The Origins of Zionism
Zionism grew out of the French revolutionary tradition, the Jewish and European Enlightenments – with the Bible as a cultural and historical backdrop. It was a progeny of early nineteenth century European nationalism – when nationalism belonged to the Left rather than the Right. In part, it took as the paradigm, the national revolutionary movements that arose in post-Napoleonic Europe which sought their independence from the great empires that were restored after Waterloo. There was a cross-fertilization between movements, spawning an internationalism which appealed to the Jewish sense of universalism. As early as 1792, an international army, fighting for the French revolutionary forces had defeated the Prussians at Valmy and at Jemappes.
In the 1850s, the Polish national poet, Adam Mickiewicz, proposed the establishment of a Jewish Legion which would liberate Palestine. The common slogan of these movements ‘For your victory and ours’ symbolised this internationalism and the struggle of small peoples to secure their independence. It was painted on the banner which Soviet dissidents raised in Red Square following the USSR’s invasion of Czechoslovakia in 1968.[1]
This grew out of the first phase of the French Revolution, epitomised by Mirabeau and the Constituent Assembly in 1789. Other Zionists looked to the later radical phase of Robespierre, St. Just and Danton. The Jacobin legacy became their guiding light, the rationalist Jewish philosopher, Baruch Spinoza, their enlightened guide.
In addition, the advent of modernity in the nineteenth century had fragmented Jewish identity. What was the best synthesis of modernity and rationalism and the traditions of the Jewish past? Both in an individual and in a communal sense, Jews occupied different positions along the spectrum of accommodation. Some in countries such as Hungary rebuilt the ghetto walls and ignored the revolutionary wind. Some in Austria and Germany, initiated a reformed Judaism and others a modern orthodoxy. In liberal England, some converted to Christianity to advance their entry into accepted society. Benjamin Disraeli remarkably became British Prime Minister. Despite his membership of the Church of England, he significantly described himself to Queen Victoria as the blank page between the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament.[2] Jewishness, therefore, in nineteenth century Europe had a different meaning for different people. It was not surprising that like Jewish identity, Zionism when it officially emerged under the stewardship of Theodor Herzl in 1897 was never a monolithic entity.
Different Zionisms
Many Zionists on the Left believed fervently in Marxism – and indeed some prayed for the arrival of the Red Army in the early days of the October revolution. The early Labour Zionists in the decade before the first World War regarded themselves as the Zionist wing of the international revolutionary movement. In 1924, David Ben-Gurion gave a eulogy following the demise of Lenin. By 1945, Hashomer Hatzair, a Marxist Zionist movement, had authorised the translation of Stalin’s writings into Hebrew. Indeed, there were concerns on the US Republican Right in 1948 that Israel would willingly fall into the Soviet orbit as a Jewish socialist state.
At the other end of the political spectrum, there were nationalist intellectuals such as Abba Achimeir who idealized Mussolini – before the advent of fascist Italy’s anti-Jewish laws.[3] His weekly column in Doar Hayom was entitled ‘From the Notebook of a Fascist’. Poets such as Uri Zvi Greenberg in Palestine mirrored the ideological swing from Left to Right of European intellectuals such as Robert Michels in the 1920s.[4] On the other hand, liberal conservatives such as Vladimir Jabotinsky, the founder of the Revisionist Zionist movement, preached the virtues of nineteenth century romantic nationalism, the Italian Risorgimento and the example of Garibaldi. His radical follower, Menachem Begin, believed in the doctrine of military Zionism and revolt against the British presence in Palestine. Avraham Stern disagreed with both Jabotinsky and Begin and looked to the example of Irish republicanism – he even translated parts of P. S. O’Hegarty’s ‘The Victory of Sinn Fein’ into Hebrew. Stern and his followers, known pejoratively as ‘the Stern Gang’, followed the approach of the Russian Narodnaya Volya which advocated the assassination of key political and military figures.
