Do anti-Zionist Jews actually exist? A partial review of Butler’s Parting Ways
A partisan review of Judith Butler's book about the Israeli-Arab conflict, "Parting Ways."
Note: This piece was originally written on the 27th of February, 2024, as a response to unfolding events to which this text alludes and presumes prior familiarity with.
It’s not a stretch to see the relevance of returning to Butler’s “Parting Ways” in the current climate. In the aftermath of the events of October 7th, before Israel’s military actions in Gaza, we were confronted with what my friend Oz Bin-Nun aptly termed a dual lamentation. The first lamentation revolved around the loss of our brethren, victims of Hamas’ brutality. The second lamentation stemmed from the response of a new generation of U.S. Jewry, who disturbingly hailed the slaughter on U.S. campuses as a form of Palestinian liberation. Just as no one could have predicted such a massacre, few could have anticipated that a segment of the young Jewish community would harbour not just anti-Zionist sentiments but overtly genocidal intentions towards their fellow Jews across the sea. This was particularly distressing for those of us who had believed our Jewish compatriots when they asserted that their opposition to Zionism didn’t equate to support for violence against Jews or anyone else. Few have articulated this delicate position as poignantly as Judith Butler, whose meek response to the massacre echoed the now infamous academic refrain, “it depends on the context.”
It merits examination to delve into Butler’s book, not solely for its content but within the broader context of its role as a precursor for young liberal Jews traversing towards an alarmingly hostile stance against Israeli Jews, and sadly, in some instances, Jews at large. Non-Zionist Jewish student groups not only hailed the tragedy but also actively spearheaded protests against Israel’s retaliatory measures targeting the orchestrators. For those of us who still hold ties with our non-Zionist acquaintances, a pressing question emerges: Where do they stand now? Amid promises and hopes, the political landscape appears devoid of their once-vocal stance. Is it plausible that their stance leans excessively toward theory, providing a sense of moral superiority while neglecting tangible political action? Or, as I posited, could their purported stance, in political terms, be less of a stance and more of a gateway to antisemitism? Returning to Butler’s “Parting Ways,” I sought answers to ascertain whether the fundamental discrepancies I initially perceived were perhaps overshadowed by the goodwill I afforded an author who, at the very least, seemed morally conscientious.
This, then, is not merely an academic critique but rather a politically charged assessment of a work that now demands a reevaluation. Indeed, for these compelling reasons, I refrain from delving into the book’s exhaustive content, including its intricate exploration of diverse perspectives offered by Jewish and Palestinian authors. Instead, I focus solely on the introduction, conducting a meticulous examination, perhaps akin to a “micro-historical” analysis, aimed at pinpointing the exact juncture where my initial interpretation faltered. Perhaps intellectually, yes. Yet, equally crucially, politically and emotionally? Undoubtedly.
As one delves into the opening chapters of Butler’s work, a concerning conflation emerges between the justification for critiquing Israeli state violence and the broader framework of political Zionism. (2) This conflation permeates the entirety of the text; Butler seamlessly transitions between critiquing the delegitimisation of criticism toward Israel’s actions and questioning the legitimacy of the state of Israel itself. Butler posits that “If Zionism continues to control the meaning of Jewishness, then there can be no Jewish critique of Israel and no acknowledgement of those of Jewish descent or formation who call into question the right of the State of Israel to speak for Jewish values or, indeed, the Jewish people.” (3) However, this assertion appears perplexing. A valid critique of the state of Israel can certainly emerge from a Jewish perspective—surely not every critique of the Israeli state implies its complete delegitimisation.
Moreover, Butler asserts that critiquing Zionism solely from within the Jewish tradition is inadequate, citing the Jewish-centred nature of Zionism as part of the problem of the conflict. While incorporating Palestinian perspectives to shape a comprehensive critique of Israel is commendable, it’s disconcerting to suggest that this move is necessitated by the perceived Jewish-centeredness of Zionism. Such an implication overlooks the active participation of Arab-Israelis, Palestinians, Bedouins, Druze, and others within Israel’s democratic framework. Implicit in this discussion is the question of whether a nation-state, always particularly the Jewish one, is inherently unethical—a topic that inevitably leads to discourse on contemporary interpretations of antisemitism among public intellectuals. (2)
At the heart of Butler’s thesis lies the assertion that the democratic structure of the Israeli state falls short in resolving the conflict—it’s, in fact, a contributing factor. She posits the necessity, as we’ve observed, for a non-Jewish-centric foundation to be established prior to critiquing Israel. Butler envisions this foundation not as a product of democratic dialogue among diverse voices, as one might typically anticipate in a democratic society, but rather as a theoretical construct that must precede any deliberation. This vision underpins the project outlined in her book, “Parting Ways.” Her rationale stems from two considerations. Firstly, she contends that adherence to a specific religious or ethnic tradition inherently diminishes the value of others—a claim she presents without substantive argument, leaving it to the reader’s interpretation. (2) One might counter, as Alasdair MacIntyre does, that a tradition, defined as “an argument extended through time,” (Whose Justice?, Which Rationality?, 12) does not inherently exclude or undermine other traditions, but rather provides the foundational framework for reasoned inquiry to flourish.
