Arab-Jewish Relations: From Conflict to Resolution? Essays in Honour of Professor Moshe Ma'oz 1903900689, 9781903900680

Table of contents :
Contents
Preface
Professor Ma'oz's Publications
Introduction: A Tribute to Professor Moshe Ma'oz
Part I. The Arab-Jewish Conflict Historical Aspects
1 A Coffeehouse in Nineteenth-Century Jerusalem: A Precursor of Modernization
2 “Foreign Occupiers and Step Children”: Zionist Discourse and the Palestinians, 1882-1948
3 Why Do Collaborators Collaborate?: The Case of Palestinians and Zionist Institutions, 1917-1936
4 The “Sharettist Option" Revisited
5 From Eishenhower to Johnson: Shifts in US Policy toward the Arab-Israeli Conflict
Part II. Israel and the Arab States: Between War and Peace
6 Israel in the Middle East or Israel and the Middle East: A Reappraisal
7 Syria and Israel: Between War and Peace
8 Modern Iraq, the Ba‘th Party and Anti-Semitism
9 Burning the Candle at Both Ends: Lebanon and the Palestine War, 1947-1949
10 National Visions and Multi-Communal Realities: Lebanon and Israel/Palestine in a Comparative Perspective
11 The Economic Factor of the Arab-Israeli Peace Process: The Cases of Egypt, Jordan and Syria
12 The House of Asad’s Capitalism of Convenience: Economics as a Political Weapon
Part III. The Peace Process Dynamics and Missed Opportunities?
13 The Process That Never Was: Missed Opportunities in the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict, 1948-2000
14 Hudna: Origins of the Concept and its Relevance to the Arab-Israeli Conflict
15 From Deposit to Commitment: The Evolution of US-Israeli-Syrian Peace Negotiations, 1993-2000
16 Peace Action and Conflict Resolution: An Israeli-Palestinian Exploration
17 Between Coxistence and Conflict: Jewish-Arab Encounters in Israel
18 Breaking the Genetic Code Of Conflict: Or, Why Oslo Failed
19 Refugees and the Legitimacy of Palestinian-Israeli Peace Making
The Contributors

Citation preview

Arab—Jewish Relations From C onflict to R esolution?

Arab — J ewish Relations From Conflict to Resolution? Essays in H onour o f Professor Moshe Ma‘oz Edited by EUE PODEH and ASHER KAUFMAN

Sussex ACADEMIC PRESS

B righton • P ortland

Copyright €) Sussex Academie Press, 2006; Editorial Arrangement and Introduction Copyright C Elie Podeh and Asher Kaufman, 2006 The right of Elie Podeh and Asher Kaufman to be identified as Editors of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. 24681097531 First published 2005 in G reat B ritain by

SUSSEX ACADEMIC PRESS PO Box 2950 Brighton BN2 5SP and in the U nited S ta u s o f Am erica by

SUSSEX ACADEMIC PRESS 920 NE 58th Ave Suite 300 Portland, Oregon 97213-3786 All rights reserved. Except for the quotation of short passages for the purposes of criticism and review, no pan of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher. B ritish Library Cataloguing in Publication D ata

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Library o f Congress C ataloging-in-Publication D ata

Arab-Jewish relations : from conflict to resolution? / edited by Elie Podeh and Asher Kaufman, p. cm. Festschrift for Moshe Ma’oz. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 1-903900-68-9 (h/b : alk. paper) 1. Arab-Israeli conflict. 2. Arab-Israeli conflict— 1993Peace. I. Podeh, Elie. II. Kaufman, Asher. III. Ma'oz, Moshe. DS119.7.A67276 2006 956.05—dc22 2005024377

Typeset and designed by G&G Editorial, Brighton & Eastbourne Printed by T7 International Ltd, Padstow, Cornwall This book is primed on acid-free paper.

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Contents I

Preface Professor M a ‘oz’s Publications

viii x

In tro d u ctio n A Tribute to Professor Ma‘oz Asher Kaufman

P art I 1

2

3

1

The A rab-Jew ish Conflict: H istorical Aspects

A C offeehouse in N in eteenth -C entury J erusalem : A Precursor of Modernization Amnon Cohen

11

“F oreign O ccupiers and Stepch ild ren ”: Zionist Discourse and the Palestinians, 1882-1848 Haim Gerber

22

W hy D o C ollaborators C ollaborate ? The Case of Palestinians and Zionist Institutions, 1917-1936 Hillel Cohen

43

4

T he “Sh arettist O ptio n ” R evisited Neil Caplan

5

F rom E isenhower to Jo hnson : Shifts in US Policy toward the Arab-Israeli Conflict David Losch

v

64

74

C ontents

P art II Israël and the Arab-States: Between War and Peace 6

Israel in th e M id d le East or Israel and th e M iddle E ast : A Reappraisal Elie Podeh

93

7

Syria and Israel - Betw een W ar and P eace EyalZisser

114

8

M odern Iraq , th e Ba‘t h P arty and An t i-S em itism Am atzia Baram

132

9

Burning th e C andle a t Bo th En d s : Lebanon and the Palestine W ar, 1947-1949 Guy Nathaniel M alayan

154

N ational Visions and M u lti-C ommunal R ealities : Lebanon and Israel/Palestine in a Comparative Perspective Oren Barak

169

T he E conom ic F actor o f th e Arab-I sraeli P eace P rocess : The Cases of Egypt, Jordan and Syria Gad G. Gilbar and Onn Winckler

190

T he H ouse o f Asad ’s C apitalism Economics as a Political Weapon Gil Feiler and Simon Lassman

210

10

11

12

P art III 13

14

15

of

C onvenience :

The Peace Process: Dynamics and M issed O pportunities?

T he P rocess T hat N ever W as: Missed Opportunities in the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict, 1948-2000 Ban Pappe

233

H vdna : Origins of the Concept and Its Relevance to the Arab-Israeli Conflict Joseph Ginat

251

F rom D eposit t o C om m itm en t : The Evolution of US-Israeli-Syrian Peace Negotiations, 1993-2000 Itamar Rabinovich

277

C ontents

16

17

18

19

P eace Actio n and C o n flict Resolution : An Israeli-Palestinian Exploration Naomi Chazan

283

Betw een C oexistence and C o n f ijc t : Jewish-Arab Encounters in Israel IfatM aoz

319

Breaking th e G enetic C ode of C o nflict Or, Why Oslo Failed Robert L. Rothstein

342

R efugees and th e L egitimacy of P alestinian -I sraeu P eace M aking Khalil Shikaki

363

The Contributors Index

375 380

v u

n

Preface

A festschrift is usually a different kind of book; though not necessarily less academic than other tomes, it aims first and foremost to stand as a tribute to the achievements of a particular scholar, celebrating his outstanding accomplishments. We felt both privileged and honored, upon the retire­ ment of Prof. Moshe M a‘oz, to edit this volume, which comprises nineteen articles written by his colleagues, friends and students from the United States, Canada, Israel and the Palestinian Authority. Only one article does not fall within this tripartite categorization - the one written by Ifat Maoz - Moshe’s daughter and a distinguished scholar in her own right. Moshe’s successful academic career is outlined in Asher Kaufman's introductory essay. Here, suffice it to say that Moshe’s wide array of inter­ ests in the history of the Middle East - ranging thematically from Syria to Iraq, minorities and the Arab-Israeli conflict, and chronologically from the Ottoman period to the contemporary Middle East - genuinely reflect the comprehensiveness of his intellect. As editors, this wide range of interests posed a serious problem for us. After some hesitation, we decided to focus on one topic for the present volume - Arab-Israeli relations - which reflects not only one of Moshe’s major academic fields of interest but is an arena in which he has been involved politically throughout his career. Unlike many professors seeking refuge in the university’s intellectual ivory tower, Moshe has combined political devotion with academic curiosity. Some ten years ago, for example, in a joint Israeli-Palestinian academic seminar on “Shared Values towards the Peace Process,” he made a statement that is still highly relevant: Without a fair and equitable solution to these issues [Palestinian refugees, Jewish settlements, Jerusalem and borders], no stable and comprehensive Arab-Israeli peace is possible. It is in Israel’s vital strategic interests and her moral obligation to make peace with the Arab nations, particularly with the Palestinians, and to this end to help establish a (demilitarized) Palestinian

viii

Preface

state with certain linkages to East Jerusalem and a possible confederation with Jordan. Israel is strong enough and can thus afford to be generous and its politicians can take this calculated risk» which is likely to come to be regarded as a great act of statesmanship.

The book that resulted from this event - subtitled From Conflict to Resolution? - attempts to capture this unique historical moment in which we may move from a permanent state of conflict to some kind of resolu­ tion» after many years of futile attempts» ideas and programs to achieve this end. Many edited volumes are the result of a long, arduous and debilitating journey. This book, however, we found a pleasure to edit: more contribu­ tors than space could allow offered themselves; deadlines were met; and comments were enthusiastically (or at least less critically) received. Upon the completion of this joyful voyage, we would like to thank the Harry S. Trum an Research Institute for the Advancement of Peace and the Faculty of Humanities, both at the Hebrew University ofJerusalem, for their finan­ cial assistance. In particular, we would like to thank the head of the Trum an Institute, Prof. Eyal Ben-Ari, for his keen interest and support, without which this project would not have been completed. We would also like to thank the University of Notre Dame for its financial assistance. Thank you also to Anita Grahame, Marketing Director at Sussex Academic Press, for her generosity in facilitating the publication of this book. Thanks are also due to Lisa Perlman for polishing our deficiencies in the English language. As this manuscript goes to press, Moshe Ma‘oz is celebrating his seven­ tieth birthday. Still young at heart, we wish him many more years of fruitful work. E l ie P o d eh Asher K a u fm a n

June 2005

ix

or M a‘oz’s Publications

Books A uthor Ottoman Reform in Syria and Palestine 1840-61. Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1968 (266 pp.). Modem Syria: Political and Social Changes (Hebrew). Tel Aviv, 1974 (107 pp.). Palestinian Leadership on the West Bank. Frank Cass, London, 1984 (220 pp.); Enlarged Hebrew edition, Tel Aviv, Reshafim, 1985 (240 pp.); Arabic Edition, 1996. Asad, The Sphinx of Damascus: A Political Biography, Weidenfeld, London, New York, 1988 and 1990 (266 pp.); Hebrew edition, 1988; Chinese edition, 1992. Syria and Israel: From War to Peacemaking, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1995 (280 pp.); Enlarged Hebrew Edition, 1996; Arabic Edition, 1998. M iddle Eastern Minorities: Between Integration and Conflict, The Washington Institute for Near East Policy, Washington DC, 1999 (111pp.). Modem Syria: Political and Socio-Economic Developments (forthcoming).

E ditor Studies on Palestine During the Ottoman Period. The Magnes Press, Jerusalem, 1975 (585 pp.). Palestinian Arab Politics, Jerusalem, The Harry S. Trum an Research Institute, 1975 (146 pp.) Syria UnderAsad (with A. Yaniv). London, Croom Helm, 1986 (273 pp.). From War to Peau: Arab-Israeli Relations 1993-1995 with R. Rubin & J. Ginat. Sussex Academic Press, Brighton & Portland, 1994 (244 pp.).

Professor M a 'o z's P ublications

The Palestinian National Movement: From Confrontation to Reconciliation? (with B. Z. Kedar, in Hebrew). M a'arachot, Tel Aviv, 1996 (423 pp.). The PLO and Israel 1964-1994 (with A. Sela). S t M artin's Press, New York, 1997 (310 pp.). Middle Eastern Politics and Ideas (with I. Pappe). Tauris, London, 1997 (230 pp.). The Golan Between Israel and Syria» in Hebrew. M a'ariv, Hed Arzi, Tel Aviv, 1999. Modem Syria from Ottoman Rule to Pivotal Role in the M iddle East (with J. Ginat and O. Winckler). Sussex Academic Press, Brighton & Portland, 1999. Jerusalem: Points o f Friction - And Beyond (with Sari Nusseibeh). Kluwer Law International, The Hague, 2000. Middle Eastern Minorities and Diasporas (with G. Sheffer). Sussex Academic Press, Brighton & Portland, 2001. The Israeli-Palestinian Peau Process: Oslo and the Lessons o f Failure (with R. Rothstein and Khalil Shikaki). Sussex Academic Press, Brighton & Portland, 2002.