Religious Zionists originally did not follow the redemptionist approach of their twenty first century successors and elevate messianism onto a political pedestal. They concentrated on the more practical aspects of how to live a religious life in Palestine and took little notice of the actual borders of a future Jewish state. Indeed, Hapoel Hamizrachi, the movement of religious labour pioneers, voted for partition of the Land of Israel into two states – one Jewish, the other Palestinian Arab – in 1947. Religious Zionists further distinguished themselves from the ultra-orthodox who believed that Zionism was a heresy. The Zionists, they argued, had intervened, perhaps deflecting divine designs, and forced God’s hand. The messiah would only come when God ordained it and would establish a truly Jewish state.
Zionism therefore has many faces. There are in reality a multitude of Zionist ideologies. Its complexity contrasts with the reductionism propagated in the megaphone war between Israelis and Palestinians over the origins of the conflict. A monochrome depiction of the conflict necessarily either satanises Zionism or idealises it.
The Failure of Emancipation
Jewish religious culture has for millennia believed in the eventual return of the Jews to Zion. Down the centuries, Diaspora Judaism and Jewish communal life emphasised the centrality of Jerusalem and the Land of Israel. In times of adversity, there was a deep desire for deliverance from oppression and a heightening of the sense that the Jews were in exile. Such wishful thinking was only translated into a concrete political movement in the age of rationalism and the nation-state in the nineteenth century. It was, however, buttressed previously by the Protestant Reformation and Cromwell’s English Republic as well as by critical thinkers such as Spinoza, Voltaire, Herder, Mendelssohn, Kant and Rousseau. When the legions of the French Revolution battered down the ghetto walls in many European cities and ended the old order, Jews flooded out to embrace the bright future of emancipation. However, the French Revolution liberated the Jews according to its own internal logic, according to theory and not to the reality in which the Jews found themselves. As Max Nordau commented in his speech to the first Zionist Congress in 1897 a century later:
The philosophy of Rousseau and the encyclopaedists had led to a declaration of human rights. Then with this declaration, the strict logic of men of the Great Revolution, deduced Jewish emancipation. They formulated a regular equation: Every man is born with certain rights; the Jews are human beings, consequently the Jews are born to all the rights of man. In this manner the emancipation of the Jews was pronounced, not through a fraternal feeling for the Jews, but because logic demanded it. Popular sentiment rebelled, but the philosophy of the Revolution decreed that principles must be placed higher than sentiments. Allow me an expression which implies no ingratitude. The men of 1792 emancipated us only for the sake of principle.[5]
Nordau’s somewhat sorrowful commentary reflected the end of a century of dashed hopes. The liberation of the Jews was held aloft as a mark of the new liberalism – opposition to anti-Jewish discrimination was a revolutionary badge of honour. Yet there were conditions. In the Constituent Assembly, Comte Stanislaus de Clermont-Tonnerre declared in December 1789
Everything must be refused to the Jews as a nation; everything must be granted to them as individuals. They must be citizens. It is claimed that they do not wish to be citizens. Let them say so and let them be banished; there cannot be a nation within a nation.[6]
This approach continued when Robespierre and the Jacobins took power and when Bonaparte crowned himself as Emperor of the French. The new France would be mono-national, a nation, free of ethnicity – Jewish Frenchmen were welcome, but not French Jews. If theory did not accommodate the Jews, it was easier to make the Jews accommodate theory. Many Jews obliged and attempted to project themselves as no different from other members of society. However, by the end of the nineteenth century, even the most assimilated Jew found himself the target of anti-Semitic innuendo. In the British parliament, Disraeli’s Jewish origins were invoked by his opponents. As Lady Palmerston so succinctly observed in 1868; ‘We are all dreadfully disgusted at the prospect of having a Jew for our prime minister’.[7] Dislike of Jews was linked to opposition to British imperialism in the late Victorian era. J.A. Hobson, the well-known economist, argued that the Boer war had been instigated by international Jewish bankers and East End Jews made good such as Barney Barnato.[8] The non-Jewish Cecil Rhodes became ‘Rhodes-stein’. Neither did it matter that the vast majority of Jews were impoverished, there was a widespread feeling that ‘the Jews are our misfortune’ jumped all barriers. The early Russian Zionist, Moses Leib Lilienblum, commented in 1883 on this all-pervading sense of the Jewish predicament.
