Israel is like a company going to IPO without a mission statement. Olim can be instrumental in drafting one.
What follows is a sketch the development of the State of Israel against Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. My point is to suggest that the State’s original purpose as outlined in the Declaration of Independence—to build a Safe Haven for Jews, however pressing and urgent in 1948—is not enough anymore. Today Israel is like a company embarking to IPO on the NASDAQ without a ‘mission statement’ section on its website. It’s time we draft one and, in that process, Olim can, and should, be instrumental.
In a sense, the State of Israel was born as a solution to the problem of Jewish homelessness. Ben Gurion proclaimed the state on May 14, 1948 as a safe haven for the long-persecuted and scapegoated minority called the Jews. Some scholars, Rabbis and philosophers called for higher-level versions of Zionism, imagining renaissances in Jewish governance, labor, culture, language, religion and the economy, but these were second and third-tier discussions, levels up Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs.
The urgent and pressing need was the most basic: life. Jews needed a space to breathe. They needed a sanctuary from Hitler’s terror and Arab regimes across the Middle East, a home to preserve the sanctity of their bodies, ideas and beliefs.
Upon fulfillment of our most basic physiological needs with the establishment of the state: life—then clothing, shelter, food and water—we stepped up to the second level of Maslow’s hierarchy: Safety and Security. During the first few decades that followed nascent Israel’s War of Independence—which saw the death of a whole 1% of its population—the state’s existence seemed to hang by a thread. Its’ wars were life or death. The Suez Crisis came in ‘56, followed by the Six-Day War in ‘67, War of Attrition and the surprise Yom Kippur War in ‘73. Although Israel continued to battle at home and abroad in the decades to come, the country’s victory in the Yom Kippur war marked a decisive shift. Israel seemed to have gained the upper hand in military dominance powered by its intelligence apparatus. While the threats to Israeli civilians didn’t diminish, they seemed to be less existential. If anything, Israeli restraint became the central force, demonstrating the country’s might.
Today, Israel continues to spend more than 5% of its annual GDP on defense, the highest number in the OECD, and for good reason, given state and organization-funded terror in the way of shootings, bombings, stabbings, kidnapping, car rammings, and other disturbing expressions of intimidation and murder. The tumultuous wake of dismembered bodies and wailing family members following acts of terror ‘reaching up the throne of God,’ as Yehuda Amihai so aptly put it, is a magnitude of suffering impossible to capture in words. And yet, despite Israel’s semiannual operations in Gaza, occasional flirting with Iran’s nuclear reactor and Khamenei’s proxy Hezbollah, more than 5,000 terror attacks against Israelis in 2022 and the untimely death of 15 precious souls at the hands of terror already in 2023, the existential physical threat now seems vastly diminished, at least from outside Israel. I tread lightly, painfully aware of how quickly the tide can turn.
Moving up Maslow’s hierarchy, we reach the third stage—Love and Belonging—which, for the sake of this essay, I will conflate with the fourth stage, Self-Esteem and Self-Actualization, or in the case of the nation, National-Esteem and National-Actualization. It is here we stand today, on the precipice of Love, Belonging, National-Esteem and National-Fulfillment.
In some ways we are fulfilling these needs. Interpersonal trust among Jewish Israelis, who often grow up in tight-knit families, schools and communities, is high. Deep, generational identities like People, Religion, Family and Nationality remain at the center of Israeli life, providing a much-needed sense of belonging, as I have written, as many such identities have been replaced abroad by thin, temporary and individual affiliations, like to one’s company or political party. Israel’s social networks are tight (everything gets done by ‘knowing a guy’) and people feel a strong sense of connection even with strangers. On a national level, most Israeli Jews serve in the army or engage in national service, contributing to the country while building a shared ethos of brotherhood and common destiny.
And yet, for Israel’s small size, its silos are impressively neat. Many secular Jews never meet any religious ones until age 18 in the army, if relevant. Many Jews never meet non-Jews at all. The school systems are separate. In mixed cities like Jerusalem and Lod, Arabs and Jews interact regularly, but much less in other places. Distance between the subgroups that constitute the ‘multicolored dreamcoat’ of Israeli society—geographically, but also culturally, economically, etc.—can fester animosity and exacerbate ‘in-group–out-group’ dynamics and the exclusion of others, manifestations of evolutionary fear instincts for self-preservation.
