The Midrashiyah: “Once There Was a School” (Column 577)

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.

Last Saturday night the film “The Midrashiyah” was broadcast on television, and the internet and media have been in an uproar. Many alumni feel it is a kind of requiem, a funeral for a glorious institution (“the flagship of the religious-Zionist movement,” yeah, right), and not without reason. One should remember that this institution in fact passed away some fifteen years ago, and the film follows its final years. The questions are: Does the film do the Midrashiyah an injustice? Does it present a distorted picture? Is this a picture of only a few final years, or was this the situation in earlier years as well? What do we have to say about this picture? Was it really the flagship? Is this what a flagship is supposed to look like?

There are quite a few emotions here—some belonging to alumni and admirers whose sentiments (which themselves are a fascinating phenomenon) lead them to paint the past in exaggerated pink and to be angry at the image that looks back at us from the film and at the impression the Midrashiyah receives from it. On the other hand, there are outraged viewers who see the images of terrible vandalism and argue that we must not look at positive aspects, even if there were a few hiding within the storms, because overall this is systemic madness that has no justification and cannot have any. One thing is clear: in all these issues, everyone—on all sides—is very adamant.

A few days ago I was asked on the site for my opinion, and I thought the time had come to write something about it. Many aspects arise here, and I myself, as an alumnus (with sentiments), am of course personally involved in the matter. I knew the Midrashiyah as a student, a bit as a teacher, and also as a member of the governing council, from several angles and in several periods. I initiated and accompanied innovative curricula, and I saw what took place there in different eras. I was in very close contact with Rabbi Yagel (of course only after finishing my studies), and also closely connected with the figures who came after Rabbi Yagel, so I am familiar with what happened then as well. I could write an encyclopedia here on the various aspects of the film and of the Midrashiyah itself, but I will try to fit the important matters into one column.

Background

The Midrashiyah was founded in 1944, and in its early years the situation of the religious public was dire. Until the 1950s, youths wearing kippot could not walk freely in Tel Aviv. More than once they were beaten and cursed, and they preferred to wear a beret rather than a kippah. The feelings of inferiority were severe, and with some justification. The “masters of the land,” the “new Jews,” felt ownership of it (to some extent justifiably, due to their contribution to its establishment) and greatly disdained the “dosim” (religious folks). It is no wonder that the religious public was gripped by an inferiority complex and lost many of its best sons. It was not comfortable to remain part of this miserable, humiliated public, especially in the face of the dizzying success of secularism and modernity.

Yisrael Sadan, chairman of Mizrachi Youth (=Na’am), decided to act. He invited Rabbi Yehoshua Yagel to join him in establishing a high school yeshiva that would change this situation: “Midrashiyat Noam.” They dreamed that its graduates would compete with the finest youth in every field and even surpass them in science and technology, academia, Torah learning, physical culture, the army, the arts and culture, the media, and so on. Do not belittle the pioneering spirit of this enterprise, which may sound trivial to many of us. It was a project to change a generation’s image and to create a model of a (religious) Jew entirely anew. The ideas may have been in the air, but I think these two individuals were the first to formulate them and try to turn them into a practical plan.

Even before the Midrashiyah there was the yeshiva of Kfar HaRoeh, founded by Rabbi Neria, but that was an agricultural yeshiva, and it seems that at least over time its goals were a bit different. They were mainly along the lines of pioneering (i.e., settling the Land of Israel in its classic sense—echoing the words of the Chatam Sofer about agriculture in the Land of Israel), contributing to society, and realizing the vision of Rabbi A. Y. Kook and his son, Rabbi Tzvi Yehuda Kook. That was not the goal of Sadan and Rabbi Yagel. They spoke of a new Judaism integrated into all areas of life, not of another niche. Later, the yeshiva in Kfar HaRoeh became a high-school yeshiva, and in that sense the Midrashiyah was the first high-school yeshiva. As noted, in my understanding its vision was fundamentally different from that of Kfar HaRoeh and Rabbi Neria.

