Gidi Grinstein: I would name the structures of Israel’s electoral system and political institutions as having the most powerful effect on the ability to govern the State of Israel. Israel suffers from one of the weakest governments among developed nations. There’s a grave mismatch between, on the one hand, the complex challenges we face as a nation and our population’s potential in terms of education and technological savvy, and, on the other hand, a highly underperforming government and public sector. Our electoral system generates powerful incentives for short-term, sectarian, and populist conduct, while our reality demands long-term, broad, and substantive conduct. We urgently need a more stable government and a more cohesive Knesset and legislature.

Gavison: I agree with Gidi that we have a serious problem. However, I’m less certain that a change in the electoral system will provide a remedy. For instance, a two-party system, basically the models in England and the U.S., generates more stability but might not be workable or desirable in Israel.

Grinstein: Democratic societies choose where their diversity will manifest itself: in parties or within the parliament. Britain and the U.S. represent one end of the spectrum, where diversity is almost entirely on the party level, while on the national level there are only two parties. Israel represents the other end of the spectrum: great diversity at the level of the parliament. We need to strike a different balance. Israel would remain a healthy parliamentary democracy even if we had only five or seven parties instead of eleven or thirteen. While a certain level of fragmentation is essential in order to reflect the structure of Israeli society, today we are over fragmented and need to consolidate.

Gavison: While I agree, I’m afraid that the five big existing blocks will continue to create an uneasy move between paralysis and instability — the paralysis of a unity government or the instability of a very small coalition. I would consider ideas such as adding a chamber and creating a two-chamber solution so that one chamber would be more directly representative and the other would be more effective. The interplay between the two chambers would also provide a much-needed check on parliamentary power. At present the court carries the entire burden of policing our legislature, which is bad for politics and bad for the court.

Grinstein: Historically, Israeli politics were most stable whenever we had a critical political mass at the center.

Gavison: True, but that was under the same electoral system we have now! And there’s no structural way to recreate a centrist party. So while the instability of government is a serious issue, it is not clear whether changes in the electoral system could change that.

Susan Berrin: I wonder if you would comment on the tension caused by striving to become a global economic power while remaining mired in a foreign policy defined by years of conflict with Israel’s closest neighbors. How do you balance economics and prosperity on one side of the scale with security and foreign policy limitations on the other?

Grinstein: The weakness of our international standing is not inevitable, and we can improve it dramatically. First, we belong to one of the most powerful networks in the world, the Jewish network. We can tap into it and empower our many supporters and friends as effective communicators of Israel’s case. Second, our diplomacy and national public relations are simply badly managed and need to be overhauled. Third, we can make a qualitative, distinctly Jewish and Israeli contribution to the world — tikkun olam — in areas we have excelled in such as agriculture, public health, and water technology and management. Finally, we can tackle some structures that compromise our standing such as the basic notions of international law as it regards fighting terrorism.

All of this requires a significant reallocation of resources. Israel’s biggest threats are not only military but also political and diplomatic; we spend on our foreign service only two percent of what we spend on our military. That’s an unacceptable ratio. Chabad has 20 times more emissaries in the world than Israel has professional diplomats.

Gavison: I like the directions drawn by Gidi. My picture is a bit less optimistic, however. For example, I am worried about our internal social and economic structure, the troubling signs of societal deterioration, and the growing gaps between segments of the population. And I am extremely reticent to talk about a “Jewish network” because it touches on pernicious images of Israel and the Jews. Though I agree with Gidi about the ineffectiveness of our public relations, our military threat is very, very serious. And though the economy is flourishing, we can’t count on this remaining so. We need to think strategically about the military challenges Israel faces in the region and the implications these challenges have for Israel’s economics and diplomacy. More important than improving our public relations and increasing our diplomatic corps, we must have a coherent statement for these diplomats to express.

The southern part of Israel has been subjected to rocket fire without effective Israeli military or political response. The lives of a large segment of Israelis at the periphery are extremely vulnerable. Moreover, Israel is perceived by some as the villain in a very unstable area of the world — and responsible for one of the greatest dangers to world peace. This perception is wrong, not the reality, and we should not take it lightly. There is also the fact that we have been occupying for more than 40 years territories densely populated by Palestinians, who are not Israeli citizens. These are very serious matters. We need a comprehensive response that acknowledges that this is the way we are seen by populations — not necessarily governments — around the world.

