War over Peace: One Hundred Years of Israel's Militaristic Nationalism

War over Peace

War over Peace

ONE HUNDRED YEARS OF ISRAEL’S MILITARISTIC NATIONALISM

Uri Ben-Eliezer

Translated by Shaul Vardi

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESS

University of California Press, one of the most distinguished university presses in the United States, enriches lives around the world by advancing scholarship in the humanities, social sciences, and natural sciences. Its activities are supported by the UC Press Foundation and by philanthropic contributions from individuals and institutions. For more information, visit www.ucpress.edu.

University of California Press

Oakland, California

© 2019 by Uri Ben-Eliezer

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Title: War over peace : one hundred years of Israel’s militaristic nationalism / Uri Ben-Eliezer; translated by Shaul Vardi.

Description: Oakland, California : University of California Press, [2019] | Includes bibliographical references and index. |

Identifiers: LCCN 2018055940 (print) | LCCN 2018058850 (ebook) | ISBN 9780520973053 (Ebook) | ISBN 9780520304345 (cloth : alk. paper)

Subjects: LCSH: Militarism—Israel—History. | Nationalism—Israel—History. | Politics and war—Israel—History.

Classification: LCC U21.5 (ebook) | LCC U21.5 .B489 2019 (print) | DDC 355.02/13095694—dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018055940

Manufactured in the United States of America

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What I saw above all was a failure to understand the psychological essence of the problem. The question of peace will not be resolved on the basis of interest, nor that of logic. First and foremost, this is a question of will. This is the question of whether a psychological infrastructure has been created that promotes peace or, at least, whether factors in the psychological background that block the path to peace have been removed.

MOSHE SHARETT,

Israel’s second prime minister, from his lecture War and Peace, October 1957. Published in the Ma’arach Party journal Ot in September 1966.

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

Introduction

1 • Militaristic Nationalism and War

2 • The Birth of Militaristic Nationalism in Pre-state Israel

3 • The Establishment of a Dominant Nation-State: The 1948 War of Independence

4 • A Nation-in-Arms: The Sinai War of 1956

5 • Militaristic Nationalism and Occupation: The Six-Day War of 1967

6 • The Price: The Yom Kippur War of 1973

7 • The Decline of the Nation-in-Arms: The 1982 Lebanon War

8 • The Emergence of Liberal Nationalism: From the First Intifada to the 1993 Oslo Accords

9 • The Return of Militaristic Nationalism: The 2000–2005 Al-Aqsa Intifada

10 • Religious and Militaristic Nationalism: Israel’s New Wars

Conclusion

Notes

References

Index

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book is the result of an extensive personal effort that lasted several years. At the same time, it could not have been published without the support and help of friends and colleagues. I would like to thank the members of the Department of Sociology at the University of Haifa and the department’s administration, which allowed me to devote myself to my academic work even when I was head of the department. Special thanks go to Shaul Vardi, who meticulously translated the book, and to Shlomo Arad, who donated one of his wonderful photographs for the cover.

I’m grateful to the peer reviewers for the University of California Press: to Mark LeVine, for his good advice, and to the anonymous readers, from whose comments I also benefited. And of course I thank the members of the publishing house: first and foremost Executive Editor Niels Hooper, whose kindness and generosity exceeded professional boundaries; the editorial assistants, Bradley Depew and Robin Manley; Lia Tjandra, the jacket designer; Jolene Torr, who is responsible for the marketing; Alex Dahne for publicity; and last but not least, Bonnie Hurd, the copyeditor, and Dore Brown, the production editor, for their openness and patience.

War over Peace looks at how people miss the chance for peace and prefer war instead. I dedicate the book to my children, Noa, Shir, and Mika, in the hope that they will be able to see in their lives the longed-for peace in the Middle East. I also dedicate it to my partner and lover Adriana, who has been filling my life for decades with contentment, happiness, and love.

Introduction

As I write these words, toward the end of 2018, the conflict between Israel and its neighbors is once again escalating. As Erich Maria Remarque indicated in his novel written in 1929 chronicling the horrors of the First World War, the enemy may change, and operating methods certainly do so, but essentially there is nothing new on the Western Front.¹ This is true of Israel, too.

