Abstract
Ethnic and national identities are shaped and evolve in the context of complex negotiations sustained among multiple players, each with its own and often contradicting interests. This study focuses on one unique cultural group, the Druze in Israel, and examines a multifaceted identity constructed as a direct result of policies and expectations of members and institutions of majority groups. My aim is to explore how this identity is defined within the complex intergroup context, the various components and their inter-relations (congruent or conflictual), and the way its boundaries are shaped through interaction with other identities in Israel. The analysis of the interviews conducted with 50 Druze university students in Israel yielded three major content categories: ‘Druze by blood;’ ‘Arab, but less so;’ and ‘Being Israeli.’ The Druze identity is constructed in primordialist terms, and a central role is assigned to the belief in reincarnation. The Arab identity is categorized primarily as a national one, and it is strongly affected by the negative attitude of Arabs toward the service of the Druze in the Israeli army. Three major aspects emerged in relation to the Israeli identity of the Druze: the fact of their being citizens of the State of Israel, the attitude of the state and of Jews toward them, and the army service. Our study portrays a highly complex and problematic constellation of group identities, shaped as a delicate adaptation to the unique position of a group subject to multiple political forces in the past and present.
During the last decades, the focus of identity construction has gradually shifted from the intra-psychological to the inter-psychological and from the individual to the social arena where historically situated participants calibrate their positions according to complex socio-cultural relations. The understanding of identity has undergone a shift from de-contextualized models, to historicized, dialogically produced and transformed ones (Baumaister and Muraven, 1996; Bekerman, 2001; Harre and Gillett, 1995). According to this approach, ethnic and national identities are shaped and evolve in the context of complex negotiations sustained among multiple players, each with its own and often contradicting interests (Horenczyk, 1996; Horenczyk and Munayer, 2003; Said, 1978, 1993; Wa Thiongo, 1986). Our purpose is not to add to this already well-based theoretical corpus, but to show it at work and discuss the potential implications for identity work in conflictual settings. This study focuses on one unique cultural group, the Druze in Israel, and examines a multifaceted identity constructed as a direct result of policies and expectations of members and institutions of majority groups. Such an analysis of the Druze identity will inform our knowledge about the extent and ways in which majority groups affect the delineation of group boundaries, the self-definition of the minority group members, and relationships between them and the surrounding cultural groups.
The Druze community in Israel is one group among many in the nation’s ethnic mosaic. They may be viewed as a minority within a minority: a religious ethnic minority within the Arab minority that chose, or was manipulated into choosing, a different path than the (other) Arabs in Israel and a different kind of involvement in the life of the country. That choice has helped create a complex and multifaceted Israeli Druze identity, which is at the focus of the present study. I examined the way this identity is defined, its components, and the way its boundaries are shaped through interaction with other identities in Israel. I looked at the question of whether the various components of this identity are mutually congruent, or whether they generate identity conflicts and crises. All this was approached from the perspective of members of the Druze community themselves, via an interpretative analysis of interviews conducted with Druze from Israel.
The Druze are a religious community that arose from the Ismailiyah movement in Islam, in the 9th and 10th centuries AD, and from the Fatimid Caliphate founded by that movement. The Druze religion spread during the period 1017 to 1048, initially in Egypt and as it emerged, the new faith evoked violent opposition on the part of Sunni and Shiite Muslims alike. Druze call the following years, with its unceasing persecution, Al Mahnah (the tribulations; Abu Izzadin, 1990; Firro, 1992).
Today, the Druze live mainly in the Middle East and are concentrated in four countries: Syria, Lebanon, Israel and Jordan. No current statistics are available on the number of Druze worldwide; in the mid-1990s there were approximately one million Druze around the world, with some 450,000 in Syria, 350,000 in Lebanon, and about 10,000 in Jordan (Halabi, 1995). Approximately 120,000 Druze live in Israel today; all of them are original residents of Palestine (Central Bureau of Statistics, 2012).
The Druze religion is primarily a neo-Platonic philosophy, with few practical commandments involving fasting, pilgrimage, days of rest, and so forth (Salman, 1992), and it does not feature ritual sacrifice. The basis of the faith is that the one absolute God, the God who resembles nothing else, is indefinable and incomprehensible to the human mind; God is separate from all of humanity, omnipresent at all times, and is the basis of humanity, the embodiment of absolute truth (Abu Izzadin, 1990). One of the principles of the Druze religion is al-arfan (knowledge of the Truth). Corporeal life is a dream, an illusion, and the Druze believer must always aspire to go beyond ordinary, ephemeral existence and discover the truth behind it (Junblat, 1966).