Articles and M onographs “Local Government Among die Arabs in Israel” (Hebrew), Hamizrah Hehadash, Vol. 12,1962, pp. 233-40. “Syrian Urban Politics in the Tanzimat Period”, Bulletin o f the School of Oriental and African Studies» University of London, Vol. 29 (1966), pp. 277-301. “The Impact of Modernization on Syrian Politics and Society During die Early Tanzimat Period”, in W. Polk and R. Chambers (eds.), Beginnings o f Modernization in the M iddle East» The University of Chicago Press, Chicago, 1968, pp. 333-49. Palestine During the Ottoman Period: Documents from Archives and Collections in Israel» The Hebrew University, Jerusalem, 1970 (52 pp.). “The ‘Ulama and die Process of Modernization in Syria During the midNineteenth Century”, Asian and African Studies» Vol. 7 (1971), pp. 77-78. “Syria (Al-Jumhuriyya as-Suriyya)”. M iddle East Record 1967» The Shiloah Center, Tel Aviv University, 1971, pp. 489-503. “State and Society in M odem Syria”, in Milson (ed.), Society and Political Structure in the Arab World» Humanities Press, New York, 1973, pp. 29-88. “Attempts at Creating a Political Community in Syria”, Middle East Journal» Vol. 26 (1972), pp. 389-404. xi

Professor M a ‘o z ’s P ublications

“Changes in the Position of the Jewish Communities in Palestine and Syria, in mid- 19th Century“, Studies on Palestine under Ottoman Rule, ed. M. M a‘oz, The Magnes Press, Jerusalem, 1975, pp. 143-63. “Soviet and Chinese Influence on the Palestinian Guerrilla Movement”, in A. Z. Rubinstein (ed.), Soviet and Chinese Influence in the Third World, Praeger, New York, 1975, pp. 109-30. “The Role of Islam in Syria”, New Outlook, Vol. 16 (May 1973), pp. 13-18. “The Military in Syrian Politics since 1966”, in M ilitary and State in Modem Asia, ed. H. Shiffrin, Trum an Institute Studies jerusalem , 1975, pp. 91-105. “Syria Under Asad: New Domestic and Foreign Policies”, Jerusalem Papers on Peace Problems, The Leonard Davis Institute, Jerusalem, 1975 (26 pp.). “Egypt Eyes the Middle East Conflict”, in A. Levi, The Arab-Israeli Conflict, Tel Aviv, 1975, pp. 77-83. “Homogeneity and Pluralism in the Middle East: The Case of Lebanon”, in Case Studies on Human Rights, ed. W. A. Veenhoven, Martinus Nijhoff, The Hague, 1975, pp. 181-208. “The Image of the Jew in Official Arab Literature and Communication Media”, in WorldJewry and the State o fIsrael, ed. M. Davis, Amo Press, New York, 1977, pp. 33-51. “America and the Holy Land During the Ottoman Period: Sources for Research”, in M. Davis (ed.), W ith Eyes Toward Zion, The Amo Press, New York, 1977, pp. 65-78. “Hafez al-Asad: A Political Profile”, The Jerusalem Quarterly, 8 (Summer 1978), pp. 16-31. “New Attitudes of the PLO regarding Palestine and Israel”, in G. Ben-Dor (ed.), The Palestinians and the Middle East Conflict, Turtledove Publishers, Tel Aviv, 1978, pp. 545-54. “Intercommunal Relations in Ottoman Syria During the Tanzimat Era”, in Social and Economic History o f Turkey, eds. O. Ukyar and H. Inalcik, Meteksam Ltd., Sirekti, Ankara, 1980, pp. 205-20. “Communal Conflict in Ottoman Syria During the 19th Century Political and Economic Factors”, in B. Braude and B. Lewis (eds.), Christians and Jews in the Ottoman Empire, Holmes & Meier, New York, 1981, pp. 91-105. “Israel and the Arabs After the Lebanese W ar”, Jerusalem Quarterly, No. 28 (Summer 1983), pp. 25-34. “Muslim Ethnic Communities in 19th Century Syria,” Asian and African Studies, Vol. 19 (1985), pp. 283-307. Palestinian Nationalism - The West Bank Dimension, Woodrow Wilson Center, Washington, D .C., 1980 (41 pp.). xii

Professor M a ‘02 ’s P ublications

“Israeli Positions Regarding the Palestinian Question”, Problems of International Cooperationy Verlag Neue Gesellschaft, No. 99, Bonn, 1985, pp. 21-28. “Israel and the Arabs: The Challenge of Peace”, Political and Economic Trends in the M iddle East, ed. Shireen Hunter, Westview, Boulder, 1985, pp. 59-64. “The Process of Making Peace”, American Arab Affairs, Vol. 14 (Fall, 1985), pp. 50-58. “Missed Opportunities for Middle East Peace” (with Emile Sahliyeh), The Brookings Review, Vol. 4 (Summer 1986), pp. 25-31. “The Emergence of M odem Syria”, in M. M a‘oz and A. Yaniv (eds.) Syria under Asad, Croom Helm, London, 1986. “State-Run Terrorism in the Middle East: The Case of Syria”, M iddle East Review, Vol. 19 (Spring 1987), pp. 11-16. “Hafez al-Assad” in Political Leaders o f the Contemporary M iddle East, ed. B. Reich, Greenwood Press, New York, 1990, pp. 51-64. “Syrian-Israeli Relations and the Middle East Peace Process”, Jerusalem Journal o f International Relations (No. 3,1992) pp. 1-21. “Changes in the Position and Role of the Syrian TJlama in die 18th and 19th Centuries”, The Syrian Land in the 18th and 19th Century, ed. T . Philipp, Franz Steiner Verlag, Stuttgart, 1992, pp. 109-22. “The Jewish-Zionist and Arab-Palestinian National Communities: The Transposing Effect of a Century of Confrontation”, Problems o f the Modem M iddle East in Historical Perspective: Essays in Honour o f Albert Hourani, ed. J. Spagaolo, Ithaca Press, Reading, 1992, pp. 151-68. “Democratization Among the West Bank Palestinians” in Democracy, Peace and the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict, ed. E. Kaufman, S. B. Abed and R. L. Rothstein, Lynne Rienner, Boulder, 1993, pp. 213-44. “The PLO Regional Arab Politics”, in A. Sela and M. M a‘oz (eds.), The PLO and Israel, St. M artin’s Press, New York, 1997, pp. 97-119. “Syria: Creating a National Community”, in Ethnic Conflict and International Politics in the M iddle East, ed. L. Binder, University Press of Florida, Gainesville, 1999, pp. 77-91. The Palestinian Refugee Problem and the Right o fReturn (co-author), Center for International Afairs, Harvard University, 1998 (38 pp.). “The Oslo Agreements: Toward Arab-Jewish Reconciliation”, in After the Peace, ed. R. L. Rothstein, Lynne Rienner, Boulder, 1999, pp. 67-83. “From Conflict to Peace? Israel's Relations with Syria and the Palestinians”, M iddle East Journal, Vol. 53 (Summer 1999), pp. 393-416. “Changes in Syria’s Regional Position vis-à-vis Israel”, in Modem Syria, ed. M. Ma‘oz, J. Ginat and O. Winckler, Sussex Academic Press, Brighton & Portland, 2002, pp. 257-271. xiii

Professor M a 'o z's P ublications

“W hat South Asia can learn from the Middle East Peace Process”, in The Arab-Israeli Peau Process, Lessons for India and Pakistan, ed. Moonis Ahmar, Karachi, Oxford University Press, 2001. “The Oslo Peace Process: From Breakthrough to Breakdown”, in The Israeti-Palestinian Peau Process: Oslo and the Lessons o f Failure (editor with R. Rothstein and Khalil Shikaki), Sussex Academic Press, Brighton & Portland, 2002. “Damascus vs. Washington: Axis of Evil or Pax Americana”, in Inventing the Axis o f Evil, New Press, New York, 2004. “The Palestinian Refugees and the ‘Right of Return’: Problems and Solutions” (in print). “Primary Solidarities and M odem Identities - die Syrian Case” (forth­ coming). Professor M a'oz has also written many essays in Hebrew, Arabic and English, in journals and newspapers worldwide.

xiv

rioN Professor a‘oz

A Tr

ASHER KAUFM AN

In the field of modem Middle Eastern Studies there are few whose names are as prominent as Moshe Ma‘oz. From his numerous books and articles to his endless speaking engagements, and of course his involvement in peace-related issues, Moshe’s career has been so rich that it is well nigh impossible to cover even a small fraction of its benchmarks in just a few pages. Indeed, Moshe is a busy and prolific person and his retirement from teaching at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem has not slowed his pace at all. As his student I feel privileged and honored to be involved in this enter­ prise - a volume honoring his life’s work - and to write these introductory notes. * Moshe belongs to the generation that broke the ground for the critical study of the modem Middle East in Israel. Bom in Tel Aviv in 1935, Moshe has experienced without intermediacy the history of Israel in the Middle East through its wars, peace efforts and its social and political seesaws. From the early days of his adult life, Moshe has concentrated on the study of this region. Starting as an intelligence officer and later as an assistant adviser on Arab issues to Prime M inister David Ben-Gurion, Moshe soon decided that in order to learn about the region and its inhab­ itants in an impartial way, he should also pursue an academic education. This led him to acquire his BA and MA in Middle Eastern studies and Arabic language and literature at the Hebrew University, under professors including David Ayalon and Moshe Piamenta.1 In 1962 Moshe went to St. Antony's College in Oxford to study under the tutelage of one of the great luminaries of our field, Albert Hourani. There, he not only began his rich academic career but also found a new 1

Introduction vocation as an avid squash player. In Oxford Moshe wrote his dissertation on nineteenth-century Ottoman Tanzimat in Syria and Palestine, published a few years later under the title Ottoman Reform in Syria and Palestine.2 T o date, this book is still considered one of the most important contributions to the understanding of Ottoman Syria and Palestine in the nineteenth century. In focusing on this theme, Moshe followed the guid­ ance of his mentor, Hourani, who believed that in order to study the modem Middle East, one has first to understand the Ottoman Empire and its impact and legacy on the region. As Hourani himself put it, “in writing about the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, we should never forget the Ottoman impact: the lasting influence of these centuries when most of the Arab countries, and many others, were incorporated into the last great empire of Islam.” Therefore, Hourani concluded, “ [t]he greatest task of the present generation of Middle Eastern historians is perhaps to explore this Ottoman world [ . . . J.”3 Indeed, as a disciple of Hourani, Moshe followed this conviction eagerly. The pages of his classic book unveil not only the political and social history of the mid-nineteenth century in Syria and Palestine but also the roots of the sociopolitical structure of the region in the twentieth century. Themes such as the challenge of modernity, social change, minority status and European domination serve as the axis of this work, which to a large extent defined Moshe’s academic scope of interests. In 1965, after returning from Oxford to Israel, Moshe joined Israeli academia and soon acquired a reputation as one of the leading specialists not only of Ottoman history but also of the contemporary Arab Middle East. His scope of knowledge and interests has since been reflected in his work. His interests, as manifested in his numerous publications, can be roughly divided into five categories: the Ottoman Empire in the nineteenth century and its legacy in the twentieth; minorities in the Middle East; the political and social history of modem Syria; Palestine and the Palestinians; and the more general Arab-Israeli conflict and its much-awaited resolu­ tion. This arbitrary division is somewhat unjust because, in his writing, Moshe has constantly integrated these fields, always demonstrating his full breadth of knowledge. Thus, when he wrote on minorities in the region it was done with a profound comprehension of Ottoman reforms and their later impact on the status of minorities.4 Similarly, when he wrote on Syria as a modem state and on its leadership, Moshe utilized his understanding of Ottoman history, of minorities and always with the desire to break the ice between Syria and Israel.5 And, indeed, understanding modem Syria soon became one of Moshe’s prime concerns, to the point that he has won a worldwide reputation as one of the most important specialists of Syrian politics and society. Out of the impressive series of books and articles he wrote that uncovered the complex nature of Syrian society, arguably the most interesting is the polit­ 2

A T rubute to Professor M oshe M a ‘o z

ical biography of Hafiz al-Asad. Writing a biography of a living leader without being able to ever see or meet him must be a challenging and some­ what frustrating experience. Furthermore, as an Israeli scholar attempting to write a biography of a major adversary of Israel, the task Moshe took upon himself was far from simple. Yet, although he did not enjoy access to Asad's court (as did Patrick Seale, Asad’s “official” biographer), he compensated for this limitation with intimate familiarity of Syrian society and its president, which he had acquired after long years of careful obser­ vations and analysis. Aware of the hazardous nature of the task he had taken upon himself, Moshe wrote in the introduction of the book: Many biographers tend to identify with their hero intentionally or uninten­ tionally. By contrast, an Israeli portraying his country’s arch-enemy might be inclined to demonize Asad or misjudge him. Aware of these pitfalls, I have tried to remain as detached as I can, but without losing empathy for the study of Syria and Asad, with their interests and aspirations. Bom and raised within the same generation, I experienced in my youth political upheavals and aspi­ rations similar to those of many young Syrians [ . . . ] . *

Here we read not only Moshe the scholar but also the person, a fellow Middle Easterner to Hafiz al-Asad, of the same generation that has expe­ rienced not only similar events, simply from the other side of the fence, but also similar desires and hopes. Moreover, the empathy to which Moshe refers has always remained one of the prime guidelines of his research and teaching. As a student of Moshe I vividly remember such messages in class. Time and again he told us, his students, that in order to be a good researcher one has first to apply empathy, but not necessarily sympathy, towards the society which one studies. Moshe’s academic career is typically identified with Syria but, in fact, from die outset he dedicated much of his time to the study and teaching of minorities in the Middle East. Thus, following in the footsteps of Albert Hourani, Moshe wrote books and articles on Jews, Christians, ‘Alawis and other religious and ethnic minorities in the region. His recent Middle Eastern Minorities: Between Integration and Conflict7 is probably the most updated overview of the political and social conditions of minorities in the Arab Middle East. Using the definition offered by Hourani that minorities in the Middle East are those communities that differ from the Sunni Arab majority in their religious affiliation and/or their ethnic-cultural identity, Moshe has also written extensively about Jews in the region. Here, one is reminded of the argument put forward by Elie Podeh in this collection concerning the need in Israeli academia to integrate more avidly Israeli and Jewish studies within die study of the Middle East. Indeed, reading through Moshe’s writings on Jews in the Ottoman Empire it is apparent that he belongs to the same generation of 3