In the north, Israeli fighter jets launched almost nightly attacks on Iranian targets and Hizbullah weapons stashes in Syria, often hundreds of miles from the Israeli border. Israel will not allow Tehran to turn Syria into a front-line base for operations against us, Avigdor Lieberman, the defense minister, warned. Regarding the threat of an Iranian retaliation, he remarked, If missiles rain down on us, they will flood down on Iran.² Lieberman was not the first Israeli leader to warn the enemy not to provoke Israel. Readers of this book will encounter similar warnings addressed, for example, to Hizbullah by the prime minister, Ehud Olmert, at the beginning of the Second Lebanon War in 2006, a war from which Israel cannot easily be considered to have emerged victorious. In 1982, Ariel Sharon similarly warned the Palestinian Fatah movement, which was based in Lebanon at the time, not to attack Israel. Did these threats prove effective? Did they solve any specific problem? At times, Israel’s weakness is conspicuous precisely because of its threats. For example, the downing of the Russian plane in Syria on 17 September 2018 as a result of Israel’s military activity, and the deaths of fifteen Russian soldiers aboard the plane, has forced Israel to accept Russian dictates regarding its freedom of action in Syria.

The idea that Israel can dictate its will to the Syrians, the Lebanese, the Iranians, and perhaps even the Russians is, of course, problematic. In this sense, the policy of the prime minister, Benjamin Netanyahu, and Lieberman is reminiscent of the attempt by David Ben-Gurion and Moshe Dayan in the mid-1950s to topple Gamal Nasser’s regime by war and to create a new order in the Middle East. As we know, Israel was forced to withdraw from Sinai immediately after conquering it. Or perhaps the plan by Netanyahu and Lieberman may be compared to the one formulated in the 1980s by Sharon, who as defense minister sent the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) to occupy not only southern Lebanon but also its capital, Beirut. As history has recorded, the peace treaty Israel forced Lebanon to sign at the time was not worth the paper on which it was written. In hindsight, Ben-Gurion, Dayan, and Sharon failed completely in realizing their objectives. Have these historical precedents changed Israelis’ worldview regarding their nation’s invincible might and the feasibility of resolving the country’s national difficulties through force?

Closer to home, members of the IDF’s elite units spend every night searching for wanted persons and terrorists in the cities and villages of the West Bank, which Israel has occupied by since 1967. More than three hundred public officials, legal experts, academics, artists, and other figures from around the world recently published a letter expressing their opposition to Israel’s plan to forcibly move thousands of Palestinian residents of communities that make their living from agriculture and shepherding in the West Bank. A forcible transfer such as this, they warned, constitutes a war crime.³

One focal point of the dispute was a Bedouin village called Khan al-Ahmar, which lies about six miles east of Jerusalem. With the approval of the Israeli Supreme Court, the government sought to evacuate the village inhabitants and to Judaize the place. The implementation of this plan was delayed because of international pressure. However, in November 2018, after Netanyahu was attacked by far-right parties for being too moderate and his government seemed likely to fall, he quickly declared that the village would very soon be evacuated. It became clear that any Israeli prime minister will find it difficult to resist the demand to show unswerving national resilience and pride. ⁴

To the south, throughout 2018, Hamas encouraged the residents of the Gaza Strip to demonstrate by the fence dividing Palestine and Israel and to attempt to break through the border. Young Palestinians responded to the call, in part owing to their desperation given the humanitarian crisis in the area, the protracted siege, soaring unemployment rates, food shortages, and the sense that they have been held for years in a vast open-air prison. The demonstrators ignored Israel’s warnings not to approach the border. Tens of thousands of people participated in the protests, some of whom threw stones and Molotov cocktails. Others attempted to sabotage the border fence and cross into Israel. Under the leadership of Hamas, such protests were intended not only to declare opposition to the occupation but also to challenge the legitimacy of Israel’s existence. The protests were held under the slogan The Great March of Return, referring of course to the return of Palestinian refugees—or their children and grandchildren—to the towns and villages where they lived until 1948, inside what is now the State of Israel. Did anyone on the Gazan side of the border truly imagine that even if they were able to cross the fence, this would enable them to return to their ancestral homes in what was once Palestine? Were their actions not based less on logic and more on a desire to manifest national sentiments? Indeed, as this book emphasizes, history matters, for both sides, and history is certainly relevant to a people’s way of life and death and to its fears and hatreds.