Grinstein: For the foreseeable future, a certain measure of violence around us will be a fact of life. This violence will be funneled to friction points. Today it’s Sderot. In the past it was Kiryat Shmona, Tel-Aviv, El-Al airplanes, or Beit Shean. In the 2nd Lebanon War, we saw the collapse of the distinction between homeland and frontline. In fact, the entire State of Israel may be “frontline” in times of conflict. We must therefore build vibrant and resilient communities — a centerpiece of our national agenda — not only at the center of Israel but also at the periphery. This is a challenge that is both a national security as well as a development one.

Gavison: Israel will not survive unless we share a commitment, irrespective of where we live, that this is our home and we’re willing to do what it takes, for as long as it takes, to protect it. This requires an ability to sustain periods of hardship. And it’s easier to sustain periods of hardship when we feel solidarity; when the north is shelled, we in the south or the center don’t just go on with our lives. I would expect an effective and responsible government to communicate credibly not only with words but also with deeds — to invest in vulnerable communities under attack, to offer resources that show solidarity, and to be prepared for contingencies.

At a time of crisis, power needs to be coordinated from the center while effective help must be on the spot. The civil government and military authorities must coordinate effectively. This requires long-term investment and implementation; it’s not enough to have the best policies. We need to begin at the grassroots and make things happen in schools and hospitals and civic centers. And these top-down and bottom-up social processes need not only tending but also to be part of the national ethos in a structured way. This was so at the beginning of the state and was responsible for many of our achievements. That ethos is weakening now; it needs to be revitalized and endorsed by the government from municipalities to units in the field.

Berrin: What has contributed to that erosion of national spirit?

Gavison: Israel has been the victim of its own success. No one can maintain a revolution forever. It’s natural that once the basic challenges of existence are met, people want to live; they want to address the next question on the list. Crises extract a very heavy price. But we should not lose our direction; we must maintain the sense that we’re here because this is a country with a mission, and that mission is being challenged. It’s the responsibility of government to articulate this, that despite a much higher standard of living, we cannot take our lives here for granted.

Grinstein: I would only add that in the 1990s there was a deep-seated hope, perhaps illusion, about the imminent end of conflict with the Palestinians and hence with the Arab world. The Intifada in 2000, however, served as a wake-up call that we’ll be in the struggle for a long time. The second thing is the relatively recent growth in economic disparity. In a globalized society like Israel, those who play globally become relatively ultra-rich and super-powerful. It is estimated that there are 7,000 Israeli millionaires, more than one percent of the population. At the same time, more than 20 percent of the population is poor. These disparities are expected to grow. This is why it is critical to have a society of meritocracy where anyone has a sense that they can make it on a leveled playing field, where people have solid foundations of education, opportunity for life-long learning, and flexible job markets. These issues have been neglected and should be at the top of the agenda.

Gavison: And seeking peace. We should accept responsibility for what we are doing to hinder or delay reconciliation. But we should also be very aware that some of our partners are not indicating interest in making peace with us. It’s critical for Israelis to live with this paradox, the contradiction of actively wanting peace yet also understanding that we may never have peace. Moreover, at times it may not be possible to reach peace — and we must then learn to manage the conflict in a way that serves our long-term goals, including the necessity of not perpetuating our rule over people who want their own self-determination just as we want ours.

Grinstein: I agree that unrealistic expectations are dangerous. Most Israeli governments that have set unattainable objectives have led to massive disappointment. Calibrating expectations is a critical task of the political leadership.

Berrin: What impact has that disappointment, over and over again, had on the makeup of Israeli society?

Gavison: Today, people are very sober — wanting to promote chances for peace but not wanting to base policies on wishful thinking. The gamble should be very measured and very minimal so that if what we hope for does not materialize, the situation won’t be catastrophic. Political leaders must seek peace not only to achieve stability but also to have justice. Our ultimate concern is the wellbeing, the survival, and the flourishing of Israel and the Jewish collective in it. We should pursue these goals within the constraints of human rights. We must do this responsibly, without letting wishful thinking mislead us.