Introduction historians who, according to Podeh, took it for granted that the two fields are interrelated. Thus, in a collection of essays Moshe edited, Studies on Palestine during the Ottoman Period, to date still a mine of information about Ottoman rule in Palestine, he wrote: [An] important means of viewing die study of Ottoman Palestine is die polit­ ical, socio-economic and cultural-ideological developments among the local population; i.e., the rise of local leaders and notables, the demographic changes and economic conditions, die complexity of inter-communal relations, the positions of the Jewish community, and the advent of the rival Jewish-Zionist and Palestine-Arab national movement*

We can see again that for Moshe the Ottoman Empire, Jewish and other minorities in die region and the Jewish-Arab conflict in Israel/Palestine all amount to the same field of study and indeed all are an inseparable part of his breadth of knowledge. And to be sure, no doubt, in his life, in and out of academia, Moshe has viewed Israel and its Jewish population as an inseparable part of Middle Eastern societies, cultures and politics. Concomitant with the study of the Ottoman Empire, Syria and minori­ ties in the Middle East, Moshe continued to investigate Palestinian society as well. As in his other fields of interest, the examples are numerous; I focus here only on his book, Palestinian Leadership on the West Bank, published in 1984.9 This is a fascinating document not only in terms of the process it covers, i.e., the radicalization of the Palestinian national struggle in the Occupied Territories, but also in terms of its conclusions, read in hindsight today. Moshe could not have predicted, of course, the eruption of the first intifada in December 1987 but the narrative he presented clearly points to the upsurge of a violent popular national struggle among the Palestinians and to the growing influence of the local leadership in the Palestinian national movement. Moreover, his concerns about the ramifications of the occupation on Israeli society are read today with the same validity and alarm as they were more than two decades ago when they were first written. “Many Israeli Jews feel or rather fear,” he wrote, “that if the above trends continue (of settlements and land appropriation) Israel will soon become a bi-national state with all the attendant hazards. [ . . . ] Many Israelis are deeply concerned that the Likud policies in the West Bank are likely further to isolate Israel in the international community, undermine the peace process with Israel and eliminate tangible options for Israeli-Palestinian coexistence.”10 Historians normally prefer not to engage in prophecies of the future, but it is hard to ignore Moshe’s chilling and astute analysis and projection as demonstrated in this quote. Moshe’s research interests during die 1990s reflect well the seesaw of this decade. His Syria and Israel: From War to Peacemaking well demon­ strates his proclivities with regards to a permanent solution in the region. 4

A Trubute to Professor M oshe M a 'o z

Integrating his knowledge of Syria and Israel and adding his own personal world view, Moshe must have wished the title of die book would be slighdy different, omitting die “making” in the “peacemaking”.11 Yet, as he himself wrote in the book's conclusion, an Israeli-Syrian peace is not looming on the horizon because there have not been yet “any profound changes in the long-term and deep-seated causes of the conflict and war between die two nations, particularly die historical, cultural, ideological and psychological causes”.12 Here, again we are able to see Moshe’s profound grasp of die deep layers of die conflict. As he rightfully states, the territorial aspects of this conflict are die easiest to address. The more difficult parts are die emotional, mental and psychological aspects, and before they are properly dealt with no comprehensive peace can be achieved. Obviously, the greatest peacemaking challenge in die 1990s was die Israeli-Palestinian track. This led Moshe to dedicate the majority of his later work to an effort to build bridges between the two rivaling national communities. As the director of the Harry S. Trum an Research Institute for the Advancement of Peace for two terms (1975-78; 1992-98), he worked tirelessly to initiate joint Israeli-Palestinian projects that focused on coexistence and reconciliation. Also, in an effort to prepare the grounds for die “real” negotiations he acted as a leading figure in the “track two” negotiations between Israeli and Arab academics and professionals.13The collapse of the peace talks and the violent struggle that followed caused Moshe to focus his energy on attempting to understand and explain the roots of the failure in order not to repeat similar mistakes when - and for Moshe, it is a question of when - peace talks are resumed. Thus, in the concluding words of an essay, “The Oslo Peace Process: From Breakthrough to Breakdown,” he writes: Thus, while drawing lessons from their mistakes and misconceptions during the Oslo process, both sides must educate themselves to understand - even empathize with - the concerns, traumas, fears, historical narratives and national aspirations of one another. Only then can a durable peace and reconciliation be negotiated and achieved between Israelis and Palestinians, Jews and Arabs.14

Here again we see Moshe - the person - trying to address the most deli­ cate aspects of the conflict. It is not territory, compensation or other material goods, but rather understanding and empathizing with the other side's narrative that is the key for a just peace in the Middle East. One is reminded here of the interesting distinction Dan Pappe makes in this volume between the visible and invisible parts of the conflict Indeed, Moshe rightfully and sensibly argues that settling the visible parts of the conflict-land, property and so forth - is not enough; only after addressing

S

Introduction the invisible parts of the conflict can a lasting and durable settlement be achieved. Moshe has mentored numerous students in Israel in his long years as a teacher and a scholar. This should be attributed to the fact that students see Moshe not only as a leading specialist in his field but also as a human being with whom and under whom it is satisfying to work. Some of the contributors to this collection were Moshe’s students; others are friends and colleagues. They all share their respect and affection for Moshe - the scholar and the person - whose joie de vivre has always been one of his trademarks. The diversity of M oshe's interests is not reflected in this volume. O f his several fields of research, we chose to focus on Arab-Jewish relations due in part to the natural proclivities of the contributors and as a reflection of Moshe’s recent concentration on the “conflict” and its longawaited resolution. This tome is intended not only as a homage to Moshe Ma‘oz but also, inspired by him, as a humble contribution to a better mutual understanding between Arabs and Jews. Notes

1 Ayalon’s impact on Moshe was not restricted to academia. The days were when students had to take mandatory physical activity classes and Moshe, following David Ayalon, became active in the sports department, especially through teaching judo. When Ayalon retired it was Moshe who took his place on the sports committee of the university. 2 Moshe Ma‘oz, Ottoman Reform in Syria and Palestine, 1840-1861 (London: Clarendon Press, 1968). 3 Albert Hourani, “How Should We Write the History of the Middle East?” InternationalJournal o f Middle East Studies, 23 (1991), pp. 125-36. 4 For example, Moshe Ma'oz and Gabriel Sheffer (eds.), Middle Eastern Minorities and Diasporas (Brighton & Portland: Sussex Academic Press, 2002). 5 See, for example, Moshe Ma‘oz, Joseph Ginat and Onn Winckler (eds.), Modem Syria: from Ottoman Rule to Pivotal Role in the Middle East (Brighton & Portland: Sussex Academic Press, 1999). 6 Moshe M a'oz, Asad, The Sphinx of Damascus (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1988), p. xii. 7 Moshe Ma'oz, Middle Eastern Minorities: Between Integration and Conflict (Washington, DC: Washington Institute for Near East Policy, 1999); see also Ma‘oz and Sheffer (eds.), Middle Eastern Minorities and Diasporas. 8 Moshe Ma'oz (ed.), Studies on Palestine during the Ottoman Period (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1975), p. xi. 9 It should be noted that this important subject did not get enough scholarly attention and, to the best of my knowledge, this is die only work that addresses thoroughly the issue of Palestinian leadership in the West Bank prior to the outbreak of the first intifada in late 1987. 10 Moshe Ma'oz, Palestinian Leadership on the West Bank (London: Frank Cass, 1984), pp. 204-5.

6

A Trubute to Professor M oshe M a*oz

11 Interestingly, the title of the Hebrew translation of the book was Israei-Syria: The End of the Conflict?, reflecting once more Moshe’s ill-fated and unrealized dreams on this matter. 12 Moshe Ma‘oz, Syria and Israel: From War to Peacemaking (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995). 13 See, for example, Is Oslo Alive? Qerusalem: Konrad Adenauer Foundation, 1998) and Moshe Ma'oz and Sari Nusseibeh, Jerusalem: Points o fFriction, and Beyond (The Hague: Kluwer Law International, 2000). 14 Robert Rothstein, Moshe Ma‘oz and Khalil Shikaki (eds.), The IsraeU-Palestinian Peace Process, Oslo and the Lessons o f Failure (Brighton & Portland: Sussex Academic Press, 2002).

7

PART I

The Arab-Jewish Conflict

Historical Aspects

A Coffeehouse in Nineteenth-C entury Jerusalem ♦

A Precursor of M odernization AMNON COHEN

T he modernization of the Middle East is conventionally dated to the nine­ teenth century. The terms used in this context may vary, the exact years and locations of its beginnings are debatable: the “opening to the W est", “W esternization", “tanzim at” are just a few examples of terms used; scholars tend to peg the onset of modernization on the Napoleonic inva­ sion of Egypt or on the rule of Mehmet Ali in Cairo, and his son Ibrahim in Syria, or perhaps on the reforms of the Ottoman Sultans Selim HI and M ahmut n in Istanbul. Early signs of the emerging process, related to economic developments, may be detected in the preceding century (e.g., in eighteenth-century Palestine).1 The most relevant years of this histor­ ical process, however, are undoubtedly those of the nineteenth century. No wonder, then, that Moshe M a‘oz chose “Ottoman Reform" as the starting point of his academic career and research activities. In his doctoral disser­ tation he described and analyzed its various aspects in Syria and Palestine around the middle of that century, and even in later years, when the focus of his intellectual attention shifted, he would still return occasionally to the central trends of modernization.2 These trends were conspicuous among the Muslim majority, as well as among the Christian and Jewish minorities of nineteenth-century Jerusalem, in a variety of fields: urban development, demographic compo­ sition, patterns of administration and local rule, etc. O f growing importance, as the second half of the century unfolded, and becoming 11

Amnon Cohen perhaps the most meaningful development there, was land acquisition by Jewish entrepreneurs in Jerusalem, both within the city’s walls and in its outlying areas. I chose here to focus on one aspect of this general trend: the purchase of the lands of the Arab village Qalunya and the establish­ ment of a coffeehouse on the main road to Jerusalem, at a spot that bears the Hebrew name of the new colony, Motza, known today as the “Motza bend” (sibuv motza).

Location Map (Survey of Palestine, Jerusalem, sheet 1,1:10000,1945).

The Deal The proceedings of the Shar‘i Muslim court of Jerusalem throw ample factual light on this entire episode.3 “Mrs. Sara” (“Sara Hatun”), the daughter of Rabbi Yehezkel son of Yehuda of Baghdad and wife of Yehoshu'a Yelin, gradually purchased eleven different tracts of cultivated land (orchards, vineyards, olive groves, etc.) there. The transaction, or rather series of transactions (stretching over an entire decade), started in 1860-61 when the drought and the resulting famine drove the peasants of that village to sell their land, once an opportunity presented itself, at low prices. The former owners were mostly the villagers of Qalunya, some were residents of the neighboring villages of ‘Ayn Karm and Dayr Yasin; all of them attended the successive court sessions and publicly confirmed the

12

A Coffeehouse in Nineteenth-Century Jerusalem

sale of their rightful possessions. The transactions were actually concluded for Sara’s brother, Rabbi Shlomo, who as a British subject could not have any Ottoman possessions purchased, even less so registered in his name. Only towards the end of that decade, when the Sultan granted British subjects the right to buy and own real estate throughout his dominions, did all the parties concerned return to the court (January 1869) and admit the former legal fiction, which was then annulled and Shlomo's full rights of ownership were proclaimed.4

Sale docum ent o f the coffeeshop (Jerusalem sijill archives, vol. 3S7, p. 26, 1870).

enu springs uown in uie local warn, im s was a crucial eiemeni in any

agricultural transaction of this kind, and since no maps or sketches were draw n, each tract of land was topographically defined by those sur­ rounding it. The lively description of these adjacent tracts of land, which cannot mean much to the modem reader of these texts, must have been 13

Amnon Cohen simple and clear to the contemporaries (“the elevated slope", “the vine by the such-and-such spring”, “the lemon tree fountainhead”, orchards and plantations bearing different local family names, etc.)* However, cer­ tain spots mentioned there are identifiable even today, due to some historically and topographically stable elements: the springs (“higher”, “lower”) that emerge from the hillside, the bridges stretching over the wadi, the main road leading from Jaffa to Jerusalem (jtariq al-sultan), and the structure that housed the local coffeehouse. These geographic mark­ ers recur several times in the documents and must have served as “fixed” coordinates to invalidate the otherwise-unsatisfactory, possibly inaccu­ rate, description of the locale.