The soul, according to the Druze religion, is central, while the material body is ephemeral. Hence one task of Druze believers is to try to control the body and its desires (Abu Izzadin, 1990). Since the soul is central and eternal, and the body ephemeral, the Druze believe that the soul can pass from one person to another, from one body to another; that is, be reincarnated (Abu Izzadin, 1990; Anan, 1959; Mukarem, 1966). The Druze faith holds that humanity was created with a certain number of souls and that this number remains constant, neither increasing nor decreasing. When someone dies, his or her soul moves to another body. From this standpoint, the body serves as a kind of kamis (garment) to clothe the soul. This is the basis for the Druze concept of tikmas (reincarnation). The human soul passes only to another human being, not to animals, as other religions claim (Abu Izzadin, 1990). It is important to note that a Druze soul is believed to pass only to another Druze person (Mukarem, 1966). Another characteristic of the Druze religion is that the faith is secret. This generates an aura of mystery around believers, leading to highly inaccurate analyses by outside observers (Firro, 1992).
The question of the ethnic origins of the Druze people is a subject of ongoing debate. All the Druze leaders, historians, and intellectuals in Lebanon and Syria – as well as the rest of the Druze population – define themselves as Arabs. In Israel, too, most Druze agree with the national identification of their brothers in Syria and Lebanon, but there are also Druze in Israel who do not agree that their ethnic (Arab) origin also defines their national identity. They claim that being Druze is not merely a religious, but also a national, category. Firro (1992) and Frisch (1993) argue that this tendency accords well with the official Israeli policy that seeks to separate the Druze from the (rest of the) Arab community in Israel.
Despite their ties with the Druze communities in Syria and Lebanon, a different national identity has developed among the Druze in Israel over time, along with a distinctive political behavior, primarily as a consequence of the activities of the Zionist movement in Palestine and, thereafter, the establishment of the Jewish state in Israel. At the inception of the Zionist movement, there were about 7000 Druze living in Palestine, representing less than 1% of its total population. As a tiny minority living amidst a Muslim majority, the Druze at times suffered religiously motivated harassment. This harassment, and the absence of an intellectual leadership, led them to adopt a position of neutrality toward the conflict around them. Their stance exacerbated the tensions that existed already between the Druze and other Palestinians (Firro, 1992; Parsons, 2000).
Firro (1984, 1992) contends that this rift between the Druze and the other Arabs in Palestine was exploited by the Zionist movement, which used any possible means to encourage the Druze to retain their neutrality and even tried to woo them to its own side in the conflict. Though tempted by the Zionist movement, the Druze maintained their neutrality all along, even during the 1948 war. Some incidents, together with the growing power of the Jewish army, created an opening for agreements signed during that period between the Druze and the Jews, effecting a transition from Druze neutrality to a stance supporting the Jewish side, on the condition that the Druze villages would not be harmed (Parsons, 2000).
After the founding of the state, the Israeli establishment continued the policy of separating the Druze from other Arabs as a means of fragmenting and weakening the Arab-Palestinian minority, and controlling it. The law mandating compulsory conscription into the Israel Defense Forces was extended to cover Druze youth in 1956, despite the opposition of most of the Druze leadership, particularly the religious authorities of the time. From a social-political standpoint, military conscription of the Druze was a significant turning point in shaping the identity of the Druze community in Israel in two major ways. Druze conscription is experienced by the other Arabs in the country as a stab in the back of the Arab nation (Firro, 1999; Frisch, 1993) and is also significant from an economic standpoint, because military service has become economically central for many young Druze, as more than 40% of male breadwinners earn their living as members of the various Israeli armed forces (Hassan, 1992).
In 1957 the Druze community was recognized as an autonomous religious community. A Druze Religious Council was established along with Druze religious courts. In 1962 the term ‘Druze’ replaced ‘Arab’ as the ‘national’ classification on Druze citizens’ identity (ID) cards and birth certificates. Druze, from that moment on, ceased being considered Arabs from an official standpoint (Lustick, 1985; Oppenheimer, 1979).
In 1976 the educational system serving Druze villages was separated from the overall Arab school system and a distinct educational system was set up for the Druze. This system was staffed mainly by Druze and featured an intensive, purposeful effort, both in terms of the formal curriculum and informal education, to create an Israeli Druze consciousness among the students. This consciousness was meant to cause Druze youth to identify with the state and its symbols, and involved an emphasis on what the Druze and the Jews have in common along with what separates the Druze and other Arabs (Halabi, 1997).
