A Contemporary Look at Narratives (Column 391)

With God’s help

Disclaimer: This post was translated from Hebrew using AI (ChatGPT 5 Thinking), so there may be inaccuracies or nuances lost. If something seems unclear, please refer to the Hebrew original or contact us for clarification.

I assume there’s no need to tell readers of this site that the term “narrative” usually makes my skin crawl. Its common use is as a postmodern alibi for liars and/or the wicked. The trick is to claim there is no truth or falsehood and no good or evil, and therefore all that exists are narratives. If so, we are all, of course, equally right, and clearly there’s no point in quarreling and fighting—the obvious conclusion being: “the wolf shall dwell with the lamb.” Needless to say, this doesn’t work, since wolves generally aren’t persuaded that the lamb also has a narrative, and if they can, they eat them. Ben-Gurion already said it in his golden tongue: I yearn for the fulfillment of the prophecy “the wolf shall dwell with the lamb,” but in any case it’s essential to ensure that we are the wolf in this lovely story. But that’s old news. Here I wish to note a few further distinctions within the “narrativist” approaches that can carry considerable principled and practical significance.

Narrativity Following the Recent Riots

In the wake of the riots of recent weeks I returned to thinking about this odious concept, since debates now—in the media and online—rage in full force around each side’s narratives, Arab and Jewish. The arguments revolve around who started, who did more, who’s to blame, etc., etc. It does not surprise me to discover that the narratives are inverted: from the Arab point of view, Jews are cold-bloodedly murdering them and conquering Al-Aqsa while perpetrating a mass slaughter of all the Muslims in the universe, and they are merely defending themselves, half-heartedly and with meager means. The Jews, of course, broadcast the opposite narrative (which in this case—as in most cases with the Arabs, though not all—is closer to the truth).

Nor will any of you be surprised to find that the right–left axis usually determines one’s attitude to the various narratives—though here I do discern a welcome phenomenon of a certain sobering within the moderate left. Quite a few journalists and others are not buying the Arab narrative in these cases. They too understand that we’re dealing with a crushing combination of mendacity and fertile Oriental imagination, generously seasoned with a pinch of whining—sometimes with a kernel of truth mixed in. Some adopt the creative tactic of rejecting symmetry debates. After you, as a leftist, have built your whole world on symmetry (“we’re just as bad as they are,” etc.), now that the picture of symmetry—or rather asymmetry—becomes clear, the recommended counsel is to mock discussions of symmetry.

During the riots (mainly toward their end, when the propaganda war was in full swing) I had a WhatsApp exchange with an Arab sheikh from Lod with whom I’d had some prior connection. I knew him as a moderate and balanced person, and I thought he surely would not identify with a letter published in the name of the Arab public’s representatives in Lod—a text full of inflammatory lies and ridiculous demands from the entire universe and his wife, except of the Arabs themselves. When I read the letter I chuckled to myself, since it was clear to me it was the initiative of a bored youngster sitting at his parents’ table who appointed himself the representative of the Arabs of Lod and the globe (as is customary in Bnei Brak, where “Institutions of Netivei Binyamin Eliezer and the Surrounding Regions” is a yeshiva fellow with a rubber stamp, a small desk, and some free time). But in the exchange with the Sheikh it became—to my astonishment—clear that he lives entirely within that narrative (Al-Aqsa, massacre of Muslims, burning of mosques, and the like). He insisted this indeed represents the Arab public’s position, and asked me in puzzlement (or feigned innocence) whether I disagreed with what the letter said. I must say it was rather frustrating.

On the margins I must confess, with some embarrassment, that I’ve found not a few such fertile combinations on the Jewish side as well. Although I’m convinced that in Lod the Arabs started and are to blame, still the descriptions sometimes presented from the Jewish side strike me as a fantastic blend of the two aforementioned elements. For example, last Friday before noon a demonstration by Arabs in Lod was expected, and we had preparations for possible developments. As part of that, we organized to run patrols in the city. I was forwarded a report from a Lod resident describing how, during his patrol, he encountered Molotov cocktails, fireworks barrages, and whatnot—not to mention cars shattered and torched all over the area.