ÿr

■**"*3* ’{ f t

> '

14

r 0 «

A Coffeehouse in N ineteenth-C entury Jerusalem

The Coffeehouse and Hotel The very idea of setting up, perhaps even building, a new transit stop where coffee would be served and shelter provided for brief or longer sojourns was not a novelty. Until 1869, when the newly paved road enabled traffic by coach, the arduous trip between Jaffa and Jerusalem was made on the backs of animals (donkeys, mules), and it took more than twelve hours in either direction. Two stops were thus mandatory for commuters and animals alike: in Ramie and near Qalunya. Young Yelin (and most prob­ ably the more mature members of his family) became aware of the business opportunities that presented themselves and decided to build a hotel at the latter spot a short while after its initial acquisition. The relatively small and unimpressive structure was partially pulled down a few years later at the behest of shaykh M ustafa Abu Ghosh, and another was constructed in its place, as soon as this local potentate was accepted as a partner. After 1869, two new elements were added, making the initial idea more attractive: better - and much safer - conditions along the newly paved road, which brought about significantly increased traffic (30-40 daily coaches full of passengers), and the discovery on Yelin’s property of a spacious (13 by 7 meters) Roman underground stable, most appropriate for the new devel­ opment schemes. The old structure was dug out, cleaned and repaired, two upper floors and a porch were added, and the entire building was rented out to a Christian who made an immediate handsome profit as the operator of the place.6 Unlike the road that was later paved and the bridges that were replaced by more modem ones, the building where the hotel-cum-coffeehouse was located seems to have undergone hardly any structural changes. Indeed, the ISO years that have elapsed since have taken their toll, and the present dilapidated structure lacks many of its original details. However, as was the case when it was at its prime, this impressive building located to the north­ west of the bridge, often used as a point of departure to describe or delimit other plots in nineteenth-century documents, can still quite easily be iden­ tified today. The land, as was commonly the case in Ottoman villages, was state-owned (min), but the building was privately possessed (miilk). About half of it belonged to Yehoshu‘a Yelin, Sara’s husband, and the other half was the property of the said shaykh Mustafa Abu Ghosh, head of the renowned family residing in the neighboring village of Qaryat al-‘Inab and the traditional leader (sultan al-barr) of the Qays faction of the rural area stretching between Jerusalem and Nablus. In earlier centuries, members of this family used to collect “protection money” from all human and commercial traffic traveling uphill from Jaffa to Jerusalem, a military prominence they transformed into an economic one.7 One should not, 15

Yelin’s coffeehouse (north view).

Yelin’s coffeehouse (south view).

A C offeehouse in N ineteenth-C entury Jerusalem

however, overtook their political importance even in this relatively late period: their involvement as partial owners (this time it was Muhammad, the son of Mustafa) of the building was a contributing factor to their poten­ tial role of protecting from any intruders the caravans and pilgrims on their way to and from Jerusalem, who wished to stop there for rest and refresh­ ments. In the spring of 1870, they sold their share of the building and the right to use the adjoining plot of land to a Jew from Istanbul, a deal the importance of which may be gleaned from the presence of all dignitaries of the village of Qalunya (its two m ukhtan as well as all the members of its local council) at the court session that authorized it.8 Twenty-five years later, in 1895, Yehoshu‘a Yelin endowed one-third of the income of this coffeehouse for the upkeep of those poor Jewish inhabitants of Jerusalem, both Ashkenazi and Sephardic, who made their living in productive ways, either in agriculture or crafting - an indication of both his support of the new efforts toward productivity found in die “old Yishuv” communities in Jerusalem and of the financial success of his own enterprise.

The Coffeehouse: An Agent of Modernization? Yelin’s coffeehouse at the “Motza bend*’ should be viewed as an expres­ sion of two separate processes. One was the increasing Jewish presence in and around Jerusalem, both as a m atter of general policy (by the purchase of lands) and as part of an unfolding reality (by actually settling there). T he other was the deepening of the trend of modernization in Palestine. We shall focus on the latter, looking at the establishment of this coffee­ house as a case in point. The intrinsic relationship between this institution of the coffeehouse as a social and cultural phenomenon and the process of modernization was highlighted by Professor Bernard Lewis in his Eliahu Elath annual lecture, delivered at The Hebrew University of Jerusalem in January 1989. Several years later, Professor Lewis elaborated his insights as to “The Making of the M odem Middle Easterner’' in the Introduction to his book, The M iddle East, 2000 Years o f History from the Rise o f Christianity to the Present Day.9 T he opening sentence of this book reads as follows: “A common sight in most Middle Eastern cities is the coffee-house. . . w here. . . you may find m e n . . . sitting at a table, drinking a cup of coffee or tea, perhaps smoking a cigarette, reading a newspaper, playing a board game, and listening with half an ear to whatever is coming out of die radio or the television installed in the com er.” In other words, this is not just a description of a virtual reality; the different elements just referred to are actual agents of change and modernization, symbols of newly introduced institutions to the grad­ ually developing reality of the Middle East in the last 200 years. IT

Amnon Cohen The picture drawn by Bernard Lewis could easily apply to our case, although earlier versions of coffeehouses in nineteenth-century Jerusalem, as illustrated by European travelers, project a display of similar institutions somewhat less impressive in form and in content.10 At different stages o f the second half of that century they tell of several coffeehouses that oper­ ated regularly inside, as well as outside, the walled city. G. M. W ortabet, a missionary from Beirut, speaks (in the early fifties) of a small coffee­ house, surrounded by vines, just inside Jaffa Gate. The 1874 edition o f Baedeker’s Handbookfor Travellers mentions several coffeehouses offering their services outside Jaffa Gate. Twenty-two years later, the same tourist guide reports on many coffeehouses along the walls leading out of Jaffa Gate, some located in low-lying buildings, others in more modem, twostory ones. On another flank of the walled city, in the area of Damascus Gate, many new shops are reported as newly opened in 1911 by the Hebrew newspaper Ha-Or, including a “coffeehouse”.11 The evangelical German traveler E. W. Schulz, who visited Jerusalem in the middle of the century, provides us with a more detailed, not necessarily laudatory description of some of these establishments: they were usually quite miser­ able rooms, sometimes just a street-cornered shaded spot covered with mats, where patrons would squat on the paved ground or sit on low stone benches, sipping coffee and smoking, all day long.12 The generic picture of a coffeehouse sketched by Lewis included a few elements missing from the Schulz’s description, elements that would be added in later years (e.g., chairs). Conceptually, however, as well as in most of its details, it applies to the reality of Jerusalem one and a half centuries ago, and in many respects (near Jaffa or Damascus Gates) it still holds true today. Yehoshu'a Yelin’s coffeehouse did not reflect the miserable picture described above. It was new, quite modem, and located far away - about two hours’ walking distance13 - from the walls of Jerusalem. As such, it should be viewed in the wider context of the new Jewish presence in villages in the vicinity of Jerusalem, yet another dimension of the impact of the West and modernization. But the very emergence of a coffeehouse on the road to Jerusalem should not be regarded as a newly introduced W esternoriented development. Its origins should be sought in much older times, and it actually came to this part of the world from the south. Coffee as a consumption commodity arrived in what later came to be known as “The Middle East” from Ethiopia, via Arabia and Egypt, in the sixteenth century. The coffeehouse as a social institution, as well as a forum for culinary and cultural activity, emerged in the second half of that century in major urban centers like Cairo, Damascus, Aleppo and Istanbul. The very idea of novelty made it suspect, even bad, in the eyes of many, but when an order was sent from Istanbul in 1566 to Jerusalem banning this new habit of spending hours, day and night, in these “coffee rooms” it was 18

A Coffeehouse in N ineteenth-C entury Jerusalem

based upon complaints by neighbors rather than as an expression of reli­ gious zeal. Investigating commissions were sent by the local kadi to establish the facts and, once confirmed, to nip this “dangerous” new phenomenon in the bud. Their findings pointed at ecological nuisances in a residential neighborhood (heavy smoke, unpleasant odors of grilled meat, loud music and singing), which made it a public concern; hence, the new coffeehouses were actually closed down a few years after their appearance. It was neither the import of coffee beans nor the addictive nature of the beverage when consumed in private homes, but rather its public consump­ tion, and all related activities that took place inside the coffeehouse, that were repeatedly scorned by private individuals and public figures who complained to the authorities - both local and central. All these complaints notwithstanding, the new institution became further ensconced in the local setting, and as the end of the sixteenth century approached, orders to the effect of closing down, or refraining from opening up, new coffeehouses in Jerusalem ceased to arrive. Moreover, from 1590 onwards, the guild of coffee-sellers, ta’ifat al-qahwatiyya, became an ordinary, integral part of the guild system of Jerusalem. Thus, when, in 1633, the sultan M urat IV declared a public ban on the sale of coffee and of tobacco in his domin­ ions, it had no effect in Jerusalem, or any other Ottoman town or village for that matter. Public consumption of coffee in specially designated coffeehouses ceased to be regarded as a negative, marginal phenomenon to be discarded; rather, it became an important social institution in urban centers of the empire, Jerusalem included.14 Visual evidence of coffeehouses in late-nineteenth-century Jerusalem is scant. Compared to drawings or photographs of similar institutions in other Ottoman towns, they seem to follow the basic pattern encountered in Cairo or Istanbul: some were still, to a large extent like those of the late sixteenth century, confined to dark, shabby rooms; others sprawled out over public open spaces inside the old towns. Understandably, impressive halls like that of the coffeehouse in the Tophane neighborhood of Istanbul in 1800 or even the somewhat less pompous ones located in certain big Mamluk endowment buildings in Aleppo or Cairo could not be found in Jerusalem, which was ten times smaller in size, in population and in afflu­ ence.“ However, the “sprawling out” of this institution to the outdoor area could be a pleasant improvement for its patrons, simpler to accomplish when the coffeehouse constituted part of a modem structure that had an adjoining open space. Such was the case of the coffeehouse of “the white tower” in 1900 Salonica,16and a similar case may have been that of Yelin’s place in Qalunya. Situated on the main road leading from Jaffa to Jerusalem, at the foot of the steep, ancient “Roman trail” where the less arduous but still long and tiring last curving climb of the more modem route to Jerusalem starts (or just before the steep climb to al-Qastal peak, 19

Amnon Cohen followed by the serpentine-like curves to Bab al-Wad in the other direc­ tion), by die cool springs and rich vegetation of the lower part of die wadi - all these made this location ideal for a more modem version of a transit stop. The building, or at least its ancient core, was very spacious, hence suited to be turned into a coffeehouse, with an adjoining hotel. The traditional stop for caravans to and from Jerusalem thus underwent, thanks to Yelin’s initiative, a gradual metamorphosis in die second half of the nineteenth century (as did other institutions in the Ottoman Empire): this coffeehouse offered new and improved services for all travelers, imma­ terial of creed, affiliation or occupation.17 Old, and previously considered marginal, it now became a vital fixture and served as yet another link between the coastal periphery and Jerusalem’s centrality. By now die cof­ feehouse was a traditional institution well ensconced in Jerusalem, but in its new form it may be regarded as a precursor of changing times, as well as a visual - and cultural - display of modernization. Notes

1 See, for example, my criticism of A. Hourani’s approach in my Palestine in the Eighteenth Century - Patterns of Government and Administration Jerusalem, 1973), pp. 316-28. 2 M. Ma‘oz, Ottoman Reform in Syria and Palestine, 1840-1861 (Oxford, 1968); idem. “Nineteenth Century Jerusalem: Political and Social Developments”, in E. Shaltiel (fid.), Jerusalem in the Modem Period Ocrusalem, 1981), pp. 66-80. In Hebrew. 3 See my Jews in the Moslem Religious Court - Society, Economy and Communal Organization in the X IX Century (Jerusalem, 2003), document nos. 124,125, 126, pp. 270-80. In Hebrew. 4 On the involvement of the British consul Finn in concocting a legal stratagem in order to invalidate the original deal, including granting Sara’s husband, Yehoshu‘a Yelin, the son of Russian parents and an Austrian subject, with a British passport, and on later vicissitudes, see Yelin’s memoirs, Zichwnot ieVen Yerushalayim Jerusalem, 1924), pp. 27-28, 31-32,40-41, 52-54. 5 For the full report of the court session dated January 1869, see my Jews in the Moslem Religious Court, pp. 270-77; for a short summary of the same session, amplified by several background comments and other insights see Yelin, Zichronot, pp. 52-53. 6 Yelin, Zichronot, pp. 34-35, 55-56; R. Kark, Jaffa - A City in Evolution, 1799-1917 Jerusalem, 1984), pp. 195-97, in Hebrew; P. Grayevski, A Tribute to the First Lovers of Zion, fas. 20, pp. 496-97. In Hebrew. 7 Yelin, Zichronot., pp. 33-34, 53; “Kays ‘Aylan”, in M. Hoexter and G. Baer, E l1. 8 See my Jews in the Moslem Religious Court, pp. 277-79. 9 B. Lewis, The Middle East, 2000 Years of History from the Rise of Christianity to the Present Day (London, 1995), pp. 3-16. 10 J. Wilson, In Scripture Lands (London, 1891), p. 183; C. W. Wilson, Picturesque Palestine, Sinai and Egypt (London, 1880), vol. I, p. 33, as repro­

20

A Coffeehouse in N ineteenth-C entury Jerusalem

11 12 13 14 15

16 17

duced in Y. Ben-Arieh, A City Reflected in Its Times - Jerusalem in the Nineteenth Century Jerusalem, 1977), pp. 68-69. Ben-Arieh, pp. 32,48, SO, S3. Ibid., pp. 61-62. Ha-Tzefira Jerusalem, 1892), No. 251; Havatzelet Jerusalem, 1871),No. 18. See my The Guilds of Ottoman Jerusalem (2001), pp. S0-S9. H. Desmet-Grégoire and F. Geoigeon, Cafés d’Orient revisités (Paris, 1997), pp. 43, 44, 48-49, S8, 117, 119; Le Café en Méditerranée (Aix-en-Provence, 1980), pp. 69-70; Ben-Arieh, A City Reflected in Its Times, pp. 68-69. Desmet-Grégoire and Georgeon, Cafés d’Orient., p. 89. The poultry merchants, bringing their noisy and not very pleasant merchan­ dise to Jerusalem, were confined to the spacious, though hardly ventilated basement (Yelin, Zichronot, p. 56).

