The aversion felt by many Israelis toward talk of “unity” is understandable. Extreme positions that stir up anger are widespread among us, and leaders built on trampling the soul of entire communities hold key positions. This problem exists in varying degrees and forms across all camps, even if it’s pointless to seek symmetry. It seems that what is needed now is not talks of unity, but recognition that we are in the midst of a war. A culture war at the very least, if not a full-scale civil war.
And of course, there is also the real war. The one that bleeds out our best sons and daughters every week. There are the hostages, whose suffering is heartbreaking and maddening, and their families. There are the displaced and the homeless, the smoke from the fires in fields, cities, and farms. And there is the destruction caused by the war in Gaza. Destruction that, even if it is primarily a necessity, nonetheless causes indescribable suffering. Suffering that will continue to fuel for decades the same diabolical trends we are fighting and that we set out to eradicate.
Some pin their hopes for unity on the solidarity that emerges during wartime. On the brotherhood of reservists at the front and the cross-sector mobilization of the home front. But despite the initial momentum, a prolonged war has a destructive impact on civil society. This is even more true given the sharp disagreements over the management and conclusion of the war— disagreements about hostage release deal, the future of the Gaza Strip, the recruitment of ultra-Orthodox Jews, and more. Each of these disputes has the potential to tear apart even a healthy and cohesive society. And that’s without considering how these fundamental questions are tainted by petty and toxic politics.
After all, even before October 7, there was no equality here, and freedom was at risk. So unity? Brotherhood? Brotherhood is, in any case, the neglected apex of the famous triangle of the French Revolution (alongside equality and freedom). How and why insist on talking about unity specifically now, and what meaning can the word unity even have? What is there in it besides a sweet disguise for surrender, for a desperate acceptance of the current situation?
Liberal-democratic thinking struggles to enforce brotherhood and to demand unity and solidarity, even though it is clear to any sensible person that without these, there will be no equality, no freedom, and presumably no democracy either. On the other hand, those holding anti-liberal beliefs and ideologies tend to assume that the truth is in their hands. Their attitude towards those who think differently is, at best, patronizing and, for the most part, oppressive. One will certainly not find the sources for building a cohesive society with the anti-liberal camp.
Throughout the years of the state of Israel, initiatives for unity and rapprochement have achieved a great deal, but primarily on paper. Detailed and inspiring descriptions of how to live together are not lacking, but actual shared life is almost absent. Many such initiatives, while promising and inspiring, suffer from a common problem. Their goals are framed as political objectives, and the political arena is where they seek to be realized. Through legislation, the establishment of party frameworks, public declarations, and recently in several proposals related to writing a constitution, setting election dates, and so on. But as much as our politics needs reform, and with full understanding of the urgency of political reform given the challenges mentioned above, our ugly politics is only a symptom.
In 1911, the socialist Zionist thinker A.D. Gordon diagnosed the “disease” from which the Jewish people in the Diaspora suffered and proposed a remedy: “We are afflicted in labor, and in labor we will be healed.” In the early days of Zionism, the great teacher of the chalutzim, or Zionist pioneers, sought to transform a largely unproductive people without land into a people sustained by its land and labor. Looking at the state of the nation in Israel in 2024, it seems we must conclude that we are afflicted in education, and in education we will be healed. The deficiencies in Israeli education are no less dangerous than the tribulations of the Diaspora.
The deficiencies are not only in the well-known underfunding. This undermines academic achievements, exacerbates gaps, and drives away teachers, except for a few with extraordinary resilience. It’s not just about the sanctification of “real” subjects and the criminal neglect of the humanities. The Israeli education system raises Israelis to not recognize each other's existence, and therefore to fear and hate one another. This is true in the state education system and the state-religious system, and certainly no less so in the ultra-Orthodox and Arab state education frameworks.
In the state education system, secular, traditional, religious, and non-Jewish students are all crowded into the same cramped classrooms. The teaching staff is also diverse. However, the conditions seem designed to prevent deep identity encounters and discussions. The subjects have been stripped of controversy, and therefore significant content, and both teachers and students tend to leave their personal identities at the door. The fact that some manage to cultivate values worthy of a democratic Jewish state under these conditions is a visible miracle that requires constant striving against the current.
In the state-religious education system, there is somewhat more focus on identity and spirituality, but there is no encounter with the “other.” The system is largely segmented into sub-streams, and students and teachers mainly meet those similar to themselves. If there is someone in the class who is not “similar,” and since no class is truly homogeneous, it is likely they will do their best to hide their differences. Even religious schools that aim to educate for intellectual openness and partnership with the whole of Israel effectively send a contradictory message due to their segmented structure. Again, one must not underestimate the tremendous work done by educators who strive to rescue their students from the stifling echo chamber of sectarianism. But they are building on sand.
When these are the conditions under which Israeli students grow up, the focus on public-political expressions of unity is almost like foam on the water's surface. At certain times, it can function as a stopgap measure and prevent specific disasters, but it does not offer healing. A discussion about real unity, about solidarity that is not merely superficial, in today’s Israel, can only be an educational discourse. One that finds ways to bring together different people, to deeply understand the language of the other, their distress, and their hopes. One that allows students to deepen their roots in their own identity and culture, and with these deepened roots, to extend their branches far enough to intertwine with those of neighboring trees. These students will also influence the adults around them.
In his collection of essays titled Orot HaKodesh, the early religious Zionist Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook wrote about the “Quadrilateral Song” that our tongue can be taught to sing—a song that includes the song of the soul (the expression of the individual), the song of the nation, the song of humanity (the universal), and the song of the world (the search for the spirit that unites opposites). This Quadrilateral Song could serve as the basis for a new-old educational vision that transcends various streams and educational frameworks. It has the potential to bring about the desired rectification. This does not necessarily require the cancellation of existing educational streams, but it does require a comprehensive reorganization of the entire system. From dramatic improvements in teachers’ working conditions to changes in the curriculum, evaluation methods, and more.
A few weeks ago, the school year in Israeli secondary schools came to an end. It has been one of the most challenging school years in Israeli history, following a turbulent sequence of a global pandemic and a local political-legal storm. The school year concludes with thousands of displaced students and teachers, and without a clear horizon for the end of the war. Teachers, in general, have risen to the occasion and will continue to be required and to respond even next year. However, the Israeli education system is wounded and battered. It is clear to everyone that a correction is needed, to the extent of a complete rebuilding from the ground up.
At the heart of the system’s renewal must be the challenge of giving meaning to the concept of unity. Transforming schools from sites that produce social divides into places of stitching and connections. Turning them into places of healing, of dealing with the dangerous extremism in Israeli discourse. And above all, into places of encounter and celebration of the diversity of Israeli identities.
Yoav Reimer works with schools in the fields of social and values education within the Amit network and focuses on the interaction between secular and religious individuals in the education system. He is a member of the Dror Israel movement and a fellow at the Lema’aseh Beit Midrash for Israeli Halacha.
