The Jewish state does not resemble any other nation. What this nation has to offer is not security or well-being or peace of mind. What it has to offer is the intensity of life on the edge. The adrenaline rush of living dangerously, living lustfully, living to the extreme.(418-19)

The distinction between Homer’s Iliad and Virgil’s Aeneid sheds much light on the way that Ari Shavit’s new, much discussed book aims to change our perceptions and discussions about Israel. For Homer, war may be brutal but it is also glorious and heroic; the two sides fighting represent causes, nations or alliances, and to risk life on behalf of one’s nation is, in his view, the most noble of pursuits. Virgil modeled the Aeneid, his epic poem, closely after Homer’s epics, in part to serve as an explicit commentary and corrective. His portrayal of armed conflict emphasizes its tragic costs. Yes, countries will fight, people need to be defended, soldiers need to serve and their cause can be just. But war is so terrible, causing enormous bloodshed and destruction, thousands to flee into exile, families to be sacrificed, that it should be contained and avoided wherever possible (in his view, through a Pax Romana).

Shavit tries to achieve a similar transformation regarding our view of Israel. As Joseph Trumpledor, the early Zionist leader and martyr, famously (perhaps apocryphally) said before expiring, Tov la-mut be’ad artzeinu—It is good to die for our land, and Zionist history has largely followed in his Homeric mold. The conditions of the early Zionist settlers were often so difficult and spartan, and the achievements their actions led to have been so monumental—the founding of the Jewish state in our ancient homeland, the ingathering of the exiles, the revival of Hebrew—that, for most American Jews, the costs have seem well worth it, even necessary, all the more so following the Shoah.

Yet in recent decades, first in academic circles and then beyond, the Homeric view has been replaced by the Virgilian. Starting in the 1980s, Israel’s “New Historians” rose to prominence by placing greater emphasis on the costs than the triumphs of Israel’s founding. Often, they saw their effort as a corrective to the mainstream Zionist narrative, showing the suffering of Palestinians who were expelled from their homes in Israel, describing atrocities committed by Jews against Muslims. Their goal was often to create a more nuanced understanding of Israeli history leading to the creation of a new kind of narrative that would accommodate the “truths” from all sides. However, some “New Historians” clearly have been more set on attacking Zionism than on constructive criticism.

While these trends have had a powerful effect in Israel itself, and have shifted the discourse around Israel in academia, they have not done much to change the popular imagination of American Jews about Israel. This is where Shavit’s book comes in. A journalist for Haaretz, Shavit writes in a compelling style, with great passion to go with his research, and is the most successful writer so far to convey the Virigilian perspective to an American Jewish audience. (The book was written in English first, clearly aiming more at a foreign than domestic audience.)

The conversation among American Jews around Israel is limited in large part by feelings of connectedness, our desire to support Israel and defend her. Airing difficult issues can make many of us uncomfortable, defensive; it presents an unwanted and dangerous reframing. We feel the need and duty to stand up for Israel, protect her here verbally against enemies, both Jewish and not, just as Israelis defend themselves physically against enemies. The difficulty is compounded by the fact that, with the waning of religious practice and identification, combined with the often polarized relationship among denominations, identification with Israel often remains the one constant uniting American Jews and anchoring their Jewish identity.

And yet, Israeli society and politics are riven by gaping fissures; Israeli life often thrives on giving voice to conflicting opinions with a directness that conflicts sharply with the kind of consensus, feel-good ethos prevailing in North America. Shavit’s book demonstrates the huge divide between the way Israelis and Americans talk about Israel; since it is written in English for an American audience, it aims to penetrate the wall that we have erected around our Israel discourse, and indeed to change our discourse. Shavit wants us to know Israel warts and all so that we can love Israel in a mature way. He wants American Jews to know and love Israel the way Israelis do.

The unblinking Israeli directness and intensity—the famous “tzabra” quality—comes through in every page of the book. Two of the most memorable chapters are searing in their graphic nature. “Lydda” describes an incident from the War of Independence in which a Jewish fighter shot a cannon at a mosque that was filled with Muslim refugees, killing dozens. “Sex, Drugs and the Israeli Condition, 2000” portrays the Israeli club scene from that time, replete with ample detail of promiscuity. Shavit’s writing here is camera-like in his ability to make the reader experience challenging aspects of Israeli life as if firsthand.

Each chapter takes on the various conflicts and divisions within Israel. The writing is varied and somewhat uneven, ranging from long newspaper articles to character profiles (including the fascinating and problematic politician Aryeh Deri), personal and family accounts (his ancestor was a noted British Zionist from the early 19th century) to vivid historical writing. His concluding chapter ties his reflections together into a larger picture of Israel today. Shavit analyzes “seven circles of threat: Islamic, Arabic, Palestinian, internal, mental, moral, and identity-based.” In his view, the country is losing its sense of unity, of common spiritedness, and is splitting into competing tribes. His book aims to portray Israel’s various “tribes” in order for them to understand each other, a first step toward mending the rifts in Israel’s body politic.

Shavit’s book gets at difficult questions that go to the heart of what day schools in general, and community day schools in particular, are about. What does Jewish identity in the 21st century consist of? What binds the Jewish community together today? What does it mean to be a Jew in the Diaspora at a time when there is a State of Israel, and what is the nature of the relationship between the Diaspora and Israel? Israel does indeed loom large in the life of most Jewish day schools, outside of the hareidi world. Does the kind of attachment we teach and practice yield the kind of commitment that we seek? Does it give students the context to understand the more difficult aspects of Israeli history and contemporary Israeli life and politics?

Takeaways:

• For many Israelis, loving their country and confronting the challenging aspects of their history and society today go hand in hand.
• The path to healing the various divisions in Israeli society, in Shavit’s view, lies in facing Israeli history in all of its messiness.

Questions:

• Can day schools afford to stray from the Homeric, heroic narrative of Israel?
• Can they afford not to? Does exposing students only to Israel through rose-colored glasses serve to strengthen students’ identification with Israel or risk engendering disillusion and worse?
• At what ages and in what manner are challenging discussions best introduced within the day school context?
• How do these various goals relate to each other: fostering love of Israel; developing advocates for Israel; educating about Israel?