21

P

*

“Foreign Occupiers and Step Children” Zionist Discourse and the Palestinians 1 8 8 2 -1 9 4 8

,

HAIM GERBER

T his chapter deals w ith the Z ionist ideology and discourse on th e Palestinians, m ainly in the form ative period stretching from 1882 to 1948. T here are several good studies on this to p ic,1 though not all the relevant m aterials have been exhausted. M ost o f the existing studies are too apolo­ getic to my m ind. In this period o f tortuous efforts at rapprochem ent betw een Israel and the Palestinians we need m ore soul-searching approaches than before. W e need, in fact, a historiographic upheaval, if not a revolution. T h e basic approach o f Zionism to the Palestinians was a com plete erasure and denial o f any collective Palestinian identity and any concom itant right over even a portion o f Palestine. It is tim e th a t this issue is dealt w ith m ore squarely and forcefully. T his study situates itself w ithin the fram ew ork o f the recent discussion taking place betw een the traditionalists and the post-m odem ists/postZionists. M ore precisely, I find m yself som ew here in betw een these tw o w arring cam ps and for that I w ould like to open this chapter w ith an apology. W e have becom e accustom ed to the ritual reappearance o f collected volum es o f studies th at reassert the purity o f Zionism and dissect the argu­ m ents o f the post-Z ionists one by one. A t the tim e o f w riting this essay yet another o f these volum es has appeared, and it m ay be fitting to start by looking closely at som e o f the argum ents posited there.2 O n the w hole, T uvia Friling’s A n Answer to a Post-Zionist Colleague is a m onum ent to traditional and old-fashioned Z ionist historiography and an indication that

22

"Foreign O ccupiers a n d Stepchildren ”

this school is alive and well, and that the rumors about its death were premature. The book almost proves the point made by the post-Zionists, that there is after all such a group of scholars in the Israeli scholarly world that has taken it upon itself to defend at all cost every ideological or polit­ ical point made or practiced by mainstream Zionism, particularly in the formative period. At no point in this book can one find an admission that any post-Zionist argument bears any relation to the truth, in part or in full. It is annoying, not just substantively but even logically, to think that we are expected to believe that - in one of die more complex chapters in human history - one side of the fence is totally free of any blemish or mistake. An example is the outrage with which several writers attack the post-Zionist equation between Zionism and colonialism. T rue, there are important differences: Zionism was interested in nation-building rather than in exploitation per se. It also lacked a métropole to return to. But it cannot be denied that what it lacked in colonial exploitation it had in colonial dispos­ session. I like to think of this as an unintended consequence of Zionist colonization, but that it was a human disaster must be admitted by any serious historian, Zionist or not. It is also to be borne in mind that the match between the colonialist model and Israeli settlement activity in the occu­ pied territories after 1967 is almost complete. It is remarkable, too, how the writers in Friling’s volume reiterate the old and worn-out clichés on how the intentions of the Zionists in Palestine towards the local inhabitants were always positive, benign, cheerfully helpful, even willing to part with some of the country to the Palestinians. All these are unfortunately myths, self-deceptions or even simple lies, to be exposed by minute analysis. One other noteworthy aspect of Friling’s book is that while the postZionists are severely reprimanded for their avowed denial of the possibility of total objectivity, the argumentation resorted to by its writers is a mirror image of that of the post-Zionists: where die post-Zionists take Zionism to task for practicing ethnic cleansing in 1948, these writers do not claim that what took place should simply be described; they do not hesitate to exon­ erate Israel morally, thus admitting that normative considerations are a legitimate part of the discussion. All this is not to say that I agree entirely with die post-Zionist position. I believe that the basic point of Zionism cannot be denied simply because every human group defining itself as a nation has a right to a piece of land under its feet. This of course means that the Palestinians’ right is no less than that of the Zionists. While the Palestinians in 1882 certainly had the right of self-determination, die Jews too had such a right to a piece of land, and since nobody offered any other land, they were justified in grabbing what they could. Ancient rights of occupation, not to say divine promises, that Zionism usually claim as legitimizing principles, are of course of no value: they left their land for two millennia of their own voli­ 23

Haim G erber tion. It is not known that any government before about 1890 forbade their return. The bottom line of my position is that it could have been expected for Zionism in 1882 (or 1897) to admit the existence of another people (or a people-in-the-making) in Palestine and to claim only part of the land. There is nothing “natural'* in the fact they did not do that, and it is legiti­ mate for a historian to criticize early Zionism for not doing so. Partition was not merely the only just solution to the Zionist-Palestinian dilemma; early partition might have been the most practicable solution also in the long run, inasmuch as it might have included also the area of Trans-Jordan within that framework, before that area was separated from the Palestine Mandate in 1922.3 At this point, of course, one might counter my argument by reminding me that Zionism in fact agreed to partition, not once but twice, in 1937 and 1947. It did indeed in 1947, though not really in 1937. The compro­ mise decision that was decided upon by the 20th Congress of the Zionist Organization (August 1937) can be interpreted in several ways. It was intentionally vague, rejecting the specific offer of partition explicitly, while leaving the door open for a better offer.4 Gal-Nur, who studied this topic in detail, is of the opinion that the actual proposal was rejected while the idea of partition was accepted.5 Formally he may be right, but deeply and fundamentally he is totally wrong, and here is really the rub of this essay: There were no Zionists who truly supported partition in 1937. The socalled moderates, led by David Ben-Gurion, were for accepting the British offer, but only as a way of taking the best product on offer at the partic­ ular moment. I am only talking of course about people who left any record of their thoughts in the matter. As I shall show later, Ben-Gurion was adamant about holding on to his old view that there was no Palestinian nation, no Palestinian right whatsoever in the Holy Land, and that parti­ tion was just the beginning of taking over the entire country. He went out of his way, using the most outlandish language, to describe the moral depravity of anybody who would ever agree to relinquish for good one grain of sand forming part of the Land of Israel. This was exactly the ideo­ logical position concerning the partition of 1947 as well.6Partition was only a tactical ploy. No inherent value to the Palestinian was ever developed. Yet I claim that peace requires exactly a change of consciousness of this nature. A major question that arises is whether we do not fall here into the trap of historical anachronism; whether, in other words, it was not common for Westerners at the time to consider the people of the East as not just infe­ rior, but also devoid of collective identity and communal will and values. There is enough evidence to suggest that this problem does not exist in our material. Racism is rife in Israel even today, so that in a way it is anachro­ 24

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nistic to expect of Israelis to transcend that condition. If we do not say that racism in Israel today is anachronistic, it is because we say that people ought to know that Jews are not inherently superior to Arabs morally, culturally or intellectually. In die same way, we know that Ben-Gurion and others knew full well of the existence of burning national feelings among the Palestinians. While he was quite willing to admit this to his colleagues behind closed doors, Ben-Gurion could write in a memorandum to inter­ national leaders the next day that not a trace of such nationalism existed.7 The material at our disposal also indicates quite clearly that persons within the Zionist movement at the beginning of the twentieth century were fully aware of the connection between demography and self-determination. It is well known, for example, that the Zionists in Palestine were cognizant of the demographic-cum-agrarian war raging between Germany and Poland in the late nineteenth century, a war in which each side devised agrarian institutions designed to attract as many settlers of its side to setde East Prussia (Posen).* So ideas of self-determination and rights of the common people over “their” land were in the air. It is characteristic in this regard that even the ultimate autocratic ruler in the area in the days of early Zionism, the Ottoman Sultan ‘Abd al-Hamid, used simple factors of selfdetermination when he explained to Theodor Herzl why Palestine was not for sale. It surely is a bit exaggerated to claim that what an Eastern ruler of the time understood so naturally was beyond the comprehension of a Central European intellectual like Herzl. It is also interesting that when Herzl raised in his diary the idea of quietly and informally evicting the inhabitants of the country from their land, he added that at first people will think that such behavior carries a bad odor. He must have known full well the moral meaning of such ethnic cleansing already at the beginning of the twentieth century.9 It is also worth considering whether this topic is appropriate for stu­ dents of Palestinian society. I believe the answer must be in the affirmative, and that the historic pristine separation between Arab stud­ ies and Israeli studies was mistaken.10 In this particular case, the importance of this material for better understanding the Palestinians may lie in the fact that the Zionist erasure and denial were a sort of self-ful­ filling prophecy: the Zionist approach must have had its effect on the British attitude to the Palestinians, an approach that, needless to say, had a profound influence on the structure of Palestinian history. Entirely in line with the Zionist stand, the British in Palestine, too, held that when Arab leaders spoke about Palestinian independence and rights they did not really mean that, but cared only for their own personal advance­ m ent." Although this point is badly in need of systematic study, the extant literature is strewn with hints to the effect that Zionists before 1917 were able to convince British policy makers of the veracity of the 2S

Haim G erber Zionist sociological picture of Palestine, particularly die warmth and thankful admiration with which the Arabs were going to welcome the Jews.12 In other words, the approach of the Zionists to the Palestinians must be considered part and parcel of Palestinian history itself.

The Zionist Discourse on the Palestinian Arabs The major ideological line that characterizes the early Zionist approach to die indigenous population of the country is a heavy orientalist attitude in which die Palestinians were discursively eliminated - they did not possess a worthwhile community warranting political rights or even serious socio­ logical attention. Already Ahad Ha‘am (Asher Ginzburg), an early Zionist thinker who first visited Palestine in 1891, wrote about it in a famous essay that put on the agenda the logical traps and complications connected with the Zionist approach to the indigenous population of the land.13 His essay reveals several truths and several myths. At one place he says, for example: “We in the Diaspora are used to believing that Palestine [his own term is ‘the land of Israel’] is now an empty wilderness, an untilled desert, where every­ body who wishes to buy land can come and buy as much as he wants. In truth, this is not the case. It is difficult to find in the entire country uncul­ tivated land.”14So much for the empty land. On the inhabitants themselves he is no less enlightening: “We in the Diaspora are used to thinking that the Arabs are all wild men of the desert, a people like a donkey, who does not see or feel what is going on around him.”15 He then goes on to refute this belief, but the generalization he alludes to is the more important piece of information here. Ahad Ha‘am also made an unusual (though correct) observation of the nature of the Ottoman government that deserves quoting at some length: We are used to thinking in the Diaspora that the Turkish government is so weak and wild that it does not pay any attention to what is going on in Palestine, and that for the right amount of money we shall be able to do there everything, particularly with the protection of the European states. But this too is a mistake on our part. It is true that the “bakshish” is a great force in T urkey. . . But we should also realize that the ministers are with all that also great patriots for their religion and government, and in questions relating to one of them they will perform their duties meticulously, and every amount of money in the world will not be of help . . . 16

Fifteen years before the embarrassing effort of Herzl to buy Palestine from the sultan, Ahad Ha‘am offers here the unusually insightful vision of why such an effort was doomed in advance: the supposed Asian barbarians 26

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were all of a sudden in possession of human qualities like love of country and patriotism of sorts - causing total intellectual confusion. No wonder that Ahad Ha'am ’s remarks remained unheeded, and remain so largely to this very day. On die whole, though, Ahad Ha‘am did not go so far as to allow die Palestinians to keep even a portion of their country as their rightful home­ land. He was merely insightful enough to observe that they were not going to react lighdy to efforts to dispossess them. This is also the general characteristic of the thought of Herzl, die official founder of Zionism, who is often presented as the epitome of liberalism. It may be true insofar as state-religion relations are concerned. But it did not extend to the treatment of the indigenous population of the country. To gauge the depth of his orientalism (speaking down to “orientals”) and how these orientals “answered back” already at the turn of the twentieth century, it is interesting and important to retell the story of H erd's clumsy and embarrassing effort to buy Palestine from the sultan (alluded to above). On suggesting the idea, the sultan responded: “I cannot sell even a foot of land, for it does not belong to me, but to my people. My people have won this empire by fighting for it with their blood . . . We will again cover it with our blood before we allow it to be wrested away from us.”17 T he Ottoman sultan here is exhibiting the virtues of patriotism and atten­ tiveness to the feelings of the people - a surprising reversal of roles. It is interesting that the sultan is even talking the language of nationalism rather than Islam, as we would expect. Unexpectedly, though, it is not the usual kind of nationalism, but one that did exist in the nineteenth-century Ottoman Empire - Ottomanism.18The sultan, at least, is taking this nation­ alism very seriously, and we shall see that he was not the only one in the area to do so. As to the Palestinians themselves, Herzl did not concern himself much with them. He only mentioned them indirectly in his futuristic novel (Altneuland), where the future Jewish state is minutely described in terms of institutions.19 One of the heroes in the novel is an Arab merchant called Rashid Bey, friend of the president of the Jewish state, who accompanies him on a tour of the land. Rashid Bey is asked at one point whether the incoming Jews perchance harmed the indigenous population of the country in any way. Rashid answers most enthusiastically that, on the contrary, the Arabs only profited from this immigration, since those who had land sold it to the Jews at a handsome profit, and the others benefited from the introduction of new investments, new education and new tech­ nologies. Hence, the Arabs of Altneuland are full of love and admiration for the Jews. The visitor persists and inquires about the possible discrimi­ nation of die Arabs as a community, but again gets the wholly positive response that nothing happened to the religious rights of the local Muslims. 27

