+972 Magazine's Stories of the Week

Directly In Your Inbox

Analysis News
Visit our Hebrew site, "Local Call" , in partnership with Just Vision.

The Israeli nation collectively mourns - but why?

Paradoxically, the feeling that those who were killed could have been our children – feeling as though they are our children – is one of the mechanisms that convinces people to send their children to kill and to die.

By Inna Michaeli

Family and friends of Eyal Yifrah, Gilad Shaar, and Naftali Fraenkel, three Israeli teenagers who were abducted over two weeks ago, take part in their funeral in the city of Modiin, Israel, Tuesday, July 1, 2014. (Oren Ziv/Activestills.org)

The public, along with the family and friends of Eyal Yifrah, Gilad Shaar, and Naftali Fraenkel, three Israeli teenagers who were abducted over two weeks earlier, take part in their funeral in the city of Modiin, Israel, Tuesday, July 1, 2014. (Oren Ziv/Activestills.org)

In the days following the announcement of the murder of the three abducted teenagers, many friends of mine – most of whom identify with the left – shared feelings of sorrow, pain, and loss. What’s been bothering me isn’t that their participation in this national mourning session is fake, but rather that it’s real. It’s the government, the press, and the public discourse that determine which tragedies become personal, and which ones don’t.

How do the deaths of people we don’t know become a personal event, penetrating us through our hearts and into our bellies? How do our internal organs become political sites, through which our inner (emotional) world and our outer (social and political) world are constructed?

27 other deaths

The emotional whirlwind that has consumed many of us is closely connected to the whirlwind in the streets and on social media, to the chaos in Israel that has sent us into an ongoing state of despair, helplessness, or cynicism, and has us looking for ways to emigrate. There are those who express national mourning through incitement and calls for revenge and violence against Arabs. There are those who call – also from a place of pain and grief – to act against incitement and against violence. There’s a third group, that calls for putting politics aside, and giving space to feelings of pain and compassion. To forget left and right, Arabs and Jews, and just leave space for humanity.

Na’ama Carmi, for example, wrote in her blog, in criticizing what she calls the “apologetics” of the Left, which she faults with attempting to place the abduction and murder in a political context:

Just like we would decisively condemn the violent behavior, attacks, and revenge that citizens have taken against innocent Palestinians, and we wouldn’t write “but the rage it stems from is understandable.” No. We will be horrified and we will condemn. Period. There are things that are always forbidden. No “but.”

Because there is room for human pain. Deep sorrow. Lives taken and severed, those of Israelis and Palestinians. For compassion for mourners and those harmed. The heart cries. And basic humanity is missing from many parts of this painful discourse that we bore witness to in the last few weeks.

Naama writes well, but I think she’s wrong. She objects to exploring the political context of pain and sorrow. But what Naama is missing, in my opinion, is that pain and sorrow are always located within a political context. To claim they’re outside the political context obscures the political forces that provide the emotional and collective backdrop for a given event.

National mourning plays an important role in society. It’s not just an expression of emotion, though it does have the power to engender emotion on command. Between the mourners calling for revenge and those calling for humanity, what’s missing is the simple question: Why should we be in mourning? What is its role in our culture?

Family and friends of Eyal Yifrah, Gilad Shaar, and Naftali Fraenkel, three Israeli teenagers who were abducted over two weeks ago, take part in their funeral in the city of Modiin, Israel, Tuesday, July 1, 2014.  Tens of thousands of mourners arrived ro Modiin in central Israel for a funeral service for three teenagers found dead in the West Bank after a two week searches, raids and arrests in the West Bank, as Israel accused Hamas of abducting and killing the young men. (Oren Ziv/Activestills.org)

Family and friends of Eyal Yifrah, Gilad Shaar, and Naftali Fraenkel, three Israeli teenagers who were abducted over two weeks earlier, take part in their funeral in the city of Modiin, Israel, Tuesday, July 1, 2014. (Oren Ziv/Activestills.org)

Or, put another way: is it possible to not mourn? Honestly – of course it’s possible. We hear about horrifying deaths every day. Something turned this specific incident – this one and not others – into a collective national trauma. Something turned people we didn’t know into people we almost know, people who could have been our children or us. Something that demands we mourn as though they had been our children, or us ourselves. Something transparent and something that goes without saying, that we went along with.

