It is irrelevant whether the “clash” between Islam and Western civilisation is real – what matters is that many people on both sides perceive it to be. 

The popular discourse on Islam and Islamophobia is often centred on the question: Is Islam a religion of peace? However, I believe this is the wrong question, given that all major religions, Islam included, contain in their scriptures and traditions both calls for peace and dictates for war. Thus, the correct question is: To what extent does a religion or culture seek to dominate? 

Defenders of Islam tend to paint the “original” faith as being a peaceful and tolerant religion, committed to equality and justice. These “moderates” often claim that the extremist Jihadists have misinterpreted the Qur’an, though they don’t deny the relevance of the violent excerpts that have been misinterpreted. Critics of Islam often hold that it is a uniquely brutal religion and that the Qur’an and Hadiths leave little room for interpretation on the matter. 

In my view, the clashes between Islam and what is typically termed “the West”, are not necessarily related to any fundamental religious precepts and cannot be explained by differences in scripture alone. Indeed, the Bible can and has been used to justify acts of violence, repression and persecution. Likewise, the host of cultural norms that are seen as either primitive or modern, such as the role of women, tolerance of homosexuality and parental authority, are constantly evolving, and are not directly correlated to religion.  

Thus, the primary difference between most of the West and much of the Islamic world today appears to be the popular legitimacy of theocracy. Even in “secular” Muslim-majority states, the influence of religion over politics appears to far outweigh that in even more conservative Western Christian states with official religions.  

This explanation is limited, however, as it doesn’t quite capture the vacillations occurring in both groups of societies over the last century. Ardently secular movements, while mostly not liberal in the Western sense, have risen and dominated in the Muslim world. Likewise, theocratic considerations affect the politics of even the most secular of Western societies, with God and religion often being used to justify or enhance an argument (i.e. the debate surrounding abortion in the US). Thus, much of the antagonism between Muslims and conservative Westerners, who may in many cases share similar values and worldviews, is related to a strong sense of identity.  

The “West”, since medieval times, has come into conflict with an Islamic “East” almost as much as it has come into conflict with itself. Despite the incessant warring both within the Islamic world and in the West, societies in both conceived themselves as being part of exclusive “civilisations”, centred on a shared set of religious and political values. The West was typically referred to as “Christendom”, often with the Pope in the centre, while the Islamic world referred to itself as the umma, or community of the faithful, whose political and religious leader was the Caliph. Both civilisations were split (Catholics and Orthodox, and later Protestants, on the one hand, and Sunni and Shi’a on the other) and were hardly unified politically, culturally, linguistically or even theologically, but they still understood themselves as sharing a common faith, for the most part, and of belonging to the same spiritual identity.  

According to the narrative of some modern Christians, Islam posed a threat from the onset, and was largely to blame for the collapse of Western society. According to this view, the Arabs and later Turks were able to subjugate large segments of the Christian world because their faith was brutal and militaristic. However, this narrative ignores the fact that Europe had become decentralised and divided long before the rise of Islam, and that neither the Christian Byzantines nor the “Latins” in Western Europe were particularly peaceful.  

Moreover, the success of early Islam in conquering such vast territories was facilitated by the power vacuum left in the wake of destructive wars between the Byzantines and Sasanians. The two empires had weakened each other to the point that even a band of desert nomads could swoop in and establish a Caliphate stretching from Spain and Morocco to the approaches of India. 

On the other end of the spectrum, we find the narrative of modern wasati (middle-way) Islamists. These probably represent the largest segment of the Muslim population, and though they are conservative by Western standards, they perceive themselves as being moderate, aiming to balance reverence for tradition with the progress of political and economic modernisation.  Their narrative of how Islam came to dominate so much of the world is based on what I call the da’wa (mission) interpretation of history. 

I define the da’wa interpretation of the spread of Islam as the idea that the new religion gained popularity primarily as a result of its apparent moral superiority and the persuasive enthusiasm and conviction of its adherents, promulgated by peaceful Da’i missionaries, rather than by means of violent conquest, structural pressures in the caliphate, and the subjugation of large non-Muslim populations” 

The da’wa interpretation of the early spread of Islam doesn’t hold up to scrutiny, though it may have some merit in explaining the gradual Islamisation of the periphery of the Muslim world (in sub-Saharan Africa and Southeast Asia) during the “Golden Age of Islam”, when the Islamicate was the unquestionable centre of global trade, science and culture. For the most part, Islam was indeed “spread by the sword” and established itself as a force to be reckoned with through the use of violence.  

However, it should also be noted that the concept of jihad, or “holy war” as it is often translated today, did not exist at the dawn of Islam. Initially, Islam was a religion for Arabs alone, and conversion by non-Arabs was discouraged. The conquests of the Rashidun Caliphate were motivated not by religion but by plunder. Thus, a nomadic people accustomed to periodically raiding the fringes of the settled world and intercepting trade routes took advantage of the newfound weakness of the Byzantine and Sassanian empires, establishing themselves as an elite ruling minority over a foreign, settled population that they did not intend to integrate. Christians and Jews were perhaps even more valuable subjects than Muslims, as they could be taxed at higher rates. Gradually, the Arabs began to settle across their new empire, and locals converted – perhaps to take advantage of the higher social and economic status afforded to a Muslim in the Caliphate. As the religion matured, tolerance gave way at times to persecution, massacres and forced conversions, but remained a core principle of the Islamic worldview. 

From a Jewish perspective, neither civilisation was particularly friendly, though for the most part the Islamicate was marginally better than medieval Christendom. Both civilisations experienced periods of tolerance and cultural flourishing, as well as periods of persecution and unrest. Were one to look at the world as it was around 300 years ago, it would’ve been anyone’s guess which would end up on top.  

