It is my honor and duty to bring before this assembly the question of the relationship between the State of Israel and the Jewish diaspora. This relationship is unique in the world today and in all of human history. This fact must be stated boldly, but nonetheless with humility—and with an emphasis on why it is perfectly legitimate, and at the same time with an appreciation for the complex situations which may arise as a result. The uniqueness of this relationship is the direct and natural result, on the one hand, of the seemingly miraculous survival of the Jewish people over thousands of years, and, on the other hand, of the spectacular rise of an independent Israel in our time. The case of the Jewish people is unique in the annals of mankind. Equally unparalleled is the way Israel reached sovereign statehood, particularly when one looks at how other peoples attained their independence, whether recently or at any time in the past. The nature of the two sides of the relationship indicates that its distinctiveness and vitality spring from both deep historical roots reaching to antiquity and compelling political and psychological forces operating in our own day.

These ideas, with all that they imply, will probably be accepted as axiomatic when uttered from the podium at the World Jewish Congress. Here there is no need to demonstrate and rationalize yet again the elementary facts of Jewish self-perception—or, for that matter, of the world’s perception of the Jews—which certain Jewish groups, coming from different and even contradictory schools of thought, still try so unprofitably and ingloriously to discredit. The first of these cardinal facts is that, irrespective of geographical location or state allegiance, the Jews have always constituted a single people—a worldwide entity cutting across frontiers and braving great distances. The second is that the State of Israel is today the central unifying and galvanizing force for Jewish life everywhere.

These two facts are organically linked. In theory one can imagine the Jewish people continuing to exist, scattered throughout the world, even without a State of Israel to serve as its creative focus. Conversely, and again in theory, we can imagine Israel existing without all the manpower, physical support, and moral encouragement that it constantly receives from the diaspora. But in the light of history and contemporary realities, such ideas ought to be dismissed as idle speculation.

What is important to realize is that these historic concepts and the inherent unity among them, for all that they differ from the normal patterns in the life of nations, are by no means limited to the realm of perceptions. At a certain turning point in Jewish as well as world history, they merited authoritative international expression—they were, in fact, accorded full and formal international recognition.

By the terms of the Palestine Mandate, which incorporated the Balfour Declaration and made its fulfillment obligatory, the international community, as organized at the time in the League of Nations—and with the express approval of the United States, which had remained outside the league—adopted a truly revolutionary arrangement concerning the status of the Jewish people and the future of the land of Israel. That arrangement comprised a whole series of fundamental provisions, each of which was far-reaching in nature.

First and foremost, the Jewish people as a worldwide entity was officially recognized and accorded status in international law. The powers of the world recognized the existence of “the Jewish people” without awaiting the outcome of the internal dispute then being waged among the Jews themselves as to whether they were really a people or merely a religious community. And these powers formally acknowledged its existence not merely as an ethnic unit or a concept in history, but as a body collectively possessing certain political rights of a dynamic nature, which it was entitled to exercise in practice.

Second, recognition was given to the historic connection between the Jewish people and the land of Israel as a basis for the people’s rights in that land; the heritage of the ancient past was thus accepted as a determining factor for the policy of the future.

Third, as a clear outcome of this last point and the territorial settlement which accompanied it, the political identity of the land of Israel was re-established. The land did indeed re-emerge as a distinct territorial and administrative unit, which it had not been for centuries; and, as a separate unit, it was singled out for the application of a new and creative policy. Fourth, that policy, which was the axis for the revolutionary turn, was that of the reconstitution in Palestine of a Jewish national home, acknowledged as a fundamental right of the Jewish people. Fifth, this right was spelled out in more concrete terms by a provision which entitled Jews to settle the country in unlimited numbers, provided that they did not do so at the expense of its existing inhabitants; it signified, in effect, the right of the Jews to become the majority of Palestine’s population and eventually to turn it into a Jewish state. Sixth and last, the right was conferred on all Jews, irrespective of country of residence or state allegiance, to join together in forming a representative body possessing independent status, which would be entitled to promote the interests of the Jewish people regarding the future of its national home; thereby Jewish citizens of other lands were given the right to join an extraterritorial organization, and, through it, collectively and independently, to adopt positions and to express views on the subject of Palestine’s future which might conceivably differ from, and even be contrary to, those of their respective governments.

Altogether, it was an epoch-making decision which integrated the basic tenets of political Zionism into the framework of modern international law and completely revolutionized the international position of the Jewish people. One has to go back to the period of 1917-1922—from the year this policy was initiated by Great Britain until the year of its formal ratification by the League of Nations—and from that vantage point look back on the state of affairs which had prevailed until then, in order to realize in full its tremendous importance. Everlasting credit for this historic achievement is due to the inspiration and initiative of Dr. Chaim Weizmann, who, assisted by his colleagues, worked for this with all his might, as well as to the imaginative statesmanship of a group of British leaders, headed by David Lloyd George and including James Balfour, Jan Smuts, and others.