Let me reiterate this point in another fashion. Presumably, a democratic framework is one in which dialogue is the preferred mode of deliberation. However, as the theoretician Bakhtin claimed, for there to be a dialogue, there is a need first to have different voices. However, Butler asserts that “Any legitimate way to think about a polity for the region would have to emerge from the contesting ethical and political traditions that inform conduct, thinking, modes of belonging, and antagonism in the region.” (2) This assertion is undoubtedly true, but does it call for a theoretical construction of a tradition that will conflate all the voices of the traditions in the said area, especially in a sphere—theory—that is detached from the direct interests of the peoples that inhabit the land at the time? Does it not fall into creating a monstrous monological position, to use Bakhtin’s term, that is precisely the anathema to democratic deliberation, especially when it is framed as the sole candidate for “Any legitimate way to think”? Is the theoretical construction of a tradition, amalgamating the existing traditions of the region, a plausible approach, or does it risk engendering a theoretical abstraction divorced from the lived experiences and immediate concerns of the populace?
Furthermore, Butler contends that her conceptual framework is essential for disentangling the “disturbing” connection between Jewish identity and the Israeli state’s claim to represent the Jewish people. (3) However, it’s regrettable that such a dissociation cannot be achieved through mere theoretical abstraction. In the realm of politics, the state of Israel undeniably stands as the preeminent and authoritative voice of the Jewish community today. Those, like Butler, who seek to challenge it must do so from a position that, while perhaps Jewish in identity, is politically marginal at best. Yet, the rationale behind such challenges remains deeply contentious, prompting one to question what fundamentally delegitimises the notion of Jewish statehood, despite its practical challenges. Even if one were to spotlight these practical issues, it remains incumbent upon them to demonstrate a direct link between these challenges and the essential nature of Jewish statehood—a connection which, notably, Butler fails to establish at any point.
Butler vehemently asserts, “It would then make no sense to say that Jewish frameworks can provide the basis for political cohabitation or, indeed, binationalism, since the whole point is to develop a polity that would not only shelter multiple frameworks but commit itself to a binationalism that will only become fully thinkable once colonial rule has come to an end.” Yet, in the realm of politics, one must question the rationale behind such assertions. Nation-states, despite their imperfections, remain the most enduring and stable constructs of liberal democracy. Nationality, while fraught with its own set of challenges, stands as the primary framework conducive to political liberalism and democracy. Setting aside intriguing experiments such as the United States, why should the Jewish state, as opposed to, say, Germany, be subjected to the sort of social experimentation Butler advocates in the name of symbolic justice? (4)
Furthermore, Butler presents a distinctive rationale for focusing on Israel. She asserts, “In fact, one would not be concerned with the first hegemonic move (Jewish = Zionist) if one were not primarily concerned with ending the history of subjugation.” (4) Disregarding Butler’s oversimplified historical narrative, which reduces the Israeli-Palestinian conflict to the subjugation of the latter by the former, she argues that her binational—or its ‘non-wretched’ forms—solution is driven by a quest for historical justice, albeit symbolic and abstract. However, one is compelled to question why Butler rejects the two-state solution, a stance advocated vigorously by the American and Israeli left for decades. One suspicion arises: Butler may feel aligned with the Palestinian mainstream, which, especially abroad, opposes the existence of a Jewish nation-state and, within regional politics, effectively impedes the establishment of a Palestinian state despite generous offers that maintain the integrity of the Jewish state. Indeed, Butler uncritically embraces this rejection by endorsing the prevalent narrative within Palestinian society. (14) Notably absent from her citations is an acknowledgement of the extensive historical discourse on the conflict, unless heavily skewed toward fringe positions. Expecting Butler to engage in such critical dialogue within a book reliant on fringe historical accounts may be unrealistic. Instead, readers are implicitly urged to accept these positions and proceed—an approach more akin to suspending disbelief in fictional literature.
