Five years ago, the rabbi of a large religious Zionist girls’ high school in central Israel called me with a surprising request. “I have an educational problem,” he said. “I feel that many of the girls at the school choose to dress modestly only because they are obligated to follow the school rules, and they struggle to choose modesty as an internal, personal choice.”
As the coordinator of the HaNoar HaOved VeHaLomed youth movement—a large, historically socialist Israeli youth movement that serves Jews, Arabs, and Druze—I waited to hear how he expected me to help. It turned out he had heard about the “shorts protest” that girls from HaNoar HaOved had taken part in in 2015—fighting against school rules that allowed boys, but not girls, to wear shorts in the scorching heat of Israeli summer. He wanted the teenagers who had been involved in that protest to come speak to his students.
The rabbi heard my surprised silence and added, “I want our girls to meet teenagers who chose to fight for the right to dress in revealing clothing, and from that encounter, shape their own worldview on modesty.”
I was deeply impressed by his educational boldness and began reaching out to girls who might be willing to take part. Two hours later, he called me back, and in a saddened tone, said that the administration had forbidden him from discussing the shorts protest within the institution.
Of course, every institution has the right—within the bounds of the law and reasonable judgment—to decide whom to invite to speak with its students or participants. But as political polarization deepens and the public discourse becomes increasingly violent and extreme, the ability to ask questions, to meet the other, and to challenge assumptions—even within an educational setting—is steadily disappearing.
I thought of that interaction after the Kfar Saba branch of the Hashomer Hatzair Youth Movement—a different historically socialist youth movement in Israel—announced an event organized by the Jewish-Palestinian coexistence group Standing Together. The event included a screening of the Oscar-winning film No Other Land, a film that sharply criticizes the state of Israel and the Israeli military.
After the Hashomer Hatzair branch announced the event, it faced a wave of threats and intense pressure. The movement then decided to cancel the screening out of concern for the safety and security of its members—prompting yet another round of criticism, this time from the opposite side.
The entire incident was accompanied by insults and slander from both the right and the left. Some rushed to accuse Hashomer Hatzair of antisemitism and collaboration with Israel’s fiercest enemies, while others accused it of complicity and agreement with the fascist tactics of the Israeli government.
Full disclosure: As an educator, I would not at this time have chosen to screen the film at one of the movement’s branches. However, the brutal attack on Hashomer Hatzair—a proud youth movement with deep historical and Zionist roots, whose members have risked their lives defending this country—is unacceptable.
It is entirely legitimate to oppose the screening of the film—and to oppose it strongly. It is also legitimate to support the screening and to raise the question of whether it is appropriate for a youth movement in Israel to show it at one of its branches. But the moment a movement that sends its members to combat service in the Israeli military is accused of antisemitism—and at the same time, that same movement, which stands at the forefront of the Israeli left, is accused of fascism—the space for educational dialogue disappears.
One of the prominent leaders of Hashomer Hatzair and the leader of the underground in the Vilna Ghetto, Abba Kovner, wrote that “disagreement is a cornerstone of Israeli culture.” In a culture of aggressive and divisive discourse, the most precious thing we have—frameworks where values-based education takes place—is trampled. Without the ability to manage educational disagreements, to discuss issues in depth, to enter an educational whirlwind and chart a course, there is no future for education or youth movements in Israel. And if there is no future for education, there is no future.
The author, Nitsan Rosenwaks-Ziv, is the coordinator of HaNoar HaOved VeHaLomed. This article was translated from Hebrew and edited for context by Nancye Kochen.