So what happened? Why do we now associate the “West” with enlightenment and human rights, while “Islam” is still mired by religious dogma and civil strife? 

Following the Rennaissance, and gaining ground with the American and French revolutions, the concept of Christendom began to be replaced by a secular concept of Western civilisation, with roots in Ancient Greece and Rome. Humanistic philosophy, classic art and a political ideology of unalienable rights and the rule of law began to replace revelation and papal or monarchical authority. 

The pluralism of Western religion, most notably in America, is a natural product of the constitutional commitment to secularism (separation of Church and State) and of the ultimate self-governance of the individual. These are ideas that came to prominence in what came to be known as the Enlightenment. 

At the core of this Enlightenment thinking is the acceptance of doubt. The existence of ultimate truth is not necessarily denied (as in postmodernist thinking), but it is divorced from revelation and from any single religious or political authority. We are encouraged to question what we know, or think we know, and apply the Socratic method. We are also encouraged to view the individual as sovereign and as having unlimited potential. The ability to doubt one’s own deeply held beliefs allows societies to be more tolerant towards differing beliefs. Ultimately, it allows for the continuous self-corrective process of democratic government, and for both political secularism (separation of Church and State) and cultural laicism (reduced influence of religion over the lifestyle of the individual). 

The right wing of both the Western and Islamic worlds tend to frame the clash of civilisations in essentialist terms, with each side perceiving the other as seeking to dominate and subjugate the world, while insisting that their own motivations are to defend their homelands and promote their vision of justice in the world. At the end of the day, both Muslims movements and Christian movements, as well as secular liberal movements, seek to dominate the globe, at least on an ideological level. Some of these may be more willing to use violence, others may rely more on “soft power”, but at the end of the day they all seek to reshape the world in their own image.

This ideological imperialism can apply to any set of values and beliefs, whether secular or religious. The main difference today, however, is that secular and Christian ideologies emanating from the West are no longer used to justify violence in the same way as many Muslims still use their religion to justify the same – even if they are in the clear minority, the prevalence of Jihadists and their sympathisers remains a cause for concern. This is not to say that things have always been this way or that they may not change again, or that these differences in political culture represent inherent differences in religion.

It is interesting to note that conservatives in both the West and in the Islamic world often perceive Israel as being an outpost of western civilisation at the forefront of the battle for global domination. The irony is that Israel itself is not as firmly within the Western camp as many believe, and the struggle between Jews and Arabs in the region ultimately has little to do with the broader “clash of civilisations”, which can be seen more readily in Europe and in the Arab world than in Israel.  

For example, Western European countries, now faced with a growing population of Muslims at home, are struggling to reinterpret their own identities to accommodate these new minorities. Meanwhile, many Muslim countries, from the Gulf to North Africa to Turkey, have struggled to preserve their own cultures and identities whilst adopting Western economic, political and cultural norms. 

On the other hand, the globally-oriented left wing often fails to see that some people’s core values and beliefs are at times incompatible, and that the values of one society may be almost unquestionably more desirable than those of another (at least in terms of outcomes if not in absolute moral terms). Deep attachments to tradition and parochial loyalties must not be ignored, and neither should the dangers of a less tolerant culture. For example, there have been alarming findings that in certain countries, public toleration of honour killings is higher than that for homosexuality. However, such mentalities as we in the secular “West” deem primitive, are not necessarily a product of religion. There are many factors shaping the culture of a society, and religion is only one of them – furthermore, religions evolve almost as quickly as US foreign policy. 

In a world of constant ideological and cultural flux and cross-pollination, an individual’s reaction to any statement, policy or belief may have less to do with its content or value than with the identity of its proponents. If we are to allow ourselves to reconciliate and cooperate for the benefit of all people, we must acknowledge our biases and loyalties. We must be able to question our assumptions and beliefs – to put them to the test, so to speak – without necessarily abandoning our long-held core values and identities. After all, while not all cultures are equal, no culture has a complete monopoly on morality, nor on wisdom or foolishness. 

Our understanding of what constitutes a “nation” depends on the type of society to which we belong. 

This is perhaps the most controversial theme I’ve approached on this site, but I feel it is essential to discuss the definitions and meaning of national identity if we are to understand national conflicts. As theorised by Benedict Anderson, nations are “imagined communities” held together by a shared sense of commonality, and while there are different formative processes of identity, the strongest identities tend to be those with more tangible links expressed through culture (including aesthetic traditions and core values), language and kinship. Most importantly of all, however, is the sense of solidarity between people, and the understanding of themselves as members of a collective rather than mere individuals. 

In essence, nationhood can be understood as a matter of perspective, and an individual’s membership in one national community or another will inevitably shape his narrative of any set of historical or political events. By virtue of one’s sense of belonging to a particular “side” in a conflict, one is automatically invested in the favourability of the outcome towards that side. Likewise, being convinced of the “rightness” of one’s cause is essential for self-esteem and survival. We are naturally inclined to believe that our own in-group has the moral high-ground, making it very difficult to question our moral superiority vis-à-vis an enemy. 

In some societies – those which are, in my view, more enlightened – doubt and self-reflection are encouraged. Members of the elite in Western countries are far more likely to openly question or even outright deny the dominant narratives of their societies, including a well-supported reading of history. This is in part down to individualism, which allows one to morally dissociate oneself from the surrounding social fabric and condemn the collective actions of one’s own “side”. It also enables the rejection of traditional moral norms, social structures and even authority – weakening the power of religious and political institutions over the mind of the individual.  