Their model was the agricultural schools, in the style of Kadoorie. From there emerged a generation of secular leaders, and Rabbi Yagel and Sadan aspired to create a “Kadoorie” for the religious public. Even the terminology was borrowed from there (“Alifim,” etc.). The oath ceremonies, the traditions, the students’ independence and education toward initiative, the high expectations, the slogans, and so on. And of course also the wildness and lack of boundaries.

One must admit that this enterprise succeeded. Many followed in its wake, and thus the situation familiar to us today came to be: graduates of religious education are integrated into all fields. This may seem self-evident to many of us, but to a great extent it is the result of that same bold vision and project. To this very day, additional tasks are added in the same direction: the army, media, academia and economy, art, and more. All these areas are slowly entering the sphere of relevance for the religious person. Even today there are fields where this is not self-evident and certainly not complete, and therefore—regardless of debates about who came first—it is important to understand the pioneering spirit in the vision of these two figures. Yisrael Sadan’s pathos when he spoke of “flagships” and “the elite of religious Zionism,” and other phrases that sounded fairly amusing to us—and sound even more so today—were in fact not ridiculous at all. This was a far-seeing vision by a man who, in my judgment, did not receive sufficient appreciation. I think the vision belonged mainly to these two, though its realization happened thanks to many other people and institutions.

If you ask today who effected the revolutions in religious culture that we witness to this day, very few will point to Sadan, and even fewer to Rabbi Yagel (who is viewed as Haredi, not entirely justly). Most of the public does not know them at all. They will speak to you first of Rabbi Neria and Rabbi Kook, and afterward of Uri Orbach (media), the early Gush Emunim (settlement and pioneering), Rabbi Eli Sadan (army and pre-military academies), Rabbis Goldvicht and Amital (hesder yeshivot), and more. But without drawing comparisons and without detracting from any of these figures, in my opinion Rabbi Yagel and Yisrael Sadan were, in a certain sense, the two founding fathers of this vision, and their contribution to its realization was decisive. All these later developments were built upon their vision and continued it in different directions. We must understand that they did not envision an institution, but rather a different kind of Jew. The institution was merely the means. Therefore, judging them through the institution is a fundamental mistake. One should judge the realization of their vision, even apart from the success of the institution (which I will address).

As an anecdote, when Rabbi Yagel passed away, I thought there would be an earthquake: conferences, books, endless meetings and TV programs. But in practice there was mostly a thin, small voice. To the extent that the only significant eulogy written about him (as far as I know) was an article of mine in a local paper in Petah Tikva (edited by Moti Zept, “Dalet Sheli”). Years later some book came out that I don’t know who has heard of, and there were a few gatherings—truly minimal. From time to time I discover, to my amazement, that when people want to quote something written about Rabbi Yagel, my words are what appear. This is quite astounding if one considers this man’s contribution to the religious and Israeli public in general, to all of us. And I have not yet spoken about Yisrael Sadan, whose memory has almost evaporated from the Israeli—and even religious—collective memory.

The Midrashiyah

Rabbi Yagel was a very non-conventional person. Stories of the early years tell of wild motorcycle riding and joining in fights with street toughs in Pardes Hanna. But what I myself encountered with him was decidedly unusual as well. He gave students a rather long leash, usually in the form of prohibitions with a wink. The rules were at most recommendations, and their enforcement was very weak. Class committees were a significant decision-making institution in the school. Even in our time the students were very independent and wild. We too had escapades and strikes like those seen in the film, and of course a bit of vandalism and fights (albeit at a very different level than what the film shows). I assume that the character the Midrashiyah took on was certainly influenced by Rabbi Yagel’s personality and by his educational approach and conduct.

Our conduct—and that of the administration (which turned a blind eye and allowed many things)—was very irresponsible, and it amazes me that the film shows only two who drowned and another who was paralyzed in the lower half of his body. From familiarity with how things were done, I would have expected much broader and harsher outcomes from the band of rascals who behaved there as if the place were their own. But this is a result of independence and initiative.

