Patriotism and National Responsibility in Israel and America

At 18, a dual American-Israeli citizen, I stood at a crossroads, a draft notice from the Israeli government in hand and a pivotal decision before me. Opting for a year of national service—a path common among religious women and Arab-Israelis—seemed like the key to cementing my place in Israeli society. What I didn’t foresee was how this experience would profoundly reshape my understanding of what it means to be not just Israeli but American—a realization that struck with undeniable clarity as I navigated an American university campus in the wake of October 7th.

Arriving at Yeshiva University just two months before a seismic October, I was struck by the dramatic contrast between American and Israeli civic engagement. While Israeli society wrestled with existential crises, American campuses outside of the Jewish sphere seemed mired in a bizarre, performative spectacle.

James Baldwin once cautioned, “As Americans, we must never overlook the possibility that the impetus for our most hostile reactions lies somewhere within our most deeply cherished illusions about ourselves.” Watching the fevered aggression of campus protests, I was struck by their emptiness. The eagerness to be inserted into a conflict to which they were strangers was matched only by their ignorance of its complexities. These debates were more than just misguided but devoid of any real stakes—a theater of activism performed by a cast of useful idiots; actors blind to their play’s true meaning. The “cherished illusion” driving this performance was that this was meaningful activism. But the legacy of civil rights and suffragettes has been reduced to a charade. True courage in confronting injustice had devolved into a parade of performative outrage, worn as a badge of honor. Earnest appeals for America to rise to its finest ideals have been replaced by slogans that besmirch the very patriotism that once fueled genuine fights for justice.

Living in Israel in 2023 and America in 2024—both marked by intense political turmoil —revealed firsthand the different values driving activism. In Israel, national and army service is a rite of passage, binding individuals to their nation’s forward march. The youth see themselves as stewards of a 2,000-year-old legacy, bearing both the weight of weapons and the responsibility of keeping their country alive. This sense of duty infuses even their political protests, elevating them into another catalyst towards progress. Meanwhile, American students “fight” to dismantle the very foundations for which their fathers sacrificed, without considering their own role in sustaining them. American 18-year-olds burn flags they’ve never had to defend, while their Israeli counterparts are buried in theirs.

Jewish tradition asks: Do we give to those we love, or do we come to love those to whom we give? Rav Eliyahu Dessler argues the latter, suggesting that investing pieces of ourselves – our time and resources, allows us to be reflected in those we serve. Service to one’s country becomes an act of self definition, transforming our sense of destiny, tethering it to the society we help build. This contrasts with American campus activism, which seeks to tear down rather than build up, fixating on disavowing history rather than harnessing it for progress. To this end, the Israeli culture of responsibility and community is fostered by a deep sense of giving, while in America, a pervasive sense of sanctimonious self entitlement threatens irrevocable damage to the national ethos.

This was illustrated in Prime Minister Netanyahu’s recent address to Congress. Where words are cheap, Netanyahu brought bodies: a group of soldiers, emblematic of the honor bound service that Israel instills. Among them was a soldier who was preparing to return to the front despite losing an arm and eye; another had run eight miles to join his platoon on October 7th. The group included an Ethiopian Jew and a Bedouin Muslim. I wondered if these young men, had they grown up on American soil, would have seen their potential for heroism stifled by a culture that seems to breed bitterness and fetishize grievance. Proudly American, it is to these Israeli men I look who embody President Kennedy’s call to “ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country.”

Israeli culture and national service has given me a renewed understanding of American identity. The values of patriotism and national responsibility that once defined America now seem to find their fullest expression abroad. Dissent is only courageous when the resolve to rebuild is stronger than the eagerness to tear down. If Americans are to reclaim a sense of responsibility and service, we must breathe these principles back into our political discourse. Only then can America reclaim its place as a beacon of civic virtue and collective purpose—a nation where ideals are not merely paraded, but lived through meaningful acts of service and sacrifice.

Adina Feldman is a Straus Scholar and Sophomore at Yeshiva University.