All this can be a good thing, of course, as it allows us to prod our collective assumptions and  influence change in our societies. It enables societies to reflect with humility, accepting that they may be flawed, or that they may have wronged others. However, unfettered individualism is as problematic as unthinking conformity. It rejects the notion of a common good and encourages self-interest at the expense of others. This makes it much more difficult to maintain cohesive, just and law-abiding societies.  

Individualism without social responsibility or solidarity is tantamount to anarchy and chaos. It rejects our core human nature, for we are social creatures. Even the most mature and self-sufficient adult cannot live alone – we are dependent on our societies, and we must respect the fact that we were formed by our surroundings. An educated person has inherited the values and input of the society in which he was educated, and of his parents. We were all clothed, fed, sheltered and taught to speak and think by our guardians and peers. A society therefore cannot be purely individualistic – for individualism ultimately precludes the very existence of society.  

The outcome of excessive individualism is that we forget the debt we owe to others, and we become more vulnerable to both internal and external threats. It makes it harder for people to work together, or even to recognise that we may be facing attack by a far less individualistic culture. This is relevant because the most dangerous societies on Earth tend to be the least individualistic. These societies find it much harder to self-correct or respect individual human liberties. They maintain strict hierarchies and are dominated by traditional values that are far more resistant to change. The individuals within these societies tend to respect external authority over their own reasoning, as they recognise themselves as parts of a larger collective. Put simply, they identify as members of a group, first and foremost, rather than simply as individuals. 

In the Old World, and perhaps most of all in the Middle East, this collective mentality remains strong. This is not to say that the identities themselves do not evolve – they do – but that the importance of identity and solidarity remains much higher when compared to New World societies, some of which may believe themselves to be post-national. In the Arab World, however, the struggle between various strains of nationalism, combined with religious and tribal identities, has created a complex reality in the modern age, which is difficult for outsiders to understand. 

The Arab world has shifted from solidarity primarily based on tribes and religion, to an ostensibly secular Pan-Arabism, to artificial sub-nationalism in modern states, to a return to sectarian and tribal groupings. An Arab individual must therefore juggle the often-conflicting demands of loyalty to the umma (the global community of Muslims), the qawm (the Arab nation as a whole), the state in which he resides, the class (peasant, urban, Bedouin), the tribe and the clan. Christian Arabs have an even greater challenge when coming to terms with their identity, for they are treated variably as outsiders and insiders in their societies.  

Arabs may often express their national sentiment quite strongly, even lay down their lives for it, but their understanding of that nationalism varies. To what extent are all Arabs one nation and what does this mean for the states that divide them? What does it mean for the tribal tensions and sectarian clashes? It seems quite clear that while most Arabs may experience a sentimental attachment to Arabs elsewhere, and may sympathise with their plight, they are unlikely to be moved to assist them. Increasingly in the 21^st Century, the Arab states have been distancing themselves from each other and shirking responsibility and involvement in each other’s struggles. They seek to influence the politics of their neighbours, but they no longer strive for unity. 

This reality is an especially harsh blow to the Palestinians, whose sense of hope and strength historically lay in their being a part of the much larger Arab nation. Indeed, their very existence as a stateless people is a direct result of the refusal of the Arab states to incorporate their ethnically and culturally indistinguishable brethren into their own citizenry. The category of “Palestinian” was propped up in the aftermath of the 1948 war in order to justify the continued fight against the nascent State of Israel. The Arab League attempted to preserve the collective rights of the Palestinian people, as a component of the Arab nation, by differentiating Palestinians and denying them rights in the countries to which they fled. Thus, when Arabs discuss the rights of Palestinians, it is never as individuals, but rather as an abstract collective that has inherited a sacred right to the territory of the Palestine Mandate. This insistence on the existence of a Palestinian nation is what some call “Palestinism”, an ideology comparable in some respects to nation-building movements like Zionism or Kemalism. 

In the meantime, Iraq, Syria, Egypt and Saudi Arabia have all abandoned the Palestinians, caught up in their own concerns. The Arab League, while never particularly effective at advancing Palestinian interests on the ground, has even softened its tone against Israel, without outright abandoning its symbolic support of the Palestinian cause. This increases the need for the Palestinians to conceive of themselves as a nation of their own, with Pan-Arabism having failed them. Interestingly enough, this need for a newly defined or reasserted national identity appears to have affected Arabs both in Israel proper and the territories alike. 

In my view, the main reason Israelis have difficulty conceiving of the Palestinians as a nation (and the consequent scepticism regarding their claims to statehood), is that the concept of nationhood in Israel is primarily based on the notion of ethno-cultural characteristics. In this sense, regardless of whether you call Arabs in Israel “Israeli Arabs” or “Arab Israelis”, the designation of “Israeli” stands for their citizenship and membership in the social landscape of the state. Their “nationality” is Arab, however: while one’s nationality may be Jewish or Arab, one’s citizenship may be Israeli, American or Jordanian, etc. Thus, the Arab world as whole (with the possible exception of Egypt), and at the very least the entirety of the Levantine Arab population, is seen as a single indivisible ethnic and cultural unit at the level of a nation. While Jordan, Lebanon and Syria are states, ostensibly based on the European nation-state model, they are not truly “nations” under this conception of nationhood.  