The opponents of nationalism see us as uncompromising nationalists, with a nationalist God and a nationalist Torah; the nationalists see us as cosmopolitans, whose homeland is wherever we happen to be well off. Religious gentiles say that we are devoid of any faith, and the freethinkers among them say that we are orthodox and believe in all kinds of nonsense; the liberals say we are conservative and the conservatives call us liberal. Some bureaucrats and writers see us as the root of anarchy, insurrection and revolt, and the anarchists say we are capitalists, the bearers of the biblical civilisation, which is, in their view, based on slavery and parasitism. Officialdom accuses us of circumventing the laws of the land – that is, of course, the laws directed specifically against us…….Musicians like Richard Wagner charge us with destroying the beauty and purity of music. Even our merits are turned into shortcomings: “Few Jews are murderers”, they say, “because Jews are cowards.” This, however, does not prevent them from accusing us of murdering Christian children.[9]
The emancipation of the Jews had fragmented Jewish identity, but it had also multiplied the number of anti-Jewish stereotypes in an age of rising judeophobia – a Jew for all seasons.
The Jews of the Rhineland
The defeat of Napoleon led to attempts in Europe to reverse the emancipatory ethos of the revolution. With Prussia now in control of the Rhineland, Jews were forced out numerous professions if they maintained their fidelity to Judaism. Many such as Marx’s father converted to Protestantism to gain access to a professional life and to enter Prussian society. Regardless of the sincerity of the ditching of their Jewishness, the opprobrium still hovered in the air. In the Rhineland, many Jewish intellectuals such Heinrich Heine and Ludwig Borne, found themselves floating between identities.
The nation-state characterised the age and the mode of its governance offered several distinct choices. France, for example, took the best part of a century to decide between the autocratic monarchy of the Bourbons, the constitutional monarchy of the House of Orleans, the imperialism of the Bonapartes and the dream of Republicanism. The plight of working people in an age of industrial revolution began to become an issue. All this moved many Jews to embrace socialism as a means of repairing the world and in so doing liberating the Jews from an epoch of discrimination. Some saw it as a means of escaping Jewishness into an egalitarian universalism. Such views dovetailed very well with Clermont-Tonnerre’s approach to Jewish emancipation.
In his articles on the Jewish question, Marx projected a negative view of Judaism and by extension all those who adhered to it. In an anonymous article for the New York Daily Tribune in 1856, he had spoken of ‘the freemasonry of the Jews which has existed in all ages’.[10] Marx’s private commentary on figures such as Ferdinand Lassalle and Edouard Bernstein were marred by anti-Jewish commentary.
Significantly, the hostility of both Marx and Engels towards Jews was also directed at Moses Hess, a one-time colleague. Hess had renounced Marx’s belief that the actions of humankind could be placed in a scientific framework. As Isaiah Berlin commented:
Hess believed that social equality was desirable because it was just, not because it was inevitable; nor was justice to be identified with whatever was bound, in any case, to emerge from the womb of time. All kinds of bad and irrational conditions had been produced before now, and persisted. Nothing was to be accepted merely because it had occurred – but solely because it was objectively good.[11]
Hess, unlike Marx, had been given a traditional Jewish education by his grandfather. In his first book, although then distant from familial roots, he described himself as a follower of Spinoza rather than Hegel. Following the year of revolutions in Europe in 1848, he noted that anti-Semitism was on the rise and concluded that a state of the Jews in Palestine was the socialist solution to the Jewish problem. The reunification of Italy in 1861 catalysed the writing of his well-known book, ‘Rome and Jerusalem’.
