The Seventh Million

The Seventh Million Plot Summary

Introduction

When the first Holocaust survivors arrived in Israel after World War II, they encountered a society that often viewed them with a mixture of pity and suspicion. "Why didn't you fight back?" they were frequently asked by native-born Israelis who had been raised on stories of Jewish strength and self-determination. This painful reception revealed a profound paradox at the heart of Israeli identity: a state born partly in response to Jewish persecution was uncomfortable confronting the full reality of that persecution. The journey from this initial ambivalence to the centrality of Holocaust memory in contemporary Israeli consciousness reveals much about how nations incorporate traumatic pasts into their collective identities. This historical exploration examines how Holocaust memory evolved from a marginalized trauma to a cornerstone of Israeli national identity. We witness the transformation through watershed moments like the Eichmann trial, which broke the barrier of silence surrounding survivors' experiences, and the Six-Day War, which reshaped how Israelis understood their vulnerability and power. For anyone seeking to understand Israel's security policies, its complex relationship with Germany, or the psychological underpinnings of its national consciousness, this narrative offers crucial insights into how a society builds sovereignty from the ashes of catastrophe while grappling with the burden of remembrance.

Chapter 1: Early Silence: Collective Trauma and National Rebirth (1945-1960)

In the years immediately following World War II, a profound disconnect emerged between Holocaust survivors arriving in Israel and the established Jewish community. Between 1945 and 1960, approximately 350,000 survivors made their way to the nascent Jewish state, constituting nearly one-third of Israel's population. Yet despite their significant numbers, survivors often encountered what historian Tom Segev called "a barrier of blood and silence" – an unwillingness among native Israelis to hear their stories or acknowledge their trauma. This silence reflected the dominant Zionist ideology of the time, which emphasized the creation of a "new Jew" – strong, self-reliant, and connected to the land – in contrast to the perceived passivity of Diaspora Jews. David Ben-Gurion, Israel's founding prime minister, exemplified this attitude when he stated that among the survivors "were those who, had they not been what they were – harsh, evil, and egotistical people – would not have survived, and all they endured rooted out every good part of their souls." Such statements revealed a fundamental misunderstanding of survivors' experiences and contributed to their marginalization in Israeli society. The linguistic markers of this period revealed much about Israeli attitudes toward survivors. The Hebrew term "sabon" (soap) became slang for Holocaust survivors, referencing the horrific Nazi practice of making soap from Jewish bodies – perhaps the most disturbing expression of the contempt some native-born Israelis felt toward them. Survivors were frequently described as having gone "like sheep to the slaughter," a phrase that would haunt Israeli consciousness for decades. This characterization served the young state's need to distinguish itself from the perceived weakness of Diaspora Jews but caused immense pain to those who had endured the Holocaust. Education and public commemoration during this period reflected the ambivalence toward Holocaust memory. School textbooks emphasized rare instances of armed resistance like the Warsaw Ghetto uprising while downplaying the mass victimhood that characterized most survivors' experiences. When Holocaust Remembrance Day was established in 1951, it was tellingly named "Holocaust and Heroism Remembrance Day," linking commemoration to resistance rather than suffering. The state's memorial to the Holocaust, Yad Vashem, was established in 1953 but remained a modest institution with limited public impact throughout the 1950s. For survivors themselves, this period was marked by a double silence – their reluctance to speak about traumatic experiences and society's reluctance to listen. Many focused on rebuilding their lives, learning Hebrew, finding work, and starting families. They often kept their experiences from their children, creating what psychologists would later identify as a pattern of intergenerational trauma. As one survivor explained: "We wanted to protect our children from knowing what humans are capable of doing to one another." This silence would only begin to crack with the capture and trial of Adolf Eichmann in 1961, which forced Israeli society to confront the Holocaust in ways it had previously avoided.

Chapter 2: The Eichmann Trial: Breaking the Barrier of Silence (1961)