Butler’s argument transitions to a descriptive exploration of deriving principles from a given tradition. She initiates her discourse by providing a heuristic analysis of what status we should accord to conclusions from a specific historical tradition. According to Butler, one must inquire whether conclusions drawn from a particular tradition in a new historical context inherently belong to that tradition, or if it’s imperative to acknowledge the heterogeneity of such traditions, thereby negating the concept of fundamental belonging. More precisely, Butler questions whether the generalizability of such principles to new historical situations implies their association with the new context, thus refuting the notion of ownership tied to any unified historical origin. (4-5)
Before delving into Butler’s responses to these challenging inquiries, it’s prudent to scrutinise their presuppositions within the framework of historical tradition. One such assumption is that truths originating from a specific historical tradition remain confined to the conditions of their emergence—a notion that doesn’t necessarily apply to mature intellectual traditions. MacIntyre, in “Whose Justice? Which Rationality?” meticulously dissects the concept of tradition, contending that most mature traditions in ethical inquiries today encompass a concept of rationality designed to resolve future ethical debates. The inherent truth in various contemporary traditions extends beyond the historical circumstances of their inception; their purpose lies in transcending the social and political disputes of any one given era. (Whose Justice?, Which Rationality?, 356-358)
The second assumption inherent in Butler’s questions is that a purely descriptive account of the emergence of any tradition would point to irreconcilable origins, and hence preclude the possibility of a unified tradition. However, this position seems to be merely untenable. While it must be true to a certain extent, if it were true universally, it would have given us a good reason to rule out the concept of any tradition a priori and would thus render the discussion about ‘different origins’ a mere sleight of hand. The recognition of diverse origins in traditions, while important, doesn’t necessarily preclude the existence of a unified tradition. While there may be variations in the roots of traditions, dismissing the concept of tradition outright due to diverse origins would overlook the broader commonalities and shared principles that underpin mature traditions. These traditions often transcend historical particularities and contribute to ongoing ethical discourse, challenging the notion that divergent origins inherently render a tradition essentially fragmented in nature.
Butler presents a weighty challenge, though much of it remains implicit: Can the Jewish tradition serve as a fair mediator in conflicts between Jews and non-Jews, particularly in the context of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict? This question delves into issues of historical procedural justice. (5) Butler suggests there’s cause to suspect that such arbitration might unfairly favour Jewish interests. However, without concrete evidence supporting this claim, one wonders about its validity.
Accepting the legalistic analogy, as Butler hints, entails considering three potential resolutions for such conflicts. The first involves seeking outside arbiters mutually recognised by both parties. However, it appears there are no such impartial arbiters in existence—a notion reminiscent of Hobbes’ state of nature in international justice. The second possibility involves the parties themselves adhering to shared premises to deliberate a resolution, a process evident in the history of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. The third possibility, while not excluding the second, assumes its existence. If the Jewish tradition tends to favour Jewish interests, it suggests that through internal deliberation, a sufficiently explicit theocratization of Jewish interests will occur. Presumably, a parallel process within the Palestinian tradition would unfold similarly. Once interests are explicit, the deliberative process toward conflict resolution could proceed more smoothly, with each party feeling its interests adequately represented. Since this process is inherently political, not theoretical, inevitably key positions will be altered following outbursts of violence and border formation. While social and political power dynamics still influence the process, given the absence of a viable alternative for achieving historical justice, imperfect resolutions may be preferable to unattainable visions of heavenly justice on earth.
Butler presents a significant reason for considering the Jewish traditional framework inadequate for addressing contemporary conflicts, albeit indirectly. According to Butler, the pivotal question for the identity of today’s Jews revolves around their relationship with non-Jews. While Butler doesn’t provide a plausible rationale for this assertion, she inevitably concludes that resolving this question cannot solely rely on the Jewish framework.
Exploring the historical conditions that render this question definitive for modern Jews is crucial to assessing Butler’s assertion. Throughout the Middle Ages, Jewish communities largely maintained social distance from non-Jews, operating within a predominantly Jewish political framework, albeit under secular non-Jewish rule. However, with the onset of modernity and the process of emancipation, Jewish populations abandoned social distancing and engaged closely with non-Jews. It was during this period that the question of Jewish-non-Jewish relations gained significance, leading to the emergence of diverse Jewish sects in response to the new socio-political landscape.
