperson of the Women’s Division and her service for forty years at the America-Israel Cultural Foundation have been universally acclaimed. She is currently on the Board of various music organizations, most notably Carnegie Hall.
Laughter and Tears in Israel’s Sixty Years of Survival Under Constant Duress
Reminiscences:
Kol Yisrael Chaverim
On my visit to Israel in 1968, one year after the Six-Day War, with my wife Sylvia and our two sons, Howie and Eddie, we stood in awe at the back end of the widened plaza in front of the Western Wall. We chatted eagerly in English, when a stranger came over to us and asked, “Atem Americanim?”
“Yes, we are Americans,” we answered.
“Where do you live?” he proceeded in very heavily accented English.
“In Brooklyn,” my wife responded.
“In Brooklyn?” he repeated excitedly. “Maybe you know my cousin?”
I looked at my wife and sons sheepishly, somewhat embarrassed to reply, but I finally did. “You know, sir, there are more than two million people living in Brooklyn. It’s a very big city by itself.”
“Nu, so what?” he exclaimed. “Jews are Jews, one people. My cousin’s name is Pinchik.”
“The only Pinchik in Brooklyn that I know of,” I said, “is a large store that sells paint on Flatbush Avenue.”
“That’s my cousin!” he shouted triumphantly. “Send him a drishat shalom from me and my family when you go in there.” And he walked away apparently satisfied and happy. He forgot to tell us his family’s name.
The Secular and the Sacred
On another visit to Israel, our dear friends Rachel Eliahou and Dr. Yehezkel Eliahou, alav ha-halom, knowing of our love for classical music, got us tickets to a Friday afternoon concert at the Mann Auditorium in Tel Aviv by the fabled Israel Philharmonic under the leadership of the Farsi-speaking conductor brought up in India, Zubin Mehta. It was a complete performance of one work, Handel’s Messiah. I recall that Heather Harper, the British soprano took part and so did a choir from Philadelphia. The audience filled every seat plus standing room only. The work is a very long one, but when it was finished, the audience erupted into enthusiastic applause. In fact, they summoned the performers for curtain call after curtain call. I think I counted six of them, at least. At the sixth ovation this late Friday afternoon, Maestro Mehta, a non-Jew, standing front and center on stage, suddenly stretched out both his hands, palms down, to quiet the crowd. I said to myself, what’s happening here? Nobody plays an encore after a performance of the complete Messiah by George Frideric Handel. Mehta then turned his outstretched hands around, palms up, and exclaimed in a loud voice that could be heard, I think, in Jerusalem. “Shabbes!” The audience roared in happy laughter and went home.
Togetherness and Terror
Our cousins, Asher and Ziva Pri-har, took us to visit the family of an Arab sheikh in a suburb of Jerusalem. Perhaps our first reaction was trepidation. But it did not take long for this feeling to dissipate. This particular Arab community had refused to abandon their homes during the War of Independence. They remained loyal to Israel and sure of their safety. The elder leader of the group worked alongside Asher in Israel’s Ministry of Labor. We were treated to traditional Arab hospitality. We nibbled on delicious foods that we had never tasted, and we listened to and participated in warm conversation that repudiated Arab suicide bombing and terror.
Another cousin who shall remain nameless, a sweet, beautiful young woman who seemed as fine and as fragile as precious china dinnerware, took us on a trip to the Dead Sea and Ein Gedi. Before we left her home, I somehow noticed that she took out a gun and put it into her purse. I was brazen enough to ask her why she did this. “There have been incidents of terror in the area. Don’t be afraid. I served in the Israeli army, and I know how to take care of myself and my family guests.” The trip was uneventful, but a delight. We floated in the Dead Sea, read a newspaper while on our backs in the water, and basked in the glory of the lowest point in the world below sea level. But I could not get the other part of it out of my mind. Every Israeli must be ready at all times for the worst! What a burden!
We knew all about Arab terror firsthand from almost the first incidents after the Six-Day War. On our 1968 summer visit, we stayed in the Jerusalem home of a childhood friend of mine, and my older teenaged son Howie palled around with my friend’s teenager, Gilad. He took Howie everywhere in Jerusalem. One day, the two of them came racing home to tell us that a bomb went off in a local restaurant where they had stopped for a bite. Luckily for us, the two boys had finished their meal and were a street or two away when the terror attack took place. Other children were not so lucky. A few years later, Gilad entered the Israeli army and was a lieutenant stationed in the Sinai in 1973. He, an only son, was killed on the first day of fighting when the Egyptians made a surprise invasion on Yom Kippur in another attempt to wipe Israel off the map. I wrote a poem about Gilad and, on a later visit, placed it on his grave on Mount Herzl.
Reflections:
Abba Eban Was Right
In February of this year, the city of Turin in Italy sponsored once again a giant book fair as they did every year, the largest and most famous one in Italy. And as they apparently did every year, they sought to honor one country that had made prominent contributions to the world of literature. This year, in commemoration of the 60th anniversary of Israel’s independence, they chose Israel. What happened? All hell broke loose. Arab countries protested vehemently. Leftist intellectuals in Italy and elsewhere in Europe joined the clamor to “un-recognize’ Israel as the honored country, to delegitimize Israel and humiliate its authors at a book fair, no less. One of the leaders of the Italian Communist party in Italy led the charge. He insisted the least that the book fair officials should do is to honor the Palestinians at the same time. One of the book fair officials said in defense that it would open up a hornet’s nest. If in the future, they honored China, would they have to honor Tibet at the same time?
I too support Tibet, but comparing the Palestinians to the Tibetians was misleading. The Turin official should have said the following: We would have loved to honor both Israel and Palestine on the 60th anniversary of their respective sovereign states as called for by the Partition Resolution at the United Nations in November of 1947. The trouble is that only the Jewish community in Palestine agreed to the division and announced their state in May 1948, while the Palestinians and the Arab world refused to set up a state and opted for aggressive war to destroy Israel. And when they lost the war, they still didn’t want to set up a state, but prepared for future wars and terror attacks to get rid of Israel. Consequently, the Palestinians and the Arab world are not celebrating a 60th birthday for us to honor. They missed an opportunity again and again. Why blame us in Turin for congratulating Israel on its sixtieth anniversary and not the Palestianians? •
About the author
Leo Haber, Midstream’s editor and author of the novel, The Red Heifer, taught English, Hebrew, and Latin at Lawrence High School in Cedarhurst, N.Y., Hebrew at Baruch College and Hebrew Union College, and English at the City College of New York.