On 14 May 2018—Nakba Day—62 Palestinians were killed and 1,350 injured by Israeli snipers along the fence, while Palestinians launched burning kites across the border, setting fire to fields and woodland inside Israel. These primitive kite bombs must seem strange and absurd to observers who still adhere to the concept of conventional wars fought between mass armies and states, with decisive battles waged by tanks or fighter jets. But this is war in a form that I discuss in the final chapters of this book—a phenomenon that has come to be known as new war.

New wars cause great damage and numerous casualties. In May 2018 alone, the total number of Palestinian fatalities in the Gaza Strip was 116, and around 13,000 Palestinians were injured, including over 1,000 children. The killing of Palestinian demonstrators was condemned around the world in statements that included terms such as massacre and bloodbath. Were these killings rational? Did they solve any specific problem? At exactly the same time as the bloodshed in the south, Israel’s leaders celebrated the relocation of the United States embassy from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem, in a ceremony attended by the daughter of President Donald Trump. In Tel Aviv, meanwhile, 100,000 jubilant Israelis gathered in Rabin Square—often the scene of political demonstrations—to celebrate the success of an Israeli singer in the Eurovision Song Contest.⁵ It is doubtful whether a Hollywood director would have dared to present such a surreal scene.

As expected, and as has happened so many times in the past, the war escalated in the days that followed. When an IDF intelligence squad entered Gaza on 11 November 2018, Palestinians discovered it and attacked, killing a senior officer. The squad then killed several members of Hamas as it fled the area, and in retaliation the organization fired about four hundred missiles at the southern portion of Israel. Only one person died in this siege, and the Israeli response was so fierce that Hamas called for a cease-fire. The question that remains is: How long will the cease-fire last this time?

As is typical in all wars, the Israelis accept no blame for the violence. Israel even accuses Hamas of sacrificing its own young people. This is an interesting argument, though far from new. As I discuss in this book, the claim that Arabs are responsible for their own deaths has been raised throughout Israel’s history. As for the deaths of the youngsters in Gaza, Israel seized readily on Hamas’s claim that most of those killed were members of the organization, which, from Israel’s perspective, categorizes the victims as terrorists. Israel employs a unique definition of the term terrorism. Its current prime minister has even written books on the subject. From the Israeli standpoint, terrorism is not a means but a goal. This enables the Israelis to focus exclusively on the horror of the action itself while ignoring the fact that such actions, reprehensible though they be, are based on an objective. This objective may be the Palestinians’ desire to live in dignity, to free themselves from occupation, and to realize their national aspirations. For many of them, these aspirations include the partition of the land into two states—a solution many Israelis once accepted, but which, as I will discuss, most are no longer willing to countenance.

When Netanyahu agreed to a cease-fire with Hamas, Lieberman resigned as defense minister, claiming that Israel was too soft on Hamas. Once again the impression was that the political debate in Israel these days is between the so-called right and the extreme right. Indeed, even the claim that Hamas is responsible for the deaths of Palestinian protestors is not confined to the Israeli right wing alone. Yitzhak Herzog, leader of the opposition Labor Party, adopted the same line of argument while supporting the actions of the IDF soldiers along the border.⁶ This illustrates another phenomenon that appears as a leitmotif throughout this book: the tendency of both the coalition and the opposition to accept and legitimate the IDF’s use of force and to agree with the belligerent policy of almost any Israeli government. How did this unusual phenomenon of rallying round the flag emerge, and what insights can it offer?