For this reason, there is little legitimacy for a Palestinian state per se, insofar as it represents the Palestinians as a nation of their own. One’s designation as a “Palestinian”, rather than a “Lebanese” or a “Syrian”, is indeed but the result of an accident of having lived on one side of an arbitrary border, drawn by outsiders (with some Zionist influence), at a specific and fairly arbitrary point in time. While not inconsequential, the residence of any non-Jew in Mandatory Palestine during the two years preceding Israeli independence (this being the official PA definition of a Palestinian), is not only a shallow and discriminatory category to define one’s nationality, but also entirely out of touch with modern-day reality and the developments of history both before and since this brief period.  

There are no ethnic, cultural, religious or linguistic traits that can be said to apply to the Palestinians as a whole while being distinguished from those of neighbouring states. Having said that, Palestinism as an identity (even if not strictly speaking distinct in ethnic terms) has developed and strengthened in recent years. Perhaps the very belief that one is part of a nation makes it so, and Palestinian nationalism, while only having emerged in response to the advent of Zionism, could thus be considered a legitimate identity, even if as yet unconstructive.  

Even so, the insistence of some activists and scholars to refer to Arab Israelis as Palestinian citizens of Israel is seen not only as a deliberate attempt to distance them from the state and imply rejection of its narrative and identity, and perhaps even delegitimise it, from the typical Jewish Israeli perspective it is also perceived as inauthentic, if not dishonest. If the nationality is Arab, then they should by all rights and logic be considered Israeli Arab, while their ties to Palestinian Arabs should be seen as little more significant than their ties to Jordanians, Lebanese or Syrians, especially given the fact that most have both present-day relatives and historic ancestors in those countries. Indeed, historically they were merely Arabs, and if Arabs can be Jordanian, why not also Israeli? 

However, given the Zionist mission of the State of Israel to serve as a homeland for a specific nation, the Jews, there naturally arises a conflict of identity for those who are not members of that nation, but who reside in it and are part of its political, social and economic fabric. How can one be truly “Israeli” when the very purpose of the state is so intrinsically tied to an identity of which you are not part? From the Jewish Israeli perspective, there is no contradiction here, at least in theory, given that “Israeli” is the civic, legal status and not a national identity in and of itself. Likewise, being both Israeli and Palestinian would be impossible, unless there were a fully-fledged State of Palestine, in which case an Israeli-Palestinian would refer to someone with dual citizenship (and could theoretically be either Jewish or Arab). Thus, “Palestinian” is also not a national, but rather a geographical and political distinction.  

While being essential to Israeli identity and political culture, this understanding of nationhood is hardly unique to the Jewish state. Let’s put this into a global context. One could use Italy as an example, where a German-speaking minority in the north associates itself with Austria, ethnically, but has accepted Italian citizenship stripped of an Italian national identity. Turkey, Greece, Hungary, Poland and even ultra-Western, liberal countries such as Germany, the Netherlands and Denmark have this traditional, Old World brand of nationalism, however diluted, which ultimately defines a nation as an ethnicity with a common language and religion (though this is only unofficially understood in countries such as Germany). These countries are all home to minorities, whether foreign or indigenous, which do not identify with the dominant national narrative, although they mostly accept it.  

In Turkey, however, the situation is particularly complicated. Strictly speaking, according to the Kemalist vision, anyone can be a Turk, regardless of ethnic origin or even religion. The core of Turkish nationalism is the Turkish language, accompanied by a sense of solidarity with the Turkish people. However, in reality, while most Turks can trace their Greek, Armenian or Kurdish heritage, having successfully adopted a Turkish cultural identity and integrated into the national fold, it is understood that a “true” Turk is a Sunni Muslim, and the “purest” Turks are those whose ancestors were the tribes who reached Anatolia from Central Asia. Thus, Kurds can certainly become Turks in terms of nationality if they speak Turkish, especially if they are Sunni and forego their Kurdish identity. They may be viewed a little differently by some of the legacy Turks but certainly within a generation or two they become indistinguishable.  

On the other hand, Turkey does not allow for any national consciousness other than “Turk” to flourish within its borders. Kurdish identity, even if merely ethnic and without demands for an independent state, is thus seen as a threat that weakens Turkey as a country. The Kurdish language alone is problematic, and there is no recognition of a national minority living in Turkey.  

Israeli Arabs, while they can never (or with great difficulty) become Israeli Jews, can and do share in the benefits of the state, even if they were originally built by and for someone else. They also receive recognition as a minority and are accordingly allowed a high degree of autonomy to conduct their own affairs at the municipal and religious levels. Indeed, they are encouraged to preserve and develop their unique culture and are provided with an education in their own language, albeit with some state involvement over political narratives. Other services are also catered specifically to the Arab sector.  

This separation is not without its problems, providing a barrier to full social and cultural integration, but it allows the various communities in the country the freedom, recognition and dignity to live more or less as they wish. Moreover, it is highly liberal in that it does not impose a cultural identity over different peoples, and does not attempt to forcibly bring them into a national mould as do France and Turkey. Likewise, the melting pot effect of multi-ethnic countries such as Australia and the United States is limited, given the Old-World context of Israeli society.  

While Arabs certainly contribute to the cultural landscape of Israel, they are somewhat prevented from (and partly resist) dissolving their particularistic identities in the Israeli melting pot in the same way that Jewish immigrants have. At the end of the day, this model is based on acceptance of both group solidarity and individual freedom to associate (while the American model is far more individualistic and theoretically resists the notion of collective identities equivalent to national groupings).  

In my view, the success of societies in the Old-World context will ultimately depend on the ability to maintain social harmony while recognising the importance of national identity. This requires a fine balancing act between individualism and collectivism, between the rights of citizens and the will of the nation. It means recognising that people are different and allowing them to express those differences, encouraging them to identify as much as possible with the state if not with the nation. 

