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Israeli democracy may not survive a ‘reform’ of its Supreme Court
(JTA) — On Dec. 29, Israel swore in Benjamin Netanyahu’s sixth government. The Likud leader became Israel’s prime minister once more, and one week later, Israel’s long-anticipated judicial counterrevolution began.
In the Knesset Wednesday, newly minted Justice Minister and Netanyahu confidant Yariv Levin unveiled a package of proposed legislation that would alter the balance of power between Israel’s legislature and its Supreme Court.
At the core of this plan is a bill to allow the Knesset to override the Supreme Court. Levin’s proposals — which almost certainly have the immediate support of a Knesset majority, regardless of Levin’s assurances that they would be subject to “thorough debate” — would pave the way for Israel’s new government to pass legislation that curtails rights and undermines the rule of law, dealing a blow to Israeli democracy.
The dire implications of this proposed judicial reform are rooted in key characteristics of the Israeli political system that set it apart from other liberal democracies. Israel has no constitution to determine the balance of power between its various branches of government. In fact, there is no separation between Israel’s executive and legislative branches, given that the government automatically controls a majority in the parliament.
Instead, it has a series of basic laws enacted piecemeal over the course of the state’s history that have a quasi-constitutional status, with the initial intention that they would eventually constitute a de jure constitution.
Through the 1980s, the Knesset passed basic laws that primarily served to define state institutions, such as the country’s legislature and electoral system, capital and military. In the 1990s, there was a paradigm shift with the passage of two basic laws that for the first time concerned individuals’ rights rather than institutions, one on Human Dignity and Liberty (1992) and the other on Freedom of Occupation (1994). These laws enshrined rights to freedom of movement, personal freedom, human dignity and others to all who reside in Israel.
Aharon Barak, the president of Israel’s Supreme Court from 1995 to 2006, argued that these laws constituted a de facto bill of rights, empowering the court to review Knesset legislation and to strike down laws that violate civil liberties, a responsibility not explicitly bestowed upon the court in the basic law pertaining to the judiciary. In 1995, the Supreme Court officially ruled that it could indeed repeal legislation that violates the country’s basic laws, heralding an era of increased judicial activism in Israel in what became known as the “judicial revolution.” The court has struck down 20 laws since, a fairly modest number compared to other democracies.
The judicial revolution of the 1990s shifted the balance of power in Israel’s political system from one of parliamentary sovereignty, in which the Knesset enjoyed ultimate power, to one in which the legislature is restricted from violating the country’s (incomplete) constitution. Israel’s Supreme Court became a check on the legislative branch in a country that lacks other checks and balances and separations of power.
As a result of these characteristics, the Supreme Court currently serves as one of the only checks on the extraordinary power of Israel’s 120-member Knesset — which is why shifting that balance of power would have such a dramatic impact on Israel’s democracy.
Levin’s proposed judicial overhaul includes several elements that would weaken the power and independence of Israel’s Supreme Court. The plan includes forbidding the Supreme Court from deliberating on and striking down basic laws themselves. It would require an unspecified “special majority” of the court to strike down legislation, raising the threshold from where it currently stands.
Levin has also called for altering the composition of the selection committee that appoints top judges to give the government, rather than legal professionals, a majority on the panel. It would allow cabinet ministers to appoint legal advisors to act on their behalf, rather than that of the justice ministry, canceling these advisors’ role as safeguards against government overreach. Should a minister enact a decision that contravenes a basic law, the ministry’s legal advisor would no longer report the violation to the attorney general, and would instead merely offer non-binding legal advice to the minister.
The pièce de résistance is, of course, the override clause that would allow the Knesset to reinstate laws struck down by the Supreme Court by 61 members of Knesset, a simple majority assuming all members are present. The sole restriction on this override would be a provision preventing the Knesset from re-legislating laws struck down unanimously, by all 15 judges, within the same Knesset term.