Haim G erber This book, it should be recalled, was written before the start of die immi­ gration wave known as the Second Aliya (1904-14), which introduced into Zionist thinking and practice the concept of “Jewish labor”; this idea effec­ tively excluded the Arabs from any but the slightest benefit from the economic development which no doubt toas brought into Palestine. But even Herzl’s text in itself (liberal beyond anything that modem Zionism could ever dream of) shows the limits of his liberalism. The rights that the Arabs could secure in the Jewish state were only personal, at best. In fact, Herzl’s Arab merchant is a flat and hollow person, with no family, village and culture, particularly culture, besides being a Muslim. He is not asked about political rights or the wishes of his community, nor is he himself interested in such things. All he has in mind is his economic welfare. We begin to see here a characteristic feature of Zionist thought on the Arabs, which remains valid today: a deep-seated assumption that, left to them­ selves, the local inhabitants have only economic needs. If they are seen to express national and/or communal feelings, it must be the outcome of inciting, mainly by feudal effendis and religious leaders. These latter, of course, do not care about their collective identities, only their personal interests. Herzl’s text is an early version of this highly orientalistic mode of thinking, except that he himself did not yet imagine that Palestinian Arabs could even “fake” national feelings. If it could be claimed that maybe Herzl was too naïve in his orientalism to consider seriously a Palestinian-Arab collectivity, this assumption is stretched to the limit by the amazing exchange of letters between himself and the Jerusalemite notable Yusuf Zia al-Khalidi.20The latter heard about the first Zionist congress in Basle in 1897, where the Zionists expressed their intentions of buying Palestine from the sultan for the purpose of establishing in it a Jewish national home. It occurred to Khalidi that maybe Herzl did not know of the existence in the country of another people. He hurried to write a letter to Herzl, a letter which is clearly the first salvo in the Palestinian-Zionist conflict. At the same time, it is probably die last time that a shot in this conflict was fired with such elegance, grace and respect of the other. The letter commends Zionism in the highest terms, but indicates that the country is already occupied by another people. This is not yet Arab or Palestinian nationalism, but another and much-neglected type - Ottoman nationalism, a type so far almost entirely ignored in the scholarly literature, simply because it “lost the battle”. But Khalidi’s lener shows that at the time it was a serious matter for those who believed in it. T he importance of this point is that when pan-Arabism or local nation­ alism in the Middle East came into being, the concept of nationalism already existed. Herzl’s response was puzzling and embarrassing. He assured Khalidi that Zionism would not usurp the property of anyone in the country and 28

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that it would bring in investment and hence improvement in the standard of living. Nothing was said about the collective feelings of the inhabitants in die country. And this after he was specifically notified that this was the crux of the issue. How is his approach to be interpreted? We probably have a situation here in which a high Western culture deems itself facing a stone* age society, not considered elevated enough to be able to cherish modem collective feelings. T hat such a view really existed in the early Zionist approach to the Palestinians can be observed firsthand, for example, in die thoughts of Max Nordau, a Zionist leader dose to Herzl. In a polemic against Ahad Ha‘am, Nordau said: “We shall never agree that die return of the Jews to die land of their forefathers will be a withdrawal to barbarism . . . T he Jewish people will develop its unique essence within the frame­ work of the general culture, not in the midst of culture-hating Asian barbarism."21 Even more clearly, he claims: “We shall not become there [Palestine] Asians, insofar as anthropological and cultural inferiority is concerned, any more than the Anglo-Saxons became Indians in North America, Hottentots in South Africa, and members of the Papua tribe in Australia.”22 The most important Zionist thinker was undoubtedly David BenGurion, who compulsively documented his activities and preached his political views at all sorts of political forums. His work concerning the Palestinian Arabs alone is voluminous,23 though most of this material is repetitious. Ben-Gurion started his ascendance to die leadership of die Zionist movement with the British occupation of Palestine. He shared the Zionist consensus that Palestine was and remained the exclusive patrimony of the Jewish people. It was not vain talk when he said in 1937 that the Zionists considered the Bible as their mandate, not the mandate as their Bible.24 But he also knew that few outside of the Zionist movement viewed the situation in this light. Crucially, as a socialist leader of a nationalist movement, his original ontological question was an enormous one: the Balfour Declaration was perceived as giving Palestine to the Zionist move­ ment, but only pending a Jewish majority in die country, which in the early 1920s seemed far away. In the meantime, the Jews constituted a mere 10 percent of the population. For a socialist thinker like Ben-Gurion, this fact constituted a major challenge. He was clearly unable to say, probably not even to himself, that the lot of the indigenous population of Palestine did not interest him and his comrades. Hence, a major preoccupation of his thinking was keeping Palestine a Jewish domain without doing injustice to die Palestinians.23 This need imposed on the Zionists to make the Balfour Declaration compatible with a majority made democracy a key concept in mandatory Palestine. T o secure Palestine for Zionism in die discursive field, the con­ cept of democracy had to be circumscribed somehow. It was exactly here 29

Haim G erber that Ben-Gurion exercised his ingenuity. The supremacy of the democ­ ratic idea had to be severely curtailed when it came to the Palestinians, and it was curtailed, if not eliminated, in a variety of ways, each more fas­ cinating than the other. One argument was that in their primitiveness, the indigenous population left vast chunks of the country empty and unculti­ vated, and therefore could not prevent another people from immigrating in the millions, attaining a majority and taking over the entire land. In other words, the democratic principle works in a strangely crooked way: so long as the Jews are in the minority, they do not have the right to con­ trol the majority, but that majority has no control rights either. “T rue” democracy will come into effect only when the Jews attain a majority. Implied in the last insight was one of the most salient feature of Zionist ideology and possibly the most important element in its self-perception and self-justification - that the country before the coming of Zionism was desolate, almost totally empty and in ruin; hence, its inhabitants lost any right to it they might have had in other circumstances. Ben-Gurion held this opinion from long before World W ar I and up until the end.26 It was an argument of triple meaning at least: first, due to lack of cultivation, the country was half empty, and it thus had physical space for millions of new immigrants, Jews of course. Often in his writings Ben-Gurion pre­ sented scientific figures on the agricultural potential of Palestine to absorb Jewish immigrants.27 He never pondered the inevitable growth of die Arab population and what this meant in terms of agricultural areas. They were fixed in his mind at 700,000, much as their inability to develop the land without Jewish guidance was fixed once and for all.28 Second, their complete negligence regarding the tending of the land pre­ vented them from claiming any credible right of sovereignty over the country. And finally, since they proved themselves utterly unable to develop the country, the Arabs stood in dire need of another nation that would come with capital and modem technology and would assist them. This was an objective need of theirs, whether they realized it or not, and soon enough they would show their gratitude. But since they soon enough showed a loathing of this assistance (whose sincerity they greatly doubted), then it must have been because somebody had brainwashed them with negative propaganda. And a culprit was not far to seek: it was the elite of so-called effendis, landlords and religious leaders, who mali­ ciously incited the Arab masses against the Zionists, and not because of any nationalist fire raging in them, of which they knew nothing. It was only self-serving interest that drove them to keep the masses in their grip and prevent them from being exposed to modernity, enlightenment, and Zionism as part and parcel of this syndrome. The effendis were the ene­ mies of Zionism in the same way that they were the enemies of the Arab masses.29 Marxism fitted this kind of self-serving argumentation so per­ 30

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fectly that one has to ponder the possibility that it was popular among the Zionist immigrants of the time because of this, not so much because it served as die ideological underpinning of the “new man”. Small wonder that Zionist socialism was found in another study to be fundamentally and structurally insincere, and full of internal contradictions.30 But what needs fundamental rethinking is the deep-seated, implicit, unadmitted, connection of socialism to Zionism's Arab dilemma. One of the things that the above entails is that on the formal level (I believe he was sincere in this), Ben-Gurion was well-disposed to the rights of the Arabs living in Palestine, and he vouched never to transgress any of these rights. It stands to reason that he always had in mind individual rather than communal, let alone national, rights. But it is extremely difficult to pinpoint him on this. A rare example is given in his speech to the 20th Zionist Congress in 1937, where he stated perforce that while Zionism would be adamant in preserving the rights of the Arabs of Palestine, there is a difference between the rights of the Jews and those of the Arabs: the Arabs have the “rights of inhabitants” while the Jews have the “rights of die nation”.31 Another major argument developed by Ben-Gurion to explain why the inhabitants of Palestine were not entitled to sovereignty was that the “Palestinians” were not really Palestinians, but Arabs. As such they have many countries, while the Jews have only one. Therefore, he reasoned, the Arab population of Palestine should content itself with seeing Arabdom fulfilled in the rest of the Arab world, while the Palestinians personally should resign themselves to living as private citizens in the Jewish state.32 Ben-Gurion never really faced the logical and psychological flaws in this theory. Could a community of people be expected to observe from afar its nationalism marching forward elsewhere while they were excluded from taking an active and proud part in it? Ben-Gurion hammered this theory out again and again as if he was sure that the Arabs of Palestine would accept it without any resistance. He did not really mean that they would have to face this grim reality; he was sure they would not care about it. The 1929 Western Wall rebellion must have shaken Ben-Gurion’s belief to the core, because in a lecture that came in its wake he made an admission, half-hearted to be sure, that was unprecedented and was not to be heard again until after the Oslo Accords were signed. Some of our colleagues deny the existence of a national movement among the Arabs . . . It is true that the Arab [Palestinian] national movement lacks any positive content. The leaders of die movement do not care for the educa­ tion of the people. . . no one is taking care of the fellah-, on the contrary, the heads of the movement suck his blood and exploit the popular awakening to their own interests. . . But we shall make a mistake if we measure the Arabs and their movement by our own measures. Every people has the national

31

Haim Gerber movement that it deserves. The sine qua non of a political [read: national] movement is that it can draw masses to its cause. From this point of view there is no doubt that we face a political movement.11

This astonishing discovery on die part of Ben-Gurion did not mean that from now on he was willing to accommodate some rights of this movement into his ideology. It only meant that apparendy it was impossible to turn the Palestinian Arab into a Zionist. But he believed that it was possible to convince die Palestinians that it was a lost cause, a waste of time, trying to resist Zionism.14 Moreover, the Palestinian uprising must have impressed Ben-Gurion so much that in early 1930 he put before his party a plan for a virtual cantonization of the country, with Jewish and Arab cantons (amounting to a sort of partition).15 But the plan was scornfully rejected by the party,16 where Ben-Gurion was yet to become the strongman, and soon thereafter he reverted to his old and permanent stance of total denial. One article by Ben-Gurion from the 1930s constitutes a puzzle in the framework of this denial and deserves comment. It is again an outcome of the tortuous Zionist wish to look moral and benign in a general context of pulling the rug from under the feet of another people. In this article BenGurion speaks generally on the moral value of the concept of self-determination. He says, for example: “There is in the world this prin­ ciple of self-determination. We have been its admirers and supporters everywhere. We are whole-heartedly in favor of self-determination for every people . . . and there is no doubt that the Arab people in Palestine has the right of self-determination.”17 Shocking as this may sound, it was probably no more than a slip, since in the same article he also says: “I deny the right of the inhabitants of the country today to decide for themselves the future of the land . . . ”18 and: “Self-determination of the Arabs in Palestine does not mean right of ownership by die Arabs of the country.”19 Since he denies that self-determination means the right of the Arabs to establish a state perforce, it is not clear what exactly he did mean. It must be judged as another logically impossible intellectual exercise in trying to live up to international standards and dismissing even the partial right of one particular people. In any event, the article ends claiming that the Labor movement believes that Zionism is destined soon to shoulder responsibility for the entire population, including the Arabs.40 One of the most important contexts in which Ben-Gurion expressed and developed his views on the Palestinian Arabs was a series of meetings he held with a number of Arab leaders and representatives in the 1930s.41 It was not the case that Zionism was in any mood for compromise. Far from it. But the mounting radicalism of the Arabs made Ben-Gurion apprehensive lest Great Britain be frightened into second thoughts concerning the Balfour policy. The Palestinian side did not have official 32

