The identity of a people

The identity of a people, that of Israel, is being tested today. Billions of people live and have lived without ever feeling they belong to a people. For the average individual, identity is often devoid of a deep sense of belonging; even the family into which one is born is not perceived as a “special” entity.

But if there is a people that feels such, unique and different, it is the Jewish people. Present in every corner of the world, integrated into the nations where they have lived for generations, Jews maintain a very strong identity. It is not just a religious matter — although faith is an identity glue for much of humanity — but a singular synthesis of culture and spirit.

There is often talk of “common blood,” a concept that makes them special in the collective perception, even though the blood that flows in the veins of every mortal has the same biological and chemical characteristics. Here we are not talking about race, linked to morphological traits, nor mere ethnicity. Being Jewish is something deeper and harder to define, rooted in lands that have been geographically and politically fragmented since ancient times — consider Samaria, with a worship and a temple distinct from those of Jerusalem.

Historically stateless, this people has spent millennia in search of a promised land from a metaphysical entity, by definition unreachable, but a certain mirage to conquer and defend by any means.

Sigmund Freud, in his famous essay of 1939, sought to investigate this root. Although he was a convinced atheist and critical of religion, which he considered a betrayal of Moses’ original message, Freud never abandoned his people. He did not feel like a “Jude” in the confessional sense; he considered himself a loyal subject of the Austro-Hungarian Empire (for which he sacrificed a son in the Great War), yet he was able to recognize the injustice of racial condemnation.

The same indissoluble bond can be found in Edith Stein: already converted to Catholicism and a Carmelite nun, while she was being taken away by the Gestapo to end her days in Auschwitz, she uttered definitive words: “I go with my people.”

This steel identity has generated a natural compassion and empathy in the world, especially after the greatest genocide in modern history. However, recent events present us with a painful ethical crossroads. The news coming from Jerusalem — demonstrations by the Israeli right that chant for death, devastate Arab shops, and assault civilians — along with reports of rapes and violence suffered by detainees in prisons, shake consciences.

This face of intolerance is not that of Edith Stein, nor that of Freud or the great thinkers who have made Judaism a pillar of our civilization. Today, for the first time so acutely, the Jewish people risk no longer being the object of sympathy, but of a hatred fueled by facts that cannot be ignored.

Criticizing these episodes does not mean yielding to antisemitism or anti-Zionism: we all have the right to a homeland and no one should be offended for what they are.

If the military response to the horrors of October 8 is justified by the need for defense, racial hatred towards defenseless civilians and dissenters cannot find any justification. It rightly draws the condemnation of all, including those who have always fought against anti-Jewish prejudice.

Israel today stands before the mirror of its own “election.” Echoing Primo Levi’s warning, we too say: “Pray Israel.” Pray and show yourself for what you truly are: not an oppressor following in the footsteps of your own tormentors, but the people beloved by God, always capable of rediscovering its moral stature precisely because it is rooted in its special identity.