Medinat Yisrael and I need help: our relationship is on the rocks.

Lately I have been feeling profoundly alienated from Israel and its culture, and I am deeply distressed by it. It feels like a betrayal of my values and that I am failing my children, students, and community, visiting upon them the deep emotional and psychological cost of a fundamental break from the country they call home. Following the advice of the Talmudic rabbis (Yoma 75a), Da’agah B’lev Ish Yishichenah La’acheirim (If worry weighs heavily on a man’s heart, let him share it with others), I choose to share this disappointment. Instead of letting it fester, I want this to serve as a cri de coeur in the hope that it will spark change and healing.

It is not just personal, though. 

My intuition tells me I am not alone in this feeling. This personal distress is a manifestation of a deeper, widely shared heartbreak. Acknowledging this collective disillusionment is crucial so that we are aware of it and can begin to address it.

Israel, it seems, is fraying, coming apart at the seams. Since the war ended, almost every few days a nasty flare-up showcases an unseemly side of Israeli culture. It no longer knows how to disagree with civility and respect. Every argument quickly escalates, turning violent and vindictive. Opponents call each other names, raise doubts about one another’s legitimacy, and challenge their loyalty to the state.

While such a reality would always be a source of distress, it is particularly painful now, post-October seventh. This is all so counterintuitive.

During the darkest days of the war, I found comfort in the belief that there was a silver lining in the pitch-dark cloud. I believed the commonality of the threat would serve as a permanent cohesive force. The entire nation experienced the same fear, anxiety, and dread; a sense of brotherhood pervaded the country. Though machlokot existed, they felt less severe, less cutthroat. We didn’t doubt one another’s core legitimacy. That sense of kinship gave me tremendous hope. I vividly remember assuming, perhaps hoping, that the commonality would outlast the war, that when this terrible conflict finally ended, we would remain Irrevocably unified. I believed in the age-old maxim: that which doesn’t kill you makes you stronger (mah shelo horeg, mechashel). The war, I thought, would give birth to a new Israeli culture of discourse, accentuating what unites us while downplaying that which divides us.

Instead, the opposite has occurred. The war made us more raw, fragile, and quick to take offense. Instead of subduing our divisions, the aftershocks of the war seem to be magnifying our differences and inflating our disagreements.

Topics like the Haredi draft, the role of women in the army, the place of Reform Jews in the public religious sphere, and even questions about what women should or should not wear, are fought with vehemence and vindictiveness, and quickly slip into ad hominem attacks.

No less troubling, in the context of the war, there is little evidence of genuine teshuvah, which requires both Charatah Al He’avar (remorse for the past) and Kabbah Al He’atid (commitment for the future). True repentance requires an honest look at the past, coupled with a courageous commitment to the future. We must acknowledge our missteps with honesty and integrity. Simultaneously, we also need to courageously change course and embark on a path of tikkun, altering the ways that led to these mistakes. For now, none of that is happening. There is almost no willingness to candidly confront our mistakes, to acknowledge them. Nor is there any sense that the state is changing course, courageously and with integrity seeking a formula that will finally bring peace and stability. Instead, the continued bickering only intensifies our internal divisions and accelerates the very fraying of Israeli culture.

We have become fractured—at the risk of breaking. Every new fight tears away at the fragile threads of our communal fabric. If this doesn’t stop, we will eventually break, turning into a collective of Edot and Chamulot (tribes and clans).

We don’t have much time; things are already grim. The division is eating us up Mi’Bayit U’Mi’Baḥutz (from within and from without). Emigration numbers have gone up significantly, and among the younger generation in the diaspora, people are feeling ever more alienated. This alienation is particularly problematic because they are the very people for whom the war has already taken a deep toll, leaving them emotionally and morally depleted.

I am unsure if the situation has objectively worsened, or if I am only now noticing a long-standing toxicity, or if it simply bothers me more today. Ultimately, that distinction does not matter. Either way, the current situation is untenable; something or someone must stop this madness before it is too late. Otherwise, I and many others who feel similarly will be left with no choice but to fundamentally redefine our relationship.

There are times when a relationship becomes so toxic that no amount of love can compensate for the pain the partners inflict. This current situation is exacting a huge toll on us. Spiritually, emotionally, and intellectually, we are being challenged, inching ever closer toward a breaking point.

Such a break and reorientation would be devastating, incompatible with my values, and a betrayal of my children and grandchildren who live in the country, serve heroically and proudly in the army. It is my deepest hope that this trajectory can be saved—that people rise to the challenge and change course, not only restoring civility and dignity, but displaying the courage to find the formula that will finally bring security and lasting peace.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)