Israel has long been a country of tribes, not inherently a bad thing. But today, threatened by others, or “the Other,” these diverging factions seem to increasingly have less in common, not more. As stress-expert Stevan Hobfoll shows, political and cultural ‘otherness’ engenders an evolutionary, hard-wired “defend and aggress” response. These trends intensified during Covid, when people retreated further into their insular bubbles, guarding their tribes in fear of the other, assuming bad intent.
This sketch of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs against the development of the State of Israel is all to say that the nation’s original purpose as outlined in the Declaration of Independence—to build a Safe Haven for Jews—however pressing and urgent in 1948—is not enough anymore.
Why isn’t the Safe Haven mission enough? There are at least three reasons.
The first is that it fails to absorb our whole attention because it is a finite object, as C.S. Lewis said of World War II in defending the pursuit of academic education during the war’s progression. It is intrinsically unfitted to support the whole attention of the human soul. Given the continued existence of the State of Israel, which we should not take for granted, the Safe Haven mission has been solved. Apart from terrorism and extreme cases, we are blessed that Jews can walk the tree-lined boulevards of Tel Aviv and the golden-stone alleyways of Jerusalem’s old city with no fear of becoming objects of humiliation, embarrassment or violence. With that goal fulfilled, we need another, in this case, one higher up Maslow’s hierarchy.
The second reason is that the Safe Haven mission contains no vision. Israelis today will die for the IDF, but they won’t live for it. Nor should they. People and nations need a reason to live, not just to die. The Safe Haven mission lacks a vision for a shared future, failing to inspire, unify and propel the Jewish people into the 21st century.
And the third reason is because the Safe Haven mission is no longer relevant to Diaspora Jews in various places like the US (although of course if history is any teacher, this could change with the flip of a coin with anti-Semitism rates rising).
Instead, we need to paint a bold picture for the future of Israel. That can come in the form of a constitution.1 Crafted by a committee as diverse as the society it seeks to serve, the constitution can show us we have more in common than not, and build broad consensus and unity for the long-term among Israel’s various factions.
Olim can and should play a pivotal role in the drafting of Israel’s national constitution, especially those of us who hail from democracies. Besides English, Olim (especially from Western countries and the United States) can contribute in 3 main areas:
Their public culture of civil discourse,
Idealism and perspective, and
Their open worldview that integrates both global and particular elements.
I’ll explain each one individually.
I. Our public culture of civil discourse
Here the goal is not to eradicate Israeli brazenness, but reinforce elements of mutual respect, listening and empathy. I know I sound like a schoolgirl drawing a utopian rainbow with crayons, but bear with me. We need to listen to one another, not just waiting for our turn to speak, but listening to other narratives and according them space and dignity.
The pervasion of violent speech is not a uniquely Israeli issue, but the interrupting and cutting-off on Israeli news is outrageous. In the absence of the ability to talk with one another, the government blitzes highly consequential reforms through the legislature only to be met by consistent protests on the streets that disrupt the cadence of normal social and economic life, at best, and further exacerbate tension among Israelis and Jews globally, at worst.
I understand the stakes are high. With so many laws, the divides in ideology seem intractable. But the minute we stop listening to one another, we cease being humans and become animals, kicking into survival mode.
It seems silly to suggest that Americans specifically and Westerners broadly can bring out the best of Israeli public discourse, given polarization, but it still holds true to me in relative terms.
II. Idealism and perspective
We Olim are idealistic. The most important reason we made aliyah, even into the 21st century, is Zionism. Especially the youth among us. We pursue meaning and purpose. We care about uplifting others and empowering them. We care about equality of opportunity, lots of us at least, and creative expression. One might argue that we are naïve. Young people don’t see the arc of history, they might say. To their benefit, I retort. Having experienced life as a Jewish minority, we appreciate Israel in a different way than Israelis. We have perspective, seeing Israel not only for what it is, but what it can be.
III. Open worldview that integrates both global and particular elements
Having lived as a minority in a host culture, many of us have spent decades navigating the complicated dance between being a Jew and Member of the World. In order to thrive as both Jews and humans, we’ve dug roots deep into our religion and culture—on the one hand—and branches far and wide into the ‘secular’ or global culture on the other. Our natural identification with both of these camps enables us to understand them both, and negotiate between them. Very often, Israelis fall more dichotomously into one group or the other, given their life experience in a majority-Jewish country.
