From R. Lentin, Israel and the Daughters of the Shoah: Re-occupying the Territories of Silence, (Oxford: Berghahn Books, 2000)
I met Nava Semel on November 25, 1992 in the apartment she shares with her husband Noam Semel, director of the Tel Aviv Cameri Theatre, and their three children, Iyar and twins Eal-Eal and Nimdor. Semel was born in 1954 in Tel Aviv. Her father, Itzhak Artzi, a former Knesset member and deputy mayor of Tel Aviv, was born in Bukovina and is not a concentration camp survivor. Her mother, Margalit (Mimi) Artzi (nee Liquornik), also born in Bukovina, is a survivor of several concentration camps, including Auschwitz and Kleineshenau. The twins, born in the US while Noam Semel served with the Israeli consulate in New York, have American passports. ‘This too is part of my being a daughter of survivors,’ Semel explained, ‘at least when the helicopters come to rescue the survivors here, they would be saved.’Semel’s brother, Shlomo Artzi, is a leading Israeli popular singer. Semel is small, short haired, and very intense. Her use of the Hebrew language is very precise. She had obviously done a lot of thinking about being a daughter of Shoah survivors and has written both fiction and journalism about it.
Nava Semel describes her childhood as an ‘ordinary Israeli childhood.’ She served in the army as a news producer with Galei Tsahal, the army radio channel. She began writing when she had her first child. Her collection of short stories, the first ‘second generation’ fiction collection published in Israel, Kova Zekhukhit (A Hat of Glass) (1985), met with a wall of silence when it first appeared, but has been written about extensively since then. The collection was re-issued in 1998 with an introduction by the literary critic Nurit Govrin. Several stories have been translated into English, German, Spanish, Turkish and French and appeared translations in Germany and Italy in 2000.
In all the stories there is a ‘child of’ persona and they are all based on the various stages of learning about and coming to terms with her parents’ survival as Semel explains in the following narrative. Indeed, in all her books, the reality is often viewed from a child’s point of view.
Her one-woman play Hayeled meAchorei Haeinayim (The Child Behind the Eyes) (1987), a monologue of a mother of a Down Syndrome child, had many showings in Israel and abroad and several radio broadcasts internationally. In 1996 it won the Austrian radio play of the year award. Her two novels for young people, Gershona Shona (Becoming Gershona) (1988/1990), and Maurice Havivel Melamed Lauf (Flying Lessons) (1991/1995)deal with young people living among Shoah survivors in search of an Israeli identity.Both were translated into English. In 1996 Flying Lessons was selected in Germany as one of the 30 best books of the year. The novel Rali Masa Matara (Night Games) (1993) is the story of a group of Israeli forty-something friends playing a treasure hunt on the 1987 Day of Independence, half a year before the Intifada broke out. The novel Isha al Neyar (Bride on Paper) (1996) tells of life in a pre-state Israeli moshava (collective settlement) in the 1930s. Semel also translates plays, mostly on Shoah-related themes.
In 1996 Semel won the Prime Minister’s Award, a twelve-months writing scholarship. In 1999 she collaborated with her father in writing his biography (Artzi and Semel, 1999), documenting the story of a young Zionist journeying from Europe to Israel. And writing the script for a documentary film on Transnistria, based on her journey to the death camps in 1998.
Since our initial meeting, which proved seminal to writing this book, Semel and I remained in close contact. I have chosen to present her entire narrative not as an ‘ideal type,’ but because it seems to be the ‘key story’ to the interpretation of the other narratives. The narrative encompasses most of the elements highlighted by the other narrators and theorised in later chapters. These include breaking the silence surrounding the Shoah and Shoah survivors, the confrontation between the Jewish Shoah and Israel’s ‘new Hebrews,’ ceremonial memory versus intimate memory and the ‘masculinised’ Israeli ‘normality’ versus the stigmatisation of Shoah survivors. Moreover, perhaps because my parents, like her parents, came from Bukovina, the trajectory Semel’s narrative presents, her ‘thematic field,’ from the split subjectivity of being a silenced child of survivors, stigmatised in the new state of Israel, and a member of (our) first sabra generation, to being a writer who is re-interpreting the puzzle of Shoah daughterhood, resonates most with my own trajectory.