This plan’s obvious and most immediate result would be the effective annulment of the quasi-constitutional status of Israel’s basic laws. If the Knesset’s power to legislate is no longer bound by basic laws, these de facto constitutional amendments no longer have any teeth. There are no guardrails preventing any Knesset majority from doing as it wishes, including violating basic human rights. The Knesset could pass laws openly curtailing freedom of the press or gender equality, for example, should it choose to do so.
This counterrevolution, in effect, goes further than merely undoing what occurred in the 1990s.
Most crucially, the Knesset that would once again enjoy full parliamentary sovereignty in 2022 is not the Knesset of Israel’s first four decades. Shackling the Supreme Court is essential to the agendas of the new government’s various ultra-right and ultra-religious parties. For example, the haredi Orthodox parties are eager to re-legislate a blanket exemption to the military draft for their community, which the court struck down in 2017 on the grounds that it was discriminatory. They also have their sights on revoking recognition of non-Orthodox conversions for immigrants to Israel, undoing a court decision from 2021.
The far-right, Jewish supremacist parties of Bezalel Smotrich and Itamar Ben-Gvir, meanwhile, see an opportunity to deal a decisive blow to an institution that has long served as a check on the settlement movement. They hope to tie the court’s hands in the face of oncoming legislation to retroactively legalize settlements built on private Palestinian land, which are illegal under Israeli law. But this is only the beginning: Neutering the authority of the court could pave the way for legal discrimination against Israel’s Arab minority, such as Ben-Gvir’s proposal to deport minorities who show insufficient loyalty.
The timing of Levin’s announcement Wednesday could not be more germane. The Knesset recently amended the basic law to legalize the appointment of Aryeh Deri, the Shas party leader who is serving a suspended sentence for tax fraud, as a minister in the new government. The Supreme Court convened Thursday morning to hear petitions against his appointment from those arguing that it is “unreasonable” to rehabilitate Deri given his multiple criminal convictions, a view shared by Israel’s attorney general. Levin’s proposals would bar the court from using this “reasonability” standard.
The Israeli right has long chafed at the power of the Supreme Court, which it accuses of having a left-wing bias. But a judicial overhaul like this has never enjoyed the full support of the government, nor was Netanyahu previously in favor of it. Now, with a uniformly right-wing government and Netanyahu on trial for corruption, the prime minister’s foremost interest is appeasing his political partners and securing their support for future legislation to shield him from prosecution.
In a system where the majority rules, there need to be mechanisms in place to protect the rights of minorities — political, ethnic and religious. Liberal democracy requires respect for the rule of law and human rights. Yariv Levin’s proposals to fully subordinate the Supreme Court to the Knesset will concentrate virtually unchecked power in the hands of a few individuals — government ministers and party leaders within the coalition who effectively control what the Knesset does. That those individuals were elected in free and fair elections is no guarantee that the changes they make will be democratic.
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The visionary Jewish poet who survived the Holocaust but not its aftermath
Paul Celan: A Life
By Anna Arno
Translated by Soren Gauger
Belknap Press/Harvard University Press, 416 pages, $35
During a 1969 poetry reading in Israel, Paul Celan’s audience requested “Deathfugue,” his most famous poem. With its hypnotic images of death as “a master from Deutschland,” prisoners drinking the “black milk of dawn” and smoke rising to “a grave in the clouds,” it remains one of the most powerful artifacts of the Holocaust.
But like a rock star weary of endlessly repeating his greatest hits, Celan declined. Instead, he offered other poems, scorned by some commentators as “hermetic, esoteric, divorced from reality.”
So we learn from Anna Arno’s intelligent, intricate biography, Paul Celan: A Life, ably translated from the Polish by Soren Gauger. Interweaving literary criticism with Celan’s life story, Arno quotes liberally from Pierre Joris’ English translations. Even so, she can’t quite do the work justice. In translation and wrenched from their poetic context, Celan’s innovative verses, credited with a radical remaking of the German language, come across as cryptic and impenetrable.