Attention must here be drawn to one crucial aspect of the new political order. Neither the Jewish people nor the land of Israel was recognized per se, on its own independent merits and without reference to the other. On the contrary, it was only through its historic connection with the land and for the purpose of rebuilding it that the Jewish people achieved its international recognition, just as it was only owing to its connection to the people, and its designation as an area that would be its national home, that the land of Israel was retrieved from political oblivion and re-established as a separate entity.

About thirty years later Jewish statehood was achieved. It received international approval by the November 1947 resolution of the United Nations General Assembly, and in May 1948 its founding was proclaimed by the Jews themselves. Statehood naturally transformed the entire international framework of the problem that I am addressing. Yet the substance of the basic Mandatory provisions governing the relationship of the people to the land must be regarded as having retained its full moral validity. By becoming a state, the land of Israel has not ceased to be the national home of the Jewish people, and this connection continues to be a part of the international order.

At first glance, the fact that this connection has been invested with an international imprimatur might seem to be of little significance. The attachment of the people to the land preceded its political legitimization by thousands of years. Indeed, had it not been a paramount fact of Jewish history and of contemporary Jewish life—had it not already resulted in the creation of new realities in the land, born of the will of the Jewish people—this attachment would never have been sanctioned by the outside world. Rather, even without formal recognition it may well have persisted, gathering momentum as the movement of the Return to Zion was growing apace, and bursting onto the scene of history in full force immediately upon the proclamation of Israel’s statehood. Yet, if we look more deeply, it is highly questionable whether the movement and its concrete achievements would ever have attained their full dimensions without the encouragement derived from the world’s recognition and the functioning of the institutions that were created as a consequence. In any event, the fact that the historic tie attained solemn, international legal expression is of great significance.

 

The strength of the diaspora’s attachment to Israel—and, correspondingly, the intensity of Israel’s connection with the diaspora—has its sources in the innermost dynamics of Jewish life throughout the world, and in the processes of Israel’s development and struggle. What are the basic features of this mutual magnetic attraction, which exercises so powerful an influence at both the center and the periphery and which generates on both sides such profound satisfaction and such weighty responsibilities?

The first feature of the relationship which I would like to examine can be summed up by a simple question: To whom does Israel belong?

From the standpoint of both constitutional law and formal sovereignty, Israel does not differ from any normal state in the world. It demands political loyalty only from its own subjects. Its sovereignty is vested in its own constitutional organs. Only its citizens, through their elected representatives, can make its laws, and they alone are called upon to obey them. Yet despite these fundamental similarities, Israel is different from all other states in one essential respect. In a deep, historic sense—which is most tangibly expressed in long-term policy as well as in day-to-day life—Israel is the common possession of the entire Jewish people, that is, of all the Jews of the world. Every Jew can claim a share in it. Millions of Jews feel emotionally identified with it. This extraordinary state of affairs stems from compelling reasons. Israel is a product of Jewish history, and its creation reflects the historic experience of the entire people—of the miracle of its survival, of its memories and longings, of its endless hardships and its enduring faith, of its awakened determination and demonstrated capacity for action.

It is true that only a fraction of the people—at the outset an insignificantly small portion—accomplished the stupendous task of laying the foundations for, and eventually erecting, the structure of statehood. Yet these few acted as emissaries of the many: They drew their inspiration from the heritage of all Jews, and their tenacity and drive were those of the vanguard that realizes that the outcome of its battle will be decisive for the campaign being waged by the whole host that stands behind it. Moreover, at practically every phase of the process the pioneers were assisted from the rear. At the decisive hour in the political struggle for statehood, practically all Jewish groups and organizations, as well as individual Jews in leading positions, from most countries of the world and from different schools of thought, rallied to bring about this historic breakthrough. In the War of Independence, during which Israel’s own youth naturally bore the heaviest burden, volunteers from nearly all the world’s free Jewish communities played a role. The massive support mobilized by the Jews of the diaspora for Israel’s titanic effort to handle mass immigration is itself a significant chapter of Jewish history.

Since those heroic days, Israel’s continuing ordeals and accomplishments, its brilliant military victories and the serious political challenges it still has to endure—above all its isolated territorial position and the implacable hostility of its neighbors—have aroused alternately the joy and the anguish of the Jewish world. This emotional attachment to Israel, this tension-ridden concern for its fortunes, is a novel and salient feature of contemporary Jewish life—indeed, its central focus, its living inner content, the major theme of its public manifestations. A visit to Israel is a high point in the lives of countless Jews. A public celebration of the establishment of Israel, or a gathering at which Israel’s position is conveyed by one of its authorized emissaries, is a central event in the life of a Jewish community, and is remembered long after it takes place. The living legend of a new Israel plays a key role in the education of countless multitudes of Jewish children. The presence of Israel’s diplomatic embassies in the capitals of so many countries is a source of thrill to the individual Jew and a new source of dignity to his community. In effect, the existence and activities of these concrete embodiments of an independent Israel have become an integral part of Jewish life everywhere.