Since I knew what was actually happening on the ground (and I too was patrolling in those hours), and I knew the report was baseless, I replied with my own description:

Just now I got back from a two-hour patrol. Pastoral quiet; only the heat is bothersome. I asked at our command post what’s happening and was told: nothing. Pastoral silence and calm. What a bummer—no tales of heroism and not even a chance to play the victim. And besides, what a pity, because we were counting on donated food and cakes, as is customary during riots. Now we’ll have to cook and bake for Shabbat ourselves. Bummer.

You can see that in my wild imagination I experienced a totally different narrative. It later turned out the demonstration was very small, proceeded quietly, and dispersed as it came. And death shall be swallowed up forever, and the Lord shall wipe away tears from every face, and the ruins and ashes of cars the people of Israel shall raise up speedily.

People feel it’s permissible—and important—to exaggerate in their descriptions and sometimes even outright lie, in order to fight the false narrative from the other side. They apparently tell themselves that necessity is no vice (see “Holy Lies”). In light of this, beyond my principled objection to “holy lies” from every direction, my advice to you is: don’t be too quick to believe the Jewish side’s descriptions either. They too are not free of problems and of narratives laden with imagination and agenda. See more on this below.

It won’t surprise you then that these days my revulsion at the concept of narrative and the various narrativist approaches has resurfaced. But as part of my work on character traits—which I excel at so greatly—I decided nevertheless to devote a bit more thought to the matter, and to my surprise I dredged up a positive meaning of narrativity, and came to understand it’s important to distinguish it from the negative uses of this concept. So here you go—I’ll share that insight with you as well.

The Jewish Narrative

I’ll begin again with our own narrative failings. Yesterday a good friend of mine—someone deeply on the left—sent me an article (see more extensively here) describing horrific looting of Arab property carried out by Jews (mainly civilians) following the War of Independence. You’d do well to read it. True, it’s from Haaretz and therefore (also for me) suspect of a pro-Palestinian agenda. On the other hand, it quotes leaders of the Yishuv who are not suspected of leftism or of adopting the Arab narrative. Bottom line, the account looks factually credible and is hard to deny entirely. Moreover, it’s fairly clear we’re dealing with a broad phenomenon and not the actions of a negligible fringe.

My friend argued this is a small taste of why Arabs live with a deep sense regarding the “Nakba,” and the same goes for the unequal treatment they receive in Israel today. On that too you’ll mainly find descriptions in Haaretz, and so they’re suspect (also to me), but some present facts that are hard to refute.

In general, as someone opposed to narrativity, I also oppose clinging to my own narrative. I too am human, and the society I belong to is run by humans with drives, feelings, agendas, and interests, and therefore they too tend to shape history and present it as convenient for them (see above examples from these very days). In the last generation, as history has been freed a bit from the yoke of Zionist ideology and the need for self-justification (“Zionodicy”), quite a few unpleasant facts about our conduct throughout the conflict have emerged—though naturally most of us never heard about them at home or school. All this—even if true—doesn’t mean the Arabs are right and we are wicked. It also doesn’t mean we should adopt the interpretations accompanying those accounts (usually very biased and agenda-driven). But it does mean there are interest-laden, false presentations and narratives on all sides (cf. the 2021 riots above).

In my view it’s actually important to recognize that we, too, live within a narrative, in order to form a more just position. Our justness, to me, isn’t based on denying facts, and I’m still convinced we’re right even if all those facts were true (they probably aren’t). Therefore there is no ideological imperative to deny them. The holy lie truly isn’t needed here—and in my view it even harms. When it’s discovered that we lied, or when someone among us discovers he’s been lied to, we completely lose trust in everything we were taught (as happens in religious education and any closed ideological education), including the portions that are true. This is the well-known syndrome of Eve and the serpent (see Rashi to Genesis 3:3), the price tag that always attaches to holy lies. Hence there’s value in knowing other narratives and examining our own. But that’s secondary; I’m speaking about the importance of recognizing the other’s narrative even if my narrative is entirely justified.

My Comments on the Article

After reading the article about the looting I wrote my friend the following comments:

I read it—it’s truly shocking and unfamiliar. As for the interpretation, it strikes me as utter drivel from every angle, of course. The comparisons he makes are downright foolish. The conclusions about top-down policy fly in the face of the very quotations he himself brought. As for the disregard and the light treatment of the phenomenon, there are several possible explanations, all more reasonable than what he proposes (policy). The comparison of scope is truly dumb, and he himself notes this (which doesn’t stop him from making it).