These historical circumstances – primarily the extension of the Law of Compulsory Conscription to include the Druze, and the establishment of a separate educational system – shaped a unique identity for the Druze in Israel. This identity is distinct from that of all other Druze in the world and also from that of the other Palestinian Arabs in Israel. The purpose of this research is to examine the Druze identity in Israel in all its complexity, using in-depth interviews. My aim is to explore how this identity is defined within the complex intergroup context, the various components and their inter-relations (congruent or conflictual), and the way its boundaries are shaped through interaction with other identities in Israel. This is an attempt to inform our understanding of the broader phenomenon of the construction of minority group identity within the context of political and social forces and circumstances.
Method
Participants
Interviews were conducted with 50 Druze university students in Israel (half male and half female). Eleven of the male students had completed their army service, eight were serving in an army-sponsored academic program, and six had not served in the army. Druze women do not serve in the Israeli army. For the purposes of the study, pseudonyms are used in place of subjects’ actual names, both in presenting the interview excerpts and in the analysis.
Interviews
For the purposes of this study, I chose to employ an interpretative, qualitative research methodology. This approach seemed most suitable, as qualitative research focuses on people and their experiences and tries to see the meaning of their actions from their own point of view, their own feelings and their own consciousness, while attempting to examine the world via those who live in it (Bruner, 1986; Hitchcock and Hughes, 1989). The data gathering tool chosen is the interview. For data analysis, the approach recommended by Maykut and Morehouse (1999) was adopted. The analysis and interpretation was done in two stages. The first stage presents the relevant statements of interviewees using selected quotes, interspersed with minimal bridging and explanatory language. The second phase features more in-depth interpretation of the material presented, with reference to relevant theory that inform the analysis in order to better understand the phenomena and trends emerging from the interviews.
The interviews were conducted by the author, in Arabic (the mother tongue of both interviewer and interviewees) at the universities the respondents study. Each interview lasted approximately one hour. The interviews were fully transcribed.
Findings
A repeated and careful reading of the interviews yielded three major content categories which I labeled: ‘Druze by blood;’ ‘Arab, but less so;’ and ‘Being Israeli.’
Druze by Blood
All the interviewees described themselves as Druze, but there are broad differences within that description among the various interviewees. Some related to being Druze in the cultural sense, others in the social sense, still others saw being Druze as a ‘lifestyle,’ and some regarded their Druze identity as a common fate. All, however, defined being Druze first and foremost in a religious sense.
Druze in the Religious Sense
‘Druze identity is that a person belongs to the Druze community, in other words that he is the son of a Druze mother and father and believes completely in the Druze faith.’ Thus Rania defined a religious Druze identity, simply and concisely. In contrast to other religions, both parents must be Druze in order for the person to be described as Druze (Mukarem, 1966), but the matter of Druze faith is extremely complicated and cannot be reduced to a single sentence; indeed, it is difficult to describe at all. Yet despite this identity so indubitable and this faith so very strong, interviewees had great difficulty describing its content. Moreover, the overwhelming majority is not devoutly religious, and someone who is not religious, in the Druze doctrine, is jahil, meaning an ignoramus; or, in other words, lacking knowledge of the secrets of the Druze religion. Not only that, but some interviewees are very far removed from religion and declare themselves nonbelievers, yet they cannot cut themselves off from their Druze identity. As Ahmed put it: The last thing I’m connected to is the religion, hence I was undecided at first whether to call myself a Druze. But nevertheless, what can I say, I was born Druze and I am not going to convert, I’m not going to be anything else but Druze.
Druze identity now is inward, in beliefs and feelings, part of one’s personal identity structure, something one grows into and which becomes part of one, making a Druze Druze: ‘We grew up with this from the time we were little – with the religion and the sacred nature of the religion, it’s in the subconscious, it’s inside, it’s like you become connected to the secret text, our holy book, even if you don’t know anything about it’ (Najib). There’s something particularly mysterious involved when the religion is a secret one.