The Midrashiyah accepted students from all strata of the population (contrary to the myths, it was not very hard to get accepted to “the Oxford of the religious public,” “the flagship,” etc., yeah, right). Many received there an opportunity they would not have received in comparable institutions. No one made an issue of Sephardi or Ashkenazi among us. It simply played no role whatsoever for us, and this was reflected in the student body. This was very unusual compared to what was then common (and apparently even today the reality is not yet complete in this regard). My good friend, Rami Buchris z”l (killed as an armored corps officer in Sinai), an impressive and talented young man with an amazing personality from Kiryat Yam, and of course of Mizrahi origin, told me that he was not accepted to “Netiv Meir,” and you surely won’t be surprised that they didn’t quite bother to give him explanations.

Rabbi Yagel’s motto was study partners (havrutot) for all studies, including general studies. We did not leave the weak by the wayside, and there was built-in assistance for anyone who needed it (sometimes by non-conventional means, as was our way). The film also showed the mutual responsibility of these “wild men” for their friends. This was truly a supreme value—and not only for doing harm. The values that governed the institution’s conduct were personal independence, student autonomy along with constant struggle against the administration, initiative, camaraderie and mutual aid, social cohesion, social awareness (though not necessarily more than elsewhere). I must say that studies—both secular and sacred—were not an essential part of being there. Someone in the film said he was not a student at the Midrashiyah but a resident, and it reminded me that when I’m asked whether I studied at the Midrashiyah I always say that I resided there for about four years. But one should know that even those who did study (the nerds) did not violate the basic values: accepting the authority of the democratic majority. If it was decided to run away or strike—everyone was in.

One must understand that such conduct has significant costs. When you give authority and open possibilities to wild kids, you sometimes get severe storms, rampages, and sundry “attacks.” In the end you also arrive at a complete loss of control, as happened in the later years. But we must not belittle the benefits of this policy. As the film discussed, the Midrashiyah brought out of most of us something that could not have emerged elsewhere. It allowed us to bring out everything, with all the attendant costs. I know that I myself held simultaneously two utterly different personas and modes of conduct, one at home in Haifa (and in Bnei Akiva there) and the other at the Midrashiyah (and in Bnei Akiva there). It was something entirely different.

As for the product of the institution, I think it has several characteristics. In the end, the vast majority of these “wild men” became fairly bourgeois people (as someone in the film put it), decidedly normative and productive. I am not impressed that more criminals or more violent and less moral people came out of the Midrashiyah compared to other places. Those stormy years did not truly build problematic elements within us for the long term, but they did contribute unique contributions to our personalities that appeared later, most of them for the good. Just an anecdote: in our cohort in the army, of all the hesder soldiers in the armored corps (and the overwhelming majority then served in armor), 12 guys went to officers’ course. Of them, 11 were from the Midrashiyah. I think our percentage among all the hesder guys surely did not exceed 10%. I don’t think that’s mere coincidence.

That said, it must be honestly stated that in my estimation the myths about the prominence of the alumni in Israeli society are greatly exaggerated. In my view there are institutions whose alumni stand out far more in every field (such as “Netiv Meir”), whether in Torah, academia, public life, or the army. The institution was also accused of not leading an ideological stance. The ramim (faculty rabbis) were more diverse than in most other places, and the fact is that both they and their students underwent processes in all directions. There was a myth that they tried there to “burn” students toward the Haredi direction, but the truth is that anyone who knew Rabbi Yagel understood that this was not his issue at all. He wanted the students to study Torah, and it mattered little to him whether that was in Ponovezh, Hebron, a hesder yeshiva, or Mercaz HaRav. So looked the ramim he brought in, although among them there were indeed those who tried to “burn” students. Everything went there, and each one pushed in his own direction. There was no line dictated from above.

