Dear Shmuel,

I’m in a bit of an awkward position. This dialogue has had the feel of a debate up to here, but I now find myself in substantial agreement with most of what you’ve written in your last missive. All I can really say is, “ditto.”

But I’ll try to explore a few of the ideas you’ve offered. First you suggest that the incidents outlined in Shut Up, I’m Talking where I tried to play mind games with some of Israel’s harshest foes at the UN are both funny and sad. I couldn’t agree more, and I think that pairing might be at the heart of my book. Buckets of ink have been spilled outlining the tragic aspects of the Middle East situation, and I wanted to try to shed some light on the comically absurd ones. That obviously doesn’t mean that I don’t see the sadness. Rather, I just see it intertwined with the humor, as I would venture to say it is in most corners of life.

In fact, I think that one of the most remarkable things I noticed during my sojourn in the Israeli Government was that even during some of the most intense situations, those around me were able to demonstrate a real sense of levity. I heard sing-alongs in the Israeli Prime Minister’s Office, saw top government officials playing practical jokes on each other, and once went to a meeting where a senior diplomat showed up wearing only his underwear (though nobody there seemed to find this as funny as I did).

In this context, I’m glad you brought up the dialogue you had with Jeffrey Goldberg, which I thought was a fascinating discussion. One line in it that particularly interested me was when Mr. Goldberg wrote “I’ve always thought the reason so many Israelis lack humor is because Israel has an air force. Who needs jokes when you have F-16s?” I’m a fan of his journalism and loved his book, but I’d quibble with this idea. I think it’s precisely those with F-16s that most need a sense of humor.

It was interesting to hear that you think that “Israelis tend to forget that they are part of a larger Jewish world. And this should be fixed.” You should stop worrying about sounding “out-dated” with this opinion. I think it might be more modern than you realize. And you were right to anticipate my surprise at hearing that you think the burden of bridging the gap between Israelis and American Jews lies more with Israelis. That’s not the kind of thing I’m used to hearing from your countrymen.

The new Atlantic article by Mr. Goldberg that you mention included many of the fears that you and I seem to share about Israel. One of the sections that most resonated with me, and which seems apropos our own discussion, was when he quoted from defense minister and former prime minister, Ehud Barak.

Barak told him that “Jews know that they can land on their feet in any corner of the world. The real test for us is to make Israel such an attractive place — cutting-edge in science, education, culture, quality of life — that even American Jewish young people want to come here. If we cannot do this, even those who were born here will consciously decide to go to other places. This is a real problem.”

I think there is definitely something to that. My own bizarre experience was in the political realm, so I can’t really speak much about those other areas of society. As it says in the synopsis of Shut Up, I’m Talking, though: The Israeli Government was no place for a nice Jewish boy.

Gregory Levey

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To: Shmuel Rosner

Dear Shmuel,

Perhaps one day you will write a book for your fellow Israelis about your time spent with us wacky North Americans dealing with our misguided ways. As a devoted fan of your journalism – most mornings your writing is the first thing I read – I certainly hope so.

But if you choose to write it as a personal memoir like mine, as opposed to as an anthropological study, I'm sure you will be reluctant to see yourself as a stand-in for all Israelis. Again, all I tried to do in Shut Up, I'm Talking is tell my own personal story: I applied for a part-time internship at the Israeli consulate in New York, and instead found myself catapulted to the Israeli UN Mission and Prime Minister's Office. It's not an experience likely to be repeated often by non-Israelis, and so I would see bending it to the needs of allegory as a dangerous proposition. Readers of my book can choose to take it however they want, but that isn't really my concern.

I was very glad to hear that you found Shut Up, I'm Talking funny, because if I were to categorize its intent as either "to amuse" or "to enlighten," it would certainly be the former. Being offered leftover salami from Ariel Sharon's lunch, being forced to run around with a gun with no safety lodged next to my crotch during a security course, and even trying to sneak Seinfeld references into the Prime Minister's speeches were experiences that were, above all else, comic. I'm glad to hear that you seem to think people might be able to learn something from my book, but I was mostly concerned with making them laugh.

But enough about Seinfeld and my crotch — let's get serious. I was surprised that you thought my suggestion that the cultural and the political are enmeshed was "almost outrageous," especially since I'm hardly the first to assert such a thing. My understanding, in fact, is that it's more or less a commonplace idea among cultural theorists. In any case, it's not a cause-and-effect principle, but a correlative one. The crazy driving of Israelis doesn't cause their government's policies, but the two may stem from the same underlying forces — the rapid pace of events in the Middle East that you mention and that I very quickly had to learn to deal with when I was writing speeches for Israel. As another example, the behavior of the person I refer to in my book as "the worst person I ever met" might not be unrelated to his country being in a constant state of war.