Grinstein: Another aspect of continued conflict, adversity, and challenge is that it is has pushed us to be creative, resourceful, and innovative. We have turned our major challenges into significant assets. The Arab boycott pushed us to embrace trade as few other countries did; similarly water scarcity encouraged us to become a world leader in desalination and irrigation; our defense challenges turned us into leaders in electro-optics and communications. We have a mentality of assertive experimentation that is a very attractive aspect of Israeli society.

Gavison: I agree that necessity breeds creativity, innovation, and initiative. But the necessity of fighting cancer and global warming and issues not directly connected with continued threats to our existence would provide enough incentive for us to excel. Striking a good agreement with our neighbors should not condemn us to apathy and failure. Moreover, since the security threat is a permanent feature of our existence, it has, in fact, made us less innovative, energetic, and creative than we used to be. Some of our systems have become too bureaucratic, too routine. We should create incentives to keep the spirit of creativity and originality more alive. This is not simply a luxury but a critical aspect of our continued success.

The law is a social tool that, through its rulings, should express a society’s values, culture, and ethos. The fundamental issue that should therefore concern the Israeli minister of justice is: Is currently accepted Israeli law truly suitable in meeting the needs of Israeli society? In my opinion, the answer is “no.”

The State of Israel exists out of cultural duality: On one side is western-liberal culture and on the other is Jewish tradition. Its laws and, perhaps more importantly, its citizens’ collective consciousness, define it as a “Jewish and democratic state.” In this sense, the State of Israel is an organization of a unique historical nature in the annals of human history: It is the only Jewish country within the family of democratic nations, and the only democratic organization among varying forms of Jewish existence throughout our people’s long history.

However, this unique dual sense of belonging is not reflected in Israel’s legal system. The democratic character of state law is easily discernible. But what is the uniquely Jewish character of Israeli law? How is the substance of the law — its values, the balances among them, and the concrete allocation of rights and resources — influenced by the Jewishness of the society within which it exists?

Two models of the “Judaization” of Israeli law are visible on the Israeli public agenda: The first, accepted by the religious-Zionist community, seeks to advance religious legislation that will set into law Jewish halakhic practices (for example, a law forbidding the display of chametz during Pesach) and to remove from law norms that conflict with halakhah (such as objecting to the legalization of the value of “equality”). The second model, accepted by the Charedi, the ultra-Orthodox community, proffers a coexistence of two alternative legal systems — the halakhah and state law — to be applied side by side, on different sectors of the population, as per their choice.

As minister of justice, I would reject both these models unequivocally. The first attempts to enforce religion on a secular majority, thereby resulting in a continuous struggle between state and religion. After 60 years, it can be clearly determined that religious legislation is a central reason for the failure of the relations between the religious and secular communities in Israel. Coercion distances Israelis from their Judaism. Similarly, what religious value can be ascribed to a religious practice that is interpreted and implemented by a civil court of law? I find the second model equally invalid: If realized, every minority group in Israel will request independent judicial autonomy: halakhah for Charedim, Islamic law for Moslem Arabs, international law for secular liberals, etc. Israeli society, already divided, would only further split into separate autonomies independent from and hostile to each other.

Nonetheless, I am of the opinion that the primary task of the Israeli minister of justice should be to extend a sense of Jewish uniqueness to Israeli law. We must now examine in what manner this is to be achieved.

Israeli law is, in principle, a reflection and an echo of the British and American legal systems. Israeli professors of law are educated between the Charles and Hudson rivers (and not between the Jordan River and the Mediterranean). The precedents that shape the law and its leading lights are not drawn from the Jewish bookshelf. The Americanization of the law is part of a broad process of domination — western culture (primarily American) eclipsing the unique aspects of small cultures. Thus, the processes overtaking media, art, taste, language, and leisure are also taking place in law. The motto is “I am in the East and my heart (both professional and cultural) lies deep in the West.”

American law expresses concrete moral choices, a proportion of which contradict the moral choices generally accepted in Jewish culture. Thus, for example, American culture sanctifies the individual, disregards the community, and in some contexts views the state as dangerous. The American public domain is conceived as a neutral area, lacking any particular identity. An American (generally) has rights, not obligations. Values of efficiency are paramount to (almost) all other values. American capitalism and the American ethos despise imposing the responsibility for private welfare on the state: Therefore there is no place for an American welfare state. Massive import of American law — which embodies these moral and cultural choices — into Israeli law transforms Israeli society into a body that echoes the American lifestyle.