This does not mean there were no fierce debates—as is the way of teenagers—but ideology was not an educational issue in the institution. In a certain sense one can say that the value the institution instilled was the absence of ideology. Study Torah, be a good person who contributes to society and succeeds in his field, and all is excellent. I don’t care how you relate to Rabbi Kook or which party you vote for. When I was on the governing council, the parents (who, in principle, had no representation there)—some of whom looked like classic Mizrachi-types—tried to influence us to appoint a Haredi rosh yeshiva, as opposed to a candidate who taught at a hesder yeshiva. For me, that was a formative event. In my eyes this is a unique and very important message that you will not find elsewhere. The signal emanating from every corner was that ideologies and politics don’t really interest us—only substance. So when people say the Midrashiyah had no uniqueness (see for example here), I think that was its uniqueness. All the yeshivot with “great uniqueness” are, to me, very un-unique. There is no shortage of yeshivot painted in clear ideological colors (the “Line” yeshivot). There are thousands of those. In my view it is precisely here that the lack created by the Midrashiyah’s closure is felt. A color is missing in today’s educational landscape.

Dukov, in his article, argues that this means there was no message and therefore no significant influence on society, but I think he is wrong. Indeed there was no “line,” but that itself was the message, and this “line,” as noted, was decidedly unique—far more than any rigid ideological line. In my impression, Midrashiyah alumni are very rare in the world of “the Line,” certainly in its rabbinic leadership. The Midrashiyah’s contribution is not measured by this or that ideological line, but that is not what it sought to create. It sought to contribute to society in every field and every shade, and that it did. I personally miss this very much today.

By the way, as part of that same policy, a situation arose in which different people holding very different views (not just “seraph” versus “super-tzaddik”) feel part of the same family—with great commitment and deep connection to their friends—and with the strongest sentiments toward the institution, toward Rabbi Yagel, and of course toward their cohort. I think this was created there thanks to that policy and that lack of a “line.”

It cannot be denied that this too has costs. First of all, our ability to sit and learn in the post-high-school yeshiva was not among the most splendid (I think Yeshivat Har Etzion regrets to this day that it accepted such a number of Midrashiyah alumni. The Netiv Meir guys our age founded the hesder yeshiva in Ma’ale Adumim). Beyond that, the rate of becoming secular among Midrashiyah graduates was relatively high, since there was no ideological indoctrination. Everyone was accepted and contained, and Rabbi Yagel upheld a policy of not expelling anyone (except in extreme cases where great harm was caused to others). The alumni belong to all sorts of strata in the population, outlooks, occupations, and affiliations, and I gather that the distribution is broader than is usual in other institutions. In Dukov’s piece you can see the list of rabbis he brings from Netiv Meir, and you can see that the quantity is large but the variety is quite limited. As I wrote to someone, the differences are mainly in questions like whether Rabbi Kook was a seraph or merely a supremely exalted tzaddik—shades this way or that, between Har Etzion and Mercaz HaRav and “the Line.” In the Midrashiyah, by contrast, most of the rabbis who emerged became Haredi. There was no ideological line.

From this it follows, as I explained above, that when examining the institution’s and its founders’ contribution, it is a mistake to look only at the alumni and what “color” they have (if they have a color at all). As I explained above, this was a pioneering institution, and as such all the products of the high-school yeshivot are, to some extent, products of Rabbi Yagel’s and Yisrael Sadan’s vision. The impact of these two figures on society should be measured far more broadly than by the place occupied by the alumni, or by whether they created this or that specific ideology. They created a platform upon which numerous, diverse ideologies could be cultivated (some of which, I assume, they would not have agreed with). Most of these colors were present within the institution itself, but certainly were not excluded by it. This is an entirely different measure.

The Film’s Portrayal

The film addresses all these aspects—the lights and the shadows—and in my opinion conveys them faithfully. It certainly raises difficult questions, but the picture it presents is credible and representative. The thesis arises there that the situation changed following Rabbi Yagel’s replacement, but I do not think that is the point. He himself was replaced in part due to the sense that control was being lost. In other words, the loss of control was the cause, and Rabbi Yagel’s replacement was the result—and not the other way around. One can attribute the loss of control to many things, some of which are raised in the film. I do not think Rabbi Yagel’s absence was very important in this regard.