It is not surprising that as the violence in the south continued, another opposition leader, Eitan Cabel, from the same leftist Labor Party, offered his solution to the problem. It’s time to sober up, he declared, effectively inviting his fellow members of the opposition to accept the occupation, at least in part. Cabel urged his friends to abandon illusions about peace agreements signed on the lawns of the White House, since the leadership on the Palestinian side is not interested in peace. Accordingly, he advocated the annexation of the main Israeli settlement blocs in the occupied West Bank and the imposition of Israeli law on these areas.⁷ Does Cabel’s position represent a departure from the traditional approach of the Israeli Labor Party in both declarative and practical terms—or is it merely the current version of the traditional us versus them ethno-national approach? This is one of the questions I attempt to answer in this book. The answer forms part of my exploration of a phenomenon defined as militaristic nationalism in Israel, in which I expose the conditions that led to its emergence, the way it was granted hegemonic status, and its influence on Israel’s countless wars and conflicts.

ONE

Militaristic Nationalism and War

Zionism was the product of an era when the concept of the nation gained precedence. Across Europe, masses of people who often shared common ethnic characteristics began to see the nation as a focus of belonging and identification. This sentiment fueled a desire for liberation from tyrannical rule or foreign occupation and for independence, in order to allow citizens to become the masters of their own fate. According to the objective criteria sometimes used to examine the phenomenon of nationalism, the Jews were not universally recognized as a nation. After all, they were dispersed in geographical terms and did not own any distinct territory. They did not share a common language, religion no longer served as a common denominator for the many who had become atheists, and their culture varied from place to place. Even in terms of physiognomy—and contrary to familiar stereotypes—they were more similar to their non-Jewish neighbors than to Jews from other parts of the world. Accordingly, it is hardly surprising that the Zionist demand to be recognized as a nation was not readily accepted and encountered fierce opposition, including among the Jews themselves.

The Zionists attempted to overcome these obstacles. They embarked on a program of immigration to Palestine, referring to the country by its ancient name, the Land of Israel (Eretz Israel), and interpreted this immigration as a return to their ancestral homeland following an exile of almost two thousand years. In this old/new place, they refashioned themselves from the outset as a community defined by its distinctness from the local Arab population. They built a new society and saw nationalism as a criterion for identification that took precedence over any religious or class-based distinctions. They also developed what Ernst Renan had already proposed in the late nineteenth century as a vital component of nationalism: national identity. As part of this project, they transformed the largely fossilized Hebrew of the Bible into a modern spoken language and created a new and original Hebrew culture. They began to secure legal ownership of areas in Palestine through acquisition and settlement and established a political system to manage their own affairs. In addition, during and after the First World War, the Zionist movement attempted to secure international and legal approval for its ambitions in Palestine, achieving considerable success in this respect with the Balfour Declaration. This achievement instilled hope in Zionists that they would ultimately be successful in realizing their nationalist aspirations and establishing their own state.¹

Zionism was dominated by modern elements, and in this respect its emergence on the stage of history toward the end of the nineteenth century is consistent with the claims of scholars such as John Breuilly (1993) and Eric Hobsbawm (2006) regarding the general phenomenon of nationalism. It is doubtful whether the Zionist movement could have emerged had not many Jews separated from their traditional communities and come out of the ghetto, to use the phrase coined by the historian and sociologist Yacob Katz (1973), thereby embarking on a significant process of secularization.² Like other national movements, Zionism could not have developed without the Enlightenment, which preceded it, and which raised awareness of humans’ ability to control their destiny—rather than, in the Jewish context, waiting for the Messiah to bring redemption, as the rabbis advised. Universalist ideals of individual liberty and national sovereignty, inspired by the French Revolution, naturally also influenced these processes. Indeed, as David Vital (1975) and S. N. Eisenstadt (2002: 163–65) noted, the Zionists did not confine themselves to national liberation but also sought to achieve a social revolution. In the early stage, this desire was manifested mainly in the aspiration to normalize the occupational structure of the Jews and to make them a productive people. Certainly, the Zionists were modern in their aspiration for a state—that is, a political and bureaucratic system of domination capable of representing the nation and of solving its various problems.