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institutions, of course, and therefore it cannot be said to have participated in these negotiations officially. The talks highlight again the main thrust in Ben-Gurion’s view of the Palestinian Arabs, viz., that they were not at all a people unto themselves, and therefore would have to make do with seeing their nationalism fulfilled in other Arab countries. In his meeting with ‘Awni ‘Abd al-Hadi, BenGurion said that the Jews have a superiority over the Arabs regarding their relations to die country, in that they have in mind only this country, whereas the Arabs (he almost never brought himself to call them Palestinians) have many countries, hence their relationship with Palestine is necessarily weaker.42The outcome was, in his mind, that even when they would become a minority in the Jewish state, they would not really be a minority, since in the entire Arab world they would still be in the majority. These talks rule out any idea that Ben-Gurion genuinely did not know that the Palestinian Arabs longed for their own state. Particularly inter­ esting in this regard is his talk with Fu’ad Hamza, the political adviser of King Ibn Saud. Ben-Gurion started with the usual argument that the Palestinians should see their national feelings fulfilled in die rest of the Arab world. T o this Hamza said specifically that this would be improper, since for the time being Syria, Iraq and Saudi Arabia all have independent states, and only the Palestinians are debarred from this right on account of Zionism. And no one could say that Palestine was less prepared than Trans-Jordan or even Iraq for statehood.42 Ben-Gurion is here faced with the claim that Palestinians consider themselves a nation worthy of a state. This is possibly the only place in his writings that this fact is thrust in his face, so to speak, so clearly. Interestingly, he does not meet the challenge squarely, but evades it by saying that he is not ready to discuss the issue within the confines of Palestine alone, and insists on the Arab world.44 My conclusion from this is that he was well aware of the Palestinian self-image, and the “arabness” of the Palestinian was really no more than a convenient ploy invented consciously to brush them and their daim s aside. An interesting aspect of the meetings is the theme of readiness for compromise, an old myth in Zionist discourse, i.e., that Zionism was always ready for a compromise and that there was no one to talk to on the other side. M ost interesting in this regard are Ben-Gurion’s talks with George Antonius, writer of the renowned book on Arab nationalism and a Palestinian activist close to the M ufti Hajj Amin al-Husayni. These talks took place during 1936; Ben-Gurion’s record is die only source of their content. Antonius is presented as a moderate leader eager for a compro­ mise: “ [Antonius] thinks that the Arabs themselves have to recognize the fact that there are Jews in the country, and therefore they have to limit their aspirations. On the basis of the [current] aspirations of the Jews and the Arabs it is impossible to reach any mutual understanding, because the two 33

Haim G erber aspirations contradict each o th er. . . Each side should give up some of its aspirations and then an understanding will be possible."49 Ben-Gurion himself does not shrink from presenting himself as the totally uncompro­ mising party. And he repeats his major motif: Palestine is too small for the Jews to compromise on, but in the entire Arab world by all means, yes, he would be willing to compromise, and again the inhabitants of the country should willingly accept it, because their nationalism will be concretized in the rest of the Arab world.46 Antonius then asked again, maybe in despair, whether “we would be ready to a limitation, for without this, and without a limitation from the Arab side, there is no chance for a mutual under­ standing. He told his friends several times: one has to take into consideration the affairs of the Jews, and [realize that] their existence in the country is a fact, and [that] their being in the country necessarily limits the wishes of the Arabs. But the Jews necessarily have to declare that they are prepared for such a limitation."47T o this Ben-Gurion rejoined: “I disagree with this, and see no reason for any limitation."461 consider this exchange reliable and therefore shocking. At least in Zionist discourse, the m otif of Zionist readiness to reconciliation (in the face of Arab intransigence) is one of the oldest and most persistent, and it is extremely unlikely that BenGurion would credit Antonius with a reconciliatory spirit, unless it really happened as narrated. Later in the talks Ben-Gurion suggested to Antonius the compromise that a Jewish Palestine would be willing to be part of a loose confederation with Syria. It is clear from his wording that he did not mean a real reduc­ tion of sovereignty, and the Jewish state was to have a fully independent army. This slight compromise was offered in exchange for complete Arab acquiescence to Jewish sovereignty on the entire land, including east of the Jordan River. Antonius seemed enthusiastic about the idea of the confed­ eration, but he nevertheless insisted on the partition of Palestine. He said: “We should talk about two limitations: a limitation on the number [of Jewish immigrants] and on the area. If the Jews will agree to these two limi­ tations the Arabs will agree to a Jewish establishment in the part of Syria called Palestine."49T o which Ben-Gurion retorted that the Jews would not compromise on limiting the number of immigrants, but would agree to limit the area of immigration. But when asked by Antonius to elaborate, his emphatic answer was that it should include western and eastern Palestine in full. Ben-Gurion then notes calmly and dryly the shock with which Antonius heard the last answer.50 In additional talks these views are reiterated and it is proved again that Antonius was inclined to agree to a territorial compromise, whereas BenGurion was totally opposed to it: “Antonius [said]: There will be a Land of Israel, where the majority will be Jewish, and there will be a second part, called ‘Palestine’, where the majority will be Arab. The Land of Israel will 34

“Foreign O ccupiers a n d Stepchildren”

stretch from Haifa to Gaza and the Valley [of Jezreel]. Palestine - from Hebron to Nablus . . . there will be two countries. Otherwise it is difficult to see that the Arabs will agree.” T o which offer Ben-Gurion replied: “There cannot be any talk of such a plan; Antonius’s suggestion is tanta­ mount to cantonization of the country, to which we shall not agree.”31

In 1944 Ben-Gurion gave a lecture before the ruling body of the Jewish National Fund (Keren Kayemet)y die institution in charge of land buying and development in mandatory Palestine. It naturally revolved around his land and development ideology. This relatively neglected document contains some of the most lucid, even astonishing, expressions BenGurion had in store by which to relate to the Palestinians. The lecture starts by saying that Zionism was to fulfill two incredible utopias. One was to gather the Jewish diasporas in Palestine and turn them into a normal people. The other, “just as almost-impossible a mission, to repair the ruins of a poor and desolate country, ruined not by war, as are now the coun­ tries of Europe by the fire and sword of Hitler, but a country ruined for hundreds of years, [and is now] in a state of desert, for almost 2,000 years, a land conquered by all sorts of occupiers, who all merely added to its ruination. Zionism has taken it upon itself the adventure to repair the ruins of this country by the Jewish people. . . ” And who are these foreign occu­ piers? They are the Romans, the Persians, the Crusaders, the Turks, and the Arabs. Needless to say, this was not an anti-Roman campaign. It was antiPalestinian. But to return to the lecture, all these conquerors, says Ben-Gurion, have taken a country in a state of Paradise and turned it into a desert. T o prove his points he takes his readers all around the country to show them how empty and deserted it is. He takes the road to Aqaba via the empty southern valley, and the road to Galilee via the equally empty northern portion of the Jordan Valley, and clinches the argument that the country is practically empty. None of the twenty or so Palestinian towns (some of them in a dynamic state of development now for almost a century) is mentioned, nor the existence of about 800 villages all over the country. The country is judged to be in a near-total state of ruin. But some­ thing was recently afoot proving that this not due to any flaw in the land itself: the Zionist settlements. He admits that Zionism has so far done little, but the important thing is the principle: “We have done a great thing [in this settlement activity], because we have discarded the disgrace of wilder­ ness, and proven the hidden powers and capabilities [of the land]; we have proven that it was not the laws of nature or the destiny of heaven that turned this blessed and precious land into a desert, but the neglect of 35

Haim G erber foreign occupiers and step-children. ”52 These last terms constitute an important revelation: Ben-Gurion really perceived the Palestinians as mere foreign occupiers, not natural inhabitants in any real sense. “Step-chil­ dren” is also of course a most telling term. But maybe the most important chapter in the ideology of Ben-Gurion towards the Arabs of Palestine revolves around the partition debate o f 1937. Earlier that year the British government investigated the situation following the beginning of the Palestinian revolt, and came up with the idea to partition Palestine and establish on part of it a Jewish state. This sugges­ tion sparked off a huge debate within the Zionist movement, which culminated in a debate at the 20th Zionist congress in Zurich, in August 1937. As noted above, almost nobody among the delegates truly supported partition. Ben-Gurion was the most influential leader to support it, but it is crucially important to realize that he did so only for tactical reasons. He did not even come close to admitting any Palestinian collective identity, let alone one that deserves any right whatsoever in the land. In his speech to the congress he said inter alia: If I were faced with the question: a Jewish state in the whole country west of the Jordan in lieu for relinquishing our historical right over the entire Land of Israel, I would have rejected the state. No Jew has a right to waive the right of the Jewish people in the country. This is the right of the Jewish nation throughout the ages, a right which cannot be suspended under any circum­ stances . . . No waiver of this sort is binding or tying the hand of the Jewish people. Our right for the country in its entirety stands for ever. And until the time of total redemption we shall move from our historic right.13

Moreover, Ben-Gurion said explicitly that he did not consider that by formally agreeing to partition he was suggesting to truly abide by it. In an amazing early case of a stage strategy, further immigration of Jews into the parts allotted to the Arab population of the country would change the demographic balance and subsequently also the political one.54 One must remember that today the slogan of (Palestinian) phased-strategy is the supreme ideological weapon of the Israeli Right to block any gesture of good will to the Palestinians. And Ben-Gurion professed more or less the same idea about the partition of 1947.ss But whatever die discussion about these matters of politics, it is dear that his ideological stand concerning the Palestinians never changed. In a television interview toward the end of his life (1973), he said: “There never was a Palestinian state. There never was a Palestinian nation. There is no Palestinian religion. Was anything created by die Palestinians in the country? By the Philistines who came from Greece? And by those who are now called Philistines/Palestinians? There never was something like this.”5* When pondering the effect of Ben-Gurion’s views on the real history 36

“Foreign O ccupiers a n d Stepchildren"

of the Middle East, one wonders if they did not have their share of rele­ vance to die dispossession of the Palestinians in the 1948 War. At this point it is pertinent to say a few words about extant explanations of this issue. The two main views on this topic are those of Benny Morris, who scrapped die old Arab allegation that die expulsion was planned in advance (in the form of the renowned Plan D ), by showing that in many places Plan D was not put into effect, hence it must not have been a truly operative plan of expulsion; and of Norman Finkelstein, among others, who have disagreed with him, and insisted that Plan D was nevertheless a plan of expulsion. Morris has written a fine study that unearthed enough documentation to put to rest die old Israeli contention that Palestinians in 1948 were not driven out by force. But while his argument about the absence of a plan of expulsion seems convincing, his overall theory (“bom of war, not of design”) is far too anaesthetized to be convincing. Though it makes sense that many villages constituted military threats, this is hardly credible for all the 420 Arab villages whose residents were expelled. One suspects that expulsion needed a mental-ideological ground and the ide­ ology of Ben-Gurion, as representative of a wide section of the Jewish population of mandatory Palestine, might be such mental bedrock. True enough, this could be contradicted by many of Ben-Gurion’s writings. Thus, he usually spoke negatively about transfers,57 though he spoke favorably of transfer by agreement.58 Also, his discourse overflows with gestures about the commitment of Zionism to help develop the Middle East in general and improve the lot of the Arab population of Palestine in particular.59 The tragedy was that, as Ben-Gurion himself said, Zionism was a utopia, a blueprint for a new world, devised by intellectuals who had no connection to running the real world. It was a utopia planned to col­ lect die Jews from all over the world to one place then turn them into a normal people. In any normal people the majority of people actually work with their hands, which Jews did not do since antiquity. It seems that Zionism is the only movement in world history (including Marxist move­ ments) that made actual toiling with the hands its loftiest ideal (which took the lofty form of the slogan “Hebrew labor”). In this it differed from other colonial or semi-colonial movements, which usually prized the easily available cheap local labor around them. Zionism was unique in that it viewed such labor as a moral threat, as anathema. Is it really a far cry to suggest that in a situation where cheap local labor is so strongly unwanted, expulsion of such cheap workers will lurk behind the comer? What we observe here is the usual fate of utopias, something not dissimilar to the fate of Communism: once the lofty idea comes in contact with the icy water of reality, something completely unplanned happens, with conse­ quences entirely opposed to the ideal planning.

