Why are Israelis happy? A Hebrew lesson in Zionism

Astounding. Israel has been fighting a brutal war for over a year and a half – after a horrendous massacre of its citizens. Dozens of Israelis – dead and alive – are still hostage in Gaza. The country is being convulsed by massive protests against the government’s attempts to take control of the judiciary. And then we read: among all the world’s nations, Israel ranks 8th from the top in happiness!!!

Why such a gap between national upheaval and personal happiness? I addressed this question here a few years ago, but this time I’ll add another element to the mix. It can be best summed up in the Hebrew expression: kol Yisrael arevim zeh ba’zeh (all Jews are guarantors/”brothers” one of the other). To put it more colloquially: we have each other’s back. That’s true for any number of situations: Israeli HMOs periodically calling their elderly members to see how they’re doing, the country’s huge number of amutot (voluntary/philanthropic organizations), and ordinary citizens coming to the aid of people being attacked (Oct. 7, 2023 was the most recent case, with Israeli citizens going to southern Israel that morning to fight Hamas terrorists before Israel’s army entered the picture).

My initial experience in this regard – some 48 years ago – is quite a story, extraordinary in one respect and quite “ordinary” for Israelis on the other hand.

Nine days after landing in Israel as a new immigrant (oleh khadash) back in 1977, I found myself standing in front of 200 students teaching a course in politics at Bar-Ilan University. This inaugural lecture was in Hebrew. True, I learned Hebrew from the 1st grade (Jewish Day School) through Yeshiva University High School, but it was more “biblical Ivrit” than the modern lingo that had developed in Israel over the past century. Thus, days before each class I spent several hours preparing the lecture with a dictionary at my side, writing it out word for word to make sure that it was grammatically “correct.”

That first lecture went OK, or so I thought. Back in my office, I immediately started working on the following week’s talk, when two quite older gentlemen walked into my office. I had noticed them sitting among my students and briefly wondered what they were doing there in a sea of young adults.

“We really appreciate the effort you’re making,” they started off (in Hebrew), without the usual niceties that I was used to back in the States. “For an oleh khadash it was quite impressive. But still, here and there we couldn’t quite figure out what you were trying to say. Sometimes the word you used wasn’t altogether right; other times because the syntax of the sentence was too confusing.”

I could feel myself blush from embarrassment. I knew the lecture wasn’t ”perfect” but still…

“So, we would like to make you an offer,” they continued. “We’re willing to sit with you here every week, a day or two before your lecture, and go over your notes to correct and improve the Hebrew. That way, your talk will be clearer to all the other students, and most important, your Hebrew should get better rather quickly.”

I was completely taken aback. These were not kids trying to “pull one” over me. A very generous offer, indeed. It was surprising, but you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. I accepted graciously. The real surprise was yet to come.

Every week they came at the appointed time and sat with me for close to two hours as we went over the lecture word for word, sentence by sentence. It was illuminating, and also at times embarrassingly funny. For instance, I had looked up the word for “lobbyist” and ended up (in modern Hebrew) with the person who cleans hotel lobbies.

One day after my “buddies” had left, the department’s administrator came into my office, asking what they were doing there. I explained the situation. His eyes bugged out.

“What’s the problem?” I asked.

“Do you know who they are?” he responded hesitatingly.

“Sure,” I replied, “Yonah and Menachem.”

He laughed. “No, I mean do you know who they ARE?”

I had no idea what he meant: “Nope.”

His reply: “The man called Yonah (Efrat) was the IDF’s Major General, Head of the Central Command, during the Yom Kippur War – and Menachem (Arkin) was the IDF’s Military Governor of the entire West Bank!”

To say that I was taken aback would be an understatement; blown away was more like it. These two gentlemen (57 and 63 years old at the time; I was all of 28), at the top of the Israeli social pyramid, had volunteered to spend many hours over the course of a full academic year to help a new immigrant.

And so it went for the remainder of the entire academic calendar. Out of curiosity, I asked them both (gingerly) why they decided to study in the university at their age. Yonah’s reply was standard: many high-level IDF officers do so upon retirement; back then, there was no chance of higher education at the beginning of an army career. Menachem’s answer was far more interesting – here too another glimpse of what makes Israelis tick: even in what is usually a strict chain of command, Israel’s army stands out for its easygoing social culture.

His story: Back in 1967, the Six-Day War ended quickly – well, in 6 days. Israel was surprised to find itself in control of the entire West Bank (Israel had actually asked Jordan NOT to enter the war, but for geo-political reasons, the Jordanians had “no choice”). What to do with this territory? How to run it? The IDF searched its Personnel “database” to see whether anyone had any previous experience in “military government”, and Menachem Arkin’s name popped up – as a junior officer for the British military government in North Africa during World War II. So, 25 years later the IDF made him West Bank Military Governor!

It was scheduled to be a four-year term of service, but that dragged on. Finally, in early 1973, he called “Moshe” (Dayan): “Enough is enough; find a replacement.” Dayan promised to do so by the end of the year – and then in October, another war broke out! By 1976, Menachem was despairing of ever getting out of the army, being too “indispensable.” He asked his army buddies what to do. Their advice: “Ask for a one-year leave of absence to study; they can’t deny you that.” And that’s how he found himself studying in my department!

Israel: a truly insane country, mostly for the better. The “inmates” certainly think so!