The Zionist movement proposed a distinct response to the question of Jewish-non-Jewish relations, advocating for a Jewish nation-state as the political framework. Within this context, Jewish existence in Israel primarily involves social proximity to other Jews in urban settings, facilitating political institutions that foster practical questions about coexistence with non-Jews in Israel. Consequently, the traditional question about Jewish-non-Jewish relations becomes marginalised in Israeli Jewish life, enabling Jews to pursue authentic Jewish identities without fundamental antagonism toward non-Jews. And indeed, it offered original developments of the Jewish tradition without fear of assimilation or subjugation, which informed so much of Jewish history until the establishment of the state of Israel. Butler’s portrayal of the definitive question facing Jews today overlooks the social and political conditions shaping nearly half of world Jewry. Her assessment, while challenging the ideal construction of Jewish identity, demonstrates a disregard for the complex realities that define the existence of nearly half of the global Jews, namely, the Israeli Jews.
Butler posits diaspora Jewish existence as a solution for the intricate problem she outlines. Notably, this solution remains dialectically intertwined with the ongoing disapproval of Jewish sovereignty and independence, implicitly critiquing Zionism. Historically, this solution can be construed as a secular evolution of a neo-Hasidic response to modernity—an aspect Butler hints at but doesn’t fully explore, particularly in her analysis of Derrida. The absence of substantial engagement with Hasidic theology or sociology weakens her argument, revealing a lack of immersion within the Jewish tradition.
Butler acknowledges her intellectual origins lie elsewhere, advocating for diaspora existence as a fundamentally ethical stance that views the ethical subject as inherently relational rather than eudemonic. Despite frequent references to Levinas, her position appears more Heideggerian, aesthetically preferring to situate the subject’s fundamental transcendence in the ethical realm rather than the ontological realm. This interpretation also informs her reading of Levinas and shapes her notion of split personhood, which she applies to her conception of tradition and seeks to universalise—an endeavour seemingly aimed at an ontological vindication.
Butler asserts that traditions gain efficacy precisely because they can transpose their historical origins. While undeniably true, this idea isn’t particularly groundbreaking. Instead, it harkens back to a conservative notion of tradition that doesn’t negate the claim extant traditions, including the Jewish tradition, place upon their original truth. One potential point of contention revolves around the distinction between absolute transcendence and the continuous ability for transposition—a debate frequently explored in the Jewish Enlightenment concerning the delicate balance between efficacy and identity.
Finally, Butler neither fits neatly into the mould of a Levinasian nor a Heideggerian, but rather emerges as a student of Hegel. The facticity of the past, and consequently of tradition, can only become effective through a process of translation that acknowledges the divergent topicality (”chasm” in her terminology) of the locus of meaning, thus necessitating some degree of discontinuity and alteration. The potential failure of this process to achieve resolution imbues new significance to the present as qualitatively distinct. The interpretation of this gap “evolves”, in essence, transitioning the originality of tradition to the significance of the possibility and impossibility of the original tradition in the contemporary context. I argue that this stance fundamentally aligns with Hegelian philosophy, as it demands the significance of tradition to be continually evaluated from an ever-present standpoint, whereby a contemporary ethical stance is judged based on its responsiveness to the failure or success of traditional transmission through time. Traditional claims on one’s person thus intertwine with the demands imposed by another person or political reality, which perpetually disrupts autonomous processes or any existing subject of inquiry.
After delineating Butler’s position, harbouring some hopeful anticipation that her concept of radical translation might prompt questioning of even this modicum of good faith, we can delve into whether her position is indeed justified or not (10-12). Presumably, Butler aims to sidestep discussion on extratemporal grounds, prompting a scrutiny to ascertain whether the stance of radical translationism of existence aligns with life as we know it. This would necessitate an extensive discussion on the precise nature of the modern condition, but given the constraints of this discourse, I opt to offer methodological reflections instead. Butler’s proclivity to formulate her position around edge cases, which are often uncommon and unique, and to extrapolate generalisations about the “actual” situations we encounter on a day-to-day basis, risks, without substantial mediation, rendering the conclusions inapplicable to their intended subject. Even from a phenomenological perspective, such an approach heavily risks reducing the essence of routine processes like translation to a class of rare phenomena that seldom occur during actual translation processes, or if they do, scarcely attain the cosmological status Butler seems to attribute to them. From a hermeneutic standpoint, Butler’s position risks unintelligibility, as it perpetually shifts exegesis into its ‘crisis’ mode, exploring its boundaries without offering a sufficient account of success that would make discussions about a crisis intelligible. Lastly, one is left pondering the nature of the crisis itself. Is the radical crisis of translation akin to pre-Socratic elements that pervade all phenomena? How does one validate such a claim, let alone comprehend it?