However, the phenomenon of Zionism cannot be explained solely by reference to modernity. Some scholars of nationalism reject the idea that a nation, however modern it may be, can be divorced from its ancient past. These scholars, known as ethno-symbolists, argue that, with isolated exceptions, the potency of the nationalist phenomenon lies in its sources, tradition, and long-standing emotional and irrational components. These in turn have their origins in the emergence of ethnic groups during the early Middle Ages and, in some instances, even in ancient times. These periods were already marked by the emergence of distinct cultural affinities, myths of origin and a shared lineage, and often a common religion, as well as traditions and ceremonies, a distinct language, and a sense of solidarity and collective identity. In some cases, the blend also included a sense that the ethnic group was superior and chosen.

Ethno-symbolists categorically reject the claim by certain modernists that a nation is no more than an invented political community, created ex nihilo as a substitute for debilitated religion and disempowered monarchies, and intended as a new means for serving the need for domination and control. This approach regards nationalism as a false consciousness exploited by cunning rulers in order to secure legitimacy for their rule and to recruit the naive public to their goals. Anthony Smith (2010: 61–62), one of the leading ethno-symbolic scholars, suggested that this interpretation by the modernists fails to recognize the emotional depth of loyalty to the nation, maintained over centuries, on the basis of history and tradition and manifested in tangible terms in the present.

We will see how this disagreement concerning the origins of nationalism is connected with the understanding of wars. For the present we may note that, as a generalization, the ethno-symbolic approach emphasized the cultural dimension of nationalism, while the modernist approach tended to focus on the political dimension of the phenomenon—despite the fact that both approaches claimed to address both of these dimensions. The cultural dimension of Zionism was particularly prominent during the formative years of the movement. The Jewish people had a distinct history; and toward the end of the nineteenth century, Zionist thinkers, writers, and historians, as well as the political leaders of the movement, interpreted this history in a specific manner and, to a certain extent, even invented it—the term used by Hobsbawm and Ranger (1983)—in way that served their national goals. However, it is doubtful whether this process of invention could have been successful or feasible had it not been based on a historical and cultural foundation.³ Those Jews who chose Zionism certainly did so not only for rational or instrumentalist reasons but also under the influence of a romanticist approach, which highlighted both the unique characteristics of each nation as created over centuries or millennia and the bond between humans and the territory they perceive as their homeland. By way of example, we need only recall that since before the Christian era, Jews have read the Passover Haggada every year. This text tells the story of the exodus of an entire people from slavery to freedom and their return from Egypt to their homeland. And twice a year, Jews end their prayers with the declaration Next year in Jerusalem.

Naturally, the establishment of a Zionist national movement was also justified by reference to the conditions facing the Jews in Europe. Zionism was perceived as a solution for the existential problems faced by a people who for centuries, wherever they settled, had been subject to discrimination, persecution, harassment, and profound poverty. The emancipation Jews had enjoyed more recently in some areas may have made them equal before the law, but this did not spare them from anti-Semitism in their daily lives. It comes as no surprise that Dr. Yehuda Leib Pinsker, one of the leading Zionist thinkers of the nineteenth century, wrote that emancipation would not solve the Jewish problem. The Jews, he argued, were in need of auto-emancipation—that is to say, a collective solution. They had to take their fate into their own hands, rather than expecting others to solve the problems for them.⁴

Pinsker wrote his essay Auto-Emancipation following a wave of anti-Semitic pogroms in 1882.⁵ Were it not for these pogroms and many like them that scarred the lives of Jews across eastern Europe, in particular, it is questionable whether the ideas presented by Theodor Herzl in his book The Jewish State, published in 1896, would have received such an enthusiastic reception (Eylon, 2006: 106). This enthusiasm led to the establishment of a pan-European Zionist movement that soon became a global organization. As Herzl wrote in 1897, after managing to hold the First Zionist Congress in Basel, Switzerland, the movement’s goal was astonishing clear: At Basel I founded the Jewish state. He added, If I were to say this out loud today I would be met with universal laughter. But in five years perhaps, certainly in fifty, the whole world will know it (Herzl, 1997: 482).

