Zionism Is About Love

Rabbi Shai Held’s latest book, “Judaism Is About Love: Recovering the Heart of Jewish Life,” is the culmination of a career spent correcting a great misconception, namely that “Christianity is the religion of love” while “Judaism [is] the religion of law.”

“My aim is to tell the story of Jewish theology, ethics, and spirituality through the lens of love,” Held writes, “and thereby to restore the heart — in both senses of the word — of Judaism to its rightful place.”

A similar point could be made about Zionism. In the past year, anti-Israel protesters have been working to transform the word “Zionist” into a slur. “Zionism” is equated with racism, colonialism, and even terrorism. To be a Zionist is to be accused of supporting genocide. 

In response, Jews have tried to push our own definition, insisting that Zionism is simply the belief that Jews have the right to self-determination in their ancient homeland. 

It’s not a bad strategy or a bad definition, but this dry political formulation fails to capture why so many Jews around the world feel such a deep connection to Israel.

Before Theodor Herzl’s day, Zionists were known as Chovevei Tzion, lovers of Zion. Their Zionism was rooted primarily in profound love of place. In many ways it is a better term. An “ism” or an ideology lives in the head, but love is unbounded and experienced by the mind, the heart, the spirit and the senses.

We love Israel because we love the scent of rosemary in Jerusalem and night-blooming jasmine in Tel Aviv. We love Israel because we love the feel of Hebrew on our lips and the particular way a cucumber tastes here. We love Israel because of the kindness of the people, the beauty of winding streets, and the watchful gaze of the stray cats.

The nature of this love is somewhat mysterious to me. Do we love Israel because it is beautiful? Or is it beautiful because we love it? Would we feel this way about any Jewish state in the promised land simply because it is the realization of an ancient dream? Or is there truly something different about this place — some indefinable magic — that accounts for the effect that this country has on people? 

It’s impossible to know for sure, but I often wonder what the state of Zionism would be like if Israel were different — if the cities were dreary and lifeless, if the food was bland, if the people were less beautiful and charming, if it all felt like a hot, stultifying, cultureless shtetl instead of a vibrant, innovative, Hebrew civilization. 

The history of Israel’s founding is a story of unlikely successes. Despite great odds, a dead language was revived, seven foreign armies were defeated, and a nation was built. We rarely stop to consider, however, the most unlikely success of all — not that they built a Jewish state, but that they built one so very lovable. 

Today, the main emotion we might be feeling as we read headlines about Israel is sorrow, or dread, or frustration, or even anger at Israel’s enemies.  But if we are wondering what we can do for Israel from afar in this great moment of uncertainty, the answer is simple — we must cultivate the love at the heart of our connection to Israel.

Today, the main emotion we might be feeling as we read headlines about Israel is sorrow, or dread, or frustration, or even anger at Israel’s enemies.  But if we are wondering what we can do for Israel from afar in this great moment of uncertainty, the answer is simple — we must cultivate the love at the heart of our connection to Israel.

We can cook an Israeli recipe, or read an Israeli poet, or put on a favorite Israeli record. Such acts seem small or even kitschy responses to the intensity of this moment, but they are not. 

The love of the Chovevei Tzion built Israel.

The love of the Jewish people now will help to protect it.

Matthew Schultz is a Jewish Journal columnist and rabbinical student at Hebrew College. He is the author of the essay collection “What Came Before” (Tupelo, 2020) and lives in Boston and Jerusalem.