Semel has been central to my work, not in the sense of being a ‘key informant,’ nor in the sense of being a ‘co-author,’ but our collaboration raises important issues about voice and authorship. Like the other narrators, Semel has been engaged in ‘researching’ the meaning of being a daughter of Shoah survivors in Israeli society, and, like the other narrators, she is a ‘woman of voice,’ who has broken the silence about the Shoah in her own family and in Israeli society by writing herself onto Israel’s cognitive map. The feminist strategy of ‘giving voice’ to voiceless people might seem superfluous, if it was not for Semel’s and the other narrators’ recurring stories about silence. While this book is based on their narratives, ‘it is the researcher who narrates, who “authors” the ethnography’ (Stacey, 1991: 23). The question of authority and authorship is particularly thorny when researchers insist on a collaboration process with their informants, but ultimately produce the research text themselves, no matter how modified or influenced by the narrators. My work with Nava Semel and the other narrators was dialogic, yet the question of ‘giving voice’ remains open. Dialogue as a research strategy employs Myerhoff’s notion (1992) of the ‘third voice,’ born by the virtue of the collusion between researcher – a sociological narrator, embodied, situated and ultimately responsible for her own words, her own ‘multiple selves’ – and narrators. Read more
On Saturday 18 November a rally organised by United against Racism heard moving speeches by several asylum seekers living the Direct Provision for-profit incarceration system where men, women and children are held often for up to ten years. The Irish Times reported Mavis who has lived in Direct Provision with her three children for fifteen months, as saying: “For me every day is a struggle, to watch my children suffering and getting sick. I wish one day somebody, an Irish citizen would go into my life for one week and they would know what a hell it is. I don’t even have words. Waiting and waiting for a decision is one of the hardest things a mother can do. What can we do? We have to pray and hope.”
The rally was part of the campaign to close the Direct Provision system, end deportations and grant asylum seekers the right to work, as per the Supreme Court recent ruling. According to Lucky Khambule of the Movement of Asylum Seekers in Ireland (MASI), the restrictions imposed by the government on asylum seekers’ right to work, including not working while appealing their applications for refugee status, amount to a total denial of asylum seekers’ right to work.
Beside bed and board – including inappropriate, out of date and insufficient food – asylum seekers are forced to exist on a weekly “comfort allowance” of €21.60, and their lives are decided by for-profit managements that dictate who shares their rooms, what and when they eat, who can visit them, when they can do their washing and what facilities their children enjoy.
As I have written many times before, Ireland must close the Direct Provision system that racializes, dehumanizes and segregates asylum seekers, whose plight Irish society “manages not to know.” This continues decades of disavowal, as Una Mullally has recently written in The Irish Times, “The Mother and Baby Homes and Magdalene Laundries were hiding in plain sight for years. We knew they existed, we knew – in broad brushstrokes – what went on there. Direct Provision centres hide more successfully in our communities, towns and cities. Many of us are not aware of their locations. That makes their presence even more insidious. But we know that they’re there. We know this system exists. We can’t keep repeating the process of unjustly hiding people away. They are not less than. They are people just like us, with families and aspirations.”
Together with the current rise of racism and Islamophobia, asylum seekers are being targeted by many racial states. In Australia’s inhuman off shore concentration camps asylum seekers are deprived of water and food and are beginning to be infected by cholera, as the camps are being closed. Israel too is beginning to close its concentration camps in the south of the country, forcing asylum seekers to either be willingly deported to Rwanda (which is being paid $5,000 dollars for each person it admits) or face indefinite jail. Ireland’s Direct Provision system, while not quite so deadly, condemns asylum seekers to a frozen existence in DP centres where private for-profit operators such as the international catering company Aramark are paid millions of euro to maintain Ireland’s version of what the African American activist Angela Davis terms ‘the prison industrial complex.’
Besides the obvious benefits to the Irish economy of allowing asylum seekers to work, pay taxes and spend money, and beside the obvious human benefits to Irish society of their talents and enterprise, there is also the moral imperative of Ireland’s choice to close the dehumanizing Direct Provision system, end all deportations, and use Ireland’s new wealth to include asylum seekers in solving our appalling housing crisis. The time to act is now.
A paper I presented at a workshop entitled ‘Decolonizing knowledge production: The case of Israel-Palestine’, London School of Economics, 6 June 2017, 50 years since Israel’s 1967 war against its Arab neighbours and since the occupation of the West Bank, Sinai, the Gaza Strip and the Golan.
Introduction: Some thoughts about decolonizing Israel Studies
Following Eman Ghanayem (2017) who asks that pro Palestine activists stop using the term ‘Israel/Palestine’ which equates Palestine and Israel and in which Israel dominates the discourse, I propose that the decolonization of Israel Studies is an oxymoron. As argued by Tuck and Yang’s ‘Decolonization is not a metaphor’, the very language of decolonizing education and research used by the colonizers remains a metaphor that re-centres whiteness, resettles theory, extends innocence to the settler, and entertains a settler future (2012: 3). According to Steven Salaita Fanon’s description of decolonization as ‘total disorder’ is not the absence of law, but rather
an act of removing order from the structures of foreign authority. This removal of order is total because… the colonial entity must be rejected completely, subverted, dismantled, decentralized – that is, dis-ordered (2016: xii).