Since the Jews were exiled from their land, there has been no central focus like that represented by the State of Israel operating within the Jewish people; no such vehicle for collective self-reliance had existed. Religion was a powerful unifying agent, but it was essentially a static force. It prescribed an elaborate way of living, gave infinite moral solace, afforded profound spiritual experiences, and created opportunities for sharpening the intellect. It kept up the morale of the people and made them emotionally resistant to adversity, yet it issued no call for action. It helped the people endure misery and inhuman conditions; it did not dare to attempt a drastic change. But then there emerged a new cause, an eminently constructive one, a powerful challenge to Jewish idealism and practical devotion, a revelation of what Jews can do if they dare to take destiny by the forelock and shape the conditions of their life with their own strength and spirit. What a soul-shaking transformation, what sublime exultation, what a victory over fate!

So it is not merely that the Jews admire Israel for its bravery and creative achievements. What they feel is not merely a sense of moral duty. Israel is simply theirs—their own cherished, priceless possession. As Jews, they can no longer imagine their own existence without it. Association with Israel is for them an uplifting, ennobling experience. If Israel were to come to grief, the light would go out of their lives. Therefore, it must not come to grief. Therefore, they must do everything they can—materially, politically, and in whatever other way is practical, effective, and legitimate—to preserve and strengthen it. The knowledge that they had fulfilled this supreme duty would then be their highest reward.

Some may argue that this frame of mind, though widespread, is not everywhere shared by the great mass of the Jews of the diaspora, or is not much in evidence in some of its smaller communities. The justification for such skepticism is open to serious doubt. But if this is the case, then to perpetuate the sense of connection among those who share it, to widen its scope, to implant it ever deeper in the hearts of the younger generation, is the task facing all thinking Jews in the lands of the dispersion. This is their duty not only for Israel’s sake but for the sake of what it represents in the general scheme of Jewish life.

A corresponding challenge confronts Israel as well. It must remain faithful to the vision that brought it into being. If the coming generations of Israelis lose the sense of where their country’s mission fits in the framework of Jewish history, if they develop an introverted and self-contained mentality—one that would necessarily estrange them from their diaspora brethren and might eventually result in a complete psychological separation—then they would be guilty not only of betraying a sacred trust, but also of unwittingly sowing the seeds of Israel’s own undoing. Cultivating a consciousness of the diaspora must be an active concern of Israel’s political and educational leadership. Only by continuing to serve the cause of the Jewish people as a whole can Israel ensure its own future.

This situation may give rise to complications and misunderstandings. Israel’s primary concern must, of course, be its own survival. Since Israel is in a position of such vital importance for the entire Jewish world, its survival must indeed be the overriding preoccupation of all Jews devoted to Israel. Considerations of Israel’s security must therefore rank first not only with its own government and people, but with Jews everywhere in their relation to Israel. There may be other vital Israeli interests that can similarly demand that the same high priority be accorded them by diaspora Jews. But aside from such issues of enduring significance, concerning which Israel is entitled to expect the diaspora to accept its authority unquestioningly, there is a wide range of issues regarding which the diaspora as a whole, or certain sections of it in particular cases, is entitled to expect special consideration on Israel’s part for its own interests, viewpoints, and sensitivities. Israel can never divest itself of the responsibility entailed by the fact that many of its actions affect Jews everywhere. There can naturally be no hard and fast rule delimiting the areas where such consideration is or is not due, or defining its extent. Moreover, on many controversial issues within Jewry in general, there are differences of opinion both in Israel and in the diaspora. The decision as to how to act in each particular case must be left to the judgment of those in a position to decide. In any case, there can be no question of imposing any limitations on Israel’s sovereign right to determine its policy or course of action, but at the same time, it is imperative that Israel constantly remain sensitive to diaspora sentiments, and that it demonstrate such sensitivity outwardly.

On the other hand, a word of caution would seem appropriate against attempts to push too far the idea of partnership between Israel and the diaspora in the organizational sense. There are functions of Jewish life and matters on its public agenda which lie outside the purview of Israeli affairs, such as most of the tasks assumed by the World Jewish Congress in defending Jewish rights in the diaspora and giving advice and assistance to communities in need. Inasmuch as there are points of contact between the respective spheres of activity of Israel’s government and the World Jewish Congress, coordination is certainly possible. What is important in this regard is the prevention of unnecessary overlapping. Yet in this case, the World Jewish Congress at least remains an independent body, bearing complete and sole responsibility for its work. A far more significant problem of coordination arises in the case of the World Zionist Organization, which is involved in vital activities in Israel itself and, in conjunction with Israel, in the diaspora. Here a system of the closest possible collaboration is indispensable. But there are fields of activity which are the exclusive prerogative of the State of Israel. In these, its government, as an instrument of national sovereignty, must be free to act entirely on its own. What has already been said about the need to maintain contacts and take into account diaspora viewpoints may apply here, but the setting up of any machinery or organizational framework for regular and mandatory consultation or coordination in such matters between a government and any outside body is liable to be fraught with complications.