All the phenomena I have described thus far were well presented in the film. And they existed in our time and probably before us, and did not begin with Rabbi Yagel’s departure. On the contrary, as I explained, many of these aspects were created by him and under his inspiration (though they sometimes went too far). Apparently, such independence for young students, irresponsible conduct, and an emphasis on originality and initiative ultimately lead to a loss of control. The images shown in the film are shocking—systematic and gratuitous destruction of property, terrible disrespect toward teachers and rabbis—at levels we did not know in our time. But these are differences in intensity, not in essence. The elements that led to it were all present earlier. They are embedded in the institution’s DNA.

One can see this by way of an anecdote. When I joined the governing council—a formal body full of very important and well-known figures—the first thing I said at the meeting, to the astonishment of all the celebrities there, was that this institution has no right to exist and should be closed. Needless to say, everyone hushed the cheeky youngster—but to my credit, after not many years (about twelve), everyone understood that I was right, and that is exactly what happened. Incidentally, when I said this (around 1994) it was not because of the situation at the Midrashiyah at that time, which I did not really know, but in light of what I knew from my own time. This teaches that the change of recent years was not essential. The problems were there all along.

The feeling among many alumni that the film presents a biased and unbalanced picture is, in my view, mistaken. It stems from the fact that the visual dimensions of the vandalism in recent years are so strong that they overshadow all the other aspects—good and bad alike. If you ask someone who watched the film, he will usually tell you that the film is nothing but a collection of wild rampages in the style of “Lord of the Flies.” But that is simply not true. The power of those scenes captures all attention and does not allow people to notice the other aspects presented there and to understand that the picture is more complex than a set of scoldings and expressions of shock that you can read in the press these days. Most of what I have written so far also appeared in the film, but it is not seen amid the storms and plumes of smoke.

Needless to say, in the general press there were those who linked this to the settlers’ recent rampages; others sharply criticized the elitism and the rowdiness. Many feel that this institution was a prolonged damage. Here the roots of right-wing and religious wildness were exposed. Each one hung his own notions on this film—needless to say, without real justification. On Facebook I read assertions rejecting the claim that those who “weren’t there” cannot understand. “You see the film and you understand everything.” It’s a collection of creatures who would have been better off never created, period. Well, that critique is rash and unserious. In my opinion you really cannot understand—certainly not just from watching the film—but of course that does not mean one cannot critique what was in the Midrashiyah and what is shown in the film.

Now I would like to touch on several questions that arise from watching the film.

A. On the Value of Cohesion and of Vandalism

As noted, social cohesion was a very central value (with clear encouragement from above). Even after we finished our “statute of rampage,” we all have a very deep sentiment for the institution and for our friends, and also for the rest of the alumni of all cohorts. Each of us knows the situations in which you encounter a Midrashiyah alumnus somewhere—from any cohort you never heard of, with decades of age difference—and you need only ask which cohort he is from and with whom he studied, and there is a good chance you will receive enthusiastic help and VIP treatment. Our family connection is not confined to those like us—those who think like us or live like us. It is a kind of family, and therefore it is not dependent on ideologies and outlooks (as noted above). Even in the film you could see that once an alumnus hears that this is about the Midrashiyah—and especially if the filmmaker is making a film about the Midrashiyah—he immediately pitches in. But only if the director portrays the Midrashiyah well, of course. He must not show images and videos unfit for the sensitive eyes of a Jewish mother, even if that is the unvarnished reality. The concern for the Midrashiyah’s image and the deep sentiment toward it are shared by alumni within and outside the film.

Someone wrote to me that cohesion—and certainly sentiment—is not a value but a means, and it has little meaning if it serves negative ends. I replied that I disagree, for several reasons. First, it is not true that cohesion served only negative ends. Many very beautiful phenomena took place there, and without the value of cohesion they would not have occurred. Beyond that, the same questions can be raised regarding vandalism. If this vandalism did not yield problematic long-term outcomes (in terms of the alumni’s personalities), can we condemn it and claim there is no justification for such an institution? Perhaps it helped generate positive outcomes that would not have occurred without it?! It’s true that the guys took out their fury on trees and stones, but that too was only a means. Ultimately, the educational product is no less important.

