R elated to the matter of messianism, though not exactly the same, is the question of how much agency or autonomy Juda- ism allows us to have in determining our own destiny. At the same time as some Jews were reevaluating their relationship to messi- anism and religiosity more broadly was waning among a significant number of Jews, nationalism was beginning to take hold as a polit- ical theory: this was the era of the French and American revolutions, Rousseau and Voltaire, and a modern reshaping of political phil- osophy. Jews were at the forefront of this thinking as well, debating whether a people could take charge of their relationship to other nations or they were entirely dependent on forces (whether historic- al or religious) that had rendered many groups of people powerless. The early Zionists felt that national self-determination was the tool to put Jews on equal footing on the global stage. Others were not as sure. As we will see, many Orthodox Jews at the time rejected this. As Shaul Magid, a professor of Jewish Studies at Dartmouth College and Conservative rabbi, told me, “Nationalism is not an inherently Jewish idea. Nationalism is an idea that comes from a famous essay by Ern- set Renan, ‘What is a Nation?’ It’s kind of a Christian way of rethinking collective living outside of empire. And that’s fine. It’s not that Jews can’t then use it for their own benefit. But to then say, That’s Juda- ism —the Haredim at the time were saying, Where is that?”
contemporary nation-state, but that it should do so in the Land of Israel, was of course Theodor Herzl. The Austro-Hungarian writer and activist, who founded what would go on to become the World Zionist Organization, convened the First Zionist Congress in 1897. The upshot was a commitment to establish a national home for Jews in their ancestral home. The year before, in a pamphlet titled “Der Judenstaat,” Herzl laid out his line of thinking. “The idea I have developed in this pamphlet is an ancient one: It is the restoration of the Jewish State,” he wrote. “The decisive factor is our propelling force. And what is that force? The plight of the Jews.” Not a messiah, not a God-given right—simply historical circumstances. Lest there be any misunderstanding, he made this explicit: “I consider the Jewish question neither a social nor a religious one, even though it sometimes takes these and other forms. It is a national question,” he declared. “We have sincerely tried every- where to merge with the national communities in which we live… It is not permitted us. In vain are we loyal patriots, sometimes superloyal; in vain do we make the same sacrifices of life and property as our fellow citizens.” While Herzl readily accepts the idea of a home in Israel that is rooted in ancient history, the messianic drive is completely absent
from his thinking, replaced by a not-untrue feeling that the force that prevented Jews from returning to Israel wasn’t the delayed arrival of a saviour but a mundane, human powerlessness. Shaul Magid put it to me this way: “For most pre-modern Jews, the Land of Israel and the messiah are fused… It’s secularism that dis- entangles dwelling in the land of Israel en masse and the Messiah.” He continues, “If you think about it from the perspective of tradition, that is a pretty radical move.” In sum: the tensions between and shifting significance of these two animating ideas—
And yet, self-determination as a positive value took hold and has been a powerful force ever since. The western European Jews who would go on to found classical Zionism were almost entirely secularized and corresponding- ly devoid of any messianic fervor. They were, however, big believers in the ideas of nation- hood and nationalism that were coming into vogue at the time. This led them to the con- clusion that, as Jews, they had the right and the responsibility to take matters into their own hands, advocating for and creating a homeland for the Jewish people. The Messiah wasn’t go- ing to do it and it needed to be done.
Zionism is inextricably entwined with the Jewish understanding of a redeemed era— and therefore also of messianism.
messianism and self-determination, one as old as Judaism and the other as new as the idea of modernity itself—explain much of how Jews relate to Zionism and Israel. Where someone sits on these two axes does much to explain their approach to the idea of Zion, and to the nation-state of Israel. W hen Jews with a strong commitment to messianism—which is to say, religious Jews—were confronted with Herzl’s bur- geoning Zionist movement, they had one of two choices: modify their approach to messianism to accommodate Zionism, or reject Zionism. The former approach, what we now refer to as Religious Zionism, combines a high degree of messianism with a high degree of self-determination. In this revision of traditional messianism, rath- er than Jewish sovereignty being the outcome of messiah’s arrival, it instead lays the groundwork for that arrival. Rabbi Chaim Strauchler, an associate editor of the Orthodox jour- nal Tradition , frames the religious attachment to a Jewish return to the Land of Israel as a hope that would not die. “There was never a period where the Jewish people somehow stopped being aware of Israel,” he told me recently, “which is why thousands of years later they could re-engage Jewish sovereignty and Jewish power, and the idea of Zionism could find fertile ground.”
In the earliest days of Zionism, the question of where to create this modern political Jewish nation-state wasn’t viewed as entirely set- tled: there was some support for creating a Jewish home wherever this could be established. In 1882, Zionist Leo Pinsker wrote: “The goal of our present endeavours must not be the ‘Holy Land’ but a land of our own. We need nothing but a large piece of land for our poor brothers; a piece of land which shall remain our property from which no foreign master can expel us.” The alternative to Palestine that was being considered was part of what is today Kenya. (This effort often gets referred to the Uganda Scheme.) Some saw it as a stepping stone to Palestine, which was at the time difficult to secure from the Turks. Others saw it as an eas- ier path to statehood. When the plan was ultimately rejected, some (including British author Israel Zangwill) began to look for other lands in which Jews could possibly settle. Places both historical (ancient Mesopotamia, parts of Egypt), and modern (Angola, Australia) were considered and ultimately rejected. The overwhelming sentiment was that the historical land of Israel was the only real option. Even to avowed secularists, the historical pull of the historical homeland of the Jews was too strong to ignore. The most famous proponent of the view, not only that Jewish self-determination can and should take the form of creating a
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