Two weeks ago, I mentioned an unwritten rule among the circle of friends that I was in Israel with on a programme 53 years ago: whenever we meet, each of us is allowed to show just one photo of their grandchildren, and to talk about just one of their medical conditions. The group has another unwritten rule, one which I reinforced fiercely at our 50-year reunion: no religion, no politics.

In 1968, we were all united by our love for Israel, and by the common ground in our separate visions of what the country could become (would become, we were convinced). In the intervening half-century, it’s a sad but unavoidable fact that some of us have moved some distance away from that common centre, and many of us have found it increasingly difficult to focus on that centre, rather than on the issues that divide us.

‘No religion, no politics’ was, therefore, undoubtedly a sensible policy for our reunion, and it ensured that we all enjoyed three days of unadulterated nostalgia and warm, fuzzy feelings. (We did, however, veto the singing of Kumbaya. There is, after all, a limit to how much warm fuzziness a grown adult can take.)

In my blog, I have attempted to follow a similar path. I do not seek to court controversy, nor do I want to antagonize any of my readers.

This week, however, is not, in any sense, a normal week. I am writing this on Monday, and I find myself looking back to yesterday and forward to tomorrow.

Sunday (my yesterday) was declared a national day of mourning in Israel, to mark the terrible tragedy on Mount Meron last Thursday night, when 45 lost their lives, trampled underfoot. In a uniquely Israeli way, Israel radio marked this day with sad, reflective, wistful songs. There is a whole body of such songs that everyone here associates with the aftermath of terrorist attacks or other disasters. On this occasion, the selection of songs appropriately, and uncharacteristically, reflected the sensibilities, the idioms, the musical style and the tropes of the haredi (ultra-orthodox) community.

After a corona year in which tensions between the haredim and the rest of the population have often been strained, it felt as if the nation came together, if only fleetingly.

On the other hand, Sunday was a reminder that, despite two damning warnings by the State Comptroller in recent years, and despite warnings from various authorities, governments have repeatedly shirked the extraordinarily challenging task of compelling the ultra-orthodox authorities to recognize the urgent need to address the problem of severe over-crowding at Meron.

Tuesday (my tomorrow) is the day by which Binyamin Netanyahu must either form a government or return the mandate to President Rivlin. While there are still many possible permutations that could result in the formation of a (more stable or less stable) government, the dreadful prospect still looms of a fifth general election in 28 months.

The whole period since the last election has been marked by wheeling and dealing, horse-trading, brinkmanship, false-kite-flying, jinking and feinting. To watch the multitude of political parties manoeuvering around each other is to despair of ever seeing anything approaching consensus in Israel.

I feel that, this week, it would make no sense for me to write about anything other than the state of the nation.

From my window, I can see the line of bunting suspended across our garden; the string of small Israeli flags flutter blue and white in the early evening breeze. Not so many years ago, most houses in our street, and almost all cars, flew the national flag at least for the two days of Yom Hazikaron (the memorial day for fallen soldiers and other forces and also for victims of terror attacks) and Yom Haatzma’ut (Independence Day), and often from Yom Hashoah (Holocaust Memorial Day) a week earlier until Yom Yerushalayim (marking the liberation of Jerusalem in 1967) some three weeks later.

This year, continuing the trend of recent years, flags seem to be much fewer and farther between. I sometimes feel this reflects a deeper malaise in Israeli society. The Israel Democracy Institute found, between June and October 2020, a very significant decline in public trust in most State institutions, including the Supreme Court (trust down from 52% in June to 42% in October), Israel Police (down to 41%), the media (32%), the Government (25%) the Knesset (from 32% in June to 21% in October) and political parties (from 17% to 14%).

For a democracy, these figures are little short of frightening. (I originally wrote ‘functioning democracy’; however, I find myself wondering to what extent a democracy can be described as functioning if 79% of the population do not trust their elected representatives.) You can view the full report here.

W B Yeats wrote, in other circumstances: ‘Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold’ and I feel, and sense that others feel, that this may reflect the situation we are facing in Israel. Someone made the point to me last week that part of the reason for this is that, over the last decade, the perceived shared centre, the sense of a commonality of purpose, the social contract, respect for the other, have all but disappeared in many quarters. Historically, while the various factions in Israeli society had very different ideologies, they all respected the rule of law and the decisions of the electorate.

It is, perhaps, only natural that, in the early years of the State, that mutual trust and sense of shared purpose was stronger. After all, the very establishment of the State represented an immense achievement for the Jewish people, and a total contrast to what was happening to Jews in Europe a mere four years previously. There was so much clear common ground to stand together on, waving the flag and singing the Israeli national anthem, Hatikvah, in unison.  

The euphoria of the establishment of the State, and the thrill, 19 years later, of the miracle of victory in the Six-Day War, have moved from being current affairs to being historical events. In their wake they have brought other existential challenges that cannot be so easily met, and moral dilemmas that offer no easy solutions. Uniting around a common cause is no longer so clear-cut.

However, there are still occasions when the country comes together, and this is the season of the year when this is most noticeable. It starts with Pesach’s seder night, observed in one form or another by a staggeringly high percentage (perhaps as high as 96%) of the Jewish population. It moves on to Yom Hashoah and Yom Hazikaron, climaxes on Yom Ha’atzma’ut, and fades away with Yom Yerushalayim.

Every year, the central and defining element in the official opening ceremony for Yom Ha’atzma’ut is the lighting of 12 beacons, by 12 invited honorees. Every year, a theme is chosen for the selection of honorees. This year’s theme was Israeli Brotherhood. (In the name of political correctness, that should probably be Israeli Siblingitude, but I can’t quite bring myself to write that.) Bernice and I found this year’s selection of the honorees, and their brief speeches/declarations, very moving. Celebrating both the diversity and the inter-dependence of Israeli society, the ceremony provided the starkest possible contrast to the Prime Minister’s self-congratulatory pre-recorded presentation that was screened during the ceremony, which was little more than a personal political promo.

The most depressing aspect of this entire political season is the total absence of any discussion of ideas or ideologies, policies or manifestoes. What should be, for a political party, the means to an end – gaining enough political influence to be able to enact policy – has become an end in itself. The entire ‘debate’ over the last weeks has been about how a government can be formed, and not a word has been spoken about what that government will plan to do, once it is formed.

This is not for lack of problems that need to be addressed. While the challenges from outside attract attention – Iran, Hamas, the Palestinian Authority, Turkey, Russia, America (feel free to choose your favourites, and, indeed, to add to the list) – the internal challenges pass virtually unnoticed. In the fields of social welfare, equality of opportunity in the workplace, affordable housing, development of natural resources, educational and medical infrastructure, there are so many areas that need urgent attention. The tremendous quantity and quality of the contribution made by voluntary organisations in Israel and in the Jewish world partially masks the neglect shown by the State in all of these areas.

So, do I focus on the honorees’ selflessness or the Prime Minister’s self-regard on Yom Ha’atzma’ut? On the way the country came together on Sunday to mourn those who died at Meron, or the way the country failed to come together in the last years to address the problem of the disaster that was waiting to happen? On the sense of public duty that attracts young women and men to enter politics, or the cynicism of political leaders sacrificing principles to expediency in order to hold on to political power, then doing nothing with that power?

Perhaps it is wrong to think that the world is made up of those who see the glass half-empty, and those who see the glass half-full. Perhaps what we need is to be able to draw strength and encouragement from the half that is full, so that we can strive to combat the half that is empty.

And here’s someone who seems already to be aware of both halves.