The Tsars and the Jews
In Eastern Europe where the Jewish masses were concentrated, the situation of the Jews was far worse and the conditions distinctly primeval. The autocratic rule of the Romanov tsars had been relatively unimpaired by the new ideas circulating in western Europe in the early nineteenth century. Under Catherine the Great, Russia had embarked on new imperial conquests and had benefitted territorially by the successive partitions of Poland. Russia had therefore acquired a large population of traditional, unassimilated, poor Jews. In order to cope with this unwanted mass of humanity, Catherine initiated the Pale of Settlement, an area which traversed parts of Lithuania, Latvia, Ukraine, Moldava and Belarus. The objective was to ensure that its Jewish population did not enter Russia and thereby did not compete economically. The hemming in of the Jews in this swathe of territory was partly relieved by allowing Jews to reside in the new land on the Black Sea conquered from the Turks. Here, discriminatory legislation which affected Jews was lightly applied. Jews flooded in to dwell in the new seaport of cosmopolitan Odessa.
During the first part of the nineteenth century, the dead hand of Tsarism laid heavily on the shoulders of Russian Jews. Child soldiers were enlisted in the army and were often not heard from again. If they did emerge after 25 years service, they were often too old for marriage, a new profession and too estranged from their background and community. During the reign of Nicholas I, a raft of new laws were introduced and old ones reinvigorated with the aim of decreasing the empire’s Jewish population through conversion, assimilation and emigration. While cementing a profound hatred for Tsarism, it also stimulated Jewish exploration of possible solutions to their collective plight. Alexander II, the Tsar-Liberator started his reign with progressive rulings such as the freeing of the surfs. Some of his father’s draconian laws were mollified and generally there was a liberal climate of hope in the future. The reforms led to a flowering of Jewish culture in particular. This manifested itself in publications in three languages, Russian, Yiddish and Hebrew. Up until the 1860s, Hebrew had been the language of the prayerbook and religious tracts, now it appeared as a living language in its own right.
This phenomenon had its origins in the development of the Haskalah, the Jewish Enlightenment in Russia in the early part of the nineteenth century. Non-religious publications in Hebrew were authored by Yitzhak Dov Levinsohn, Avraham Mapu and Yehuda Leib Gordon long before the regime of Alexander II. They were influenced by the cultural awakening in Europe, known as the wissenschaft des Judentums – the science of Judaism. This framed Jewishness in more than purely religious terms. It regarded Jewishness as being an inherently broad reflection of Jewish civilisation – Jewish languages, literature, history, poetry – as well as Judaism itself. Thus Heinrich Graetz wrote the first history of the Jews in the mid-nineteenth century, a Jewish history rather than a Judaic history.
While the Haskalah heavily influenced western European Jewry, the progress of such ideas was much slower in eastern Europe. The Haskalah was not only opposed by the Tsarist authorities, but also by rabbinical ones whose authority was implicitly being challenged. Thus when Napoleon’s legions invaded Russia in 1812, Shneur Zalman of Lyady, one of the founders of Hasidism, refused to endorse the French because he feared the influence of the revolution. It was better to remain with the Tsars and their oppression than to risk change.
The Hebrew Awakening
Yet such ideas did begin to peculate the Jewish communities of Imperial Russia. They were often carried by the sons of the well-to-do who sent their offspring to study in Germany. The idea of the Jews as carriers of an ethnic culture coincided with the evolution of the Jews into a people in the modern sense in the closeted territory of the Pale of Settlement. There was also a reaction by younger Jews against communal and rabbinical leaders for their lack of an active response to Tsarist oppression. The ideas of the Berlin Haskalah pervaded the walls of the religious seminaries of Lithuania. Some members of these yeshivot began to leave the world of Jewish learning, don European clothes, shave off their beards and seek their destiny elsewhere – whether in the new world or within the revolutionary cause. All of these political and spiritual threads came together during the time of Alexander II’s reforms. In 1856 the first Hebrew monthly, Ha-maggid appeared in eastern Prussia. The first Hebrew paper in Russia, Ha-Melitz appeared in Odessa four years later. Both publications were obliged to revamp Biblical Hebrew and to modernise it for everyday usage.