The Israeli minister of justice must expose the local legal system to the influence of varied cultural voices, a central one of which must be the Jewish voice. The halakhah bears the fundamental genome of Jewish culture, and it prefers alternative solutions to each of the aforementioned American preferences. Even a Jew who is not interested in Judaism as a religion can relate to the halakhic answers regarding the place of the community in Israeli society (extremely important); the obligations of the Israeli citizen (and not merely his or her rights); the value of decency (even at the expense of efficiency); the unique nature of the public domain (which should be particularly Jewish, as befits a nation-state); the deep-rooted value of solidarity and mutual responsibility, and the assignment of communal responsibility for the welfare of the underprivileged (i.e., creating a welfare state) and for the minorities living in our midst (”loving the stranger”). Without all these, there is no spiritual and cultural justification for the existence of a Jewish state.

The “Judaization” of Israeli law is neither a religious mission nor one for the religious. Although true that halakhah is a religious judicial system, beyond its theological significance it also possesses immense cultural importance. It is the pungent spice that has, for generations, contributed to the shaping of the Jewish soul. It is a detailed road map, whose strength and light have guided and managed a Jewish way of life throughout history, everywhere and always. The Jewish identity, memory, and consciousness are woven into it. For these very reasons, the current removal of the halakhah from the daily agenda of the Jewish state renders Israel a country lacking in depth, meager in language, disconnected and isolated from the rich horizons of its past. The Israeli minister of justice — religious or secular — must amend this situation and enable Jewish tradition and halakhah to shape secular Israeli culture without caving in to   religious coercion.

Zionism and the rebuilding of the State of Israel entail the decision of the Jewish people to build our collective lives together. By collective lives I do not mean a loose confederation of denominations that join together in a number of common enterprises, in particular at times of crisis. Rather, the Zionist dream is to build a common public domain where all join together, a domain that belongs to us all equally and is shared accordingly.

While this ideal lies at the foundation of the Zionist narrative, the reality of modern Israel has failed in its implementation. Instead of a shared public sphere, many, in particular my predecessors in this ministry, have spent too much energy on attempts to control it and to shape it in accordance with their particular ideological affiliation. They have seen success not in fostering tolerance of difference and the ability to share, but in the victory of their particular party and ideology. This must come to an end.

Some argue for a public domain that is religiously neutral, where religion is relegated to the private domain of individual life. While this solution will indeed remove some of the conflict, it is akin to a “successful operation” where the patient dies. If the only way for Jews to live together is to remove our Jewishness from our collective lives, then the Zionist endeavor is bankrupt.

We do not need a state to ensure the physical survival of Jews, and even if we did, Israel alone cannot provide that guarantee. The aim and telos of Zionism is to create a state for the Jewish people, a state where Jewish ideas and values lie at the core of our sensibilities and policies, a state where Jewish ideas and values shape our public, not merely private, lives. It is not the goal of Israel to ensure solidarity either by allowing the dominance of one ideology or by relinquishing our vision of a Jewish state.

Our task is to create a culture of respect for our differences and to educate all to the notion that a Jewish public space is not anyone’s private domain. As that which belongs to us all, we must learn to share it equally. We must learn to allow others, even those with whom we disagree, to function freely within the public domain.

As minister of religious affairs, I am the advocate of all Jews who participate in the rebuilding of the state. My task is to ensure that all have equal access to public funding and functions. Though this policy already functions with other religions in Israel, it must become the standard within Judaism as well. Just as Israel is the home of all Jews, so too must the ministry be the home for all Judaisms.

Citizenship in the state is not limited to a particular Jewish domination, and consequently, neither are the religious policies of the country, whether we are talking about marriage and divorce, conversion, funerals, or funds for the building of religious institutions. Under the auspices of the ministry, we will fund the creation of multiple rabbinates, men and women from all denominations, so each Jew can be guaranteed the right to religious ceremonies and services in accordance with his or her belief system. This will apply not only to the diverse religious denominations, but to secular Jews, as well, whose rights to perform Jewish and civil ceremonies in accordance with their Jewish sensibilities must be protected.