As for the facts, we must remember four things:

1. Those neighbors were—and certainly were perceived as—a threat to their Jewish neighbors. One must remember there weren’t Arab soldiers in uniforms distinguishable from civilians. Moreover, those civilian neighbors rioted against their Jewish neighbors in several places, and as long as they held the upper hand they systematically abused Jews (in Hebron, the Cave of the Patriarchs, the Western Wall, and more).

Some Arab civilians fled in part to enable their comrades to slaughter us and then return (and of course take Jewish property). Not to mention they initiated the war itself despite the UN partition decision, hoping to do far worse to us. Thankfully, they failed. So it’s hard for me to share their sorrow, even though I understand it. This remains true to this day.

2. The likelihood of their return to their homes was near zero; so a Jewish civilian coming to such a house faced the alternative of leaving the property exposed to any passerby, or leaving it to “state looters” who in any case it’s unclear what they could have done with it.
3. Many people’s economic situation was dire—also “thanks” to the Arabs. Today we’re, by and large, relatively settled and there’s an established state that takes care of us, more or less. That was not the case then, when people had existential fears for their lives, livelihoods, and property.
4. The norms against looting an enemy’s property were not as clear as today—particularly when the enemy’s conduct toward us was much worse in those few places where he had the opportunity (as is also mentioned here).

My friend replied:

I skipped the interpretation because I’m less interested in it. I’m interested in feeling empathy and understanding the Arabs’ feelings and experience, from which their consciousness is formed. Of course, had all this horror ended and we moved on to repairing relations and investing in creating equality and mutual understanding, everything would be different. But relations that began like that and continued as they did clearly create pain, resentment, a sense of deprivation and alienation, etc. That’s what interests me. I’m not judging the looting Israeli—just understanding that the story differs from what I was raised on, and asking myself what that means for the Arab I’m supposed to live with.

And I answered him:

Indeed, a story different from the one we grew up on. It helps to understand their feelings. But I refuse to ignore the context. And I strongly disagree with these key sentences of yours: “Of course, had all this horror ended and we moved on to repairing relations and investing in creating equality and mutual understanding, everything would be different.”

The anger and lack of cooperation, including Arab riots, did not begin in 1948. They started the war before those acts of looting. I am entirely in favor of understanding another narrative but very much against accepting it if it is not justified.

Our negotiation continued, but after all the justifications (which I truly and sincerely believe), an important aspect of narrativity emerges. The Arabs undoubtedly live this narrative without the justifications I’ve presented here (again, in my view they’re wrong to do so). For them, this is reality as it is. That doesn’t mean I must acquiesce, since I very much believe in the importance of justice and truth and refuse to capitulate to narrativity, but it is important to recognize the other’s narrative, since this can tell me what I can expect from him.

Distinguishing Two Aspects of Narrativity

As I wrote to him at the end of the last message, we must distinguish between two demands usually included in narrativity (=to understand and to accept). The left and the right in Israel are divided regarding the Arab narrative (and narrativity in general): the right rejects the need to know the Arab narrative and to recognize it; the left demands both. But as always, both sides err. In my view there is great importance in knowing the Arabs’ narrative, even if it is certainly not right to recognize it. I wrote him that one of the left’s great mistakes in Israel—why it fails and retreats constantly—is that it doesn’t suffice with demanding we know the Arab narrative, but wants us also to recognize it, i.e., to adopt the view that there is no right and wrong here. In this it fails, and rightly so.

But this excessive demand from the left is a self-inflicted wound to their other demand, which is justified: to know the other’s narrative. I read the article, and it certainly adds to my understanding of the situation and of Arab feelings about it. I do not at all justify them, and I am far from sharing their pain, since they are eating the porridge they themselves cooked. The Arabs want to preserve the right to start a war to throw us all into the sea and loot all our property, and when they fail they also keep the right to complain that we are doing to them what they wanted to do to us, and that they are not receiving equal treatment in the democratic state we established with our own hands over their objections. That’s absurd, and naturally doesn’t arouse much empathy in me. In any case, my main goal in knowing the narrative is not empathy for the other, but grasping reality and making decisions.

Is There a Possible Way Out of the Conflict?