Rather than taking to undue lengths the concept of partnership between Israel and the diaspora as between two distinct and separate entities, of which each moves, as it were, within its own orbit, it would seem preferable to encourage the idea of an overall Jewish unity, which centers around the State of Israel and takes fully into account the conditions and necessities of Jewish life in the diaspora. Within the broad framework and in the true spirit of such comprehensive unity, Israel must be relied upon to exercise its prerogatives of statehood in a manner most conducive to the common good of the Jewish people.

 

As the second aspect of the Israel-diaspora relationship, I would like to suggest the problem of Israel’s obligations with respect to the precarious position of Jewish minorities in certain parts of the world. It must be, and it is indeed, a fundamental principle of Israeli foreign policy not to interfere in the internal affairs of Jewish communities abroad or in the normal relations between the Jewish citizens of various countries and their respective governments. Quite naturally, however, the government of Israel cannot remain indifferent in the face of deliberate anti-Jewish discrimination, the denial to Jews of elementary opportunities for communal and cultural life, the setting up of impenetrable barriers between Jews and the State of Israel, and the prohibition of their emigration to Israel. Concern for the right of free exchange with the Jewish communities of the diaspora and insistence on the freedom of Jews from anywhere in the world to settle in Israel are among the basic foundations of Israel’s foreign policy. As regards the ban on emigration, some of the newly independent Arab countries are cases in point. Regarding the whole list of restrictions mentioned above, I am referring to most of the Communist countries.

Israel would wish for nothing better than to remain neutral with respect to international rivalries that do not directly affect it. But it cannot stay neutral in the face of a menace to the most vital interests of the Jewish people and to the very survival of a Jewish community. Israel scrupulously refrains from any interference in the internal affairs of any state and is anxious to maintain friendly relations with all states regardless of their internal regimes. Yet it cannot help differentiating between regimes which ensure the freedom of Jewish life and those which deny it. In a free democracy, as a byproduct of the protection of basic liberties of individuals and groups, the Jews are free to organize and express themselves, to foster their religious and cultural values, to maintain contacts with other Jewish communities, to visit and settle in Israel. Democracy does not ensure that Jews will take advantage of all these freedoms, but it makes their exercise possible and secure. Above all, though it does not ensure the preservation of the unity of the Jewish people around the world, it definitely enables it. It is up to the Communist regimes, primarily the Soviet Union, to prove that they can also offer similar freedoms and enable the cultivation of the same values. But the fact is that they are unwilling to do so. It goes without saying that Israel cannot expect any regime to change itself to suit the needs of free Jewish life. Yet it cannot but condemn those policies which result in the steady asphyxiation of Jewish life, in the paralysis and atomization of a Jewish community, and in its complete severance from the main body of the Jewish people and from Israel. Over the barriers so ruthlessly erected, Israel salutes those masses of Jews who yearn to make Israel their home and who in their cruel isolation and dreary solitude provide a living testimony of their Jewish loyalty, of the astonishing vitality and tenacity of their people, of its irrepressible substance, of its ultimate invincibility.

 

As a third aspect of the relationship between Israel and the Jewish people, I would like to propose the contemporary political and social significance of Israel’s existence and accomplishments as a state—its significance for both the Jews and the peoples among whom they live.

On the face of it, Israel still constitutes a small fraction of the Jewish people. Even after the catastrophic reduction of the total number of Jews by the European Holocaust, on the one hand, and the striking increase of Israel’s population on the other, Israel accounts for just over 16 percent of the total Jewish population today. Absolute figures have their absolute merit, and the fact that the number of Jews already settled in Israel is nearing the two-million mark is in itself a tremendous achievement and a revolutionary transformation.

But what primarily matters about the Jews of Israel is not only how many they are, but what they represent, in status and in structure. Here it must be pointed out that the difference between the Jewish people and other peoples who have diasporas lies not merely in the fact that in the case of the latter the majority lives in its mother country and the minority is outside it, whereas with the Jews the reverse is the case. The outstanding difference is in the inner connectedness of the Jewish people, which, emotionally, welds the mother country and the far-flung and far more numerous diaspora into one whole. The inner cohesion, the sense of belonging, the feeling of interdependence, in brief the consciousness of a shared identity, are all quite unusual in the case of the Jewish people. The difference is not one of degree but one of kind.

First of all, Israel is a state. The full measure of the swift transformation of Jewish destiny in our time, from tragedy to triumph, is encompassed in that simple and elementary statement of fact. Through the emergence of an independent Israel the Jewish people as a whole has ceased to be a “stateless person.” Not citizenship in the Jewish state, of course, but the dignity of Jewish statehood has been conferred upon all Jews. They themselves and the world around them are now aware that they are sons and daughters of a people capable of leading a national life, with all its privileges and responsibilities, and, above all, with all its honor.