Despite the gravitational pull of the new movement, most of the Jews at the time did not see Zionism as offering a solution to their problems. Some had assimilated in their countries of residence. Others emigrated to the United States during the period when this country was receptive to immigration (some 1.3 million European Jews arrived in the United States in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries). Many remained faithful to their religious beliefs and continued to trust in God’s providence. Others still formed the Bund, a socialist nationalist movement that was vastly stronger and larger than the Zionist movement, and which rejected the idea that the solution to the problem lay in emigration to Palestine or in the revival of the language of the Bible. Nevertheless, the national conclusion that the Land of Israel was the Jewish homeland and constituted the most appropriate and just territorial solution for the Jewish problem became increasingly widespread.

Paradoxically, this conviction spread dramatically following the untimely death of the movement’s founder. Herzl recognized that the Jewish longing for Zion was rooted in Jews’ history. However, he despaired of realizing his objective of securing international support for the idea of a Jewish state in the ancestral land. Accordingly, he decided in 1903 to present the movement with a proposal to establish a Jewish state in Uganda, as a response to the material and existential crisis facing the Jews of eastern Europe.⁶ Perhaps his perception of nationality as a modern and civic phenomenon led him to downplay the importance of ancient history in securing the movement’s goal. However, his Uganda Plan horrified many members of the movement. The opponents agreed with the comment made by the renowned author and thinker Asher Ginsberg, better known by his Hebrew nom de plume, Ahad Ha’am, that while Herzl’s proposal might provide a state for the Jews, this would not be a Jewish state. Like many of his intellectual contemporaries, Ahad Ha’am attached great importance to the cultural and folkish dimension of nationalism, refusing to reduce Zionism to a mere political instrument for solving material or physical distress (Goldstein, 1992). This was a fascinating and principled debate between two opposing perceptions of nationalism, and one that even threatened to divide the movement. The Uganda Plan was eventually rejected by the Seventh Zionist Congress at the beginning of August 1905. Even at this early stage, it was already becoming apparent that, while Zionism embodied a nationalism that had emerged under the conditions of modernity, its stronger foundation was ethnicity and a belief in a common ancient past, combined with particularistic cultural principles, rather than the universal principles that were perceived as the legacy of the French Revolution (Shimoni, 1995; Ben-Israel, 2004: 99–150).

During the same period (from 1904), young Jews from Russia began to put the ethno-nationalist ideal into practice by emigrating to what they saw as their homeland: a stretch of desert under the rule of the Ottoman Empire. These immigrants formed what became known as the Second Aliyah, and they provide the starting point for this book. Their arrival in Palestine symbolized the emergence of practical Zionism, and accordingly it also marked the beginning of the conflict between the Zionists and the Arabs, or Palestinians. After all, contrary to the assertion in the late nineteenth century by Israel Zangwill, the well-known English-Jewish writer, that Israel is a land without a people for a people without a land, Palestinians had lived in the country for many centuries, regarded it as their homeland, and were also gradually developing a collective consciousness of their essence as a nation.⁷ As a result, from the time of the Second Aliyah down to the present day, the country has faced perpetual conflict and numerous wars.

In this book, I consider the nature of this century of conflict and war from a perspective that focuses on the way Zionists and Israelis saw and see the conflict. My main argument is that their particular perspective can be seen as one of the reasons (among others) that have brought war to the region and prevented a resolution of the conflict.

It is already possible to identify different periods in the study of the Israeli-Palestinian and Israeli-Arab conflict. In the 1980s and 1990s, a critical approach developed among Israeli researchers and, in particular, among those who came to be known as the New Historians (Shlaim, 2004) or radical sociologists (Ram, 1995, 2018). Until this period, Israeli scholars had tended to adopt a basic assumption of the existence of two separate societies.⁸ Naturally, the reality of separation that was created in 1948, and which continued through 1967, facilitated the adoption of this dual approach. It also permitted researchers to ignore the fact that throughout the British Mandate period (and earlier, of course), Jews and Palestinians maintained relations on varying levels. The change that occurred in the 1980s in the study of the Israeli-Arab conflict was due in part to criticism of this dual approach.