Minority identity remains relevant even in the most individualistic of societies, and Jews should embrace their collective nature. 

America is the archetypical melting pot society, a bastion of individualism and a nation based on the absence of nationality. So how can Jews, who have conceived of themselves as a nation even within the Diaspora, come to terms with being both fully American and fully Jewish? It was easier to distinguish oneself from the surrounding society when persecution and discrimination were the rule, but it is much harder to maintain the strength of one’s identity when it is competing with equally seductive notions of belonging. 

American societal divisions are categorized as sub-national, involving race and religion rather than “nationality” or even culture. For Americans, you cannot be both American and of another nationality. All Americans form a single nation, so minorities are merely ethnic groupings with no political recognition or collective rights. Even native Americans and African Americans, which are perhaps the most distinct of racial-cultural minorities within the United States, and are granted special provisions on the premise of reparations or affirmative action, are not seen as separable from a ubiquitous American national identity, even if that identity is clearly tied to a core white-Protestant culture.  

Likewise, Jews cannot be understood in America as a “nation” as such, but are generally counted either as an ethnic (read racial) group or a religious community. As a religious community, collective rights and recognition are based not on a foundation of immutable heritage but on a philosophically individualist understanding of human rights that allow for individuals to associate as a community. Read this way, Jewishness is nothing more than a person’s choice, and it is tied to Judaism alone, as a belief, rather than an ethnic heritage.  

The proliferation of non-Orthodox Jewish movements in America is perhaps a testament to the individualism of religion in America. External authority is rejected in favour of personal choice, and a belief that one can “mix and match” when it comes to practices and values. In reality, of course, our biologically collective minds do little of that mixing and matching ourselves, and we tend to see entire communities espousing the exact same set of values in their entirety. 

However, some American Jews are non-religious, though they still place importance on their Jewish identity. They seem themselves as being culturally or ethnically Jewish, closer perhaps to the secular Zionist understanding of the Jewish people. But in America, even understood as an ethnicity, Jewishness is not always equivalent to a nationality. While Irish Americans and Italian Americans have clear, unquestioned ties to nation-states, most Jewish Americans arrived before they had a nation-state of their own, with some even objecting to its foundation and continued existence. In this sense, Jews in America can be understood as African Americans: first they are Americans, and they happen to have a particular ancestry. As a community, they are still but part of American society and not an extension of a nation. For many American Jews, this understanding of nationhood is entirely comfortable. They do not deny having a connection to the Jews of Israel, but they are not active participants in the Zionist enterprise, even if they support its narrative. Their lives are in America and they are culturally American. Their loyalty is first and foremost to the United States and their language is English. They mostly have few qualms about marrying outside of the community into which they were born and often sense they are closer to their non-Jewish fellow citizens than they are to their relatives on the other side of the world.  

Indeed, many American Jews appear at times to forget that they are a minority, behaving as members of the majority culture. American national identity and political ideology allows for this because Americanness is based on the principles stipulated in the Constitution. This legal blueprint is the glue that binds together all Americans and which suggests that regardless of one’s spiritual beliefs, family traditions, ancestry or even language, they are all equally American.  

In reality, however, majority identity matters, and majority identity in America is overwhelming Christian and predominantly white. And while Jews are generally lumped together with the rest of “White America”, in the minds of many they are a separate group. Culturally, too, they are often indistinguishable from Catholics, Protestants, Muslims or Atheists living in large cities like New York and Los Angeles, but they dominate a particular brand of liberal American culture. Their success in Hollywood, the arts, academia and various industries obscures (to them) their difference from the majority of other Americans, and there is a danger to this success, especially when coupled with political activism that becomes disproportionately associated with Jews.  

While this is by no means the work of all Jews, nor is it part of a ubiquitous Jewish agenda, there is currently an attempt by many influential Jews, mostly as individuals but also through organizations, to influence larger American society and sway politics. Whether these influences are for good or bad, they present a risk factor to Jewish communities in America long-term, who could be seen as attempting to “control” the nation and subvert it. While the conspiracy theory of the Jewish plot to “replace” White Americans with Blacks and Hispanics is manifest nonsense, the undeniable overrepresentation of Jews in the media, in progressive circles and in politics plays well into the hands of anti-Semites who seek to incite the disgruntled masses.  

While both morally and legally, Jewish Americans have every right to participate in the cultural and political discourse as any other American, it would be prudent to remember that they are indeed a minority and are therefore vulnerable. An attempt to change the character of a country, if coming from a minority, will never be welcomed by the majority, even in a country as tolerant as the United States. The limits of political liberalism and the concept of human and civil rights should be respected, if only out of fear.  

For many Jews, whose culture is undeniably dominated by intellectualism and a drive for economic success and leadership, it is almost unthinkable to accept that their passionate engagement in the American discourse is anything but patriotic. However, the Liberal Jewish conception of Tikkun Olam, rebranded as it has been for the American palette, displays a lack of humility. It is an essentially noble desire to improve the world, but it assumes that we are the ones to do it.  

In my opinion, it does not matter how positive the potential outcome or how genuine the will to do good, one cannot go against the grain of a much larger current. President Trump, despised as he is, can afford to make bold moves without endangering the legitimacy of all Whites in America (though this too is being tested with the increasing double-standards meted out against White Christian males in particular, with Jews at times being despised for their relatively newfound whiteness).  

If, say, a radically different President such as Bernie Sanders were to come to power, both his failures and unpopular successes would likely come to be associated with Jews as a whole and opposition would be expressed not merely against Sanders as an individual or his administration as a team. His Jewishness would undoubtedly become a huge liability to the entire Jewish community. 

