Israel at 60 by Uri Avnery

Every time I hear the voice of David Ben-Gurion uttering the words "Therefore we are gathered here…" I think of Issar Barsky, a charming youngster, the little brother of a girl-friend of mine.

The last time we met was in front of the dining hall of Kibbutz Hulda, on Friday, May 14, 1948.

In the coming night my company was to attack al-Qubab, an Arab village on the road to Jerusalem, east of Ramle. We were busy with preparations. I was cleaning my Czech-made rifle, when somebody came and told us that Ben-Gurion was just making a speech about the founding of the state.

Frankly, none of us was very interested in speeches by politicians in Tel Aviv. The city seemed so far away. The state, we knew, was here with us. If the Arabs were to win, there would be no state and no us. If we won, there would be a state. We were young and self-confident, and did not doubt for a moment that we would win.

But there was one detail that I was really curious about: what was the new state to be called? Judea? Zion? The Jewish State?

So I hastened to the dining hall. Ben-Gurion's unmistakable voice was blaring from the radio. When he reached the words "…namely the State of Israel" I had had enough and left.

Outside I came across Issar. He was in another company, which was to attack another village that night. I told him about the name of the state and said "take care of yourself!"

Some days later he was killed. So I remember him as he was then: a boy of 19, a smiling, tall Sabra full of joie de vivre and innocence.

* * *

The closer we come to the grandiose 60th anniversary festivities, the more I am troubled by the question: if Issar were to open his eyes and see us, still a boy of 19, what would he think of the state that was officially established on that day?

He would see a state that has developed beyond his wildest dreams. From a small community of 635,000 souls (more than 6000 of whom would die with him in that war) we have grown to more than seven million. The two great miracles we have wrought - the revival of the Hebrew language and the institution of Israeli democracy - continue to be a reality. Our economy is strong and in some fields - such a hi-tech - we are in the world super-league. Issar would be excited and proud.

But he would also feel that something had gone wrong in our society. The Kibbutz where we put up our little bivouac tents that day has become an economic enterprise, like any other. The social solidarity, of which we were so proud, has collapsed. Masses of adults and children live below the poverty line, old people, the sick and the unemployed are left to fend for themselves. The gap between rich and poor is one of the widest in the developed world. And our society, that once raised the banner of equality and justice, just clucks its collective tongue and moves on to other matters.

Most of all he would be shocked to discover that the brutal war, which killed him and wounded me, together with thousands of others, is still going on at full blast. It determines the entire life of the nation. It fills the first pages of the newspapers and heads the news bulletins.

That our army, the army that really was "we", has become something quite different, an army whose main occupation us to oppress another people.

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