Peretz Smolenskin was a typical example of such a tortuous odyssey. He had lost a brother to the Tsar’s army, left the yeshiva and settled in Odessa. In 1868, he founded Ha-Shachar in Vienna and this emerged as the leading literary publication in the evolving modern Hebrew language. Smolenskin’s passion for language and literature laid the foundations of a cultural nationalism.
In 1881, the Russian revolutionary movement, the Narodnaya Volya, finally assassinated Alexander II after several failed attempts. The upshot of this was an outbreak of pogroms, unleashed indirectly by the vengeful, fearful, conservative new Tsar Alexander III in cities such as Yelizavetgrad, Kiev and Balta. ‘Jewish exploitation’ was deemed to be the cause of the killings rather than the rioters themselves. This presaged the introduction of the May Laws in May 1882 by the worried Tsarist authorities which restricted the Jews to certain territories and launched a quota for their attendance at schools and institutes of higher education. Jews were prohibited from trading on Sundays and on Christian holidays as well as forcing them to settle outside major towns. The Jews were held responsible in effect for the actions of the Narodnaya Volya and thereby made the scapegoat for the movement’s actions. In one sense, this could have been predicted, but what shocked many Russian Jews was not the action of the Tsarist authorities, but the apparent public indifference of the Russian intelligentsia and revolutionary movement in general to the killing of several hundred Jews. The hope of the Narodnaya Volya was that the anger of the masses against the Jews would prove to be the blue-touch paper that would ignite a broader revolt against Tsarism. For the most part, the pogroms created a sense of unease within the revolutionary movement, but they viewed this as a minor and temporary episode in the greater struggle. For the Jews, however, in the revolutionary movement, this was a moment of truth – whether did their allegiance lie? To the glory of the revolution or to the cause of their persecuted people? All Jews were affected by the rash of pogroms, yet many accepted the silence of the movement in the hope that the ultimate triumph of the revolution would liberate the Jews from their misery.[12] There were others who turned away from the Narodniki – and also renounced acculturation and assimilation – and duly embraced Zionism.
The First Zionists
The assassination of the Tsar and the May Laws concentrated minds. The Jews were unwanted. Cultural nationalists such as Smolenskin and Russifiers such as Leon Pinsker overnight dropped their former allegiances and embraced the idea of a territorial solution to the Jewish problem outside Russia. Some returned to Jewishness, but in the sense of a national identity, not primarily a religious one. Chaim Hisin, one of the first Zionist immigrants to Palestine wrote in his diary
The recent pogroms have violently awakened the complacent Jews from their sweet slumbers. Until now, I was uninterested in my origin. I saw myself as a faithful son of Russia which was to me my raison d’être and the very air that I breathed. Each new discovery by a Russian scientist, every classical literary work, every victory of the Russian Empire would fill my heart with pride. I wanted to devote my whole strength to the good of my homeland, and happily do my duty. Suddenly they come and show us the door and openly declare that we are free to leave for the West.[13]
At the beginning of 1882, Jewish students formed a group called ‘BILU’. This was the Hebrew acronym for a quote from the Book of Isaiah. ’O House of Jacob, come and let us go’. The first group of fourteen immigrants reached Jaffa in July 1882.
The deteriorating situation under the reactionary Alexander III produced a plethora of solutions to the Jewish problem – from national-cultural autonomy to conversion to Russian orthodoxy. Many focused on the quest for a Jewish homeland – and more than a score of Zions were located in countries as far apart as Alaska and Ecuador, Tasmania and Angola. Palestine, a backwater in the Ottoman empire, however, was magically attractive. It was the key to the past and held a vision of the future. It was here that the destruction of Jerusalem would be reversed where the earthly city would merge with the heavenly one of the Jewish imagination.