Arno covers Celan’s schooling, wartime experiences, work history, travels, friendships, psychiatric ordeals and overlapping romantic interests, at times departing from strict chronology. Though defensible, the narrative strategy renders the book somewhat convoluted.
One thread is Celan’s intermittent, decadeslong involvement with the accomplished Austrian poet and novelist Ingeborg Bachmann. That relationship, more passionate and enduring for Bachmann, preceded his mostly happy marriage to the French artist Gisèle Lestrange and continued during it. In an odd twist, Bachmann and Lestrange, bonded by both their love for Celan and their anxiety about his well-being, developed “a kind of impossible sisterly friendship.”
Despite Celan’s devotion to his wife, “other women,” Arno writes, “were always drifting through his life.” A chapter toward the end of the biography details some of Celan’s most important romantic relationships. Other chapters focus on his inventiveness as a translator and his worsening mental illness.
Celan was born Paul Antschel in 1920 in Czernowitz, Romania (officially Cernăuți, and now Chernivtsi, Ukraine) on the fringes of the recently defunct Austro-Hungarian Empire. The French-sounding Celan is a pen name, an anagram of Ancel, a Romanian version of Antschel.
Celan’s parents were German-speaking Jews, and German was Celan’s native language. But he was a polyglot, a talent that shaped his poetry and enabled his career as a translator. Along with Romanian, in which he wrote some early poems, and French, the language of his postwar life in Paris, he learned Russian (under Soviet occupation) and English. He had at least “a passive knowledge of Yiddish,” picked up enough Hebrew for his Bar Mitzvah and studied Italian, Latin and Greek. “His intellectual ease gave him a sense of superiority,” Arno writes.
World War II interrupted Celan’s medical studies in France, and back home he enrolled in Romance language courses. The Soviet occupation was brutal but, for Jews, the Romanian fascist regime that succeeded it was worse. Celan’s parents were deported and died in a Nazi labor camp. Celan, separated from them, survived forced labor, but remained “wracked with grief” over his parents’ fate. He would describe “Deathfugue,” written in 1945, as his mother’s epitaph and grave. The poem may have influenced Theodor Adorno, who famously described poetry after Auschwitz as “barbaric,” to modify his views.
After leaving a ruined Czernowitz for Bucharest, where Celan translated, wrote poetry, flirted with Surrealism and “bounced from one relationship to the next,” he traveled to Vienna. “Young, dashing, full of charm,” he eventually settled in Paris and became a naturalized French citizen. But he chose German as his poetic language, despite the emotional dissonance that entailed.
Over the years, he traveled to Germany to read his work and accept prizes. In the process, he developed relationships with leading postwar German writers, including Heinrich Böll, Hans Magnus Enzensberger and Günter Grass. But the 1950s were a tricky time. “He could have crossed paths with a murderer at every step,” Arno writes.
Celan recoiled viscerally at what he saw as persistent antisemitic currents in German culture, which hadn’t yet reckoned with the magnitude of Nazi crimes. He interpreted bad reviews as instances of antisemitism, and Arno suggests that he wasn’t always wrong.
Even more traumatic were accusations of plagiarism leveled against him by Claire Goll, the widow of Yvan Goll, whose poetry he had translated. Arno describes the charges as both malicious and baseless, and “probably an act of revenge for her spurned advances.”
They nevertheless affected Celan’s reputation and threatened his health. “Claire Goll’s smear campaign was to become the main cause of the poet’s mental breakdown,” Arno asserts. It’s a strong statement. Certainly, he had endured other losses: the murder of his parents, the death of his day-old infant son, François, after a botched delivery.
On the cusp of middle age, Arno reports, Celan experienced bursts of paranoia. “He could not always separate justified precautions from obsessive mistrust, vigilance from a fit of persecution mania,” she writes. “His deeply buried despair, moral severity, and tempestuous personality all caused sudden and violent fits.”
