Israelis – once again – are having a Berlin moment. That is, they have discovered – once again – that life in Berlin is so much cheaper, and they are perplexed and angry and terrified – once again – by the fact that some young Israelis have decided to immigrate to Berlin because of that (and other reasons). The data, as usual, is cast aside when a debate rages. The number of Israelis that emigrate to other countries is not very high, and Israel's population keeps growing, but a headline-loving media, a natural tendency to worry about demography, and a fair share of leftist hype, have made the Berlin issue a hot topic of discussion yet again.
Since I do not want to write – again – what I've already written about this topic (you can find links here, here, here, and here), I'm going to share two things with you:
One: Since I was asked to write an article for Sukkot by Israel's Maariv, my outlet for articles in Hebrew; and since I find it highly ironic that a discussion about emigration is taking place on the eve of Sukkot; I'm going to share with you some thoughts that are a little more about the holiday and a little less about emigration.
Two: I am going to share with you a very short and somewhat brutal post on this topic by a well-known Israeli novelist-commentator-radio-pundit-TV-director Irit Linur.
Linur's highly provocative comment was posted in Hebrew on Linur's Facebook page and was “Liked” by thousands of Israelis that have learned to appreciate Linur's sharp tongue and unrelenting pen – and especially her pull-no-punches approach to current affairs. Linur is also very good at capturing the Israeli zeitgeist, and at airing publicly what many of her peers dare not say out loud. She kindly agreed to let me translate the comment and post it here.
Necessary background for both items: the symbol of the 2011 summer protest in Israel was the cottage cheese, the symbol of the current Berlin-bound debate is a chocolate pudding covered by cream called Milky – a popular Israeli delicacy that is apparently much-much cheaper in Germany that it is in Israel.
Having explained that, first Linur and then (if you survive it) Rosner.
* * *
If a lot of Israelis move to Germany, and really enjoy themselves there, and talk aloud about how they are really enjoying themselves, and about how cheap Germany is, and how comfortable Germany is, and how humane and cosmopolitan Germany is, while complaining aloud about how Israel is a lousy country, a great miracle will happen:
The Germans will understand that what actually happened in the years of the man with the mustache was a mistake, since they also murdered and robbed good Jews, Jews who would have eventually known to appreciate Germany. And had they let them live, there would now be more Jews who know how to appreciate a country like Germany, a country which merely experienced a mild case of anti-Semitic flu with temporary genocidal symptoms, a malady which went away after a generation or two.
And maybe the Germans of the man with the mustache knew how to see the future and to predict that Israel will be such a lousy country, that its Jews will even prefer living in Germany to continue being Israelis; maybe they knew that Jews can therefore be mass-murdered only because they are Jews, since in the near future it won’t really bother them. Just look and see: They are having fun in Germany, and everything is so cheap in Germany.
Maybe had the Jews known back then that this is what their decendants will think about the country of the Jews and the country of the murderers – they wouldn’t have made such a fuss about being taken on a train to the camps in Poland. They would have certainly calmed down if someone were to tell them about how a day will come when the rent in Berlin will be cheaper than the rent in Petach Tikva. And the grocery stores… listen guys, it’s almost free. Not as cheap as the lives of grandma and grandpa, but pretty close.
(Irit Linur, Tel Aviv)
* * *
We can become agitated over the decision of some Israelis not to stay here, but it is much more interesting to try and learn something about ourselves from our emigration debate: there is nothing that manages to shake us, Israelis, as much as the fear of transience.
The cheaper Milky, the cheap provocations, the seven Israelis who have left – all these are less important. Those who remain, and the house they are building here, are what's important. It’s also important to remember that some of the houses that were built in the past didn’t survive.
Now think about Sukkot. The Holiday that makes Israelis confront their greatest fear. The Holiday that forces them to encounter the transient way of living. To be a Jew with no permanent residence. Many commentaries on the meaning of the sukkah compare it to Egypt's pyramids. As the people of Israel were leaving Egypt, they also had to shed away Egyptian symbols. The pyramids are stone, the Sukkah, built in the desert, during the long journey to the land, is all wood and fabric. The pyramids are forever, the Sukkah is temporary, and is dismantled and carried to the next destination.
Sukkot conjures Israel's fear of the temporary. It forces Israelis to not escape from it – but rather celebrate it.
Consider the way the Torah's explains the meaning of this holiday: “For a seven day period you shall live in booths. Every resident among the Israelites shall live in booths. In order that your [succeeding] generations should know that I had the children of Israel live in booths when I took them out of the land of Egypt” (Leviticus 23:42-43).
“Succeeding generations” means us, of course. But “should know” can be interpreted in two ways: One – that we should remember what happened when God took us out of Egypt and make sure to thank God for saving us from slavery. That is the interpretation offered by the Rashbam, among others. Two – that we should know that living a simple life can be fulfilling, that we, humans, can do without much luxuries. On the long journey from Egypt to freedom a Sukkah is enough; we can do without a Milky.
But does the Sukkah really signify a simple life? Of course, compared with the pyramids, it does. But I am not certain that comparing the Sukkah to the pyramids is the right thing to do. Perhaps it is better to compare the Sukkah to the alternatives the people of Israel had when they built the Sukkah. In the desert, the Sukkah is not a temporary home. From the perspective of a people that is wandering in the desert, the Sukkah is the most permanent and most comfortable arrangement that could be offered compared to other options (a tent, a sleeping bag, open air).
Choosing such an interpretation makes the meaning of Sukkah more intriguing, because it makes the meaning of the Sukkah contingent on circumstances of time and geography: In the wilderness, on the way to political independence, the sukkah is a hint of a better future – giving hope for a safe haven. In twenty-first century Israel the Sukkah is a reminder of a past in which we had no safe haven – a direct confrontation with our most anguishing fear of returning to impermanence.
In other words: In Sukkot we are commanded to “only be happy” (Deuteronomy 16:14), but our reason for joy has changed. In the desert, we were joyous about the Sukkah itself – whereas today in Israel it is more appropriate to be joyous as we look at the Sukkah and remember that in seven days we will go back to a real home.
(Shmuel Rosner, Tel Aviv)
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