This criticism was manifested, for example, in the work of Juval Portugali (1993), who argued that even in the past, and certainly following the occupation of the West Bank and Gaza Strip by Israel in 1967, it was impossible to understand both societies in isolation, since they maintained implicate relations, whereby each society mirrored and influenced the other. For example, just as Palestinian national identity emerged as a response to the spread of Zionism, so the Israeli labor market was influenced by the cheap Arab labor of the hundred thousand Palestinians workers who entered Israel every day from the West Bank and Gaza Strip in the early 1980s. The implicate-relations perspective appeared in some works written by Israeli scholars (e.g., Bernstein, 2000; Grinberg, 2003), and even more so among American Middle-Eastern scholars. Zachary Lockman (1996), for example, employed the basic assumption of relational history in his study of Israeli and Arab railroad laborers who worked together in Haifa during the Mandate period. This formed part of Lockman’s broader study of the working class in Palestine and the mutual influences between Jews and Arabs in this class. Another example is Mark LeVine (2005), who argued that it is impossible to understand the modern project of the construction of Tel Aviv as a Jewish city without understanding Jaffa, and vice versa.

Exploring Israeli and Palestinian society as a single reality can indeed be productive, and certainly so in fields where there were some relationships, such as in the labor market, working-class cooperation, neighborly relations in mixed towns, or even in the context of a joint struggle for peace. However, this perspective cannot, of course, negate separate research into either one of these societies, or even into a single aspect of one society. Every researcher is free to choose his or her field of study and to set its boundaries, provided the precise framework of the research is clearly presented to the reader. In this regard, I do not claim to provide in this book a comprehensive explanation for the conflict between Israel, the Arab countries, and the Palestinians. The book does not deal thoroughly with the occupation, which has already passed its first half century, nor does it offer a comprehensive and complete picture of Israel’s wars. My essential objective is to explore, first, the way the Zionist Jews in Palestine, and later the Israelis, viewed their relations with the surrounding peoples; second, the way they translated such a view into practicalities; and third, the impact it has had on issues of peace and war.

Given this focus, it is clear that our subject here is Israeli society, and accordingly the book is based on sources relevant to that society.⁹ As for the aspect of implicate relations, even Lockman (1996: 9–10) himself wrote that by trying to focus not on one or the other of the two communities in Palestine but rather on their mutually formative interactions, the very real specifics of their histories may be obscured. To this I add that such a concern certainly exists if the historical specificity is institutionalized and becomes an ideology that affects the long-term relations between the sides, a possibility that, as I claim in this book, has indeed occurred.

As happens on occasion, these two distinct theoretical approaches reflected contradictory political convictions. The dual approach implied the argument that the Zionists came to settle Palestine alongside the Arabs without any intention of harming them, as evidenced by their establishment of a separate society, whereas the basic assumption of the relational perspective was that the Zionists were colonialists who came to build one society at the expense of the other. In this book I do not attempt to lead the reader back to the politics that underlie the basic assumptions behind the dual society perspective. However, the book addresses the relational perspective by presenting a conundrum: If the relations are so implicate, why does this not lead the two sides to influence each other in a way that leads to peace? And given that peace has not come—what are the reasons for this?

The argument that emerges in this book is that the past century has been dominated by a Zionist, and later on an Israeli, perception with a relatively fixed and uniform character concerning the conflict. This perception, which I term an ideology, is only marginally influenced by its Arab or Palestinian surroundings and did not include any consideration for their needs or wishes (a reality that, of course, merely reflects a special type of implicate relations). I then proceed to argue that this perception, and the way it was translated into practicalities, is one of the causes that prevent peace and lead to war.

As for colonialism, the idea that the Zionist project is actually one involving a colonialist settler society was manifested, for example, in the work of Gershon Shafir (1989). Shafir examined types of colonialism and identified Israel with pure settlement colonies of a particular type, based on the displacement of the natives from the labor market with no intention of annihilating them. Many other studies have depicted Israel as a colonialist society (see, for example, Rodinson, 1973; Nahla and Yuval-Davis, 1995; Pappe, 1995; Yiftachel, 1998; Shenhav, 2012; Mitchel, 2000; Yacobi and Shadar, 2014; Zureik, 2016). Some of these works argued that, as in other colonial examples, economic motivation and the quest for profit were also key factors in the Israeli-Zionist project and in its attitude toward the Palestinians. Arguments about the colonialist approach have sometimes touched on questions such as whether Zionism was colonialist in its intentions or solely in its outcomes (colonialism versus colonization). Another question was when it acquired this character—at the beginning of the project in the early twentieth century, or only after the occupation of the territories in 1967, with the confiscation of land and the exploitation of cheap Arab labor that followed (Ram, 1993).