Second, Israel is the only independent, fully Jewish society in the world. The fact that it includes an Arab minority on a footing of complete civic and cultural equality does not in the least detract from its overwhelmingly and emphatically Jewish character. Being only a fraction of the Jewish people—the composition of which, historically speaking, is purely accidental—it is rightly taken to be a representative cross-section of the people as a whole. As a result, whatever the people of Israel has accomplished in terms of political statesmanship, economic development, linguistic and cultural creativity, scientific progress, and military valor redounds to the credit of all Jews, for it reveals the possibilities latent in all of them. Israel’s record of creating a state, and of defending and maintaining it against all odds, reveals what Jews as Jews can accomplish by a collective, self-reliant effort, if given a chance to pull together and provide for their own salvation. Conversely, Israel’s weaknesses, shortcomings, and failures are similarly liable to work to the discredit of the entire people.

This being the case, there arises yet another element of mutual responsibility. It is up to Jews everywhere, for the sake of their own standing, to do everything in their power to provide for Israel’s success and prevent its failure. Similarly, it is incumbent upon Israel to maintain a high degree of awareness of the diaspora by always bearing in mind the implications of what it does, or fails to do, for the Jewish people as a whole. The reflection of Israel’s record on the good name of the Jewish people should never cease to be a vital consideration.

 

The fourth aspect of the relationship arises from Israel’s role in resolving the problem—or should one rather say in removing the curse, the scourge, and the shame?—of Jewish homelessness. It is an achievement equal in importance, if not actually superior, to the attainment of independence. The fateful transformation which took place in this regard can again be expressed in simple terms. The question “Whither?”—that is, where are we or our brothers to go?—which had cast a shadow over Jewish history with such inexorable fatefulness for so many centuries on end, was with one stroke relegated to the past. It was completely removed from the Jewish (or, for that matter, the international) agenda. It has simply vanished. Just as the Jewish people as a whole has ceased to be a “stateless person” with no country of its own, so it is no longer a “displaced person” with nowhere to go. The highest purpose of the struggle for Jewish territorial sovereignty was thereby decisively vindicated. That purpose was to gain power over the one country in the world the Jews could call their own, in order to make the rescue of Jews via their immigration depend on nothing other than the will of the Jewish people itself. The tragic lesson of the Mandatory experience was indelibly engraved on the minds of our generation in Israel. Based originally on the full recognition of the Jewish right of immigration, the Mandate eventually degenerated into its denial—just at a time when its free exercise became a matter of life and death. The reason for this historic volte-face was that though the right had been internationally acknowledged, its application was entrusted to a foreign power which had its own interests to uphold—interests which in its estimation were overriding whenever they conflicted with the protection of that right. It became evident that the rescue of Jews could be assured only by making it into a legitimate function of Jewish national sovereignty.

In that sense, Israel’s independence primarily meant that the keys to the country’s gates had come into Jewish hands, and the War of Independence was fought to prevent those keys from falling into the hands of others. It is these keys that were the crux of the battle, and it is they that became the prize of victory. Bloodstained, they were placed at the feet of the Jewish people, for to the Jewish people they belonged and on its behalf and for its sake were they to be entrusted to a redeemed Israel. The first right enjoyed by every normal nation was at last ours: Mastery over a strip of territory, enabling us to admit into it any and all of our brothers who reached our shores. That momentous achievement received its legislative expression in the Law of Return and found its concrete realization in the tremendous number of Jews who have flocked to Israel since the gates were opened, wave after wave, from north and south, from east and west. It, too, represents a jointly owned asset and entails a joint responsibility for Israel and the diaspora.

For it not only spells deliverance, present and future, for all Jews who are or ever will be driven by want, fear, persecution, or spiritual enslavement to seek homes in Israel. While this is its main achievement, its salutary effects go far beyond. About two-thirds of the Jewish people outside Israel dwell at present in their respective countries in freedom and safety. They have never been indifferent to the lot of less fortunate Jewish communities. But what were they in a position to do in the past—what did they in fact do—whenever a stricken Jewish community, whether the adversity was a sudden one or had been building for a long time, found itself uprooted or had to uproot itself and seek shelter elsewhere? All they could do was appeal, solicit, protest. Their best hope was that their fellow Jews would become objects of international sympathy, which, to say the least, rarely proved effective. They have now been spared, and, let us all hope, spared forever, the humiliation and torment of helplessness which had seemed to be their inexorable fate. Rescue via entrance to the land of Israel is now automatically guaranteed, by the very existence of Israel and by its declared policy, which it conceives, as do all Jews, as an irrevocable pledge solemnly assumed by it towards the Jewish people for all its future history.

There is still acute concern for the fate of those Jews who, despite their strong desire to leave their countries of residence and settle in Israel, are prevented from doing so. There is still a need for concerted Jewish action for the lifting of prohibitions on emigration. The World Jewish Congress has indeed exerted its efforts in this direction with respect to certain countries, with remarkable perseverance. In doing so it has upheld what it sees as an elementary Jewish right, in fact an elementary human right. But the moment a Jew is free to go, and unless in his wisdom he happens to have other preferences, his country of destination is obvious—and open.