National identification is just part of it. A Facebook friend of mine, who I’ll call D., copied from the Israel Police website announcements regarding 27 Israelis killed between the abduction and the news of the deaths. Murders, domestic violence, traffic accidents. In Kiryat Gat, a 76-year-old is suspected of killing his 70-year-old wife and killing himself by jumping out a ninth-floor window. In Nazareth, a teenager was stabbed to death. In Holon, a scooter driver was killed in a crash with a truck. In Petah Tikva, a 40-year-old man was stabbed to death. In Kafr ‘Ana, a man was shot to death, likely in a family feud. In Be’er Sheva, a man in his 40s was arrested after throwing his partner from the window.

The list is long and it’s public. Yet “Israeliness” is still not a sufficient common denominator to turn someone else’s personal tragedy into a national one.

Proving loyalty through mourning

I don’t condemn the murder of the abducted teens. First, I’m not a politician and I don’t employ media consultants who force me to issue public condemnations or conduct high profile visits with the families.

Second, the assumption that as a leftist, I somehow support murder – unless I declare otherwise – is an absurdity I refuse to cooperate with.

It’s not that most of the Israeli public assumes that leftists actually support killing. It seems that what the public has a hard time with is the notion that we don’t give more weight to the lives of Jews than the lives of Arabs. Honestly, the assumption that leftists suffer national pain less, that we care less, isn’t baseless – at least in principle.

The foundation of national identity is first and foremost identification with the state and with fellow nationals. As a feminist, we can also identify with the woman who was murdered by her partner – whether she is Jewish or Palestinian. As queers, we can develop identities that cross national lines. As Jewish Israeli leftists – or as people who are trying not to be racist – we can see the Palestinians as humans and refuse to distinguish between blood.

But that vision is beyond the horizon. Most Jewish feminists are still Zionist, most of the LGBT community is willing to serve in the IDF, and most of the Left, it seems, aligns first and foremost with the Jewish Israeli public – even if here and there it sounds a bit “apologetic” in the words of Na’ama Carmi.

I was sorry to hear that the teenagers were killed, as I am also sorry to hear about murders of people I didn’t personally know. Beyond that, I do not take part in this collective mourning. Not out of some revolutionary ideology. I have always stood off to the side in surprise at national mourning, even as a child. Even when Rabin was assassinated. As a child in Israel, I of course experienced the collective command to experience Rabin’s murder as a personal loss. I understood very well that I was supposed to be in mourning, sorrow and pain. It just didn’t feel rational or relevant to me in any way. Sure, there are things that affect those of us more than others, for a variety of reasons. But what are those reasons? What is it that’s so obvious about mourning?

No one’s children

Identification is always political, even – and especially – when it happens “naturally,” when it “goes without saying,” when it’s transparent. That’s also true for the absence of identification, the ability to feel blocked off from the other’s pain – for example, the apathy of the Israeli public to reports of Palestinian deaths.

The solution to one-sided identification and compassion isn’t more identification and compassion. A more convincing and more promising approach is the politicization of identification and compassion – meaning, acknowledging the fact that they are dictated by forces external to us. From here, emotional intervention that takes its cues from reality, rather than getting carried away emotionally and losing collective control with no way back.

I’m talking about creating a concrete alternative to this emotional whirlwind. An alternative to paralyzing sorrow, which we supposedly have no choice but to feel. An alternative to the command that we feel what everyone else feels – which we supposedly must do in order be part of the collective. Let’s not forget that national mourning plays an important role in the long run, beyond creating national unity. It helps convince more people to kill and die for the nation. Paradoxically, feeling that those who were killed could have been our children – feeling as though they are our children – that’s one of the mechanisms that convinces people to send their children to kill and to die. When all of the children are everyone’s children, they’re also no one’s.

All of this may seem frightening. Questioning national mourning can lead to social exclusion, as it could be perceived as treason. That’s exactly where we need to create a political alternative – which is also an emotional alternative. Instead of accepting the rules of the government and the media’s game, let’s ask anew and honestly – what are the tragedies here? What is scary? What is sad? What is depressing? Who and what should we be mourning, and how?

Let’s offer — for ourselves and for others — a way to view reality, to experience and feel it, in a way that advances what lives we want to live.

Read this article in Hebrew on Local Call.

Before you go...

