Everything is politics – the founding history of the Zionist state has a downside

At the end of her performance at the Eurovision Song Contest in Basel, a beaming Yuval Raphael stands on stage, shouts: "Thank you, Europe!" and then in Hebrew: "Am Yisrael Chai!" ("The Jewish people live!") A slogan shouted by Jews all over the world as a sign of defiance and self-assurance against a world full of Jew-hatred.

Yuval Raphael is a survivor of the Islamist Hamas massacre on October 7, 2023. She witnessed the genocidal attack, saw her friends slaughtered, and yet made it back to life. She took to the Eurovision Song Contest stage, where she sang a song of hope as a proud Israeli, hostile to almost everyone, threatened by some. And then: "The Jewish people live!" A message to audiences around the world. Even a simple performance at a pop music competition is a political act for a young Israeli. How could it be otherwise?

Anyone who has ever been to Israel is probably familiar with the situation. Even now, when the occasional rocket alert forces you to flee to a bomb shelter for a few minutes, you then find yourself standing at the counter of a sidewalk café, ordering an espresso, and within minutes finding yourself in a heated debate. The barista, who turns out to be a former paratrooper, asks if anyone has heard the Attorney General's latest comment on the illegitimate appointment of the new intelligence chief. Another customer chimes in, becomes angry, and rages against the tyranny of a judiciary infiltrated by the left. By now, the espresso has gone cold. Welcome to Israel – to a country where everything is political. Since its beginnings.

There is no neutral space anywhere in Israel. On Tel Aviv's beach, 17-year-olds train for the entrance exam to the elite fighting units. In Jerusalem's bars, everyone is careful not to find a single bag containing a possible bomb. In Haifa's market, where Arab Israelis shop just as much as Jewish Israelis, this postulates a sense of normality – politics is present everywhere. It is like the yellow desert sand brought by the Khamsin wind. It affects everything: language and art, religion, the military, clothing, even food. There is no haven of peace, nowhere to retreat.

This isn't solely due to the current war. The politicization of everyday life is a historically developed phenomenon, rooted in the founding history of the state, the Shoah, immigration, and the Zionist project itself. Israel, like the United States, is an idea that has become reality, a concept that hasn't yet been fully thought through, a startup whose success story isn't yet guaranteed.

The political element is already manifest in the national language, Hebrew, a language revived at the end of the 19th century and transferred from its biblical context into the modern era. This process itself was a political project, long before the founding of the state. The early Zionists rejected Yiddish as a future national language because it had originated in the ghetto and represented its mentality. The language of the Torah was therefore intended to serve as a basis for the return to the "Old New Land," as Theodor Herzl called Israel.

Many expressions in modern Hebrew come from the Bible, with an expanded, updated meaning. Other words were deliberately created to clothe new realities in ancient garb. The language spans a historical arc from the biblical era to the here and now, serving as a political manifestation of Jewish continuity in the Promised Land. Many religiously charged terms represent political concepts and are omnipresent in discourse. Likewise, the language of the military influences colloquial Hebrew and thus political discussion. This is incredibly combative, something no longer seen in post-war European societies, which have been comfortable under the wing of the "Pax Americana" for far too long.

In Israel, everything is politically charged, even clothing. It's not just the kaftans worn by ultra-Orthodox Jews, whose political stance is, of course, well-known. Even the different colors and weaves of the kippot, the skullcaps, reveal the political stance of their wearers, whether they are nationalist or conservative. A particular religious stance is simultaneously evidence of a corresponding political outlook. And even the Bermuda shorts, baring tops, and "kafkafim" (flip-flops) worn by Israelis in Tel Aviv are not just a sign that the city is by the sea. They also represent a casual, liberal attitude to life that often positions itself on the left.

Even the choice of supermarket has political implications: Whether you shop at Tiv Taam, which also carries pork products, or at a kosher supermarket, whether you pick up your fruit and vegetables from an Arab vendor in Jaffa or Ramla—everyday errands are also political statements. Even more so is the question of how to deal with products from settlements in the West Bank. The cheese selection or the wine shelf can quickly become an ideological battleground.

Of course, the Israeli cultural scene is also highly political and provocative—and increasingly in the crossfire of political criticism from the government. Artists who comment on the conflict or the Netanyahu government's judicial reforms risk a boycott. Films critical of the Israeli army are no longer funded by the state. Plays, films, novels: they are all judged not only by aesthetic standards, but also by their political stance. For example, a novel by the author Dorit Rabinyan about the love affair between a Palestinian and a Jewish Israeli was banned from school reading in 2015.

World-famous authors like David Grossman and Zeruya Shalev are facing opposition in their own country: their political positions make them enemies for sections of Israeli society. Israeli writers often use their works as a forum for political reflection, addressing the inner conflict of Israel's self-image, the moral gray areas of military service, or the tension between liberal democracy and religion. It's no different in film. Global successes like Ari Folman's "Waltz with Bashir" and the internationally successful Israeli TV series "Fauda" take a relentless look at war and occupation and the psychological damage they leave behind.

Even pop music isn't neutral. Singers like Ivri Lider and the Mizrahi Orthodox Hanan Ben Ari combine personal stories with social commentary. Many other artists also sing about the hardships and conflicts of everyday Israeli life, writing songs that address the catastrophe of October 7 and its aftermath. Thus, every exhibition, every premiere, every new album becomes a contribution to the national debate.

But the most striking example of how politics intervenes in the lives of all Israelis is mandatory military service. Men and women, with few exceptions, must join the military at the age of 18. Service is not only formative in military terms, but also socially. It creates networks, careers, political attitudes—and traumas that shape the lives and minds of those affected for a lifetime.

The army is where political identities are forged or intensified. The unit in which one serves becomes a political calling card. The same applies to the ultra-Orthodox sector's refusal to perform military service. This, too, is a political statement that has been tolerated by most Israeli governments so far because they needed the pious as coalition partners. This attitude of refusal is now fueling the anger of those serving in this never-ending war even more than usual and reflects the deep divisions within Israeli society.

Related to this is the debate over the separation of church and state. In Israel, this separation has never been implemented. Orthodox rabbis influence marriages and funerals. This close intertwining is a perennial source of political conflict that affects literally everyone. Israelis who do not want to submit to the dictates of the rabbis often marry in Cyprus, since there is no civil marriage ceremony there. Thus, even the declaration of love for one's partner becomes a political declaration.

When you ask Israelis about this omnipresent politicization of their lives, most of them laugh. It's just the way it is, always has been. But this constant presence of politics takes its toll; it's demoralizing. Many Israelis long for normalcy, for a daily life without headlines, which is why they flee, temporarily or permanently, to Berlin, Portugal, or Greece.

This omnipresence of politics may, however, be the price of being part of a political laboratory that promises to be both a home and a fortress for the Jewish people after centuries of persecution. In Israel, the drama of our time is intensifying: the search for answers to the multiple, new threats facing humanity in the 21st century.

Europe, which is currently brutally awakening from its deep sleep, should pay close attention to how the people of Israel are trying to cope with the shaky ground beneath their feet. It could, for better or for worse, become the blueprint for the future of the old continent.