37

Haim G erber

Postscript This chapter was meant to cover mainly the formative period of Zionism, extending to 1948. But it is interesting to observe some of the implications of these views and attitudes on later periods. One is, for example, struck by the resemblance between Ben-Gurion’s views in the 1930s and those of his followers in the 1970s. We have seen that Ben-Gurion’s main point about the Palestinian Arabs was that they did not constitute a national or ethnic group separate from other Arabs, hence they would live in the Jewish state without any communal rights, and observe their nationalism and any other collective needs and rights only in other Arab states. In the 1970s it was the turn of Ben-Gurion’s young protégés Moshe Dayan and Shimon Peres to be at the forefront of Israel's relationship with the Palestinians in the wake of the 1967 War. While strong winds blew at the time in Israel warning against the potential disaster of an Israeli drive to swallow up the territories captured in the recent war, these two ministers continued BenGurion’s hard line of seeing Greater Israel as the homeland of the Jews alone, while adapting Ben-Gurion’s hard line of total erasure of the Palestinians to the new circumstances, and devising a new form of sepa­ ration between the Palestinians and their communal identity. Dayan said the following in a public debate about the status of the West Bank about ten years after the war: At this point I would like to detail Israel’s interests in the territories. First, that Jews would have the right to buy - not to confiscate - land and build homes or settlements or a city in the territories, since I see in the territories my hom eland. . . Second, security. . . Third, and this is more an emotional than physical interest - 1 do not want to be in a position that I or my chil­ dren would need to ask for a visa to visit Hebron. . . I do not want that any foreign government would see me there as a foreigner, or that I will see myself as a foreigner in this land. I do not have another country and for me there is no priority for Nahalal or, Kefar Saba or Petakh Tiqva over Hebron or Anatot, or any other place [in the territories]. I do not want the Jewish settlers there to [ever] leave their places and I want that Jews would have the right to settle there . . . 40

If this quote from Moshe Dayan shows the persistence of the old views concerning the country and its Arab population, Shimon Peres in a book written in the same period shows how Ben-Gurion’s old idea of separation between the Palestinians and their self was transformed.61 He first offers his piercing historical insight that, “ [due] to our historical luck, though the Jewish people took their time immigrating to Israel, no one preceded them. The soil of the Land of Israel remained for the most part waiting until the immigration and settlement started to replenish its life."62 He then tells us 38

“Foreign O ccupiers a n d Stepchildren ”

about wide-ranging plans in his Ministry of Defense to fill the W est Bank with settlements like Ofra and Beit El, devised to obliterate the curse of the narrow waist of the pre-1967 Israel.63 As to the population living in the territories, a “functional compromise” is suggested: Israel would go on controlling the territory for good, but the collective identity and even the citizenship of the inhabitants would be Jordanian. Jordan might also run die area administratively.64 Thus, Ben-Gurion’s old notion of separation between the inhabitants and their collective self goes on living, and can easily be shown to illustrate Israel’s approach to the W est Bank to this very day. A positive note that can be appended to such plans and ideas is that at least they constitute an original chapter in the colonial dilemma of what to do with the intractable element of an indigenous population. After 1967 the totally uncompromising view receded, and in everwidening circles has really become weakened. But an interesting trend that is discernible in the current period that begs further study is the strenuous effort to deny that such an uncompromising line ever existed. A strong myth now appears that Zionism always sought a compromise, only there was no one to talk to. An early version of this myth appeared in an article by historian Jacob Talmon in the wake of the 1967 War. Talmon was prob­ ably the earliest public figure to fight against Israeli settlement on the West Bank, dubbing it not only as open colonialism but also as a mortal danger to Israel. Particularly remarkable was his emotional railing against Israel Galili, a top Israeli minister of the ruling coalition until 1977, who suggested in 1969 that his party did not consider the Arabs of the “Land of Israel” as constituting a meaningful ethnic or political entity. Talmon vehemently attacked this view, though he outlined only its tactical-propagandistic flaws, not its sociological inaccuracies. Be that as it may, it is all die more noteworthy on this background to observe how adamandy Talmon supported pre-1948 Zionism. He says, for example, that because the Arabs were completely unprepared to accept even a restricted version of Zionism (reduced levels of immigration and setdements), Zionism had no choice but to work itself out “to the highest possible volume”.63 Another rare retrospective voice who compares the past and the present is Haim Guri, a well-known Israeli poet and mythological spokesman of Labor Zionism. Guri published a memoir in 1948, and republished it fifty years later, with an appropriate postscript. In it is he says, inter alia: “I wrote this book fifty years ago, as a youth who believed in the idea of Greater Land of Israel. It was a basic and continuous life experience.”66 On the local population he thought the following: “We accepted the Arabs as belonging to the land of our love, as preserving for us the landscapes of the Bible, but not as a national and political entity overburdening us with its demands, or a bitter opponent who demands his ownership [rights].”67 He realizes full well that his ideal had collapsed, as it did dismally in the

3 9

Haim Gerber first intifada: “I never said 'the occupation*. The Jewish people is not an occupier in his own land. But I myself witnessed what our continued control of them did to them and to us . . . how it provoked their entity to revolt, and how it corrupts the Israelis. In die course of a few years the ancient precious name Eretz Israel became a term hated by many of our sons. I never imagined [the possibility] of such a punishm ent. . . ”“ Yet even this near-admission of some sort of guilt is half-hearted: the Arabs (never Palestinians) are blamed for everything; we were prepared to divide up the country; they were stubborn in resisting everything reasonable. Yet if they never constituted a rival, why indeed were they so stubborn in their resistance? Notes 1 A. Gomy, The Arab Question and the Jewish Problem (Tel Aviv: Am Oved, 1986); Shabtai Teveth, Ben-Gurion and the Arabs of Palestine (Tel Aviv: Schocken, 198S); A. Elon, The Israelis: Founders and Sons (Tel Aviv: Schocken, 1972). All in Hebrew. 2 T u via Friling, An Answer to a Post-Zionist Colleague (Tel Aviv: Yedioth Ahronoth, 2003). In Hebrew. 3 There was (and is) also the surrealistic idea of a bi-national state, but this cannot work under conditions where the two ethnic groups involved are wholly and deeply committed to their ethnicity and traditional culture. 4 See, e.g.. Walter Laqueur, A History of Zionism (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1972), p. S20. 5 Itzhak Gal-Nur, "Territorial partition of die Land of Israel: The Decision in 1937” Iyyunim bi-Tekumat Israel, vol.l (1991), pp. 211-40 (particularly pp. 230 f). 6 Benny M orris, 1948 and After (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994), p. 9. 7 Shabtai Teveth, "Ben Gurion and the Arab Question,” Katedra, No. 43 (1987), pp. 52-68. In Hebrew. 8 See Shalom Reichman and Shlomo Hasson, "A Cross-Cultural Diffusion of Colonization: From Posen to Palestine,” Annals of the Association of American Geographers, vol. 71 (1984), pp. 57-70. 9 See Theodor Herzl, The Diary (Ha-Yoman), I, vol. 2 (Tel Aviv: M. Newman, 1960), p. 71. In Hebrew. 10 See Elie Podeh, “Rethinking Israel in the Middle East,” Israel Affairs, Vol. 3 (1997), 280-95; and see his essay in this volume. 11 See Gabi Sheffer, "The Image of the Palestinians and the Yishuv as Factors in Shaping Mandatory Policy in the 1930s,” Ha-Zionut, vol. 3 (1973), p. 279. 12 An example of this can be observed in the wake of the Jaffa 1921 disturbances. Samuel claimed he was surprised to discover that there was Arab nationalism in Palestine. His surprise is understandable in view of the orchestrated Zionist effort to convince him that it was not nationalism but either hooliganism or anti-Semitism. The ideological stand was plainly motivated by self-interest: Zionism was portraying itself as being welcomed by the local population, and the British were infected by this belief, which was of course in their interest as

40

“Foreign O ccupiers and Stepchildren”

about wide-ranging plans in his Ministry of Defense to fill die West Bank with settlements like Offa and Beit El, devised to obliterate the curse of the narrow waist of the pre-1967 Israel.63 As to die population living in the territories, a “functional compromise” is suggested: Israel would go on controlling the territory for good, but the collective identity and even the citizenship of the inhabitants would be Jordanian. Jordan might also run the area administratively.64 Thus, Ben-Gurion’s old notion of separation between the inhabitants and their collective self goes on living, and can easily be shown to illustrate Israel’s approach to the West Bank to this very day. A positive note that can be appended to such plans and ideas is that at least they constitute an original chapter in the colonial dilemma of what to do with the intractable element of an indigenous population. After 1967 the totally uncompromising view receded, and in everwidening circles has really become weakened. But an interesting trend that is discernible in the current period that begs further study is the strenuous effort to deny that such an uncompromising line ever existed. A strong myth now appears that Zionism always sought a compromise, only there was no one to talk to. An early version of this myth appeared in an article by historian Jacob Talmon in the wake of the 1967 War. Talmon was prob­ ably the earliest public figure to fight against Israeli settlement on the West Bank, dubbing it not only as open colonialism but also as a mortal danger to Israel. Particularly remarkable was his emotional railing against Israel Galili, a top Israeli minister of the ruling coalition until 1977, who suggested in 1969 that his party did not consider the Arabs of the “Land of Israel” as constituting a meaningful ethnic or political entity. Talmon vehemently attacked this view, though he outlined only its tactical-propagandistic flaws, not its sociological inaccuracies. Be that as it may, it is all the more noteworthy on this background to observe how adamantly Talmon supported pre-1948 Zionism. He says, for example, that because the Arabs were completely unprepared to accept even a restricted version of Zionism (reduced levels of immigration and settlements), Zionism had no choice but to work itself out “to the highest possible volume”.63 Another rare retrospective voice who compares the past and the present is Haim Guri, a well-known Israeli poet and mythological spokesman of Labor Zionism. Guri published a memoir in 1948, and republished it fifty years later, with an appropriate postscript. In it is he says, inter alia: “I wrote this book fifty years ago, as a youth who believed in the idea of Greater Land of Israel. It was a basic and continuous life experience.”66 On the local population he thought the following: “We accepted the Arabs as belonging to the land of our love, as preserving for us the landscapes of the Bible, but not as a national and political entity overburdening us with its demands, or a bitter opponent who demands his ownership [rights].”67 He realizes full well that his ideal had collapsed, as it did dismally in the

3 9

Haim Gerber first intifada: “I never said 'the occupation'. The Jewish people is not an occupier in his own land. But I myself witnessed what our continued control of them did to diem and to us . . . how it provoked their entity to revolt, and how it corrupts the Israelis. In the course of a few years the ancient precious name Eretz Israel became a term hated by many of our sons. I never imagined [the possibility] of such a punishm ent. . . ''M Yet even this near-admission of some sort of guilt is half-hearted: die Arabs (never Palestinians) are blamed for everything; we were prepared to divide up the country; they were stubborn in resisting everything reasonable. Yet if they never constituted a rival, why indeed were they so stubborn in their resistance? Notes 1 A. Gomy, The Arab Question and the Jewish Problem (Tel Aviv: Am Oved, 1986); Shabtai Teveth, Ben-Gurion and the Arabs of Palestine (Tel Aviv: Schocken, 198S); A. Elon, The Israelis: Founders and Sons (Tel Aviv: Schocken, 1972). All in Hebrew. 2 T u via Friling, An Answer to a Post-Zionist Colleague (Tel Aviv: Yedioth Ahronoth, 2003). In Hebrew. 3 There was (and is) also the surrealistic idea of a bi-national state, but this cannot work under conditions where the two ethnic groups involved are wholly and deeply committed to their ethnicity and traditional culture. 4 See, e.g.. Walter Laqueur, A History of Zionism (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1972), p. 520. 5 Itzhak Gal-Nur, "Territorial partition of the Land of Israel: The Decision in 1937” Iyyunim bi-Tekumat Israel, vol.l (1991), pp. 211-40 (particularly pp. 230 f)6 Benny M orris, 1948 andAfter (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994), p. 9. 7 Shabtai Teveth, “Ben Gurion and the Arab Question,” Katedra, No. 43 (1987), pp. 52-68. In Hebrew. 8 See Shalom Reichman and Shlomo Hasson, “A Cross-Cultural Diffusion of Colonization: From Posen to Palestine,” Annals of the Association ofAmerican Geographers, vol. 71 (1984), pp. 57-70. 9 See Theodor Herzl, The Diary (Ha-Yoman), I, vol. 2 (Tel Aviv: M. Newman, 1960), p. 71. In Hebrew. 10 See Elie Podeh, "Rethinking Israel in the Middle East,” Israel Affairs, Vol. 3 (1997), 280-95; and see his essay in this volume. 11 See Gabi Sheffer, "The Image of die Palestinians and the Yishuv as Factors in Shaping Mandatory Policy in die 1930s,” Ha-Zionut, vol. 3 (1973), p. 279. 12 An example of this can be observed in the wake of the Jaffa 1921 disturbances. Samuel claimed he was surprised to discover that there was Arab nationalism in Palestine. His surprise is understandable in view of the orchestrated Zionist effort to convince him that it was not nationalism but either hooliganism or anti-Semitism. The ideological stand was plainly motivated by self-interest: Zionism was portraying itself as being welcomed by the local population, and the British were infected by this belief, which was of course in their interest as

40

“Foreign O ccupiers a n d Stepchildren ”

13 14 15 16 17

18 19 20

21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30

31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40

well and probably one good reason why they supported the Zionist course in the first place. See Tom Segev, One Palestine, Complete (New York: Metropolitan Books, 2000), chapter 8. Ahad Ha‘am, “Truth from the Land of Israel”, in Ahad Ha’am, Collected Works, Vol. 1, Jerusalem 1947. In Hebrew. Ahad Ha'am, “Truth from the Land of Israel”, p. 15. Ahad Ha‘am, “Truth from the Land of Israel”, p. 24. Loccit. Cited in Mim Kemal Oke, “The Ottoman Empire, Zionism and the Question of Palestine (1880-1908),” International Journal of Middle East Studies, vol. 14 (1982), p. 330. It is interesting here among other things that the sultan is referring to his “people,” using the symbolic world of nationalism rather than Islam. Needless to say, he is referring to Ottoman nationalism, and this is one important indication that at least the Ottoman elite of the time took it more seriously than is usually realized in the scholarly literature. Ottomanism was one type of what Anderson called “official nationalism.” See B. Anderson, Imagined Communities (London: Verso, 1991), Chap. 6. Theodor Herzl, Old-New Land (New York: Bloch, 1941), pp. 115-24. See N. J. Mandel, The Arabs and Zionism Before World War / (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1980), pp. 47-48; E. Be’eri, The Beginnings