Take for example the stance of such a President towards Israel. A Jewish President would invariably be pressured to distance himself from the country, perhaps even treat it with contempt, in order to prove his exclusive loyalty to the US. He may do it anyway, if it fits in with a non-interventionist or progressivist worldview that clashes with Israeli policies and interests, or in a diplomatic attempt to appease pseudo-humanitarian European or patently anti-Zionist Middle Eastern allies.  

If, however, such a President had warm relations with Israel, it could be just as problematic. While some Christians and Jews would no doubt cheer any American gesture or action in Israel’s interest, the perceived closeness of a Jewish President to the Jewish state could quickly be dismissed as a natural bias or even attract claims of dual loyalty. This does not mean that there should never be a Jewish President, but it does mean that politically active and highly visible Jews need to be extra-careful, as unfair as this is.  

Likewise, the incredibly shrill and unavoidable tirades against Trump may backfire against liberal and progressive Jews who often lead the charge. This criticism, even if justified, often devolves into outright demonisation, and while it is by no means Jews alone nor all Jews who participate in this, there is a disproportionate association of Jews with the anti-Trump cabal. In a future America where the Democratic Party has largely abandoned Jews for Muslims and antisemitic populations, and which disparages the principles of national sovereignty and independence upon which countries like Israel are based, the Republicans may prove to be a better sponsor, even if imperfect. While some Trump supporters may be racists or antisemites, the majority are clearly comfortable with the closeness of the current President to Israel and appear to have no issue with American Jews. Attacking their choices and delegitimising them as idiots and bigots will only alienate them from American Jews, if not from Israel.  

My advice to American and other Western Jews at this time would be to recognise that despite their constitutional rights as equal members of American society, they do form a cultural and ethnic minority, and that the very existence of a minority inevitably invites scrutiny and suspicion. This means that it is not in the interest for a minority (and could even be dangerous for individuals who are part of that minority) to be overly enthusiastic about pushing for political change. We cannot change the culture of those around us, and we mustn’t behave as though we know better than they do, or have the right to dominate.  

Unfortunately, I expect that antisemitism in America will only grow in the coming years, as it has in Europe. We must retain our humility, our caution and our sense of solidarity if we are to better protect ourselves against it. 

The Palestinian President may not last much longer, but what comes next is shrouded in uncertainty. 

Every so often, speculations arise regarding the health of Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas, and PA officials quickly jump to assure the world that he’s in excellent health. While few Palestinians appear to have much love or respect for Abbas, he has managed to keep the Palestinian Authority intact, at least within the West Bank, and prevented the rise of Hamas outside of Gaza. For the Palestinian elite, and for the Israeli security apparatus, the uncertainty of the post-Abbas era is terrifying. 

Abbas’ death could spell the end of the relative calm that both Israelis and Palestinians have enjoyed since the end of the Al Aqsa Intifada. The instability of Palestinian society is likely to spark a renewed civil war between Fatah and Hamas. There could even be a split within Fatah and the PLO, with rival factions rallying around opposing figures. This is because there is no clear successor to Abbas.  

The reason for this is Abbas’ own conduct towards anyone who managed to gain some popularity. In the past, Abbas’ main rival was identified as Mahmoud Dahlan, who was particularly popular among refugees. Today, however, Dahlan has faded from the scene, having been solidly defeated by Abbas and exiled to the United Arab Emirates. In any case, he was based in Gaza, and when Fatah lost its hold on the Strip, Dahlan lost any hopes of rising in the ranks of the PLO, with rivals accusing him of being an Israeli agent. In any case, West Bank society is unlikely to embrace a Gazan as its leader, with clear preference given to Nabulsis. In ordinary circumstances, even when travel between the two sections of the Palestinian Territories was possible, it was nearly impossible for a Gazan to rent an apartment in Ramallah or Bethlehem, and marriages between towns are few and far between. 

Perhaps the most obvious choice today would be Mohammad Shtayyeh, the current Prime Minister of the PA. However, Shtayyeh was selected by Abbas precisely because of his weakness, and his role in government is mostly ceremonial. It is possible, however, that the government would settle on someone like Shtayyeh as a necessary compromise, in the hopes that it would prevent the collapse of the PA. 

The most popular figure today in the Palestinian imagination appears to be Omar Barghouti, who is unlikely to be released from Israeli prison. Then there is Saeb Erekat, whose popularity derives from his role as international spokesperson for the Palestinian cause. However, Erekat is effectively the tribal leader of Jericho, the smallest and most remote Palestinian city, and it is unlikely that the Nablus and Ramallah-based PLO establishment would allow him to take the place of Abbas. 

There is no guarantee that elections will be held after Abbas’ passing. In any case, it is unlikely that any faction would willingly relinquish power as a result. It is also impossible to know what such an election would look like. Would Hamas be allowed to participate? Would Gaza be incorporated into the general election? What would voter turnout look like? How would votes be counted? 

Until now, Mahmoud Abbas has avoided holding elections, which have been overdue for a decade. His excuses include the de facto split of Gaza under Hamas from the rest of the Palestinian Authority and, more recently, the supposed Israeli refusal to allow Jerusalem’s Arab population to vote in the Palestinian elections. While Israel certainly has an interest in preventing an election that will likely end Abbas’ grip on the PA, and does not seek to further expose the PLO’s lack of legitimacy, it is the Palestinian leadership itself that has the most to lose from an election. It is more likely that Abbas has worked in concert with Israeli authorities to conjure up the Jerusalem election ban as a pretext to postpone elections. 