Reincarnation
Nineteen of the interviewees mentioned reincarnation as central to the structure of their identity. I must emphasize that all of them raised this subject on their own, without being asked about it. The remaining interviewees were not asked about their beliefs in reincarnation, so we do not know their stance on the subject. Yet everyone who mentioned it spoke as if deeply persuaded, and it was clearly one of the most decisive elements in the construction of their identity: Reincarnation has great importance in my identity; that is, it’s the most important thing in the religion. It’s what makes us feel that every Druze could actually be our brother or sister, and it connects me very strongly to my Druze identity. (Rim)
Not just that reincarnation seems like the touchstone of the religious faith, but for some of them it is their only connection to the Druze faith: I think that reincarnation has a major influence on me. I have no connection to the other religious beliefs, I mean, the prophets and the holidays aren’t things I care much about, and I never went deeply into all that; I think that reincarnation is actually the main thing and it represents more than 90% of my belief in the Druze religion. (Imad)
This matter is linked to religion, but is also connected with all other Druze people, whoever they may be. It makes the Druze community one large family, uniting all in a direct blood tie, linking all to one fate: That is, this tells me that we are all brothers, we are of one blood, and we’re simply brothers. I mean, you and I, who didn’t know each other before, maybe in a previous incarnation we were each other’s relatives. This makes us more united, we’re all of us one arm. (Muhammad)
An Identity Hard to Describe in Words
The Druze identity is seen by most respondents as something deeply emotional that is difficult to explain: 39 of the interviewees, 26 male students and 13 female students, regard it as something in the soul that’s hard to describe in words, yet nonetheless they talked at length about it, with many examples. Perhaps because they found describing this difficult, they offered numerous illustrations. Samih explained it thus: ‘When I see a Druze man or woman, it’s like I see someone from my family, and then birshukli d’mu.’ This phrase is hard to translate: it signifies an almost physical transition of the blood from one soul to another. Wafaa tried to explain this at greater length: It’s something internal, sort of … For instance, when you are studying with Jews and there’s someone I thought was an Arab and it turns out that he’s Druze, I had a completely different feeling about him, how can I explain it to you, it brings him very close to you, a Druze, that is, Druze, I don’t know how to say it … An Arab, that’s fine, Arab, you are studying with him, but when you know he’s a Druze, there’s a very big difference … I don’t have the words to describe this feeling for you …
This feeling of belonging leads to a deep sense of identification with members of the group, to the point where they are proud of others’ successes and sad about their failures. This deep feeling sometimes also dictates the behavior of members of the community. One example that recurred among the Druze students was the feeling of duty when they see a young Druze woman outside the village. They feel an obligation to help her and defend her: When I see a young Druze woman and she has no brother or some other male family member with her, I feel as if I am there instead of that brother or father … When I see a Druze girl outside the village, I feel that something connects me, that I become responsible for her. (Aatef)
Arab, But Less So
Forty-eight of the 50 interviewees described themselves as Arabs. Only two interviewees were careful to state that they don’t see themselves as Arabs. Both described themselves, in this respect, negatively. They didn’t see themselves as Arabs, since other Arabs, in their view, do not see them as Arabs. Culture (primarily language) and nationality are two major components of their Arab identity, but the most salient element is the attitude of other Arabs toward the Druze. I will examine all three in more detail here.
Language as Defining Component of Identity
One of the principal descriptors of the Arab identity of interviewees is language: ‘If I were a Druze woman living in the United States, speaking a foreign language, I wouldn’t be an Arab. Since I speak Arabic, that’s what connects me to the Arabs’ (Amira). Rania argues that Arabic is part of being Druze and goes with Druze people everywhere in the world: First of all, our religion is written in Arabic; wherever we are, in Brazil or here, the religion is in Arabic. So, at least for that reason, I want to be proud of the Arabic language. When I speak with you or with anyone else, I am an Arab and my mother tongue is Arabic, even if you look at it from a different side, from the Jewish side, for example when a Jew sees you speaking Arabic, in his eyes you are an Arab.
Alongside and rounding out the language aspect, some of the interviewees mentioned other cultural components as describing their Arab identity, such as food, dress, and Arab music.
Belonging to the Arab Nation
Twenty-five interviewees addressed the Arab national component in their identity, most of them reporting that they do not feel comfortable with this component of their identity, each for his or her own reasons. Some reported that this component plays a role for them, but this is a marginal and weak one. Ten interviewees mentioned a conspicuous feeling of belonging to the Arab nation. Nine of the 10 were female students. In other words, the women students in our sample were more nationalistic than the male students.
Most of the male students were hesitant when talking about the Arab national component of their identity, and were not unequivocal. As Imad expressed it: We are not in the same situation … this is a very complicated thing, you can’t identify yourself with them one 100% and you also can’t say that you’re not connected to them 100% … Meaning, when there’s some kind of incident you feel you’re with them, but on the other hand sometimes things happen and it doesn’t move you. But generally I do identify with them.
