Social Taboos, Citizenship and Equality: A Test of Israeli Democracy

By: Dr. Warda Sada

After a conversation with a highly professional sports coach, I found myself rethinking the relationship between education, civic behavior, and democracy. This person treats all club members with great respect—without discrimination based on religious affiliation, nationality, or gender. His daily conduct is characterized by fairness, attentiveness, and equal respect. I was therefore surprised by his right-wing political views, which I often perceive as extreme, and which do not reflect his everyday behavior.

This moment highlighted for me a deep gap in Israeli society: the gap between education for civic values such as respect and equality, and a political discourse that sanctifies identity, fear, and exclusion. It also clarified for me how important education is—not only in the formal system but also in everyday spaces such as a sports club—as arenas in which democracy can be practiced in real life.

During the conversation, the coach expressed familiar claims from public discourse: “There must be a state for the Jews, and if not here—then somewhere else,” and added, “There are twenty-two Arab and Islamic states that are enemies, and therefore Jews must have a strong state of their own.” These words were spoken מתוך a sense of threat and a history of persecution, but they rest on some of the deeper taboos of Israeli discourse. In practice, Israel is a state with a clear Jewish majority, and Jews themselves are continuously harmed within it—economically, socially, and in terms of personal security. Moreover, the greatest catastrophes that befell the Jewish people—first and foremost the Holocaust—occurred in the heart of Western countries, not in the Arab or Islamic world. These facts do not negate the need for security, but they do challenge the simplistic “us versus them” narrative and its use to justify unequal citizenship.

This gap is also evident in younger educational spaces. On a large wall at Yitzhak Navon High School in Holon, against the background of the Israeli flag, it was written: “I don’t care about losing my humanity as long as it is to defend my family, my friends, and my people.” Nearby stood a table-tennis table that attracts students during breaks, and until recently there was also a couch there. This is not a graffiti drawing by an angry student or an act of vandalism, but a decision by the school administration, which chose to promote a message implying that basic moral principles are flexible—can be set aside, and under certain circumstances may even be justified. This message illustrates how a culture of fear and self-defense can marginalize ethical principles and shape the understanding of democracy and citizenship among future generations.

Israeli society tends to present itself as a vibrant democracy. There are elections, a parliament, a press, and courts. But beneath the surface there are “taboos”—deep conventions that are almost forbidden to challenge—which cast a heavy shadow over the existence of equal civic democracy.

The central taboo is the supremacy of ethno-national identity over citizenship.

Another taboo is the sanctification of security. In the name of security, almost any measure can be justified: restriction of freedoms, institutional discrimination, and the silencing of criticism. Edward Said noted that “security discourse tends to turn human beings into abstract categories instead of seeing them as individuals with rights.” Political philosopher Hannah Arendt warned: “When fear becomes an organizing principle of politics, freedom is the first victim.” Security is a basic need, but when it becomes the supreme argument, it ceases to protect democracy and begins to replace it.

The military also enjoys an almost sacred status. Civic criticism of military power is sometimes viewed as betrayal. Yet Max Weber reminded us that the state holds a monopoly on legitimate violence only as long as it is subject to civilian oversight. Philosopher Jürgen Habermas added: “Political legitimacy arises from free public debate, not from silencing others.” Without oversight and dialogue, power loses its legitimacy in the eyes of growing parts of society.

Another taboo is the entrenched religious status quo. The deep entanglement between religion and state harms freedom of religion, gender equality, and the state’s ability to be a home for all its citizens. The philosopher Yeshayahu Leibowitz warned of the moment when religion becomes an instrument of power: “A state that forcibly sanctifies religious values corrupts both religion and the state.” Sociologists of religion emphasize that a healthy separation between religion and state enables genuine freedom of belief, not coerced belief.

These taboos are not merely a moral issue; they are a civic one. They generate graded citizenship, mistrust between groups, and a politics based on power and identity rather than rights and equality. True democracy is measured not only by who votes, but by who is considered equal.

And yet, this is not fate. Taboos are created by human beings, and they can be dismantled by human beings. This dismantling is not an act of destruction, but of new civic construction—placing citizenship at the center, not identity; equality, not hierarchy.

This is the vision of a state that belongs to all its citizens: a state in which democracy is not generous to some and stingy to others, but a shared, equal, and unconditional principle.

From a civic and political perspective, this is not an abstract vision but a direction for action: building a broad civic partnership that crosses identities and grounds shared life in equal rights, shared responsibility, and mutual trust. It is a call to replace a politics of fear and exclusion with a politics of citizenship, equality, and hope.

Identity does not grant rights—equal citizenship for all.

A democratic state is measured by the equality of its citizens, not by their. identities.Citizenship before identity—equality before fear.