In 1962, he had what Arno calls “his first bout of psychosis,” which included hallucinations and violent episodes. He was hospitalized and medicated and underwent psychotherapy. Insulin injections, a since-discredited treatment, damaged his motor skills. Even during his hospitalizations, he continued to write poetry. (His productivity in the throes of mental health crises calls to mind Sylvia Plath.)
Arno, noting that Celan’s medical records remain sealed and his journals unavailable, doesn’t offer a diagnosis. The hallucinations and paranoia suggest schizophrenia, but Arno also mentions mania and depression, along with numerous suicide attempts. He tried his best to stay connected to his only child, Eric. But his instability cost him many friendships and ultimately his marriage.
In 1970, the 49-year-old poet drowned himself in the Seine, joining a sad company of writers who survived the Holocaust but not its emotional aftermath. What exactly triggered Celan’s suicide is impossible to know. Arno says only: “He was no longer capable of supporting the weight of the past as it flushed to the surface.”
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‘The Naked Woman’ asks — what would Jewish Chekhov look like?
Earlier this year, a lauded revival of Anton Chekhov’s overlooked opus Ivanov occasioned the question: What if Chekhov, that great chronicler of overeducated depressives, was a bit more Jewish?
That show has a substantial Jewish subplot, with the title character’s wife subjected to antisemitic smears.
For Jewish Russians, Chekhov, like his great interpreter Stanislavsky, is a part of the culture they still claim. For that reason expat companies, like Igor Golyak’s Arlekin Players, have long been in the business of reinterpreting him. Novelist Gary Shteyngart, in his pandemic novel, Our Country Friends, took things a step further, transmuting Chekhov’s dachas into the Belleville bungalow colony where he, and many ex-Soviet Jews, would summer.
Allie Avital and Alia Azamat Ashkenazi’s The Naked Woman, now in a limited run at 154 Theater, returns this proposition to the stage with some usual markers of the Russian master: characters brought low by their own inertia, a love triangle, frustrated ambitions and failures to launch. Into the mix they add the following staples of first generation Jews: immigrant parents’ expectations and the tension between the generation that recalls the weight of repression and the rising one that has only ever known American freedom. There are obligatory references to rabbis; the word “mensch” is dropped, but this is not a Shabbat-observing crew. If you know this specific demographic, there’s no doubting the affiliation.
Misha (Ilia Volok and Roman Freud alternate the role — Freud played him my evening), a successful architect, who moved to the U.S. decades before for a better life. For the New Year, and his birthday, he has made camp at his upstate country home. Some creaky exposition — on Pili Weeber’s set of floating timber, the Empire State’s answer to birch trees — sets up the interpersonal tensions that will go off in later acts like Chekhov’s proverbial gun.
Misha’s 35-year-old daughter Dasha (MaryKate Glenn) tells him his last check for her grad school tuition bounced. She’s there with her all-American boyfriend and is secretly pregnant. His bohemian older brother Grisha (Dima Koan), ever-clad in funky sweaters and kerchiefs by costume designer Kostya Goncharuk, resents Misha for their parents’ decision to only pay for his higher education and for being dependent on him for income. Rina (Natasha Goubskaya), Misha’s long-suffering wife is quietly working to save the family from financial ruin.
With these pieces set in place, the holiday is interrupted by, as advertised, a naked woman, screaming for help. Dismissing her as a “druggie in the woods,” Misha does nothing, a choice that brings questions of insularity and assimilation to the fore.
Dasha can’t get over her father’s inaction.
Rina explains it: “This American obsession with caring about strangers It’s all words and ideas. It’s THEATER. It doesn’t mean anything.”
The play is based on a short film by Avital, an accomplished director of visually-striking music videos for the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Olivia Rodrigo and Moses Sumney. In that more abridged version, with mostly Russian dialogue, the Naked Woman stands in for the forces of mortality.
As one character in that film notes, in Russian, the word for death is “in the feminine, and therefore death is a woman. When death doesn’t hide, doesn’t wear a disguise, then it’s naked.”