The responsibility of the diaspora is to protect and to exercise this newly won freedom of immigration for Jews, by providing for the absorption of Jews who have come. The role that the free Jewish communities of the dispersion played in helping Israel grapple with the tidal wave of immigration that followed immediately upon independence was decisive. That effort continues as immigration and the process of absorption have continued, but it does not always fully address the needs. At times it fails to reflect an adequate awareness of the emergency at hand. But its continuity and scale are unlike anything ever achieved or even attempted in the history of voluntary financial endeavors anywhere in the world. This is no ordinary philanthropy. This is no casual financial aid to a country in need. This is a worldwide demonstration of the response of a scattered people to a call to united action issuing from within itself—an epic of its resolve to rebuild its ancient, distant land and to save its threatened sons and daughters. It is an elemental expression of that sense of purpose with which Israel has endowed Jewish life, one of the results of which is the direct involvement of diaspora Jews in the process of reviving the land and rehabilitating its people. The sense of ownership over the land of Israel, which has increasingly enveloped the Jewish diaspora in a spiritual sense, acquires in this context a nearly physical significance. For it is the entire Jewish people which, by its united will and common effort, continually transforms the country’s appearance, creates new places for cultivation, repaints its landscapes, uncovers its hidden treasures, lays the groundwork for harnessing its soil, earth, water, mineral wealth, science, capital, labor, and enterprise for the creation of its new life.

Apart from Jewry’s collective contributions to centralized funds, the investment of private Jewish capital creates for its sponsors a more direct and explicit stake in Israel’s economy. There are grounds for hope that this form of individual participation in the process of Israel’s development and in the enjoyment of the assets that have been created is on the verge of a new phase of expansion.

All in all, these efforts are reflective of a mission that has been undertaken for decades to come, in the course of which the people may again and again be called upon to shoulder new burdens and to help prevail in hours of grave crisis.

The duties which are incumbent upon Israel as a result of this mission are self-evident. Much as the diaspora may contribute, it is the Jews of Israel who will always have to carry the major share of the burden. To grumble or worry about this burden is tantamount to calling into question Israel’s urgent need to grow and to gather strength. It is the paramount long-term interest of the Israeli nation to make sure that the country can sustain a much larger population at a higher level of productivity; that its total defensive capabilities are increased and at the same time the burden of defense per unit of financial and human resources is reduced; that the base of its cultural progress is broadened; and that, by solidifying its position, it hastens the advent of peace with its neighbors.

 

What has been included in this survey as the fifth aspect of Israel’s relations with the diaspora is the direct and persistent call which Israel, by its very existence and progress and by its lure of a new life, silently but eloquently addresses to each individual Jew to make the country his permanent home and that of his children.

That Israel and the diaspora are by no means static entities is self-evident. Israel is constantly growing through natural increase and immigration, at the diaspora’s expense. Whole sections of the diaspora have in the last decade or so been completely transplanted to Israel. The communities of Yemen and Iraq on the one hand and of Bulgaria on the other are noteworthy cases in point. Other communities are in the course of such transplantation, and still others await their turn at the doorstep of history. In some countries the exodus was interrupted by the authorities, but it may not be overly optimistic to hope that the forces which had originally driven the process will eventually prevail against arbitrary administrative obstruction. In all these cases, powerful, large-scale forces, of both matter and spirit, have combined to produce the phenomenon of a mass exodus or at least a desire for one.

But this kind of aliya, sweeping and affecting multitudes, by no means exhausts the problem, nor does it account for all the streams of immigration to Israel which are actually in progress. From England and other countries of Western Europe, from North and South America (especially the latter), from South Africa, Australia, and New Zealand, immigrants have been arriving and settling, singly and in small groups, driven by no misery, pursued by no menace, oppressed by no denial of freedom, but drawn by the prospect of a full Jewish life and moved by the desire to take part in what is probably the greatest human adventure of our time—the dual resurrection of their people and their land. The contribution of this category of settlers to the morale and creative capacity of Israelis of all walks of life has been inestimable, and the question is whether and to what extent this movement will continue, whether it will dwindle or grow apace.

Experience has proved—and an elementary understanding of psychology ought to have made clear from the outset—the utter futility of any attempt to stimulate emigration to Israel from these countries by shaming or frightening their Jews into it. Something has been done, and a great deal more could be done, to facilitate and encourage that highly idealistic and eminently valuable immigration by creating more propitious conditions for its absorption and by removing obstacles which stand in its way. This again is a case of joint responsibility of the authorities in Israel and of Jewish and Zionist organizations in the diaspora. As far as the latter are concerned, it should become a matter of pride for them to be able to point to an increasing annual rate of immigrants to Israel from each country. Not only would this be of assistance to Israel and in many cases a way to satisfy the deepest wishes of the highest-quality individuals, but it would quicken the pace of Jewish life in those corners of the diaspora by intensifying their ties with Israel.

Fundamentally, however, the question here concerns an internal, spontaneous desire to carry one’s Jewishness to its ultimate conclusion by becoming a citizen of Israel. It is a matter of a free, individual decision for which only the person concerned can and should be responsible. And that decision will not stand the test of earnestness if it is motivated solely by the belief that one is needed in Israel for the performance of some useful service. The service capable of being rendered may be extremely useful, and the person rendering it would then deserve every blessing, but unless the conviction is formed that he needs Israel more than he is needed by it—that one cannot be personally and spiritually satisfied except in Israel—the determination will be lacking to succeed in the new country by overcoming all obstacles, material and psychological, which inevitably stand in the way of any newcomer, and the eventual result may be a personal crisis or failure.