Muhammad explains the problematic nature of this issue, his indecision about defining himself as Arab from a national standpoint: I can’t declare that I’m not an Arab because I speak Arabic and you eat Arab food and live with them, but the question is, what do you feel inside, because I think that nationality is a feeling of belonging, it’s what you feel inside yourself. Since I’m living in Israel in a democratic state I say of myself that I’m a Druze and I don’t say that I’m Muslim … I don’t have all that much of a feeling of belonging to the Arab nation and the Arab motherland …
Moreover, Muhammad evidently sees some contradiction between being Arab and Israeli, and also identifies being Muslim with being Arab, hence has trouble defining himself as having Arab nationality.
‘The Druze Are Traitors.’
As these excerpts show, one of the more significant factors affecting their Arab identity is the position taken toward them by other Arabs in Israel – a negative stance, arising from the connections that the Druze in Israel have had with the establishment since the pre-state period, and particularly given that the Druze have been conscripted into the army since 1956. The phrase ‘traitors’ recurred repeatedly as a term applied by some Arabs to the Druze, according to the statements of the interviewees. Thirty-one of the interviewees addressed this element as one that impinges on the way they conceptualize their identity. What stands out is the richness of their description in this regard, and the extent of their emotional involvement when discussing the subject. A great deal of pain, frustration, and anger emerge with relation to the negative image of their own group that they attribute to other Arabs: This is something that is always present and it never lets you rest. When I first came to university, for instance, I tried to get to know Arab students and when they realized I was Druze, they would step back from me It’s a very difficult feeling, as if you are a traitor from the standpoint of the Arabs because you’re Druze, and it doesn’t matter if you served in the army or not. Just being Druze. (Najib)
This rejection leads even those who feel secure about being Arab to start having doubts about their identity, as Sausan reports: Sometimes, although I feel inwardly that I’m an Arab [woman], sometimes I start to think, who am I, anyway? I feel secure about being Arab, I describe myself as a Druze Arab, but sometimes in these situations I stop understanding who I am, I feel that I don’t belong, I’m cut off.
This perpetual blame from other students leads the Druze students to defend themselves, and they fight back: In this kind of situation I tell them that Gamal Abdel Nasser [former president of Egypt] said that no Arab is a traitor. I try to explain to them that belonging as an Arab is not contingent. I’d be lying if I told you that I don’t feel hurt and because of the wounds, I become defensive, I get that they blame me –what has he ever done for the Arab people. (Omri)
Being Israeli
Of the 50 interviewees, 46 described themselves as Israeli. Three out of the four who did not describe themselves as Israeli were the ones who described themselves as Palestinian. The meanings they attached to their Israeli identity was varied, ranging from something minimalist that sees Israel just as a geographic location, up to a deep emotional identification and strong bond with the state, its symbols and the Jewish people.
Born Here, Therefore Israeli
Twenty-two of the interviewees characterized their Israeli identity merely with the fact that they were born in the country that calls itself Israel. Some related to this identity as one that had been forced on them, not something they desire: ‘My land is in this state, my house, my parents, my relatives. We were here before the state was founded and then came Israel, and I have to accept that and live with that’ (Nasser).
Others have adjusted to being Israeli and learned to live with it, but are still not prepared to defend the state or sacrifice for it: I was born here, I live here, but my connection with the state is superficial, not deep. I live here, so I want my rights, and to obtain them I must perform my obligations. Give in order to get. Not to defend the land, not to sacrifice everything I have for the state. (Areej)
Note that, during their interviews, most interviewees spoke of other aspects of their identity as Israelis, but the minimalist meaning was the first one they mentioned, and with emphasis. I will go on to address the complexity of this Israeli identity as perceived among these interviewees, collectively and individually.
The Attitude of the State and of Jews
Thirty-eight interviewees mentioned the attitude of the state, and of Jews, toward them as one of the significant factors in the delineation of their Israeli identity. About a third experienced this attitude as a positive one that strengthens the Israeli part of their identity, and spoke of a feeling of belonging to Israeli life. Two-thirds experienced the attitude of the state toward them as negative, distancing them from the Israeli component of their identity and weakening it.
Among the positive features mentioned by interviewees about the State of Israel is the freedom of speech and of religion it offers, in contrast to the situation in other Arab countries: ‘Israel doesn’t interfere in your religious life, you’re free to do as you like and think as you want. Look at Syria and Lebanon, especially Syria: You get them interfering in everything’ (Imad). Amira sees a direct link between what the state gives her and the feeling of belonging and obligation she feels toward the state: I was born here and this is my country; they give me rights, so I have to live with them. I celebrate Independence Day. My brothers serve in the army, my father served in the army, the state pays our national health insurance, they pay us, so I’m Israeli.