The capture of Adolf Eichmann by Israeli agents in Argentina in May 1960 and his subsequent trial in Jerusalem in 1961 marked a watershed moment in Israel's relationship with Holocaust memory. Eichmann, who had coordinated the transportation of millions of Jews to death camps, represented the bureaucratic face of Nazi evil. Prime Minister David Ben-Gurion saw the trial as an opportunity for "a lesson to our children" about the Holocaust and its meaning for Israel. For months, over a hundred witnesses testified about Nazi atrocities in excruciating detail, their testimonies broadcast on radio throughout the country. Attorney General Gideon Hausner opened the proceedings with the dramatic declaration: "I do not stand alone. With me are six million accusers." This framing transformed the Holocaust from a distant European tragedy into a foundational element of Israeli identity. The most dramatic moment came when writer K. Tzetnik (Yehiel De-Nur) collapsed on the witness stand after describing Auschwitz as "another planet" with different laws of time and existence. This physical manifestation of trauma symbolized the emotional rupture the trial created in Israeli society. For many young Israelis, the Eichmann trial provided their first comprehensive exposure to Holocaust testimony. As poet Haim Gouri wrote, "The Eichmann trial has brought us face to face with ourselves and our history." Schools suspended regular classes so students could listen to the radio broadcasts, and newspapers published extensive transcripts of the proceedings. This educational function was precisely what Ben-Gurion had intended – to connect younger generations born in Israel to the European catastrophe that had preceded state formation and to justify Israel's existence as the necessary response to Jewish vulnerability. The trial fundamentally altered the status of Holocaust survivors in Israeli society. Before 1961, survivors had often been viewed with suspicion or pity, their experiences marginalized in public discourse. The trial legitimized survivor testimony, elevating survivors from objects of ambivalence to witnesses of history whose experiences contained essential truths about Jewish fate and the necessity of Jewish sovereignty. This shift opened space for survivors to speak publicly about their experiences and for Israeli society to begin incorporating Holocaust memory into educational curricula, memorial practices, and national identity. Beyond its domestic impact, the Eichmann trial established Israel's claim to speak for all Jews, including Holocaust victims. When Nahum Goldmann suggested that Eichmann be tried by an international tribunal, Ben-Gurion responded angrily that only Israel had the right to judge the man who had attempted to destroy the Jewish people. The trial thus reinforced Israel's self-perception as the guardian of Jewish memory and the guarantor of Jewish security worldwide – a role that would become increasingly central to Israeli foreign policy in subsequent decades. The execution of Eichmann in May 1962 – the only time Israel has ever carried out capital punishment – provided a sense of closure for many Israelis and Holocaust survivors worldwide. Yet the trial's true significance lay in how it transformed Holocaust memory from something approached with ambivalence and silence into something central to Israeli identity and purpose. This transformation would accelerate dramatically following the existential crisis of the Six-Day War in 1967.

Chapter 3: From Vulnerability to Power: Six-Day War and Holocaust Memory (1967)

The weeks preceding the Six-Day War in June 1967 triggered a profound psychological crisis in Israel that resurrected Holocaust anxieties in the national consciousness. As Egyptian President Gamal Abdel Nasser mobilized forces in the Sinai, closed the Straits of Tiran to Israeli shipping, and demanded the withdrawal of UN peacekeepers, many Israelis began to fear a "second Holocaust." Arab rhetoric calling for Israel's destruction evoked existential terror. Public parks were converted into potential mass grave sites, and the economy ground to a near-standstill as Israelis prepared for what many believed could be the end of their state. This pre-war anxiety revealed how the Holocaust remained a powerful psychological framework through which many Israelis interpreted threats. Newspapers explicitly compared Nasser to Hitler and the situation to 1938 Munich. Even military leaders were not immune – Chief of Staff Yitzhak Rabin suffered what was later described as a nervous breakdown, partly from the weight of responsibility in preventing what some feared could be a catastrophic defeat. Holocaust survivors were particularly affected, with many experiencing flashbacks and retraumatization. As one survivor recalled: "The waiting period before the war was worse than the war itself. It brought back all the old feelings of helplessness." The stunning military victory transformed this narrative almost overnight. Israel's conquest of the Sinai Peninsula, Gaza Strip, West Bank, East Jerusalem, and Golan Heights in just six days was interpreted by many as redemption following the Holocaust – a demonstration that Jews would never again be powerless victims. Soldiers described weeping at the Western Wall, feeling they had completed a historical circle from destruction to rebirth. As one fighter put it: "We felt that our war began there, in the crematoriums, in the camps, in the ghettos, and now we have won." This dramatic shift from vulnerability to power created a new narrative framework: from Holocaust to revival, from victimhood to sovereignty. Defense Minister Moshe Dayan captured this sentiment when he declared at the Western Wall: "We have returned to our holiest places, never to part from them again." The territorial conquests were seen not merely as strategic assets but as psychological compensation for historical powerlessness. This fusion of Holocaust memory with military triumph created a powerful emotional justification for policies of territorial control that would have profound consequences for Israel's future. For Holocaust survivors, the Six-Day War had particular significance. Many described the victory as providing a form of posthumous vindication for those who had perished. As one survivor explained: "For the first time since the Holocaust, I felt that being Jewish was not a death sentence." The war thus helped integrate Holocaust survivors more fully into Israeli society by creating a shared narrative of vulnerability overcome through strength – a narrative that resonated with their personal experiences while connecting them to Israel's collective triumph. The aftermath of the Six-Day War saw Holocaust memory deployed in new ways to justify security policies and territorial claims. The pre-war vulnerability was cited as evidence that Israel needed "defensible borders" beyond the 1949 armistice lines. The slogan "Never Again" took on territorial dimensions, with many Israelis arguing that only by controlling strategic high ground and buffer zones could the Jewish state ensure its survival. This marked a significant shift in how Holocaust memory functioned politically – from justifying the state's existence to justifying its policies of territorial expansion and military preparedness.

