Minority solidarity and the un-Jewishness of xenophobia

Many Russian-speaking olim feel discriminated against by mainstream Israeli society. They complain, and rightfully so, that sabras often question their Jewishness. Rumor has it that many of them bribed Soviet officials to get fake certificates of Jewish ancestry as it was an easy opportunity to leave their impoverished homeland. Some people seem to think that all Rusim eat pork, celebrate Christmas and say antisemitic things behind closed doors. It doesn’t help that certain religious and national religious politicians stress how few of the recent Russian-speaking newcomers are halachically Jewish and call for the Law of Return to be reformed to avoid “flooding Israel with goyim.”

While theoretically, a few antisemitic pork eaters with fake papers and zero Jewish heritage may exist somewhere in Bat Yam or Hadar HaCarmel, it is clear that they don’t represent the vast majority of Israel’s Russian speakers. After all, Russian Israelis tend to identify as staunch Zionists, vote right and profess hawkishly pro-Israel sentiments on conflicts in the Middle East.

There are a few theories explaining the community’s right-wing preferences. Some claim that Soviet Jews hated the communist regime they had to live under so much that they’ve become allergic to anything remotely leftitst for life. Others, conversely, find an explanation in their alleged Soviet patriotism: they lived in the world’s largest country and enjoyed its vast size and military power, so now they want their new home to be larger and stronger. There may be some truth to both theories, although they don’t fully explain the similarly right-wing preferences of the more recent olim who were born after the dissolution of the USSR.

Another common explanation is that the right-wing views come from a desire to fit in, to combat the Christian pork eater stereotype, to prove their Jewishness and right to Israeliness by “outjewing” the sabras in their commitment to secular Israeli patriotism. I like this theory—it may not be the only reason but it certainly is a thing.

What makes me sad, though, is that the Russian Israelis’ secular Zionism very often comes together with exclusionary Jewish nationalism and outright xenophobia against Israel’s ethnic minorities, most notably Israeli Arabs. Moreover, I’ve heard multiple Russian Israelis talk almost equally badly of fellow Jews of non-European, especially Ethiopian and Middle Eastern backgrounds.

Israeli society as a whole certainly isn’t free from racism and ethnoreligious prejudice. However, the peculiar Russian Israeli brand of it feels imported. The slurs, tropes and comparisons many Rusim use when talking of these communities are strikingly similar to how non-Jewish Russians talk of North Caucasus Muslims, Indigenous Siberians, Central Asian immigrants and other minorities back home.

When a Russian oleh talks badly of his Arab neighbors in Jaffa or Haifa’s wadis, calling them “uncivilized,” “backwards,” or “dirty,” he may feel like he is reaffirming his Jewishness, among other things. He is proud to belong to the majority population and wants to show it. But in my opinion, this is the most un-Jewish thing one could do.

Russia as a whole is a fairly xenophobic society where people get bullied for talking in their native languages and ads of apartments for rent openly state “will consider Slavic tenants only.” Although Muslims and Roma people suffer from the most discrimination, antisemitism is a significant problem as well. Many of Russia’s Jews, however, are in a weird situation where they can decide if they want to face it or not. Often indistinguishable from ethnic Russians by names, looks and way of life, they can blend in and join the xenophobic majority—and many do.

To me as a Jew born and raised in Russia, this has always been unthinkable. Growing up very secular, I didn’t really know what being Jewish meant—but I always knew that I was part of a minority. I would bond with immigrants, members of indigenous communities and other non-Russians over this shared status and experience. I joined groups campaigning for the preservation of Russia’s endangered languages because I knew I couldn’t save my great-grandma’s Yiddish-speaking community but there was still hope for Mari, a Uralic language of the Middle Volga, and I felt that it was my duty to help a people suffering from the same kind of discrimination and forced assimilation my own ancestors already went through.

Back in Russia, my Jewishness was all about being a minority guy and feeling solidarity with other communities facing discrimination from the state and the ethnic majority. It is only natural that I brought this attitude to Israel which I want to be a nation for all of its citizens. I think Russian society is sick because of how it treats Dagestanis—and I don’t want Israeli Arabs to be treated this way.

When I see a Russian oleh go on a racist rant, I say to myself, “This guy probably enjoyed his ethnic Russian-passing privilege back home and would talk of my Kalmyk friends just as badly as he now talks of Arabs.”

I don’t agree with the politicians who say Russian olim aren’t real Jews. I don’t think we’re being “flooded with goyim.” But if we were, I would be most suspicious of those who speak out against coexistence, equality and affirmative action. If you dislike minorities here, you probably disliked them back in Moscow. But you say you are Jewish, so you must have been member of a minority back there too. If you didn’t feel part of a minority, did you really feel Jewish?