The ultimate aim of my ministry is not only to ensure that the religious life of Israel reflects and represents the diversity of ideologies among the Jewish people, but also to be the chief advocate for maintaining the quality and content of Jewish life in Israel. What we have learned over the centuries is that whenever someone wants to control the access points to Judaism, the result is neither the furthering of Jewish life nor Jewish unity, but rather the creation of a reality in which most Jews stay outside, alienated from their own tradition and identity.

We cannot afford to allow Israel to continue to be the primary catalyst for the alienation of Jews from their heritage. Rather, we need an Israel that serves as the catalyst for a new Jewish renaissance — an Israel that nurtures an array of access points into our tradition. This is the challenge and aspiration of Zionism and the charter of my ministry.

Israel’s chief resource is its human potential. We have no oil, no water, no forests. Cultivating learning and the pursuit of knowledge of Torah, as well as of arts and sciences, have always been central Jewish values. The intellectual achievements of Jews have always stood out. In fact, the establishment of the state fostered the dream that Israel would become an epicenter of Jewish “genius.” Sixty years after statehood, we are still learning how to educate youngsters to use their talents, be drawn to innovation and, at the same time, become decent people and good citizens.

If I were Israel’s minister of education I would try to achieve this goal by reinventing the public school system that was legislated in 1953. Over the years, the divisions between the two streams of education — one secular and the other religious — have became enormously fragmented. The religious stream has spawned a variety of styles of religious education, including an educational approach that undermines the centrality of the state and its values. Within the secular stream, some of the finest students are migrating toward private schools because they are frustrated with the poor quality of public education. Insular communities have evolved around private schools and children are becoming more parochial, more familiar with like-mindedness; thus, solidarity with Israel’s citizens is being eroded.

The cleavage between secular and religious education should be rectified. These very definitions are wrong and create identity confusion. To revive a system of education that fosters identity, produces broadly educated adults and engaged citizens, and unifies experience, Israel needs a uniform state/public school system. It is better for Israel if this experience is provided by schools in addition to the army. The revitalized system must be based on a core curriculum that is modest and down-to-earth. Ethical education cannot tolerate falseness, kitsch, or excessive pathos. Israeli educators are no longer the authoritative figures they once were, simply because their core values are no longer held in consensus. Communities would not be forced to accept a constructed identity imposed from “above” by the ministry of education.

Schools can only educate toward values that the family holds dear. Cultural identity demands sharing a language. This language is acquired by a child, first in the home, where he or she listens to conversations, idioms, terms of endearment, anger, or even swear words that together create the “world” of the nuclear family. Later, in school, one’s cultural language expands and incorporates literature, art and music, as well as television, computers, and the digital environment.

The state school creates a common cultural language for all citizens. It is a “boot camp” to train Israel’s future citizens in civic skills such as integrity, manners, consideration for others, standing up for one’s rights, and respect for the law. A democratic learning community, with known boundaries and clear mechanisms of influence, provides students with opportunities to learn and practice diverse forms of action, and to test the breadth and the boundaries of liberties in a democratic community.

The state school would be both uniform (standardized) and modular. The core curriculum would embody unity and a charter of good citizenship and humaneness. Complementing the core values, every community and family would educate toward the particular values that it cherishes. Particular religious orientations of every community would be respected so long as the community’s members participated in the core curriculum and the joint charter. Modular content would be created by and for individual communities so that each community could create distinct identity modules for non-Jewish Israeli communities (Muslim and Christian Arabs, Druze) as well as for diverse Jewish communities with their particular emphases under the aegis of a common state institution. Graduates of the system would intimately understand the principles of democratic life, and each day would begin with a pledge of allegiance to the flag and the state.

Every graduate would acquire competency in the cultural heritage of his or her own community and proficiency in the literature of the “Great Books” of Jewish civilization as well as of   the “general” culture. Hebrew language, mathematics, sciences, English, and computer literacy studies would allow every graduate of the system to enroll in institutions of higher education. (Learning Arabic as a second language once the broader population felt peace was at hand would become more popular.)

Parents would choose which public school their children would attend. Ethical and religious tones would be set by each community, which would also determine which organizations would provide suitable content. To this end, a standard voucher of equal currency would be issued; the community rather than the ministry of education would be authorized to use it. The community’s “consumer” choice would create competition among content providers, resulting in a florescence of educational opportunities.