Tuck and Yang argue that teaching settlers to become indigenous occludes the settler colonial project itself. Likewise Israel Studies programmes collude with Israeli settler colonialism, even when attempting to be critical. Thus in 2014 the European Association of Israel Studies demanded that a lecturer from the West Bank Ariel University omit his institutional affiliation in order to participate in the EAIS annual conference – a clear case of having your colonial cake and eating it.
As is well known, Israeli universities are deeply implicated in the settler colonial project through developing weapons and security equipment for the IDF and for Israel’s international arms trade, designing phantom cities for the IDF to practice urban warfare, and training the IDF in poststructuralist theories to be used in new modes of warfare. Israeli universities provide courses for IDF and security personnel, publicly support Israel’s colonial wars, most recently the 2014 assault on Gaza, and give grants and extra exam dates for serving students-soldiers, while systematically discriminating against Palestinian faculty and students.
Until the 1980s most Israeli academics conducted uncritical research that upheld the institutions of ruling. Only in the late 1980s did ‘new historians’ and critical sociologists begin questioning state narratives in relation to the Nakba and to Israel’s permanent war against the Palestinians. Many Israeli scholars researching Palestine are graduates of ‘Oriental’ high-school streams, the IDF Intelligence corps, and university Middle East Studies departments, making them agents of settler colonialism. Even when Israeli scholars employ Palestinian informants and research assistants, the research remains the property of the colonizer scholars who purport to conduct liberatory research (which, as Mohanty  argued in another context, ‘discursively colonizes’ Palestinian reality), while retaining privileged access to knowledge, research grants, publications and academic reputation.
Settler colonialism and scholarship
Decolonization is not a metaphor. Tuck and Yang (2012) argue write that ‘because settler colonialism is built on an entangled triad structure of settler-native-slave, the decolonial desires… can similarly be entangled in resettlement, reoccupation, and reinhabitation that actually further settler colonialism’. The metaphorization of decolonization, they argue, enables a problematic set of evasions that reconcile settler guilt and complicity.
The trendy call to ‘decolonize’ education and research occludes settler colonialism, Indigenous peoples’ struggles for the recognition of their sovereignty, and the contribution of Indigenous intellectuals to theories of decolonization. Tuck and Yang argue that the too-easy adoption of decolonizing discourses is part of what they describe as ‘moves to innocence’, that ‘represent settler fantasies of easier paths to reconciliation’ of what is essentially irreconcilable (Malwhinney 1988).
Israeli settler colonials work to indigenize themselves by claiming originary Biblical privilege which, they assert repeatedly, supersedes claims by the Indigenous, who, the settlers claim, are recent immigrants to the invented ‘land of Israel’. These indigenizing claims render Israeli settler law – mostly based on Ottoman and British colonial law – superior to Indigenous laws, customs and epistemologies.
North American settlers’ fascination by indigeneity meant ‘playing Indian’: ‘Americans wanted to feel a natural affinity with the continent, and it was Indians who could teach them such aboriginal closeness. Yet, in order to control the landscape they had to destroy the original inhabitants’ (Deloria 1998: 5). Likewise, Zionist settlers were fascinated by and emulated Palestinian indigeneity. As Yuval Evry (2016: 56) argues, the Zionists saw the settlement of Palestine as a territorial and textual return to the Jews’ Biblical origins, enabling the settlers to negate both the Jewish diaspora and Palestine’s Arab history. The so-called ‘first wave’ immigrants expressed their indigenizing desire through a mixture of proximity to and rejection of the Indigenous Palestinians whose life and folklore shaped the narrative of Jewish return to the land and the Biblical text, considered foundational to the Jewish ownership of Palestine. At the same time Israeli academic research occludes the lived experiences of Palestinian citizens, occupied, besieged and diasporic subjects who Israeli academics help their state to eliminate through collusion with Israel’s permanent war against the Palestinians.
