In 1967, as a 14-year-old non-practicing, marginally “cultural” Jew, I was glued to my transistor radio for 6 days, rooting for the underdog: Israel. But Jewish sovereignty held no interest for me—the U.S. war in Vietnam was the object of my concern and active protest.
Growing up in New York made being Jewish normal, of no consequence. I had zero Jewish education, had never been in a synagogue, and was never exposed to overt antisemitism, though I laughed at a weird request to show my “horns,” to an elderly gentleman in Albuquerque. I knew almost nothing about the Holocaust.
My maternal grandmother fled Russian pogroms, my Russian grandfather escaped the Russian army after he killed a Cossack. In the U.S. he became a Communist and was investigated by the FBI. My husband’s father saw his family murdered in Poland when he was twelve. He spent 5 years in Nazi labor camps and two more in DP camps after the war. Years later, I wrote Cast No Shadow, a play about the Shoah and intergenerational trauma, before I was aware of the term. I see the shadow in my sons.
I am a belated Zionist. I first visited Israel in 1999, when I directed a play at Hebrew University. We spent the following summer in Jerusalem when a genuine peace accord was on the table. Arab Israelis, Palestinians, and Jewish peace activists celebrated a new era.
Israel seemed a vibrant, welcoming place on the precipice of peace. I hoped to contribute to Peace and Reconciliation efforts during my 2001-2002 sabbatical. For thirteen months we lived in Jerusalem, arriving just before 9/11 and living through the bloodiest year of the 2nd intifada. My husband studied full-time at a yeshiva. We planned to make Aliyah. My older son joined the IDF.
My younger son found Israeli society too aggressive, and too violent. Both boys have strong Jewish educations, both know Israel well. Today they are outraged and disgusted by this war, which they blame primarily on Israel. Hamas, they say, won’t stand down, so we must. My husband and many friends support Israel and blame Hamas. I am ripped apart.
For 40 years I’ve taught on college campuses. Protest is essential speech. Students are congenitally idealistic, as they should and must be. The problem arises not from their activism—which I applaud—but from ideologically driven faculty.
Ellen Kaplan
A single example will suffice: At the 2017 MLA convention, where support for BDS was being debated, I invited a colleague to work with me to present a campus forum that would look at all sides. He angrily refused any conversation that didn’t cast Israel as the unalloyed villain.
Polarization is not helpful, but it is the norm, in the classroom and on the streets. Too often we find the sanctimonious reiteration of simplistic, uninflected thinking devoid of historical perspective, with no vision for possible futures.
Campuses are characterized by an almost total lack of context or complexity. Students hear about disproportionality—they do not hear about Hamas’ charter, nor its share of responsibility for the deaths of Gazans and Jews, nor that Hamas could end the war today by standing down and returning the remaining hostages.
They will not hear that Hamas and the Palestinian people are not equivalent, nor that demands for Israel’s annihilation empower the likes of Smotrich and Ben G’vir. Israel has created unspeakable misery in Gaza, but Hamas, too, has much to answer for.
How does Israel fight an enemy that has entrenched itself in hundreds of miles of tunnels, beneath homes, mosques, hospitals, and schools? Ordinary Gazan’s are used as human shields, for military ends. Hamas hides its war machines among civilians, who live without food, aid, or protection.
Two indigenous peoples occupy one land. Israel’s right to exist and Palestinian self-determination are equally justified. The Jewish people are a nation with a common language, culture, history, tradition of religious practice, and 3,000 years of ties to the land. One claim cannot and must not preclude the other. Neither can be justified by murderous ideologies. For all of Israel’s manifest failures, I believe that the Palestinian leadership is equally bankrupt.
On October 7, we felt fear in our bones. The warmth of the synagogue that Shabbos was a reminder that as our small group gathered, we were doing what Jewish communities have done for centuries, all over the world. Being a Jew is part of who I am, and for me, Israel is central for Jews, for many it is our chosen home.
But rootedness, heritage, land, and family, constitute “home” for all peoples. My progressive politics commit me to self-determination and communal rights for everyone. It means eschewing the doctrinaire, the inflexible, the self-righteous positions that flatten out thought.
Where do I stand? In no single, uncomplicated place. Nothing any of us think we “know” is true. But in these urgent times, we cannot be silent or stand aside. We face an existential crisis.
I believe that Israel will and must defend itself vigorously, and I believe that perhaps, if the remaining hostages were released, and an international force deployed and a functioning transitional government installed in Gaza, committed to demilitarization and reconstruction, a peace process could begin.
Despite Israel’s present intransigence, any possible future includes a Palestinian state, both peoples must expel fanatics from power, or contain them. There must be a plan for a prosperous, peaceful future for all.
The death toll in Gaza has exceeded 40,000 with thousands wounded, cities reduced to rubble, and most of the population displaced. This is horrible and unacceptable. There are other paths. But this is a regional problem. The only solution is a regional agreement that ensures territorial compromise, economic development, and two flourishing states.
Given the climate challenges we face, Arabs and Jews need to develop an overarching narrative that links the futures of two peoples residing in an arid, unforgiving environment.
Addressing the water shortage and the need for clean energy requires concerted cooperation. Long-standing animosities, which go back even before 1967, 1948, and the first aliyot, won’t be easily resolved. But if governing bodies focus on reconstructing Gaza and establish a technocratic and professional leadership to oversee development, prevent corruption and aggression, and foster creative, respectful collaboration, significant progress could be made.
We are writing tomorrow’s history, and it looks bleak. What now?
Ellen Kaplan is a Professor of acting and directing at Smith College, a Fulbright Scholar in Costa Rica, Pakistan, Romania, Hong Kong, an actress, director and playwright. She performs and directs internationally and has been guest professor at Tel Aviv University, Hong Kong University, and the University of Kurdistan/Hewler.
During the pandemic, she taught virtual classes at Rojava University in Syria. Her recent guest lectures and theatre workshops include the University of Coimbra, Portugal and National Academy of Performing Arts in Karachi, Pakistan.
All views expressed are the author’s own.
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