The school structure and its environment would be sensitive to the needs of both children and communities. Aesthetics, beauty, simplicity, and comfort would be valued; quiet spaces as well as play spaces would be planned. A shared architectural style would turn schools into a cultural symbol, generating a sense of commonality and mutual feeling among all residents of Israel.

The state school would be influenced by the educational institutions that laid the foundations of Hebrew culture: from the heder we would take the principle of early literacy, the biblical stories as the child’s narrative substrate, and the small learning group. From the kindergarten we would adopt and create a safe, playful environment that would allow creativity and movement, permitting choice within a structured schedule. From the bet midrash we would adopt learning in hevrutot, small groups. And though we would adopt the study of primary texts — the Bible, Mishnah, Kabbalah, Hassidism, siddur, poetry, Jewish thought, Koran, New Testament — we would avoid a particular religious stance vis-à-vis the material studied; students would study texts as cultural treasures, each according to his or her own belief. From the gymnasium we would adopt the view of culture as language, with an emphasis on Hebrew as a language connecting Jews all over the world. Hebrew could also become a language that connects Israeli citizens of all faiths. Schools would take from the incubator a direct connection between theory and practice, on-the-job learning, and the value of experimentation. From the art school we would emphasize individual learning and the cultivation of the talents of each student.

I recall a ceremonial moment in my childhood schoolyard. We stood, arranged in the shape of the letter “chet,” and the eighth graders presented Natan Alterman’s poem, “The Silver Platter,” which pays tribute to the soldiers who helped create Israel. A ray of light broke through the clouds and I thought God had joined our ceremony. Even today, since I have learned to regard the memorial service critically, I think back to that moment and know that it helped create my identity. I would not want children to grow up in Israel, in any community, without such moments of remembrance, and belonging at school.

When Sylvia Boorstein and I cooked up the idea to bring rabbis on retreat to learn meditation and have them be in silence for four days, people thought we were crazy. “Are you kidding?” they exclaimed, “You think you are going to get rabbis or any Jews for that matter to be quiet for that long? It’s not possible and anyway, it’s not Jewish!”

That was about thirteen years ago. I have since had the pleasure of sitting in silence with many Jews — rabbis, cantors, educators, lay leaders — who have expressed gratitude for the opportunity. What is this all about?

Most important, it is about choosing to be silent. This is completely different from using silence as an instrument of power or punishment, whether in a family or in society. It is not “being silenced” or retreating into silence out of fear, confusion, or weakness. When we choose silence we set an intention to limit distraction and stimulation for a period of time. We create an oasis in the midst of the constant barrage of input in our lives. We establish conditions that help us see more clearly the way our minds work, the truth of this moment of experience. Silence is a structure that helps us cultivate awareness of what is happening in the moment. Silence helps us slow down and simplify in order to observe what is often obscured from view.

When we turn our awareness toward our own experience, we have a front-row view of how we suffer and struggle, what causes pain and what leads to freedom. We are our own laboratory, our own wisdom teacher. We see our habitual reactions. We hear the stories we have been telling ourselves forever. We become intimate with the rising and passing of all phenomena, with what is within our control and what is not. We learn in this very body what anger and fear feel like. We sense the inner landscape of generosity and peace. This learning stays with us when we return to conversation, sound, and speed. Silence is not the opposite of speech. It is a way to find the truths that need to be spoken and a way of speaking them so that they can be heard. When we resume our lives, we have more tools to practice wise, true, and caring speech. As we learn to appreciate the gift of silence in our lives, however, we still violate an ethical boundary when we impose silence upon another without their consent.

There are multiplicities of techniques that help cultivate awareness, just like there are many machines in the gym to build up our muscles. All of these practices are supported by a reduction of external stimuli. Their intention is to help us grow in freedom, wisdom, and love.

There are times when we enter the silence within the silence. We may be sitting and paying attention to what is arising and passing moment to moment. Suddenly boundaries fall away and divisions disappear. This is what we listen for when we say Sh’ma Yisrael. We enter the presence of the infinite, the eternal, and the mysterious, the presence of the One.

When we call upon Yisrael to listen, we are calling ourselves to wake up and show up. We are calling ourselves to know how deeply we are connected to each other. We are calling ourselves to more wisdom, more love, and more peace. What could be a more Jewish practice?