The answer is: I don’t know. Transfer—which to me is a warranted and moral solution (under the circumstances)—is not practical. One can dream of it, but any sensible person understands it will never be realized. Moreover, it is unlikely we will ever succeed in changing the Arabs’ narrative. Third, they are here and will probably be here with us for the long term. Given these three reasonable assumptions, we face two options: 1) try to live together despite the differences in narrative and despite our being right and them being wrong; 2) keep clashing forever and be gloriously right. I really don’t know whether there is a way to live together (I highly doubt it), but I do think it’s worth trying to move toward such a state.

Such progress is possible only if we know their narrative without recognizing it. If we understand the limits of our ability to change it—without any concession on truth and justice and our position (in that sense, this is not a leftist statement)—we can still search for possibilities of coexistence, if any exist.

Following this, I wrote him in reply:

I think that if you want to improve the chance of success (I want that too), it’s better to state it as I present it and not as it’s usually presented from the left: the injustice done to them, the narrative, the bereaved families on both sides, etc. That has no chance of succeeding—and rightly so. If [leftists] tried to advance a practical agenda and admitted there is asymmetry and that we are right, it would have a much better chance of being accepted. What can we do—people care about truth and justice.

In the course of our exchange he wrote me this:

I think—and I’m starting to write about this—that the mistake is that two issues are being mixed, and a pair of positions is assigned to each side as if they automatically go together. One issue is whether we must fix how the state treats Arabs toward greater equality so that every citizen truly has equal rights (and duties). The second issue is whether we are good or bad in how we treated Arabs, and especially whether we are “particularly” good or bad—i.e., relative to other nations or to history. It’s conventional to think that someone who is “left” holds: (a) we must give Arabs equal rights because of the poor things we did to them; (b) we are oppressors, racist, awful, and deserve to be hated by the world. And someone who is right holds: (a) that Arabs don’t deserve equal rights; (b) that we are enlightened and just and victims of the murderous environment we live in. My position is: (a) Arabs must have equal (and reciprocal) rights and duties—both because every person deserves this and because it’s the kind of state we want to build for our own good; (b) we did bad things over the years of the conflict, but I’m pretty sure we were (and still are) much less bad than other peoples in our position, including the Arabs and our harsh critics abroad. I’m still ashamed of many things we did, and I’m also proud of many things we did, and mainly I hope we’ll change what requires change so it will be more just here for everyone, because at the moment much of the power to change is in our hands.

I responded that on this message of his I can sign every word. Suddenly it turned out that although we sit at two different ends of the political spectrum, there’s no significant difference between us—at least regarding the foundation described here. It turned out we’d virtually written the same sentences to each other at the same time. The wolf shall dwell with the lamb, and left with right shall lie down.

I must say his sentences surprised me. That friend is a clear leftist (very far left), and it’s not typical, in my view, to receive such an admission against interest from him. Suddenly I understood that if we forgo the left’s double demand (its clinging to narrativist postmodernism), we can reach quite full agreement, at least on the practical level. The argument over who is right becomes marginal—if it exists at all.

I think a substantial part of the left is right there (he himself attests to this and writes that there are leftists who do not feel comfortable with the positions the left usually presents—and he says this as someone belonging to the more extreme part. He himself apparently isn’t among those who feel uncomfortable there). Most of the leftists I know are like that, but they themselves don’t make this distinction—and neither does the right. As noted, the left demands both: to know the narrative and to recognize it; the right rejects both. The typical leftist blames us for our conduct toward the Arabs, but in the end most of them don’t really think it equals what the Arabs did and do to us. Only a small fringe (from within the left, which itself is already a fairly small fringe in our society) thinks so. If so, distinguishing these two planes can certainly move us toward agreement—at least on the Jewish side. I wouldn’t be surprised if it could also draw in part of the Arab public. In such a framework, they too aren’t required to abandon their positions and their narrative—only to recognize that they won’t obtain our agreement to that narrative (today they have such hope because of the “narrativist” left).[1]

Maybe it will work and maybe not. On the face of it this looks like a pipe dream, but history is full of unexpected turns. What seems to us today absurd and impossible may later turn out to be a process that happens and is realized in practice. I must note that in this matter the left actually has an advantage—at least in its modernist phase—which believed, sometimes blindly and delusionally, in the ability to change things that now seem hard to change. Conservatism isn’t inclined to that, and sometimes that very attitude prevents change. Of course this can be illusory, and sometimes what appears impossible truly is impossible—but until we try, we won’t know. I think that at least to a certain degree, trying shouldn’t cost us too dear a price—even if it succeeds. I’m not in favor of taking big risks, but it seems to me that today there’s no willingness even to try without taking a risk. There’s simply no trust, that’s all. In particular, after such attempts, at least internally we’ll know we tried and reached broad internal agreement (except for narrow fringes on right and left). That too is something.