Other interviewees living in the same reality, having similar experiences, feel exactly the opposite. They feel discriminated against and complain about not being granted the rights to which they are entitled. Omri said it best: ‘They’re always giving me the feeling that – you may be Israeli, but you’re not one of us. They try to give us our rights a little bit at a time, like with a medicine dropper.’
Angham complains that, although the Druze serve in the army and perform their duty, they do not receive all their rights in return, and she can’t accept that: ‘Our goal is to get to a situation where we receive all our rights here, but that’s still a long way off. We live like any other Arab in Israel.’ This official attitude seems to weaken their sense of being Israeli: It’s really humiliating, the way they treat us, it reduces my sense of belonging to Israel. I don’t even feel that I’m Israeli, really. If I’m Israeli and a Jew is Israeli, then why does the Jew take lots more rights than I? He’s a citizen and I’m a citizen, so why is he more equal than I am? I don’t feel that we’re equal at all. (Aatef)
Majdi sees no prospects for changing the situation so long as the state remains a Jewish state as defined now: ‘I think everything has to be changed. First of all, the Jewish state thing should be done away with, since the state is Jewish and you’re not Jewish, meaning that the state isn’t yours…’
Not only does the state’s attitude toward the Druze affect the construction of their identity, but also the attitude on the personal level, on the part of Jews, has a significant effect. Since Arabs are considered the enemy by the Jews and are largely rejected, the Druze try to shed this identity in their encounters with Jews, in order to be accepted. As Najeeb describes it: When he meets you and finds out that you speak Arabic, he right away thinks you’re an Arab, never considering that you might be Druze, he thinks you’re Arab and distances himself. When they know you’re Druze, they start to come closer, start to ask where you were in the army and what you did there, and things between you start to get friendly. This makes it easier for you, since you feel that you’re accepted, and he feels comfortable with you and isn’t keeping his distance, your self-confidence increases. You feel more comfortable.
A Proud Israeli on the Way to Conscription, But a Dirty Arab on the Way Home
Forty-seven of the interviewees see the service in the Israeli Defense Forces as one of the most significant factors that shapes their identity as Druze in Israel. The interviewees discussed in minute detail about how it affects the construction of their identity and their connection with other Arabs, with Jews, and with the Jewish State.
There was an unequivocal difference between the description given by male students and that of female students. (Note that Druze women are not drafted.) The young women, every one of them, said that, on the one hand, army service damages the Arab identity of Druze soldiers, but on the other hand, makes them more Israeli. From the young women’s standpoint, it was patently obvious that army service decisively affects the identity of young Druze in Israel: Of course this makes us different from the Arabs in Israel. This is what gave the Arabs the opinion they have of us. This is the main thread in our identity. Everything else revolves around this and in my opinion, it’s central. (Afnan)
Rula knows where army service is taking the Druze community and how it influences the way Druze see themselves: ‘I don’t go to the army, so I define myself as a Druze Arab Israeli. A Druze guy who goes to the army defines himself as a Druze Israeli. He cancels out the Arab part of him entirely, as if he’d been brainwashed.’ For the male students, things are less clear-cut. They describe a more complicated picture, and some of them even report that the army does not change their identity at all. They go in, they serve, and they leave as if it were nothing. Ramzi talks about his personal experience, and describes how he suppresses the Arab within himself, so he will be an accepted Druze: The army is your ticket [into Israeli society] … That is, when you want to get something and you want it very much, you have to kill the Arab inside of you, have to kill him in your subconscious in order to reach whatever it is.
Others who have undergone similar experiences in the army, even some who were officers, report the opposite: that army service made them return to their Arab identity and distanced them from being Israeli and from the Jews: When I first joined the army, I felt like I belonged; in the first year, I felt more connected to the State of Israel and I felt myself to be more Druze. But after I was demobilized, I looked back on that period and it started to affect me in the opposite way, I began to feel more Arab … The Jews don’t give us everything we’re entitled to, so I started to feel that they, the Jews, are more distanced from me. (Samih)
Amin best described the identity roller coaster that the Druze young man experiences because of his army service: On the day I was to be released, I was in uniform and was on my way to the base, and a religious (Jewish) guy sat down next to me and started to talk with me. He said that you Druze help us, and we need to love you and blah blah etc. … On my way back home after I’d turned in my uniform, some other Jewish guy sat next to me. I was so tired that I fell asleep and I guess my head was resting on him or something, for a second, and he looks at me and calls me a dirty Arab.