As will become clear, I do not conclude, on the basis of my research findings, that the Zionists came to Palestine with the goal of living alongside the Arabs. They came to inherit what they saw as their homeland. Their awareness that they would have to fight the Arabs in order to achieve this was apparent at an earlier stage than many observers tend to suggest. However, had the roots of the conflict really lain in economic exploitation, as some exponents of the colonialist approach argue, we would surely expect that the conflict would have been resolved in a rational manner by now, through material compensation or some other compromise offering benefits to both sides. I argue that, while economics is important to understanding the conflict, it cannot be explained in a solely materialistic, deterministic manner. Alongside material interests, to use Max Weber’s (1968) terminology, ideal interests must also be examined—and, as I explain in this book, these factors are long-standing. The colonialists of French Algeria and Rhodesia left because it was no longer worth their while to stay, given the opposition of the authentic indigenous residents of the country to their presence. The Zionists, however, show no sign of intending to abandon what they consider their land. Neither do they show any real willingness to compromise with the Palestinians. In the following, I try to answer several questions: Why does the conflict have such a violent form? Why does it periodically descend into war between the sides? Why does it persist to this day? The reason is partly based on the Zionist-Israelis’ ideology, which was obviously translated into practicalities of domination and subordination.

I essentially present two components of the Israeli ideology—ethnic nationalism and militarism—that have accompanied the Israeli-Zionist project from its inception. I also discuss the impact of these components on the wars in which Israel has been involved and, in some cases, wars it initiated. First, it is necessary to briefly discuss the theoretical importance of these two concepts with regard to war.

THE CAUSES OF WAR

War has formed part of human existence since the earliest times; some would doubtless claim that it is evidence of the inherent cruelty of human nature.¹⁰ Yet it is also a social project whose character and causes vary from one period to another, and accordingly it cannot be fully explained by such claims. Since the Enlightenment, there has been a tendency to explain war—which is universally abhorred as a cruel and murderous project—in rational terms. This approach portrays war as the product of a balanced decision, comparing the benefit that it will bring against the price of refraining from war (Howard, 1983: 22). Karl von Clausewitz (1993), who was considered the greatest military historian of the nineteenth century, saw war as the continuation of politics by other means—an action to be taken as the last resort when all other means have failed. Clausewitz regarded the state’s leadership as rational, peace loving, and driven by the universal raison d’état, which is based on unity, proper governance, and an objective examination of the needs of society. To what extent is it true that states operate on such a logical basis; that the leadership is guided by wisdom, moderation, and caution; and that these are really the reasons why wars are fought or avoided? The American historian Barbara Tuchman (1986), for example, who discussed the example of the Vietnam War, showed that these reasons were not always the driving force behind the decisions of leaders. Is it not possible that the state’s logic sometimes reflects the private and utilitarian interests of certain individuals, at the expense of the interests of others and, sometimes, even at the expense of the interests of the majority?

Many researchers tend to regard the emergence of the modern state as a watershed in terms of the causes and even the character of war. Their approach is epitomized in the comment by the late American sociologist Charles Tilly (1985) that war made the state and the state made war. This connection between the state and war was noted much earlier by German thinkers such as Heinrich von Treitschke, Otto Heinz, and Carl Schmitt, who saw politics as an arena of constant struggle in which the strong contender wins and is entitled to impose his will through the framework of the state, even by means of organized violence, coercion, and war. This was seen as particularly legitimate when the purpose was to advance goals serving the state and contributing to its greatness (Malesevic, 2010: 28–33). The state has indeed become the central political structure of the modern age, and war is its faithful companion. It