Final Note: A Third Plane of Narrativity

Above I wrote that my aim is not to recognize their narrative, nor even to create empathy for Arabs, but mainly to know their narrative for practical purposes. Yet on the margins I should add that there may even be room for some empathy—at least toward the individual Arab and his suffering. I explained above that in my view the Arabs cook their own porridge and refuse to eat it—in other words, they bear primary blame for what has happened and is happening to them. I wrote that therefore I don’t feel great empathy even when I hear of suffering and of things done by our side that should not be done. But when I look at the private individual, I think in most cases he truly isn’t to blame for his situation. Fundamental blame lies with the collective to which he belongs and not with him personally; therefore there’s room for a bit of empathy for him as well. I’ll try now to explain this more.

In columns 244 and 372 I discussed judging a person by his own lights. My basic claim was that when we judge a person on the moral plane, we must judge him according to his view, not ours. In response, I was often asked about the boundary: does this apply also to Nazis, to ISIS, to suicide bombers, etc.? I answered that my words apply also to all those “righteous ones.” If I have an indication that we’re dealing with a person who truly and sincerely believes that the truth is with him and that this is how one ought to act morally (i.e., he is convinced Jews are persecutors of humanity who threaten its existence), then we cannot judge him as an immoral person. In the terms of the Radbaz in his responsum: he is “coerced in his mind.”[2]

This does not mean I accept such a person’s conduct as a moral path. Not at all. I am very far from relativistic or subjectivist conceptions of morality. I am convinced the Nazis acted in an evil and depraved way. But there’s a big difference between judging a person’s morality and judging the morality of his path. Nor does it mean I won’t kill Nazis to defend myself and perhaps even as part of eradicating evil. And still, the moral standing of an individual depends on his own (genuine) beliefs. Moreover, in my eyes there is collective wickedness that is independent of the wickedness of the individuals comprising that collective. A collective that fashions evil narratives (Nazism, ISIS, Communists) is a wicked collective, but the individuals who comprise it and live innocently within the prevailing narrative are not wicked, because they act according to their own view. True, in column 67 I discussed the responsibility that rests on them—but responsibility is not guilt (see also columns 34, 61, 283, and many more).

In this sense there is also essential importance to knowing the enemy’s or the other’s narrative, beyond the practical importance noted above. This does not bring me to justify his narrative (the first demand above), because justification concerns his path and the collective to which he belongs. But it may (or might?) affect the question of how much I see him as an evil person—and that itself could improve the chance of reaching some kind of status quo with him.

Note that we’ve arrived at another distinction—a third—regarding narrativity: the postmodern demand is to accept the other’s narrative as legitimate and just also on the plane of path and collective. There is a more moderate demand that is essentially to understand but not justify—that is, to understand the person by his own lights, without justifying his path. And there is an even more basic demand: to know his narrative, without understanding and without justifying. I think the third demand should be acceptable to all of us. I argued above in favor of the second demand. And the first is the mother of all sin. It must be rejected out of hand.

Of course it takes two to tango, but perhaps it’s worth a try.

[1] For some reason, this narrativity is asymmetric. Among Arabs and their left-wing supporters there is no recognition of our narrative—only of theirs (narrativity serves the approach that the weak and vanquished are always right).

[2] The obvious question (often thrown at me) is whether this isn’t always the case. Seemingly every person is convinced he’s right. The Nazi thought that’s indeed how one ought to act, and so did ISIS and every other evildoer under the sun. Well—no. A person sometimes acts in a way he himself understands is not morally proper, and desire or interest drags him to it. It’s not true to assume every person acts as he thinks he ought. That’s the mistake underlying the paradox of weakness of will, which I discussed in columns 172–173. True, we don’t always have a way to know precisely what his positions are and when he acts out of impulse and wickedness rather than ideology. This question would require me to enter into diagnostics, which is not the place here.