According to Tuck and Yang, the decolonization metaphor is an expression of settler anxiety as the settler attempts to escape her complicity. However, they caution, the settlers’ reconciliation desire is as relentless as their desire to disappear the Native, signifying a wish to no longer face the Indigenous or deal with the ‘Indigenous problem’. In the race to innocence, depicted in countless Israeli fictional narratives, settlers attempt to relieve their guilt without actually giving up land, power and privilege. Settler writers are rarely reflexive (Yizhar is an exception – his story Khirbet Khizeh is the emblematic first-person account of the rage and regret of a 1948 soldier against his company expelling the inhabitants of the Palestinian village they demolish). In contrast, reflexive accounts by settler scholars is a move to innocence that serves only the settlers, as they invent ancient Biblical nativist roots that Goldberg theorizes as ‘racial Palestinianization’ (2008).
Decolonization is not a metaphor
Tuck and Yang outline various moves to innocence used in settler scholarship, including the bracketing of minoritized Indigenous peoples as ‘asterisks’, the discursive move to ‘decolonize your mind’ following the Brazilian education philosopher Paolo Freire, and colonial equivocation whereby different groups are called ‘colonized’ though their relationship to settler colonialism goes unmentioned.
However, decolonization, as Fanon (1963: 36) insists, must involve the actual, rather than symbolic, repatriation of all the colonized land, which is why decolonization unsettles settler moves to innocence although it does not mean Indigenous peoples dominating white people but rather breaking the very structure of settler colonialism by returning land to sovereign Native nations and dismantling the imperial metropole.
Treating decolonization as material rather than metaphorical must also consider the workings of race in the Israeli settler colony. Only in recent years has the Israeli theoretical landscape begun to admit the reality of racism, though very few theorists focus on settler colonial state practices of racial categorization and segregation. Shenhav and Yona’s edited collection on racism in Israel evades state racism and race per se, due, they write, to regarding Israel as exceptional and to Israeli Jews’ own racialized past (2008: 17). This, and theorizing racism in Israel as signifying ‘racism without race’, leads them to disavow race, a theoretical dead end (2008: 43). The race lacuna in theorizing Israel must be addressed because, as Wolfe (2016: 5) insists, ‘race is colonialism speaking, in idioms whose diversity reflects the variety of unequal relationships into which Europeans have co-opted conquered populations’.
Conclusion: Decolonizing Israel Studies as an oxymoron
Decolonization stands in contrast to reconciliation which underpins settler moves to innocence. Instead of reconciliation Tuck and Yang propose incommensurability that insists that the question ‘what will be the consequences of decolonization for the settler?’ need not be answered for decolonization to take place. Decolonization is not accountable to settler futurity, but rather to Indigenous sovereignty and futurity.
Writing about silencing Palestinian voices at a recent conference in a British university marking 50 years to the occupation, Hawari and Sleiman insist that decolonizing knowledge must begin from Palestinian knowledge production, as Western as well as Israel Studies knowledge production remains structurally colonial. This, they write, means not only including more Palestinian voices, but also rejecting false discourse of ‘balance’ of which the present conference, organized by Israeli scholars, is a culprit. Hawari and Sleiman argue that the ‘continuing process of indigenous erasure takes place both on the material and on the epistemic levels… and should no longer be considered as such in the academy. Re-centring our views around the experience of the Palestinians is the only way we can decolonize knowledge production on Palestine/Israel’.
To conclude, let me reiterate that the call by settler scholars to decolonize Israel Studies is an oxymoron because Israel Studies is itself a colonizing practice. Instead – as a member of the perpetrator collectivity, I suggest that we need ‘dangerous understandings of uncommonality that un-coalesce coalition politics’, even though this rejects false balance, dialogue, coexistence, normalization and even co-resistance projects that do not demand the total dismantling of the settler state, returning all the land to its Indigenous Palestinian owners and facilitating the return of all Palestinians refugees to their homes and lands.
As settler scholars we must relinquish settler futurity. Decolonization means removing all asterisks, quotes, and conditional clauses that underwrite settler innocence. The ethic of incommensurability will become possible only when the Israeli settler colony is dismantled. ‘Decolonization’, Tuck and Yang conclude, ‘is not an “and”. It is an elsewhere’ (2012: 35-6).
Deloria, P. (1998) Playing Indian. New Haven: Yale University Press.
Evry, Y. (2016) ‘Translation without origin: The question of ownership of text and territory in the transition from oral Palestinian tradition to Hebrew literature’, in
Fanon, F. (1963) The Wretched of the Earth, New York: Grove Press.
Ghanayem, E. (2017) ‘Towards better ally-ship for Palestine: A letter to the US activist community’, Mondoweiss, 23 March (accessed 28 March 2017)
Goldberg, D. T. (2008) ‘Racial Palestinianization’, in R. Lentin (ed.) Thinking Palestine, London: Zed Books.