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Raphael Wahl

The Petty Assault on Israeli culture

Top chef in famous Jerusalem restaurant, Machneyuda (touristisrael.com)
Top chef in famous Jerusalem restaurant, Machneyuda (touristisrael.com)

Why do cultural attacks on Israel cut deeper than political criticism? 

A few months ago, Dyab Abou Jahjah, a Belgian-Lebanese political activist, opinion maker and a controversial figure known for his polarizing views, posted on Facebook about Modern Hebrew. In his post, he described the language as a “monstrosity”, “artificial” and “not real”, a “Frankenstein’s monster mix of Biblical Hebrew, Yiddish and distorted Arabic”. He framed it as reflective of an “illegitimate state”.

Abou Jahjah’s attack on Hebrew wasn’t just an isolated rant. He’s by far not the only one launching these kinds of assaults. Increasingly, many individuals and groups have chosen to target Cultural Zionism as a tactic to delegitimize Jews as a people distinct from Judaism as a religion. This line of argument seeks to undermine Jewish nationhood by dismissing its culture as contrived or appropriated. These assaults aim not at Israel’s political policies, but at the very idea of a shared Jewish identity, a core tenet of Zionism that sees the Jewish people as a nation with a right to self-determination in their ancestral homeland.

When I read Abou Jahjah’s post, it felt like a punch to the gut. He wasn’t just insulting a language; he was trying to invalidate the culture and history that connect millions of people like me to our heritage. And this kind of criticism doesn’t stop at the language. Israeli food, music, film, and art, all are often dismissed as “inauthentic” and “fake,” as though they are nothing more than an extension of an “illegitimate” state. I’ve heard this rhetoric before, and every time, it stings.

It’s one thing to criticize a nation-state, its policies, or its governance; that is the realm of political discourse, and while the debate is often heated and polarized, it is grounded in the tangible. As someone who identifies as a leftist within Israeli political circles, I believe these debates are not only important but urgent. I’m radically against the occupation of the West Bank and firmly believe Israel must find a way to end it, or the occupation will end Israel. The nature of the state, its policies, and its impact on the region are topics I engage with passionately and constructively. But when someone attacks the cultural and linguistic fabric of a people, it cuts differently. These attacks feel deeply personal, striking at the core of identity and belonging.

This feels especially personal because, although I don’t live in Israel, I speak Hebrew myself, and I love Israeli culture in all its forms, not just the language or food, but the music, the films, the art. These aren’t just cultural interests; they’re part of who I am. Israeli artists, many of whom belong to the same leftist circles I identify with, frequently oppose the occupation and actively fight for an equal society. And yet, ironically, these same artists, like recently Noga Erez, often find themselves targeted by cultural critics of Israel and BDS campaigns. The people producing the art I love are the very ones advocating for the progressive values that critics claim to champion.

When I hear someone dismiss Hebrew as “not real” or Israeli cuisine as “fake,” it feels different from the arguments I’ve seen about borders, settlements, or policies. Political debates can be difficult, but at least they’re grounded in something I can engage with. But how do you respond to someone who dismisses the very language you use to communicate with your family or friends in Israel? Or the food your family cooks together, sharing recipes passed down through generations? Or the songs you sing, or the films that move you to tears? It’s not just an intellectual argument anymore; it’s personal.

Modern Hebrew’s revival is, in many ways, a miracle. For centuries, it was a liturgical language, a thread that connected generations of Jews across the diaspora to their history and traditions. When Hebrew was brought back as a spoken language, it wasn’t an erasure of its ancient roots, it was an enrichment. Yes, it absorbed words and influences from Yiddish, Arabic, and other languages, just as every living language does. That’s not a weakness, it’s a strength. It reflects the resilience and adaptability of a people who carried their language with them through exile and persecution, only to revive it in their ancestral homeland.

And yet, critics like Abou Jahjah call it “artificial.” But what language isn’t? English is unrecognizable compared to its Old English roots, shaped by centuries of contact with French, Latin, and countless other influences. American cuisine is a fusion of Indigenous, European, African, and Asian traditions, evolving over centuries of migration and cultural exchange. Does that make them “fake” or “inauthentic”? Of course not. So why is Hebrew, or Israeli culture in general, singled out?

What makes these attacks particularly painful is that they’re so unnecessary. Calling falafel “stolen” or Hebrew “artificial” doesn’t solve any real-world issues. It doesn’t bring anyone closer to peace or justice. Instead, it’s a petty way to delegitimize the culture of a people who have fought so hard to preserve and rebuild their identity. It feels like a deliberate attempt to erase something fundamental about who we are.

Every nation, at some point in history, has had to build its culture. The United States, Australia, Canada, all “new” countries had to forge identities from diverse influences, often through painful and complex histories. Israel is no different. The culture we see today, its language, its food, its music, its art, is a reflection of its people: diverse, resilient, and deeply connected to history. For those of us who speak Hebrew, cook Israeli dishes, sing folk songs, or watch Israeli films, these aren’t just cultural artifacts. They’re living connections to our past and our future.

When someone attacks these things, it’s not just an abstract criticism. It feels like an attack on all our children, who are learning Hebrew words for the first time. On my family, who passed down recipes and stories that tie us to generations past. On me, as I try to live a life rooted in both tradition and modernity. It’s not just about delegitimizing Israel as a state, it’s about delegitimizing the Jewish people’s right to define our own identity.

In the end, these cultural attacks aren’t just misguided, they’re revealing. They show a fundamental bias, a refusal to see Israeli culture as valid or worthy. By dismissing Hebrew as a “monstrosity” or mocking Israeli food, critics like Abou Jahjah aren’t engaging in honest debate. They’re trying to erase a people’s connection to their heritage and their home. And that, perhaps, is why these attacks hurt so much more than political criticism. They don’t seek to change or improve, they seek to erase.

For those of us who cherish our culture, who see it as a bridge between past and future, these attacks only strengthen our resolve. Hebrew, Israeli food, Israeli music and film, and all the other aspects of our culture that are dismissed as “inauthentic” are, in fact, profoundly real. They are a testament to survival, creativity, and the unbreakable bond between a people and their history. And no amount of rhetoric will change that.

 

About the Author
Raphael Wahl is a 42-year-old system engineer. An incorrigible bookworm, he is also a devoted pizza margherita apologist, a computer and music geek and an enthusiastic researcher of the quirky and profound. Deeply committed to peace and the power of dialogue, Raphael actively participates in an inter-communal dialogue group of Israelis, Palestinians, Jews, Muslims and others from around the world. Rejecting the zero-sum mentality, he passionately believes in fostering mutual understanding and empathy in the complex landscape of Israel and Palestine.
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