Here the character is a more elusive metaphor: an avatar for Misha’s selfishness, the rift between his and Dasha’s concern for others or maybe her perception of herself as vulnerable and in need of saving. She could also be Rina’s aching feeling of neglect.
Avital and Ashkenazi’s background in film — Ashkenazi has a long resumé as a script supervisor and directed the short Esther’s Choice — is evident in the drama’s pacing. The piece doesn’t have the patience of Chekhov, who lets the action settle around the samovar and steep in subtext. This makes the show more dynamic, but more superficial in its psychology.
“I’ve always wondered why no one can truly love me, why they always leave me,” Dasha tells her father, coming off a monologue that hits the ear like a stilted translation of The Seagull’s yearning actress Nina or Vanya’s tragically dutiful Sonya. “But now I understand why. Because I’m just like you.”
It’s a tidy thesis, from creatives whose film work lives on the power of suggestion, with cinematography and movement being the major narrative force. Though Avital’s staging is capable, the script is crying out for an injection of subtlety that perhaps only a closeup can deliver.
This play is something of a proof of concept for a forthcoming feature film to be directed by Avital. If the short is any indication, its words and ideas may translate better taking a step away from the theater.
It may not be the natural medium for Chekhov, but it’s well-suited to his heirs.
Allie Avital and Alia Azamat Ashkenazi’s The Naked Woman is playing through June 14 at Theatre 154 in Manhattan. Tickets and more information can be found here.
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Iran says it has finished striking Israel, after Trump says both countries ‘must immediately stop’
(JTA) — Iran says it has completed its attack on Israel after its missile barrage on Sunday night launched the first direct exchange of hostilities since April.
Iran’s military command said the barrage, which did not do any major damage in Israel, represented its “painful response” to an Israeli attack on a Hezbollah installation in Lebanon. The statement was published in English on Iranian state media, which attributed the halt to pressure from U.S. President Donald Trump.
Trump had denounced the Iranian strike and publicly urged Israel not to respond. On Monday morning, after it did, he posted on his Truth Social account: “Israel and Iran must immediately stop ‘shooting.’”
Israel responded to the initial barrage with a large-scale airstrike against Iranian defense systems on Monday morning local time.
The Israeli military announced that the strike targeted Iran’s strategic defense systems and hit several targets in Iran’s petrochemical complex in Mahshahr in southwestern Iran. The military said the systems had been “degraded” during the February “Operation Roaring Lion” war and that “the strike led to the destruction of these systems.”
Shortly after the Israeli strike, Iran launched a second round of missiles into Israel, sending families into shelters. Schools were already canceled for Monday following Sunday night’s attacks.
According to local Israeli media, explosions were heard in Isfahan and Kermanshah, and Iranian Foreign Minister Esmaeil Baghaei blamed the United States for Israel’s response.
The Israeli response came after Trump told Axios Sunday night that he would tell Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu to not respond to the attacks. “I am going to call Bibi right now,” Trump told the news site, “and tell him not to retaliate.”
He added that both countries had “had their fun. Israel had its strike, and Iran had its strike. We don’t need another one.”
In a second Truth Social post on Monday, Trump wrote that “ignorance and stupidity” were hampering the already fragile Iran-Israel ceasefire negotiations. “The Blockade will remain in place, and in full force and effect, until a “Final Deal” is reached,” he wrote.
The U.S. Navy imposed a blockade of Iranian ports on ships traveling to and from Iran on April 13. Trump made the decision after the collapse of talks aimed at permanently ending the five-week war the U.S. launched against Iran on Feb. 28 and Iran closed the Strait of Hormuz on March 2.
Meanwhile, on Monday morning the Iran-backed Houthi terror group in Yemen launched a single missile into Israel. No injuries were reported. Later, the Iranian-backed group said it would impose a complete naval blockade on Israeli ships in the Red Sea.
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
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