But the appeal of a land and a people in the making, the chance to heal the schism in the soul of the Jew and make his personality whole, and the lure of his liberation from the indignities of social ostracism still practiced against the Jews in many a free country, will continue to beset Jewish life in what one might call the countries of plenty. Many a Jew, particularly of the younger generation, will find himself searching his heart to answer questions such as these: If the essence of his spiritual self is his Jewishness—assuming this is the case—why should he pass up the opportunity to give it full scope and expression? If the creative processes unfolding in Israel evoke in him so much admiration and enthusiasm, why should he deny himself the privilege of participating in them directly? If Israel reborn is indeed the greatest story of Jewish history, possibly the greatest story of our time, why should he not be one of its heroes? Questions of this sort can certainly be the subject of organized, purposive education. But even if not asked in a planned context, they will continue to be raised by the force of circumstances and by the call of Jewish consciousness.

 

The sixth and final aspect of the issue (final in the present analysis at least) bears on the relationship between Israel and the diaspora as between two entities of Jewish life developing side by side, particularly in the cultural and spiritual spheres.

The controversy as to whether the dispersion is a permanent or passing phenomenon of Jewish history may well, at least in the context of this survey, be considered purely academic and, for all practical purposes, meaningless. Even the most ardent prophet of the eventual complete elimination of the diaspora will agree that the process must stretch over an incalculable span of time, the end point of which is not only lost in the mists of a distant and unpredictable future but is constantly distanced further as the diaspora increases in numbers—as we all must hope it will continue to do. On the other hand, even the firmest believer in the permanence of the diaspora must agree that in the modern world, the continuity of Jewish life is no longer an automatic process, but calls for a conscious effort on the part of each individual Jew, and must be the subject of concerted action by every Jewish community. Yet practical policies in human affairs can in any case be conceived and applied only for a period within the foreseeable future. Hence both schools of thought can agree on what may be called the relative permanence of the diaspora and, on that basis, adopt a program of action which would have the dual purpose of perpetuating and enriching Jewish life in its global scope, on the one hand, and securing the advancement of Israel and the development of its connections with a dispersed people, on the other.

Such a program can be applied across a wide field of endeavor. Elements of it already have become prominent features of contemporary Jewish life. Some are happening spontaneously, while others are the result of institutional action. They comprise, though not necessarily in the order of their importance: The wave of Jewish tourism to Israel, which is beginning to assume mass proportions; visits to Israel by Jewish leaders, rabbis, scientists, authors, artists, and the like; gatherings in Israel of Jewish scholars, thinkers, and scientists; courses and seminars in Israel for teachers, students, youth group leaders, fundraising campaign leaders, and Zionist workers coming from various parts of the diaspora; the establishment in Israel of branches of rabbinical colleges based in the United States; conventions held in Israel by national and international Jewish organizations—not only those dealing solely or primarily with Israel, like the World Zionist Congress or the United Jewish Appeal, but congresses of international organizations of a general Jewish character, such as Agudath Israel, B’nai B’rith, and the World Union of Jewish Youth; the continuous, though not rapid enough, progress of Jewish-Hebrew education in the diaspora, through an expansion of the network of Hebrew day schools, the introduction of the teaching of Hebrew in public schools and colleges, the establishment of Hebrew teachers’ seminars, the organization of Hebrew-speaking circles, summer schools, camps, and the like; visits to diaspora centers by prominent Israelis not only for the purpose of fundraising, which in itself can have an important educational effect, but for special lecture tours on Israeli life and culture; tours abroad of Israel’s theater companies, dance groups, and the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra; and last but not least, the manifold liaison and educational activities carried on within the Jewish communities by Israeli embassies and consulates abroad.

All these are mere beginnings, which need to be expanded and systematized. Some of these, and others as well, are no more than preliminary, unformed ideas. The diaspora is still on the threshold of a new era—one in which it will be called upon to undertake a comprehensive effort for the preservation and development of Judaism. A far greater movement is needed on the part of the communities to extend and intensify Jewish education, both by looking to Israel for inspiration and guidance and by discovering creative educational forces in their own ranks. The study of the ancient Jewish texts and the new literature of Israel today must be brought together in a single curriculum, where they will complement one another.

A movement must arise in the diaspora, particularly among young parents, to introduce into their homes religious rites and practices, primarily those connected with the celebration of the Sabbath and the festivals, without which it is impossible to create within the family the kind of spiritual climate which alone can kindle in children’s hearts a love and veneration for their people’s heritage, worship of its heroes, and attachment to its way of life. The saga of the rise of Israel as the universal focus of Jewish pride, the story of Israel’s struggles and achievements as the object of Jewish dedication, must find its due place in this renewed Jewish family culture. But the great historic challenge facing the Jewish diaspora today is the re-adoption of the Hebrew language, at least as the second cultural language of the Jewish communities in all countries and as the common medium which would unite them with one another and with Israel. It would be easy to dismiss this proposition with a skeptical smile. But we may venture a guess that as the years pass, this call will be raised again and again with increasing emphasis, and that it will come to be taken more and more seriously.