Discussion
Our study portrays a highly complex and problematic constellation of group identities, shaped as a delicate adaptation to the unique position of a group subject to multiple political forces in the past and present. The collective identity perceived by the interviewees as their most dominant one was clearly their Druze identity. But the overwhelming majority of the interviewees see their Druze identity as not more than a religious identity. Only a few interviewees argued that the Druze are a people, a nation, and that being Druze is also a national identity. This creates an apparent paradox calling for deeper examination. The Druze identity is dominant for the interviewees, and it is mainly religious in nature – yet only one of the interviewees is religiously observant, and some have no connection whatever to religion. A careful reading of the interviews reveals that most of the participants view this connection as inexplicable, an identity of the heart and of the soul. It is not entirely definable in words or by reference to content.
The Druze identity emerges as a very deep bond linking a group of people together, perhaps most fairly described as a family connection, a blood tie or a near kinship. Members of the community do behave like members of one family. These descriptions match those of a ‘primordial identity’ (see Isaacs, 1989; Smith, 1998; Weinreich, Bacova and Rougier, 2003): a basic and total identity, grounded in biological and family ties, an identity that binds the individual to his own unique, special group, and to that group’s past and its future; an identity with codes understood only by members of the group. This is an identity that touches the core of the soul of the individual and the core of the society, and links them together.
In the case of the Druze, what still further reinforces this primordial orientation is the belief in reincarnation, which transforms the family tie from a metaphorical concept into something concrete. The belief that every Druze who dies is reborn as another Druze, and only as a Druze turns members of the community into members of one large family, really and truly, as most of the interviewees believe. Each Druze, wherever he may be, could be a family member from a prior incarnation, or may be reborn as a family member in the future.
It should be emphasized that a belief in reincarnation has been known throughout history and treated extensively in the literature (e.g., Stevenson, 1980, 1997), but insofar as is known has not been examined in terms of identity structure. In the present case, the belief in reincarnation is explicitly a central factor in the construction of a primordial Druze identity,
The great majority of the interviewees identified themselves as Arabs, and categorize this as a national identity, unlike their Druze identity which they see as religious. But the description of this Arab identity includes mainly cultural elements, particularly those relating to customs, food, dress, literature and music. The central element, perhaps the touchstone of that identity, is language. Some of the interviewees see themselves as Arabs only because they speak Arabic. This is not unique to this peculiar cultural group. Theory and research have suggested that language is often not only a tool for communication but also an important component in the construction of ethnic-national identity. Through language, a group can define itself, conserve its fundamental values, and differentiate itself from other groups (Bosch, 2001; Fishman, 1996; Giles, 1979; Liebkind, 2003).
The most detrimental factor affecting the Arab national identity of the interviewees, in their view, is their conscription into the Israeli army and the resulting negative attitude of Arabs, particularly the accusation that they are traitors on account of their army service. It is important to note that when the Druze split from Islam and the Druze religion began spreading, believers in the new religion suffered rejection by the Muslim majority, and were even persecuted as heretics (Abu Izzadin, 1990; Firro, 1992). It would seem that this historical memory is linked with the rejection the interviewees feel in the present, as an outcome of conscription into the Israeli army. Some of them report that this treatment leads them to feel outside the Arab collective: if they don’t want me, then I don’t want to be part of them, as some of the interviewees put it. This feeling is experienced as humiliating and unbearable.
Socio-psychological research on threatened identities (Breakwell, 1984; Branscombe et al., 1999; Simon, Aufderheide and Kamppmeier, 2002) has shown that that an unfair and discriminatory attitude on the part of the majority toward members of a minority group leads to greater identification with the in-group, as well as increased hostility and aloofness toward the majority. In our study, the Arabs’ negative attitude toward the Druze, due to their service in the Israeli army, is seen as totally unfair, especially by the female interviewees, probably because they themselves do not serve in the army. As Breakwell (1984) argued, such a hostile attitude propels the interviewees back to their basic group. The Druze ‘return home’ to their Druze identity, which awaits them and embraces them lovingly under any circumstances and unconditionally. In any case, the threat to their Arab identity coming from their fellow Arabs confuses them and blurs their identity. As suggested by Branscombe et al. (1999), when the source of the rejection is that of the fellow group members, the impact is greater on the rejected individuals. Among our respondents, the impact is devastating, even on those who feel secure in their Arab identity.