With Abbas gone, however, it will be difficult to justify postponing an election any further. The danger here is the fiction maintained by the international community that the Palestinians can and should be democratic. The only country in the Arab world, to date, which has managed to achieve a semblance of democracy, is Tunisia, and even this is new and fragile. Any other attempt has been short-lived, either undone by military coup or devolving into civil war. While many in both the Arab World and the West believed that the so-called Arab Spring (more appropriately the “Arab Fall”) signalled the beginnings of a democratic movement. A basic understanding of modern Arab culture, especially in the Levant, would reveal that democracy in the Western sense is not something widely understood or desired.  

Of course, people tend to want a say in governmental policy and they are generally fed up with the authoritarian regimes and corruption that have plagued the Arab World for decades. However, even if the majority of the population favour it, democracy in the form of peaceful political transitions, popular legitimacy and governmental transparency seems further away than ever. 

When analysing the democracy deficit of the Arab World, one cannot ignore the divisions that run deep within many Arab societies. While the Palestinians are spared the struggle between Sunni and Shi’a, the tribalism that has plagued Syria, Iraq and Libya exists here too. The unity of the Palestinian people lies in little more than opposition to Israel and Zionism. The struggle between theocrats and secularists will likely continue well into the future, intensifying within the context of a power vacuum. 

Given that Abbas will leave behind him a profound vacuum of power, a civil war seems highly likely. The extent of that civil war is unknown, as is the outcome. External factors, such as Israeli intervention, Arab sponsorship and international directives may impact the course of the war. As for local support, the largest faction appears to be Hamas, with about 30% Palestinian support. However, while approval of Fatah is minimal, for many West Bank Palestinians the prospect of a Hamas takeover is even worse.  

Then there’s the possibility of a major split within Fatah, or of the rise of new political factions emerging. These factions will likely represent constituents from particular towns or villages. Perhaps some will be able to cooperate, others will clash. We could even see the complete collapse of the Palestinian Authority, with individual regions acting autonomously, perhaps coming to interim agreements with Israel. 

The violence would also likely spill over into Israeli settlements and territory, with more activist factions using terrorism to draw attention and support from the Palestinian public. Violence could also come in response to an Israeli military intervention, which could backfire by undermining the legitimacy of whichever faction was supported. It is not clear exactly how Israel should prepare for the day after Abbas, but the government and security establishment should consider various possibilities, and brace themselves for a fast-deteriorating crisis. 

What is certain, there will not be a leader able to reunite the West Bank and Gaza, or who enjoys enough popular legitimacy to sign a sustainable peace agreement with Israel. As discussed in a paper published in the CMI Brief, “Palestinians are in need of a united, legitimate political leadership if a revived peace process is to have any chance of success.” 

Perhaps things will emerge brighter for the Palestinians after the coming dark period of uncertainty, but it will likely get much worse before it gets better. As frustrating as a weak, uncharismatic and uninspiring president may be, we might come to lament the loss of our present-day stability. And it will likely be sooner than we expect. 

The belief that we can unilaterally separate from the Palestinians while maintaining a security presence is a dangerous delusion. 

Towards the end of 2018, a campaign was launched promoting the need to “divorce” from the Palestinians. It was spearheaded by Commanders for Israel’s Security, former members of the Israeli security establishment, with backing from predominantly left-wing MKs. Billboards and newspapers around the country spread the message: “For Israel’s security, it’s time to divorce the Palestinians”. 

In Hebrew, the word for divorce is Girushin, which incidentally sounds a lot like the word for expulsion, Gerush. This connection makes sense, given that divorce requires a physical separation – traditionally, a husband would banish his wife and she would no longer have a place in his house. The message of the campaign, however, seems to be that we should banish ourselves. 

While the desire to separate from the Palestinians is understandable, implementing this unilaterally is unfeasible. For better or worse, the fates of our two peoples are tied, and we cannot separate them without creating a physical separation. Physical separation in this context amounts to ethnic cleansing, and since we cannot fathom being responsible for such a crime, the ethnic cleansing being promoted is self-inflicted.  

It may seem noble for us to sacrifice our own position for the sake of peace, or at least for the idea that we are promoting peace down the road. The trouble with this is that we will be weakening our own position and sending a signal to our enemies that we do not believe in our own claims to the land. It will mean rewarding intransigence and pushing the prospect of a true peace, which can only come about with mutual agreement, further away.  

Such a proposal is also unprecedented historically – no society has ever voluntarily dismantled settlements and evacuated its own citizens without losing a war on the ground. Israel is the only country ever to offer a solution that involves uprooting its own people from a position of strength. Doing so sends a clear message that we do not believe we are in a position of strength, nor are we confident in the righteousness of our claims. 

Where then, does this proposal come from? 

The politics of separation from the Palestinians is one that has always existed within the Zionist movement, especially in the left-wing establishment. This comes from the understanding that for Zionism to be successful, as with any national movement, the territory under the government’s control must have a clear Jewish majority. You cannot have Jewish sovereignty without a Jewish majority, especially in the context of a democratic nation-state that grants equal citizenship rights to all. 

After the War of Independence and up until the Six Day War, an acceptable separation had been achieved for the State of Israel. There was no longer any need to discuss further separation. However, this separation was not sustainable, as evidenced by the breakout of war 1967. Historical revisionism suggests that the partition established in 1949 was workable, though neither the Arab league nor the Israeli security establishment ever accepted it as so. The political establishment was content with it, but in the absence of a true peace with all neighbouring states, it was understood that borders must be shifted to more defensible lines.  