Let it not be forgotten that a man’s pride is his people, his ethnic origin, and a people’s pride is its language, which constitutes its only historic qualification for being considered a cultured human collective. Jewish consciousness must remain a withered plant as long as it is not rooted in the knowledge of the only vehicle by which the creative genius of the Jewish people has scaled the heights of mighty and magnificent expression, in prophecy and prayer, in song and story, in poetry and prose, ancient and modern. The revival of Hebrew in Israel is one of the most daring cultural achievements of man. In our own annals it stands out as an epoch-making victory, of the same order of magnitude as the conversion of the yishuv into a working community in the physical sense of the term, the re-establishment of Jewish statehood, and the messianic sweep of the ingathering of the exiles. Is it conceivable that this miracle of cultural rebirth should not decisively affect the spiritual character of the diaspora? If it is given to Israel to realize its most cherished ambition of generating a new flowering of literature and art, thought and science, of what value will it be to Jews of the diaspora if they fail in their elementary duty to learn and master the language of their people?

Whether indeed it will be Israel’s privilege to so inspire is one of the mysteries of the future. It is true that if the achievements of the Jewish state in all fields of national action and human endeavor are summed up, it may well claim to have fulfilled considerably more than it has ever promised, and therefore to be now promising far more than it has already fulfilled. Yet spiritual creativity is a gift of heaven which is either bestowed or withheld. It cannot be evoked at will. It is one of those enigmatic matters concerning which it is more profitable to ponder what immediate action they entail rather than what their ultimate fulfillment is likely to involve.

As for concrete measures, there is a great deal the diaspora may do in order to cultivate Israel’s creative possibilities. One such contribution is the voluntary effort of Jewish scientists, technicians, social workers, economists, and artists to place their knowledge and experience at Israel’s disposal. The spontaneous mobilization of Jewish talent and know-how on Israel’s behalf constitutes an investment of unique value for its future. Systematic action is called for to tap such resources further and to make their assistance increasingly effective.

The tasks facing Israel in this context are enormous—particularly if all its other burdens and obligations are fully taken into account. Education must be improved and expanded, talents cultivated, science and the arts promoted. Above all it is imperative to deepen Jewish consciousness, to sharpen the sense of association and identity with the Jewish people, to inculcate in the hearts of the young—apart from national pride, veneration of the glorious past, and admiration for our heroes—a love of the Jew of today, the Jew of every day, the Jew as he is wherever he might be.

On this last point, exaggerated fears are often expressed, and rash indictments handed down, concerning the growing alienation of Israeli youth from the diaspora. The record of our younger generation is filled with shining examples of a fundamental sense of kinship with the ordinary Jew of the diaspora. Among them, to mention just a few, are the epic of ha’apala—the so-called illegal immigration—in which our youths transported tens of thousands of their fellow Jews from the slaughterhouse and ruins of Europe to the land of Israel; the glorious successes of the soldiers of the Jewish Brigade and other Jewish units in World War II in rescuing, gathering together, assisting, and organizing Jewish survivors, strengthening their spirit and sending them to the land of Israel; the sublime heroism of our parachutists who dropped behind enemy lines, risking and even sacrificing their lives for the sake of their doomed brothers; the commitment of scores of young Israelis who went to serve at the Geulim camp of Yemenite Jews in Aden during Operation Magic Carpet; the enthusiasm with which hundreds from among the younger generation of settlers volunteered to assist and guide the newcomers by living and working with them; the services performed by the Israel Defense Forces in the new areas of settlement; the depths of exultation felt by groups of our youth when they were charged with the task of bringing tidings of Israel to Soviet Jews at festivals and sporting events. All these and many other episodes bear compelling witness to the living connection with the diaspora which is frequently aroused in the hearts of our youth. Yet for all that, a value cannot be relied upon to preserve itself automatically, without conscious effort being applied to its cultivation. Hence no opportunity should be neglected to deepen that feeling and make it a basic feature of the attitude and consciousness of Israeli youth.

All these are thoughts and suggestions which probably do not provide an adequate answer to the most difficult question raised by the subject at hand. A new situation has arisen in Jewish history which calls for a fundamental reappraisal and readjustment. As compared with the tasks ahead—called upon, as we are, to resist the inroads of assimilation, burdened with profound anxiety for the fate of the millions who are completely cut off from us, faced with the tremendous opportunities unfolding in so many countries for the free self-assertion of the Jewish personality—what has so far been undertaken, both in Israel and in the diaspora, underscores the challenge more than it records the achievement. Yet a generation that has been witness to so dramatic a swing of the pendulum of history from doom to deliverance is entitled to draw encouragement from the events of the past in preparing itself for the trials of the future.