You contend that my doubts about the soundness of certain specific Israeli policies should not be trusted simply because I happened to mention them in the same breath as Canada and Switzerland, and that this might be a product of my Diaspora mentality. Comparable arguments might be made for China, Russia, the Palestinians, or anyone else, by the way, but maybe your reflexive rejection of a fairly common idea might actually shed some light on your own Israeliness (if we're going to play this somewhat tired game). That is, Israel most definitely has to deal with a uniquely dangerous situation, but this doesn't mean it's not part of the rest of the world.

Sometimes I worry that Israelis forget that.

But let's move forward, as you suggest. You ask if I think we should aspire to bridge the cultural gap between Israelis and American Jews and whether it can be done. Bridging the gap is obviously a noble desire, but I'm pessimistic about its feasibility. One of the most astounding triumphs of Israel — and there are, of course, a multitude — is that the country really has been able to create a new culture all its own. American Jews have to applaud that, but that doesn't mean that they can ever fully share in it.

I can't speak for anyone but myself, but some of the experiences I detail in Shut Up, I'm Talking definitely didn't help bridge my own cultural gap with Israel. Being punched at by Israeli cab drivers, waiting six weeks for a government committee to decide that I needed a cell phone in my position as "communications coordinator," and dealing with the understandably intense security apparatus made the cultural chasm seem vast.

By the way, Shmuel, let me give you a hearty congratulations on your recent B'nai Brith journalism award for your work on currents in American Jewry and its connection to Israel. It goes without saying that it was richly deserved. All best wishes, Gregory

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Dear Shmuel,

Thank you for being direct.

I’m sorry if my book hit a nerve. I’m not sure how to address this whirlwind of questions, but I’ll begin by saying that I’m disappointed to hear that you think I “failed” to write a book “supposedly revealing of the true nature of Israel” — mostly because I had no intention of doing any such thing. I “failed” only in the sense that you have failed to become America’s greatest lawn bowler (as far as I know). In other words, that’s just not what I was trying to do.

To imagine that I could reveal “the true nature of Israel” would have been grossly presumptuous of me. All I could hope to do was tell my own story of being a particular North American thrown headfirst into the Israeli government. Life is messy, and memoirs are messy. The tidy categorization you’re stretching for is the kind of product journalists sling — not the stuff of memoir.

So while I’m delighted to discuss my book with you, I’m reluctant to turn it into an allegory. With that in mind, I can address some of your other inquiries, such as whether I cut off my time in the Israeli Government for personal or political reasons.

It was both. I believe that Israel’s existence and security are moral imperatives and I remain wholeheartedly supportive of the country, but I did develop reservations about specific governmental policies — along with severe “doubts that the country’s problems would ever be solved,” as you mention. I also, however, quickly tired of Israelis’ “directness” and of many aspects of the Israeli worldview. “Was it just because you didn’t feel at home?” you seem to be asking, as if this should be some kind of accusation. But of course I never felt at home, and I can’t imagine why I would have. I wish those living in Israel only the best, but my home is North America, and I’m entirely happy with that.

Let me go a step further and suggest that the personal and political are actually interwoven. I grew up in Canada, and I think that the sometimes paralyzing “politeness” of Canadians and their government’s tendency not to assert itself on the world stage might not be unrelated. My Swiss friends, meanwhile, have always agreed with me when I have proposed that the quintessential Swiss demeanor is of a piece with their country’s historic neutrality. There are underlying cultural forces that help shape both the personal and the political. So, for example, the way that the typical Israeli driver navigates the streets of Tel Aviv – hopping onto the curb, driving between two lanes in order to use whichever one is faster, parking in the middle of the street while going for a coffee — jibes with how his country sometimes conducts statecraft. As they say, people get the government they deserve — particularly in a democracy as vibrant as Israel’s.

I’ll obviously grant you that my experience of being a fish out of water in the government didn’t give me any kind of typical experience of Israeliness. Most immigrants to Israel don’t get off the plane and head straight to the Prime Minister’s Office. Nor do most get on the plane in the first place because of an invitation from that office. I didn’t go to Israel to “make the deserts bloom,” to participate in the “ingathering of the exiles,” or because I was on a mission from God. I went because a job offer from Prime Minister Ariel Sharon when I was twenty-six-years-old would have been a hard thing to turn down.

It’s in that context that I can enthusiastically agree with you that the fundamental divide between Israelis and Americans is a cultural one. As an example of this, you rightly point to my surprise at the amount of improvisation in the Israeli government. You say that an Israeli put in my shoes — say, voting at the UN General Assembly with no idea how he should vote — would “have no problem making the decisions” that I was asked to make. On this point I totally agree with you. My concern, though, is that this is not a good thing.

The Israeli spirit of improvization is admirable and has often served the country well, especially in the early days of the state. Even now, the willingness to think creatively and break through rigid rules is certainly responsible for the mind-blowing innovations and successes that Israel has produced in fields including technology, medicine, business, and the arts. In these areas, improvisation can do wonders.

But is it really how a government should operate?

Many thanks,

Gregory

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