Many Zionists were former seminary students who had located themselves in Odessa. Philosophers such as Ahad Ha’am attracted an intellectual following with his ideas about the creation of a spiritual centre in Palestine which would reinvigorate the Jewish world. Poets such as Chaim Nachman Bialik and journalists as Nachum Sokolov began to write in modern Hebrew and thereby revive a slumbering language. Young students such as Chaim Weizmann and Leo Motzkin were attracted to Ahad Ha’am’s standard and soon became involved in the first Zionist groupings. By the 1890s, there was a real sense of idealism. As Ahad Ha’am remarked ‘The Jew is both optimist and pessimist; but his pessimism has reference to the present, his optimism to the future. This was true of the Prophets, and it is true of the people of the Prophets.’[14]
Yet such fervour was characterised by a paucity of adherents. Most Jews preferred to emigrate to the United States and western Europe. Others believed that their mission in life was to work in the revolutionary movement in Russia.
In central Europe, rising anti-Semitism forced many acculturated and assimilated Jews to confront their predicament as Jews. This was especially true of the Jewish bourgeoisie in Hapsburg Vienna. The journalist and playwright Theodor Herzl embarked on a slow, gradualist journey away from liberal Prussian nationalism, stopping off to consider conversion to Christianity and socialism as solutions. Herzl’s arrival at a Zionist answer was coloured by a Jewish illiteracy, little Jewish background and with no contact with the embryonic Zionist groups in Eastern Europe. His views and his writings were influenced by utopianist authors of the time. His famous booklet ‘Der Judenstaat’ accurately translated as ‘The State of the Jews ‘ rather than as the conventional ‘The Jewish State’ in English. Ahad Ha’am remarked that there was a profound difference between a Jewish state – and all that it implied – and a state of the Jews like any other. For Herzl, the new Israel would be Vienna- by- the-Mediterranean. German would be primary language and Hebrew only to be utilised by the clerics. The Academy would be modelled on the French example. The East Europeans, embedded in tradition and Jewish culture, were astonished and infuriated. Yet Herzl’s showmanship and political acumen brought Zionism to a mass Jewish audience and placed it on the international stage. Attempts to convince Jewish philanthropists, communal leaders and rabbis all failed gloriously before he embarked on establishing the Zionist Organisation, based a democratic representation of the people.
Herzl’s attempts to secure an international charter as well his many diplomatic initiatives in the corridors of European power floundered. His early death at 44, however, was mourned by many Jews across Europe who sat shiva – the customary seven days of mourning – as if he was a member of their own family.
Herzl’s political Zionism was taken up and developed by central figures such as Weizmann and Jabotinsky, but the movement which he had founded, factionalised into parties which espoused different understandings of Zionist ideology. In 1897, the year of the first Zionist Congress, everyone was a General Zionist. By the 1930s, the non-party General Zionists had also become a party – and even split into two opposing factions.
The ideological fervour and determined effort of political and practical Zionism eventually led to the establishment of Israel in May 1948.
The End of Zionism?
Did Zionism therefore conclude its mission in 1948? Many argue that this is indeed the case and espouse a post-Zionist position. By the 1950s, Ben-Gurion began to argue that ‘the title of Zionist now embraces entirely different things among which there is no connection, and to speak of Zionism per se has no real meaning.’[15] This was a long way from the idea that a Zionist was someone who immigrated to Israel, participated in the construction of the country and attempted to forge a just society. A Zionist could now be someone who decided to remain in his country of domicile – a supporter of the Zionist idea in the Diaspora. Zionism thus became confused with a pro-Zionism and a pro-Israelism. When it became apparent that the Jews of America and western Europe would not immigrate en masse, the hinterland of strong emotional Diaspora support was cultivated by Ben-Gurion and his successors in order to buttress the policies of the government of the day, but in so doing blurred the understanding of Zionism.
