The Seventh Million
The Israelis and the Holocaust
Book Edition Details
Summary
A nation haunted by its shadows, Israel's identity is inextricably linked to the Holocaust's enduring echoes. In "The Seventh Million," Tom Segev delves into the profound reverberations of this dark past, shedding light on how it has intricately shaped the country's soul. Through painstaking research, Segev uncovers the complex tapestry of Israel’s history, entwined with pivotal figures like Ben-Gurion and Begin, and seismic events such as the Exodus affair and the Eichmann trial. These historical threads reveal a narrative of manipulation and ideological maneuvering, where the memory of atrocity becomes both a burden and a tool. This compelling exploration not only chronicles a nation’s struggle with its legacy but also invites readers to ponder the profound ways history molds national consciousness, leaving indelible marks on the present.
Introduction
In the spring of 1948, as David Ben-Gurion prepared to declare Israeli independence, he faced a profound dilemma that would haunt the new nation for decades. Among the hundreds of thousands of Jewish refugees streaming into Palestine were Holocaust survivors bearing witness to unprecedented genocide, yet their presence challenged the very foundation of Zionist ideology. How could a movement that promised to create strong, self-reliant "New Jews" embrace those who seemed to embody the weakness and victimization it sought to overcome? This tension between Zionist aspirations and Holocaust reality would fundamentally shape Israeli society, politics, and national identity. This remarkable historical journey reveals how Holocaust memory transformed from a source of shame and silence into the cornerstone of Israeli consciousness. Through three critical phases—the pre-war encounters with Nazi Germany, the painful absorption of survivors, and the dramatic politicization of memory—we witness how a young nation grappled with inherited trauma while forging its identity. The story exposes the complex negotiations between moral obligations and political necessities, between honoring the dead and serving the living, between historical truth and national mythology. This exploration will resonate with anyone seeking to understand how societies process collective trauma, how political leaders harness historical memory for contemporary purposes, and how the relationship between past and present continues to shape modern democratic discourse. The Israeli experience offers profound insights into both the power and peril of making victimization central to national identity.
Early Encounters: German Immigration and Wartime Dilemmas (1933-1945)
The rise of Adolf Hitler in January 1933 presented the Zionist movement with an unprecedented moral and strategic challenge. As Nazi persecution intensified, approximately 60,000 German Jews—known as "yekkes"—fled to Palestine between 1933 and 1939, fundamentally altering the character of the Jewish community. Yet their rescue came through the controversial Haavara agreement, which allowed German Jews to transfer assets to Palestine by purchasing German goods, effectively breaking the international boycott of Nazi Germany. David Ben-Gurion and other Zionist leaders justified such compromises through harsh pragmatism, believing that only a sovereign Jewish state could ultimately protect world Jewry. This perspective led to agonizing decisions during the Holocaust years, including the prioritization of young, healthy immigrants who could contribute to state-building over elderly refugees or orphaned children who needed rescue most desperately. When reports of systematic extermination reached Palestine in 1942, the Jewish Agency's response was constrained by limited resources and the competing demands of building national institutions. The wartime period revealed the fundamental tension between Zionist ideology and Jewish solidarity that would define Israel's relationship with Holocaust memory. Leaders genuinely agonized over European Jewry's fate, yet consistently subordinated rescue efforts to state-building activities. The few operations attempted—paratrooper missions behind enemy lines, illegal immigration schemes, ransom negotiations—were heroic in intention but tragically modest in scope, saving thousands while millions perished. These wartime decisions established patterns that would haunt Israeli society for decades: the instrumentalization of Jewish suffering for political purposes, the prioritization of collective survival over individual rescue, and the complex relationship between Holocaust memory and Zionist legitimacy. The seeds of future political controversies were planted in these impossible choices, creating a legacy of guilt and defensiveness that would profoundly shape the nation's consciousness.
Survivor Absorption and the Conspiracy of Silence (1945-1960)
The arrival of nearly 350,000 Holocaust survivors in the first years after World War II presented Israel with both its greatest demographic opportunity and its most daunting social challenge. These survivors, representing one-third of the new state's population, brought not only the human resources necessary for national survival but also profound trauma that Israeli society was psychologically unprepared to address. The encounter between survivors and established Israelis revealed deep cultural fissures that would reshape both groups. Israeli society's response was marked by a complex mixture of moral obligation and psychological discomfort. The pioneering ethos that celebrated strength, self-reliance, and agricultural labor clashed with the reality of traumatized refugees who often seemed passive, urban-oriented, and psychologically fragile. Many Israelis viewed survivors as uncomfortable reminders of the Jewish past they were trying to transcend, leading to the cruel slang term "sabon" (soap) and the accusatory question of how these people had survived when others had perished. The practical challenges of absorption were immense, with housing shortages forcing many survivors into transit camps with conditions that some officials admitted were worse than displaced persons camps in Europe. Yet the deeper problem was ideological—the "New Hebrew" ideal that dominated Israeli culture seemed incompatible with acknowledging Jewish victimization. This created what became known as the "conspiracy of silence," where survivors learned to suppress their experiences and focus on building new identities as Israelis rather than processing their trauma. The survivors' participation in the War of Independence provided a crucial pathway to acceptance, comprising one-third of all fighters and demonstrating their commitment to the Zionist project. Yet even this military service reinforced the narrative that only through strength and resistance could Jews earn their place in the new nation. The period established the foundational tension between honoring Holocaust memory and maintaining Israeli confidence that would define national discourse for decades to come.