Feeling that they do not belong as Arabs from a national standpoint has the further consequence that the interviewees do not view themselves as Palestinians, given that a Palestinian identity is the ultimate political expression of Arabs in Israel. Only three described themselves as Palestinian, a negligible percentage, whereas the vast majority of Arabs in Israel see themselves as Palestinians, and in recent years this identity has even become the most prominent component of the self-description among Arabs in Israel (Smooha, 1988; Suleiman and Beit-Hallahmi, 1997).
Researchers in Israel who have treated the question of Palestinian identity in Israel are divided on this point. A few, notably Smooha (1988), have argued that in Israel, a ‘new Arab’ has arisen who integrates an Israeli identity with a Palestinian one; others, notably Rouhana (1993, 1997) and Suleiman (1999), argue that the two identities are mutually exclusive and cannot be integrated. Rouhana even says that the only meaningful, internalized identity for Arabs in Israel is their Palestinian identity, and that their Israeli identity is secondary and mostly formal. For our interviewees, the question is clearly settled. Not only do they think it’s impossible to integrate the two identities, they see them as mutually exclusive, so that there is no way for them to exist alongside one another. As one of the interviewees said, Arab and Israeli is the best he can do; no way can he be both Palestinian and Israeli.
And in truth, it would seem impossible to integrate these two identities, considering the contradictory content and conflicting goals involved. Apparently it is impossible to feel a part of the Palestinian people, a part of its heritage and history, identify with it and with its goals and aspirations, and at the same time go to war against it and oppress it. To make things easier on themselves, the interviewees seem to distinguish sharply between Arabs in Israel and ‘the Palestinians,’ thus allowing themselves to live peacefully with their Arab identity and integrate it with their Israeli identity. In other words, the interviewees try to resolve the contradiction between being Arab and fighting against Arabs, by distinguishing between Palestinians and Palestinians. They define the Palestinians in Israel as Arabs, and those beyond the border as Palestinians, thereby resolving the contradiction. This enables them to be at peace with their Arab identity, more or less, and to fight against Palestinians, a group they themselves are not part of. This distinction is possible because the war takes place, in practice, against Palestinians over the border, so the decisive definition makes those whom one shoots at, whom one fights, into Palestinians.
The great majority of the interviewees in our study also define themselves as Israelis. We have identified three major aspects related to their Israeli identity: the fact of their being citizens of the State of Israel, the attitude of the state and of Jews toward them, and the army service. Most of the interviewees indicated that the army makes them feel Israeli; moreover, the army becomes their entry ticket into Israeli society. Clearly, most of the interviewees want to be Israelis in all aspects, but they feel rejected by the Jewish majority, which does not accept them as Israeli on an equal basis. This infuriates them particularly in light of the fact that they serve in the army. The overwhelming majority of interviewees believe that the biggest obstacle to their becoming just like any other Israeli is the state itself, as a Jewish state. Most, if not all, are skeptical about the possibility of removing this obstacle so that they could be, unconditionally and without question, Israelis.
Bourhis and colleagues (1997) note that the acculturation process is more likely to succeed when the expectations of the minority group and those of the majority group are in consonance, in terms of the type of enculturation the minority group is to undergo. The process becomes problematical with minor disparities in expectations, and conflicted when the expectations of the two groups are markedly different. Our findings suggest marked discrepancies between the expectations of the interviewees, who express a desire for real, full integration into the state, and the perceived expectations of the state, which offers them conditional integration (interpreted by the interviewees as rejection). This lack of congruence in expectations seems to result in a conflict-laden relationship between the Druze and the establishment, and harms the Israeli identity of the Druze, especially the degree of their identification with the state and its symbols.
Again, findings from our study clearly show that our interviewees are not at peace, to put it mildly, living with their Arab and Israeli identities. The historic decision made by the Druze leadership in choosing the Jewish side in the Palestinian–Israeli conflict led the Palestinians to adopt a certain stance toward the Druze, with some seeing them as traitors. This affects detrimentally the interviewees’ Arab identity, as they report, and makes them feel unwanted by the Arab nation. On the other hand, they are not fully accepted by Israeli society, since Israeli is defined as a Jewish state and does not allow them to be integrated in the way they want to be based on their Israeli identity. This, say the interviewees, puts them in limbo, neither here nor there, belonging fully to neither side. As the Arab proverb says, ‘la ma sitti bkheir ula ma sidi bkheir’ (the situation isn’t clear with either grandma or grandpa).
Footnotes
Funding
This research received no specific grant from any funding agency in the public, commercial, or not-for-profit sectors.