Indeed, such ‘Zionization’ was not welcomed by all Diaspora Jews. Whereas a majority of Diaspora Jews probably saw themselves as ‘pro-Israel’, not all identified to the extent of labelling themselves as ‘Zionists’. Many indeed regarded themselves in the original understanding of non-Zionists.
Moreover Zionist public relations is not the same as the Israeli public reality. Did new immigrants from the former Soviet Union come to Israel in the 1990s for Zionist reasons – or simply to seek a better life? Moreover there was the precedent of Jewish Communists who were pushed out of Iraq in 1950 and forced to settle against their will in Israel.
From an opposite direction, European opponents of Israel today who wish to delegitimize the Zionist experiment often equate Zionism solely with the West Bank settlers. The adherents of the Israeli peace camp on the other hand are referred to as ‘Israelis’, yet organisations such as Peace Now do not disavow Zionism. In one sense, this desire was partly born of a continuation of a predominantly English evaluation of the Jewish situation. As Richard Crossman commented in 1946, the Englishman ‘thinks of Zionism as something synthetic and unnatural’ and ‘the product of high powered American propaganda’.[16]
Today some Israelis argue that Zionism did not cease to exist with the establishment of the state of Israel. A revolutionary phase certainly did end in 1948, but this was succeeded by a post-revolutionary Zionism whose task now is to correct the distortions that have occurred along the way including a solution to the conflict with the Palestinians.
They point out that as long as the conflict with the Palestinians persists, Zionism has not succeeded in establishing a stable national entity and that the ultimate Zionist success will be the founding of a Palestinian state. Still others remark that the raison d’etre of Zionism was also to found a just Jewish society, to turn Israel into Zion.
There is thus no agreement on what Zionism is or is not – or indeed whether it actually exists. Six decades after the establishment of the state of Israel, the meaning of Zionism is still open to a plethora of interpretations.
[1] Colin Shindler, The Triumph of Military Zionism: Nationalism and the Origins of the Israeli Right (London 2006) pp.74-79.
[2] Adam Kirsch, Benjamin Disraeli (London 2008) pp.203-211.
[3] Joseph Heller, The Stern Gang: Ideology, Politics and Terror 1940-1949 (London 1995) pp.11-29.
[4] A. James Gregor, Phoenix: Fascism in Our Time (New Brunswick 2001) pp.53-71.
[5] Max Nordau, ‘Speech to the First Zionist Congress’, The New Palestine, 26 January 1923.
[6] Raphael Mahler, A History of Modern Jewry 1780-1815 (London 1971) p.32.
[7] Kirsch p.173.
[8] Benita Parry, Post-Colonial Studies: A Materialist Critique (London 2004) p.153.
[9] Moses Leib Lilienblum, The Future of Our People (1883) in Arthur Hertzberg The Zionist Idea: A Historical Analysis and Reader (Philadelphia 1997) p.173.
[10] Marx, Karl, New York Daily Tribune 4 January 1856.
[11]Isaiah Berlin, The Life and Opinions of Moses Hess in Against the Current: Essays in the History of Ideas ed. Henry Hardy (London1979) p.213.
[12] Erich E. Haberer, Jews and Revolution in Nineteenth Century Russia (Cambridge 2004) pp.206-229.
[13] Chaim Hisin, ‘Mi yoman ehad ha Biluim’ (From the ‘Diary of One of the Bilu Members’, Tel Aviv 1925) quoted in the Encyclopaedia Judaica vol. 4 (Jerusalem 1972) p.998.
[14] Ahad Ha’am, Moses, (London 1917)
[15] Evyatar Friesel New Zionism: Historical Roots and Present Meaning Studies in Zionism 8 (2) 1987 pp187-9
[16] Richard Crossman, Palestine Mission (London 1947) p.34.
The Routledge Handbook on the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict ed. Joel Peters and David Newman