In any case, the “Green” armistice line was never recognised as an official, let alone final, border – this at the insistence of the Arab League. Therefore, using the Green Line as the main reference for implementing separation makes no sense in terms of facts on the ground or even legal considerations. The Green Line has been mostly maintained as a legal barrier between Israeli and Palestinian Arabs, but it was never understood by either side as a true political barrier between countries.  

More recently, Israeli unilateralism and the policy of disengagement were exemplified by the Kadima party of Ariel Sharon, who broke from the right-wing Likud in order to advance the disengagement from the Gaza Strip (and parts of the northern West Bank), evacuating some 8,000 citizens. This was a painful move but largely accepted by the Israeli public. It also opened up the potential for annexing parts of the West Bank, and contributed to anxiety amongst right-wingers and settlers that further disengagement may occur.  

Sharon achieved his goal of limiting the need to maintain foot soldiers within Gaza and, in his words, to reduce the burden of responsibility for governing a large non-citizen Arab population (by now numbering about 2 million). Gaza was taken out of the equation for any future settlement and a de facto independent Palestinian entity was established there. Following the Oslo Accords, Gaza had been administered by the Palestinian Authority, with the exception of the Jewish settlement block of Gush Katif and some patches of strategic territory.  

After the disengagement, a low-level civil war between Hamas and the Fatah-dominated Palestinian Authority resulted in the expulsion of the legitimate government from the Strip, and an entity whose government cared more about attacking its neighbour than it did about caring for its citizens.  

Of course, hardly anyone in the security establishment is advocating pulling the military out of the remaining territories under Israeli control, but the proposal for “civil separation” mirrors this policy of disengagement, uprooting communities and reserving hitherto disputed areas for a future Palestinian state, without requiring any gesture on the part of the Palestinian leadership. 

Following the Gaza disengagement, figures such as Ehud Barak of Labour and Shaul Mofaz of Kadima began advocating for civilian, but not military, disengagement from large areas of the West Bank. Driven by impatience to resolve the conflict while understanding that a partner for negotiations cannot be found in the Palestinian leadership, think tanks like the Institute for National Strategic Studies (INSS) argued that Israel could still move forward with implementing a sort of two-state reality. Unilateral disengagement from Gaza may have had its advantages and disadvantages, but no one can seriously argue that it brought us any closer to peace. 

This unilateralism is far more problematic for the highlands of Judea and Samaria, with a large Jewish population and far more strategic importance than the Gaza Strip. This policy would, in my opinion, represent self-delusion, pretending that we are somehow changing the situation to enable peace while maintaining our military presence in the area, which is the main stated grievance of the moderate Palestinian leadership. All we would achieve is disenfranchising our own citizens. 

At the other end of the Israeli political spectrum is the rush to annexation of parts of the West Bank (perhaps more properly referred to as the bulk of Judea and Samaria). This proposal has its own issues, especially in the absence of an agreed permanent settlement. The concern is that this annexation would cement an Israeli presence encircling Palestinians areas of settlement, creating what some would call an “apartheid” situation, which would supposedly prevent the establishment of an independent Palestinian state, at a time when the Palestinians decide they are ready for it. The Israeli left and centre fear that this would erode Israeli legitimacy internationally and create pressure for granting citizenship to the roughly 3 million Palestinians of the area, undermining the clear Jewish majority and ending the Zionist vision. Presumably, the move to create a clear separation from Israel and the Palestinians would be to prevent such a scenario, ensuring that Israel remains smaller but with a clear Jewish majority. 

However, while proponents of “divorce” claim that the separation would not replace a comprehensive peace agreement, and that military occupation for security purposes will continue, it seeks to rush to a conclusion of the conflict at least in terms of territorial and demographic parameters. This would establish permanent international borders and supposedly resolve the settlement issue. However, no one is seriously considering pulling out of the settlement blocks (with the exception, in some cases, of Ariel, which is further from the Green Line). Therefore, a separation policy would actually require unilateral annexation, albeit of modest proportions.  

This move is not likely to gain the desired approval of the international community or the Palestinians. It also wouldn’t resolve the issue of eastern Jerusalem and the Holy Basin, or of the permanent status of areas deemed necessary for Israeli security, even in the context of a reliable peace agreement with the Palestinians. Pulling the civilian presence out of the Jordan valley, which is currently majority Jewish outside of Jericho, and is generally considered indispensable even to members of the so-called peace camp, would simply mean handing it over to any future Palestinian state, abandoning the opportunity for negotiation on the matter. While isolated mountain-top army bases would likely be retained as enclaves within a Palestinian state (according to the most generous visions), their continued presence is unrelated to civilian infrastructure. However, the territory in which they sit, while strategic, is not generally claimed for the purposes of sovereignty.     

The trouble with pulling out of civilian settlements, including the problematic outposts, which were considered likely to be evacuated in any peace agreement up until the Trump initiative, is that we will be placing all our chips while our opponent hasn’t even sat at the table. We’ll be relinquishing our own right to the territory, declaring moral defeat in the eyes of the Arab world, while retaining a military presence that will justify the continued complaints of “occupation”.  We will be lending credence to the narrative that we are non-indigenous occupiers of a land to which we have no claim – that we are colonists. We will be nurturing hopes among the Palestinians and their Arab backers that we may give up even further concessions. We will not be promoting peace, and we will not be limiting the friction between Jewish and Palestinian communities. We will be further encouraging the descent of the Palestinian Authority into anarchy, deepening the emerging societal rift among Jews and creating a dangerous precedent for ignoring the rights of our own citizens in favour of an abstract fantasy.  

Separation cannot occur without ethnic cleansing, however you choose to call it. Ethnic cleansing cannot be considered a moral stance, even if we are only doing it to ourselves.