I am not claiming that vandalism is marginal or unimportant—only that it cannot be judged in a one-dimensional way, solely from the emotional turmoil created by watching those shocking scenes. Here we have an institution that took risks and created results that, in my eyes, are very significant and very unique. A dangerous approach like this has advantages and disadvantages, and I have already stated my claim that it lacks justification (and therefore I recommended closing it), but to look at that approach and judge it through the prism of what happened within it, without reference to the educational product, is in my eyes a superficial judgment. It seems to me that the “square” nature of religious and yeshiva education is among its inherent weaknesses, and therefore one should indeed appreciate an institution that takes upon itself to deviate from it, despite the risks involved in such extreme deviations.

The judgment of positive values like cohesion and of negative values like vandalism is not one-dimensional and not as simple as it seems at first glance. The story is more complicated.

B. “Lord of the Flies”

It is hard to ignore the association with the phenomena of Lord of the Flies. When a group of children finds itself in some closed, isolated space, very extreme phenomena develop there. Part of the point is that completely normative children can arrive at very extreme behaviors. That is what happened at the Midrashiyah. Most of us (including yours truly) were good Jerusalem kids, and anywhere else we would have grown up conventionally—square and ordinary—doing our matriculation, going to study accounting, and that’s it. Without breaking any fluorescent lights along the way, without throwing burning cars off the roof, without breaking bones and paralyzing a boy, and without killing a few kids by drowning.

This is a fascinating phenomenon, and one should pay attention to it. But we must understand that this behavior does not necessarily reflect evil. There is an eruption of youthful mischief to extreme levels and without the responsibility and understanding of adults to balance it. I do not think there were phenomena of essential evil there, and I believe our future lives as adults prove that. Therefore, as I explained above, while there is room to judge these phenomena in themselves, it is important to take perspective into account.

For example, Rabbi Bloch, the last rosh yeshiva (a friend of mine), appears in the film as a weak man grievously hurt by students who disrespected him. But from personal acquaintance with him and with the situation, I know the reality is exactly the opposite. He is a charismatic person whom the vast majority of students adored. To this day alumni of all kinds—secular and religious, Haredi and otherwise—make pilgrimages to him. And despite the admiration and great love for him, you can see in the film what they did to him. From this you can understand that these were acts not arising from true deliberation. These are youths who do not truly control their urges and boiling blood. They do non-normative acts that are, even in their own eyes, irrational. Such are the ways of youth, and when they act without bounds—the sky’s the limit, for better and for worse. This brings me to the question of herd behavior.

C. The Individual and the Herd

Another facet of “Lord of the Flies” is herd behavior. What causes normative teenagers to descend into such abysses is the herd. Watching the film, the experience is one of a rampaging herd trampling the individual in its path. Everyone looks like a collection of rampaging clones, and you wonder where the differences in personality have gone. I already mentioned that collective decisions were respected by everyone, including the “squares” (geeks/nerds). Seemingly extreme collectivism. But at the same time, the speakers in the film said something entirely opposite: that the Midrashiyah brought out of them whatever was inside them—on condition it was authentic. It sounds as if it encouraged extreme individualism, with its lights and shadows. It reminds me a bit of Monty Python (see column 249), in the scene where the whole crowd shouts “We are all individuals!” while one marginal fellow whispers, “I’m actually very conformist.”

In my experience too, the Midrashiyah certainly encouraged individualism. Surprisingly, that brazen herd behavior and collectivism does not contradict the individualism inherent in it. A person comes to expression within the collective, and it is precisely this that allows him to bring out very individual dimensions. The question is what place he occupies within the collective, which directions he pushes, how creative he is, and so on. Everyone is invited to lead the collective in his own direction, to propose ideas, to ask for backing, and so forth. Any initiative is welcome, and there will always be some who will work to promote it. If it catches on, it will receive backing and the whole cohort will join. If not—then do it alone. And if they send you home, don’t worry: the class committee will threaten that the entire cohort will leave and “you won’t see us here anymore.” We won’t leave you alone.