A lot of work goes into creating articles like the one you just read. And while we don’t do this for the money, even our model of non-profit, independent journalism has bills to pay.

+972 Magazine is owned by our bloggers and journalists, who are driven by passion and dedication to the causes we cover. But we still need to pay for editing, photography, translation, web design and servers, legal services, and more.

As an independent journalism outlet we aren’t beholden to any outside interests. In order to safeguard that independence voice, we are proud to count you, our readers, as our most important supporters. If each of our readers becomes a supporter of our work, +972 Magazine will remain a strong, independent, and sustainable force helping drive the discourse on Israel/Palestine in the right direction.

Support independent journalism in Israel/Palestine Donate to +972 Magazine today
View article: AAA
Share article
Print article

    * Required


    1. Shaun

      “Questioning national mourning can lead to social exclusion,”
      This is exactly where you and many other +972 contributors find themselves today.
      Rather than create a vibrant political discourse, they are discovering that they are more ostracized and lonely with only there follow outcasts as company.

      Reply to Comment
    2. Ben Zakkai

      This article deals with a crucially important subject, but from a perspective characteristic of the modern left, which tends to ignore deep biology and thus regards everything as socially-constructed and gets lost in a haze of psychological or therapeutic aerobatics. Yes, of course, we naturally feel more strongly the misfortunes of others who resemble us more closely, so that, for example, a religious Jewish Israeli stamp collector cares more about the welfare of members of any of his identity groups than he does about the tragedies visited on some poor Malaysian, Nigerian or Peruvian who doesn’t collect stamps. But beyond that, we are hard-wired by evolution to feel loyalty to our own tribe and corresponding hostility to outgroups, so that we care very very deeply about members of our group who are killed or harmed by the enemy. (Apparently the author of this article carries a smaller-than-average portion of that common genetic inheritance.) So while the religious Jewish Israeli posited above is likely to be momentarily affected by the suffering and death of a religious Jewish Israeli child, not personally known to him, who dies from cancer or in a car accident or in an episode of domestic violence, he’ll generally be far more upset, and for a longer time, and much more energized and willing to take action, when such a child is killed by Palestinians in a terror attack. Getting beyond those feelings requires a long cognitive and emotional process of recognizing and rejecting their irrational roots and making (if I may borrow from the psychological-therapeutic lexicon) one’s affect more closely parallel one’s cognition. Which ain’t gonna happen soon, for most people. Better to make peace and stop the killing so that people’s raw caveman emotions aren’t so frequently and powerfully engaged.

      Reply to Comment
      • The purpose of the rule of law is to short circuit the re-enforcing feedback of the process you depict. If you want peace, begin with independent courts. Begin with protection against trespass of person and property in the West Bank. Begin with the Yesh Din reports often reported on this site.

        Reply to Comment
        • Ben Zakkai

          That would be a great start, Greg.

          Reply to Comment
    3. shachalnur

      Collective mourning is a tool for social engineers,and all was well untill Muhammed got tortured and burnt by the “mourning” mob.

      What you get then is a social engineering nightmare.

      It’s easy to manage public opinion when you have control over events and media, this one went wrong and it will be hard to put the genie back in the bottle.

      Just like children left to die by their parents in a car ,because their parents are too stressed and messed up to remember they left them there,just like desperate parents deciding to kill themselves and take their kids with them.

      The public has been conditioned to react as the engineers want them to react.

      Free will is an illusion when you live in a controlled lunatic asylum,the government will decide how and when you react to what.

      Usually people who understand they are being manipulated and it might threaten their children ,will not make too much noise,they’ll just move somewhere else,so at least the children will be have a chance to grow up in a situation where the media don’t decide what to hate and when to mourn.

      I’m sure the Israeli’s that burned and tortured Muhammed are young guys that probably had the idea they’re doing something within the borders of what the herd accepts,”somebody “taught them.

      They will be demonized and pictured as “not like us”,and people will tell themselves that’s the end of the ´problem.

      Smarter people will pack their bags and take their children out of this controlled lunatic asylum.

      What we see unfolding is by design,it was woven into the fabric of the 1897 Zionist black-op from the beginning,so don’t cry crocodile tears, please.

      Reply to Comment
    4. Vadim

      “The Israeli nation collectively mourns – but why?”

      Because that’s the decent thing to do.

      Reply to Comment