The Eichmann Trial and Memory Transformation (1961-1967)
The capture and trial of Adolf Eichmann marked a watershed moment in Israeli society's relationship with Holocaust memory. Ben-Gurion's decision to bring Eichmann to Jerusalem was driven by multiple motives: the pursuit of justice, the desire to educate Israeli youth about their history, and the need to assert Israel's role as the defender of world Jewry. The trial became a carefully orchestrated national drama, transforming abstract historical knowledge into visceral emotional experience for an entire generation. For the first time, Holocaust survivors took center stage in Israeli public discourse. Prosecutor Gideon Hausner's decision to call over one hundred witnesses, many with no direct connection to Eichmann's specific crimes, transformed the courtroom into a theater of memory. Their testimonies, broadcast live across the nation, forced Israelis to confront the human reality of genocide they had long kept at arm's length. Young Israelis began to see survivors not as shameful reminders of Jewish weakness but as heroic witnesses to unprecedented evil. The trial served crucial international purposes as well, positioning Israel as the legitimate heir to European Jewish civilization and the natural protector of Jewish interests worldwide. Ben-Gurion used the proceedings to argue that only Israel could prevent another Holocaust, making the case for Jewish sovereignty in terms that resonated far beyond the country's borders. The phrase "Never Again" took on new meaning, not just as remembrance of the past but as a call to action for the present. The transformation of Holocaust consciousness that began with the Eichmann trial would accelerate dramatically after the Six-Day War, when the weeks of anxiety preceding the conflict created a direct psychological link between past genocide and contemporary threats. This connection between historical trauma and present danger became a permanent feature of Israeli political discourse, setting the stage for the full integration of Holocaust memory into national identity and the complex manipulations that would follow.
Politicization of Trauma: From National Memory to Political Tool (1967-1990s)
The Six-Day War marked the beginning of Holocaust memory's full integration into Israeli political discourse, transforming it from historical tragedy into contemporary political weapon. The weeks of anxiety preceding the war, when many Israelis feared another attempt at Jewish annihilation, created a direct psychological link between past genocide and present threats. The dramatic victory that followed seemed to confirm the Zionist narrative that Jewish sovereignty was the only guarantee against future destruction, elevating Holocaust memory from source of shame to pillar of national pride. Menachem Begin's rise to power in 1977 accelerated this politicization dramatically. Begin, himself a Holocaust survivor, wielded genocide memory as a political instrument, using it to justify controversial policies from bombing Iraq's nuclear reactor to invading Lebanon. His rhetoric explicitly connected contemporary Arab leaders to Hitler, portraying every threat to Israel as potentially genocidal. This approach resonated with many Israelis but drew criticism for trivializing the unique horror of the Holocaust and distorting rational political discourse. The institutionalization of Holocaust memory during this period was remarkable in scope and intensity. Educational programs expanded dramatically, with visits to Holocaust sites becoming mandatory for Israeli students. Museums, memorials, and research institutes proliferated, creating what critics called a "Holocaust industry." The annual Holocaust Remembrance Day evolved from modest commemoration into a national ritual of extraordinary emotional power, with air raid sirens bringing the entire country to a standstill in collective mourning. By the 1990s, Holocaust consciousness had become so central to Israeli identity that it shaped responses to virtually every political challenge. The memory of genocide was invoked to justify settlement expansion, resist territorial concessions, and dismiss international criticism. Yet this instrumentalization also generated backlash, with some Israelis arguing that excessive focus on the Holocaust was distorting national priorities and preventing rational political discourse. The debate over Holocaust memory had become inseparable from broader questions about Israel's future direction and its relationship with the world.
Summary
The transformation of Holocaust memory in Israeli society reveals the complex interplay between genuine trauma, political necessity, and national identity formation. The central tension throughout this historical journey was between Zionist ideals of strength and renewal and the reality of inherited victimization that could not be easily transcended. This contradiction forced Israeli society through a painful evolution from silence and shame to remembrance and political mobilization, demonstrating how democratic societies can both preserve and distort historical memory in service of contemporary needs. The Israeli experience offers crucial insights for modern democracies grappling with their own traumatic histories. First, the importance of creating space for survivors to tell their stories without political manipulation or ideological filtering, recognizing that authentic remembrance requires confronting uncomfortable truths rather than constructing convenient narratives. Second, the recognition that collective memory is always contested and evolving, requiring constant vigilance against those who would exploit historical tragedy for narrow political purposes or personal gain. Most fundamentally, this history reminds us that the question is not whether societies should remember their traumas, but how they can do so in ways that promote wisdom rather than vengeance, understanding rather than hatred, and hope rather than despair. The challenge lies in honoring historical suffering without becoming imprisoned by it, learning from the past without being paralyzed by it, and using memory to build bridges rather than walls. For contemporary societies facing similar challenges of integration and remembrance, the Israeli story demonstrates both the power of collective memory to unite and heal, and its equal capacity to divide and distort when placed in service of political ambition rather than historical truth.
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By Tom Segev