Our mission is to introduce and reinforce these elements in Israeli culture with great humility and tremendous respect for the Land’s veterans. Still, we must not bow to false modesty and meekness, the tendency too common among Olim to underestimate the value of their skills and experience from abroad. We must stand up proud of our dual identity—as Americans, Australians, Brits, French people, etc.—and Israelis. Not thinking we’re better because we’re originally foreigners, or worse because we’re originally foreigners, but…different: with ideas and characteristics to absorb from Israelis and Israeli culture, and ideas and characteristics to contribute, some needed desperately.
And while we’re at it—let’s acknowledge our achievement: leaving our comfortable private Jewish lives for the exciting and often chaotic reality of nation-state building. Leaving comfort for community in the greatest sense. We hopped on planes from across the world and arrived here to contribute to the Jewish project. It is here we decided to fundamentally opt-in in a world where so many Jews are opting out.
Not only do Olim need Israel (not to take ourselves so seriously, living in the moment, culture of volunteering, etc.), but Israel needs Olim, not only our philanthropic support and insistence on quality education, but working processes, organization, professionalism, and governance guidance.
Of course, the contribution of Olim in perspective and civil discourse does not alleviate the sharp fundamental disagreements among sectors of Israeli society. The questions on which we disagree cut deep to the core of our identity — what does it mean to serve a higher power: Torah? Army? Startups? And what does it mean to be part of the Jewish people: a member of the community of nations, or the people that stand alone and separate? Does secular law or Torah reigns supreme? These are tough questions — so many of them internal conflicts within the human heart.
But we Olim have both a right and responsibility to continue to cling, fight, build. We must not give up on this place. We not only have a right to opinions about Israeli policies, but a responsibility to have them and make them known.
It’s time we stop sitting back and stand up, take roles in the government, become leaders in business, learn Hebrew and bring the best of our culture of healthy discourse to Israel.
If we lean in, make bets, and grow down, I pray that we will merit to channel our energies into building the next generation of Zion—our new why for the next 75 years.
If we don’t rise to the occasion, I’m not really worried. Israel is an eternal people. Like Mordechai said to Queen Esther, if you don’t speak out for the Jews, salvation will come from somewhere else. Everything will be fine either way.
But as we learn from Pirkei Avot, although we not obligated to complete the task, neither are we free to desist from it. And Israeli culture is not only stronger with Olim, it is not complete without us.
It’s time we lean in.
Various attempts have been made over past decades to draft a constitution. But all have failed. Ben Gurion’s hopeful promise on May 14, 1948 to adopt a constitution not later than 4 and a half months later was made in vain. Instead, when the Constituent Assembly failed to compromise, they pushed the responsibility of drafting it to future Knessets in iterations, kicking the can down the road. In what became known as the “Harari Resolution,” named after the bill’s sponsor, the constitution would be written in ‘chapters,’ to be known as ‘Basic Laws.’ The first Basic Law was only passed 9 years later in 1958. 12 more were passed over the subsequent years, culminating in 1992 with two important pieces of legislation on “Human Dignity and Liberty” and “Freedom of Occupation.”
The Basic Laws effectively held the status of regular laws through the second half of the 20th century. That changed in 1995, when Chief Justice Aharon Bazak interpreted the 12th Basic Law—“Human Dignity and Liberty,” basically Israel’s bill guaranteeing fundamental human rights—as having constitutional authority. Three years after this bill was passed, it retroactively adopted constitutional authority. Any law that contradicted it became illegal. As Micah Goodman has explained, this move resulted in a big debate among academics and judges. Because put it this way, Goodman says, why would a Basic Law have more authority over a regular law if it was legislated using the same process?
Regardless, Bazak made the decision without any drama or fanfare. There was no ceremony. It was like Israel suddenly had a constitution that had been written, at least partially, three years prior. Then the Supreme Court started becoming more active and canceling laws of the Knesset, expanding the Basic Law’s reach by ‘reading into it’ additional laws, like equality. The attorney general and government advisors become more powerful too, striking down laws proposed by the Knesset on the basis of not being constitutional. The growing narrative on the Israeli right became that power had shifted from the legislative branch to the judiciary, from political officials elected by free and fair elections to appointed judges. The activist court had made a power grab, and the Basic Laws became part and parcel of a pseudo-Constitution. Still, a full Constitution was never written.