Butler explores two concrete possibilities, both intriguing in the academic realm but somewhat detached from social and political realities. (16) The first possibility, as articulated by Said, involves the potential creation of a common ethos of diasporic existence through cultural-religious translation—a notion that Said himself deems tragically unrealistic, a detail omitted from Butler’s consideration. The second possibility, which Butler introduces by citing Balibar, advocates for a radically new concept of “postnational, and nonidentitarian” existence. This concept is so innovative that it essentially aligns with liberal, perhaps even stoic, ideologies—a point of contention we will revisit.
Butler’s remarks on the politics of mourning insinuate, somewhat maliciously, that the traditional Jewish or Zionist stance mourns only the deaths of Jews (21). However, her upbringing in the synagogue may not have been as influential as she suggests. Any תינוק של בית רבן [a child of the study hall] can readily cite the famous Mishnah, Brachos 7:
וכשמת טבי עבדו [העבד הכנעני של רבן גמליאל] – קבל [רבן גמליאל] עליו תנחומין. אמרו לו תלמידיו: “לא למדתנו, רבנו, שאין מקבלין תנחומין על העבדים [הכנענים, לפי הגמרא]?” אמר להם: “אין טבי עבדי כשאר כל העבדים, כשר היה.”
And when Tibby, his slave [the Canaanite slave of Raban Gamliel] has died – he [Raban Gamliel] received people who came to offer their condolences for his death. His pupils said to him: “Didn’t we learn, our Rabbi, that one does not accept condolences over salves? [specifically, non-Jewish slaves, according to the Talmud]” He said unto them: “Tibby is not a slave like the rest of the slaves, he was kosher.”
Indeed, even a cursory acquaintance with Israel confirms this sentiment. While mourning for non-Kosher Jews, especially those who do harm to Jews, is acceptable, the reality in Israel is that most Israelis lament the unfortunate necessity of becoming involved in the deaths of innocent civilians, and indeed mourn their passing. Not to mention the way Israelis mourn the loss of non-Jews, such as Druze and Bedouin, who actively participated in defending the state.
Butler further insists (24-25) on resurrecting long-gone historical moments and fundamentally refuses to acknowledge the historical realities and changes that have occurred in the land of Israel since 1948. Almost eighty years of active Jewish history in the land of Israel are conspicuously absent in her writings, except as a continuous narrative of displacement and sin attributed to Israeli Jews. In contrast, Butler nostalgically seeks to revive old Zionist and Jewish positions that were relevant before the establishment and consolidation of the Israeli state, such as cultural Zionism or the cosmopolitanism of certain Jews who opposed the idea of a Jewish state prior to its formation. By consistently overlooking the profound differences this history has created, even among the Palestinian people, such as the distinction between Israeli Arabs and their counterparts across the borders, Butler’s account seems almost atavistic in its inability to confront historical, political, and social realities. Ironically, the “paradisal state” Butler refers to resembles the debates among Jewish prisoners in Nazi camps, where she seems to take a somewhat indulgent view of the diversity of attitudes toward Zionism that “flourished” there. (25)
Butler discusses the perennial question, which as far as I know, uniquely targets the state of Israel: whether it is legitimate for Israel to exist. (19) Butler somewhat mischievously laments that the usual implication drawn from this question is whether one advocates for the annihilation of Jews in the land of Israel. Indeed, Butler is correct that a negative answer to this question does not inherently imply support for the genocide of Israeli Jews. However, in the existing social and political context, outside of a very narrow academic milieu of which Butler is a part, the association between delegitimising Israel’s right to exist and a genocidal intent largely converges. Recent celebrations by various student organisations in the U.S. of the October 7th attack serve as a clear indication of this convergence. The congratulatory remarks made on this brutal act of murder, rape, and dehumanisation emerged not only from left-wing student sectors but also from many Palestinian organisations, not to mention left-wing Jewish organisations. Given the widespread nature of this response and Butler’s own tepid and apologetic response, one is left to question whether the commonplace association of these two positions reflects a realistic understanding of social and political reality. At what point does the invocation of an “in-between” position and its insistence become a chimaera, serving only antisemitic purposes, no matter how self-righteous it purports to be? At what point does ethical rebuke become farcical, a mere tool of malevolence?
Finally, one cannot help but smile over Butler’s uncomfortable, albeit belated, recognition towards the end of the introduction that her position converges nicely with contemporary left-wing American liberal and universalist positions. (23-26) After all, it can’t be a matter of accident that an American Jew performed endless dialectical acrobatics and ended up precisely in an ethical position that fits so cosily with the liberal, ethnically and historically blind politics, or can it? I guess in retrospect I should have known that the aim all along was something like the United States of Israel.