Somehow, the individual found maximal individual expression precisely within a rampaging collective. It may sound very “Kook-ist,” but the experience from the Midrashiyah is exactly that. All those rampages were the convergence and integration of a collection of extreme individualists—even though one might mistake the overall image for a herd of clones. If I may recall the claim from Facebook that an outsider can understand it—I repeat: absolutely not. An outsider truly and sincerely will not understand it. Watching the film is very misleading in these aspects, and those who did not experience it from the inside will indeed reach mistaken conclusions.

D. The Role of a High School

Another question that arises is the extent to which a high school is an educational (academic) institution. Most of us did not study much there, but we made up the gaps rather easily (with the help of friends and mutual responsibility). We invested our energy and time in entirely different aspects of life. Did we lose something? If we had all behaved nicely, then we would likely have engaged in orderly, intensive study. What exactly would have come of that?

This raises the question of whether the time has come to re-examine the role of the school. A boarding school is a kind of laboratory preparing us for life, and basing everything on studies misses something very fundamental. It suppresses initiative, responsibility, and friendship—though of course it leads to calmer, more peaceful outcomes. The disturbances and “pogroms” you saw in the film were indeed acts of horror, but they had significant results, even if not measurable.

E. The Status of Students in School

There are different models that give students status in school. There are democratic schools, and there are various institutions that place trust in students, and so on. The Midrashiyah had something of this, but in a different form. In a democratic school you give students status, but you steer them to make the “right” decisions (there are well-known tricks to achieve this. This is the art of a democratic school principal). But this is a simulated, somewhat fictitious democracy. The reason is that full independence and true status for students is dangerous—certainly when dealing with those you cannot truly trust. But it is an experiment whose risk carries the potential for very different achievements. The administration there knew that recognizing the students’ status could lead them to act against it. It is not clear that it knew, but it turned out quickly that it could also lose control over them, as indeed happened in the end. Even so, it is an educational experiment whose value and significance I would not dismiss.

This independence and sovereignty have ramifications that build something very deep within the student, and the fruits can be reaped later on. I am not here to decide whether it is right to do this. On the contrary, in my judgment it is not right and not responsible to do so (as I also declared in the governing council). And still, when judging it one must take into account the positive sides as well. As is known, in economics, profit is directly proportional to risk, and without risk there is no great profit. Sometimes it is not right to take the risk, but taking risk is something to be appreciated. It has potential for gain that will not be achieved otherwise. Many of us—alumni and others—owe thanks to this bold experiment, even if, in a broader view, it failed or at least lacked justification.

Conclusion

I think the judgment of what the film describes is very complex and, of course, influenced by biases and conditioning—by sentiments, by love or hatred, and the like. It is certainly influenced by visual biases (the force of graphic scenes). In practice, it is a very complex matter, and it deserves a judgment that is likewise complex. There are lights and shadows here, and I am trying—despite the sentiments that I too have—to judge matters as balanced as possible. Not only because I have sentiment for the people and the place, but because that is proper. The “tut-tutting” at the sight of the film is natural and easy and seemingly entirely correct. These are indeed acts of horror, and in some cases they had severe consequences. And still, we should not be captivated by a shallow, initial gaze.

It is hard for me to ignore my anarchistic temperament (which is probably not unrelated to my experiences at the Midrashiyah), and it is quite clear to me that this is part of my indulgent attitude toward these appalling phenomena. But I think anarchism has positive sides even from the perspective of those who are not anarchists. It is worth thinking about it from time to time a bit more sympathetically, even if one ultimately decides to reject it. And certainly perspective never harmed anyone. Ben-Gurion was a dictator who perpetrated atrocities, but it is doubtful whether without that temperament and conduct we would have a state today. This does not mean I will justify his every act, but my judgment of him must be complex.