Chapter 4: Political Weaponization: Holocaust Rhetoric in Security Discourse (1970s-1980s)

The 1970s and 1980s witnessed an unprecedented politicization of Holocaust memory in Israeli security discourse. This trend reached its apex during Menachem Begin's premiership (1977-1983). Begin, who had lost his family in the Holocaust, brought a different sensibility to Holocaust commemoration than his Labor predecessors – one that was more visceral, more explicitly connected to contemporary politics, and more central to his worldview. "Hitler is dead, but Hitler-like threats to destroy the Jewish people have not ceased," Begin frequently declared, drawing direct parallels between historical enemies and contemporary ones. Begin's rhetoric transformed how Holocaust memory functioned in Israeli political discourse. When justifying the bombing of Iraq's Osirak nuclear reactor in 1981, he explicitly stated: "We must protect our nation, a million and a half of whose children were murdered by the Nazis in the gas chambers." During the 1982 Lebanon War, as international criticism mounted, Begin wrote to President Reagan: "I feel as though I am sending the army into Berlin to destroy Hitler in his bunker." This approach represented a significant departure from the more measured language of previous Israeli leaders, who had generally maintained some distinction between Nazi genocide and contemporary conflicts. The Lebanon War represented the most controversial deployment of Holocaust rhetoric for security purposes. Officially launched to push PLO forces away from Israel's northern border, the operation was named "Peace for Galilee" but quickly expanded into a full-scale invasion. As civilian casualties mounted and international criticism intensified, Begin's Holocaust analogies became more frequent and more strident. After the Sabra and Shatila massacre, when Christian Phalangist militias killed hundreds of Palestinian civilians while Israeli forces controlled the area, Begin deflected criticism by asking: "Goyim kill goyim, and they immediately come to hang the Jews." This weaponization of Holocaust memory provoked significant domestic backlash. Writer Amos Oz published an open letter titled "Hitler is Already Dead, Mr. Prime Minister," accusing Begin of cynically exploiting Holocaust trauma to justify military aggression. Philosopher Yeshayahu Leibowitz warned against using the Holocaust as "a certificate of exemption from moral considerations." These criticisms reflected growing concern about the militarization of Holocaust memory and its use to place Israel beyond moral criticism. As peace activist Emil Gruenzweig, later killed by a right-wing extremist during a demonstration against the Lebanon War, put it: "The Holocaust is being used to justify things that cannot be justified." Beyond rhetoric, this period saw the institutionalization of Holocaust memory in ways that reinforced security concerns. Holocaust Remembrance Day ceremonies increasingly emphasized the connection between past persecution and present threats, with military personnel playing prominent roles. School curricula drew explicit connections between Nazi antisemitism and Arab hostility. The phrase "Never Again" became less about universal human rights and more about Israeli military power as the guarantee against Jewish vulnerability. The Begin era thus represents a crucial turning point in Israel's relationship with Holocaust memory – from something approached with ambivalence and restraint to something explicitly mobilized for political purposes. This transformation had lasting consequences for Israeli political culture, establishing a pattern whereby Holocaust analogies became a standard feature of security debates. It also deepened divisions within Israeli society about the appropriate uses of Holocaust memory, creating tensions that would continue long after Begin's resignation in 1983, when he withdrew from public life, reportedly depressed by the Lebanon War's mounting casualties and diminishing public support.

Chapter 5: Institutionalizing Memory: Education and Commemoration (1980s-1990s)

The 1980s and 1990s witnessed the thorough institutionalization of Holocaust memory in Israeli society through education, commemoration, and legal frameworks. In 1980, the Knesset amended the national education law to include "awareness of the Holocaust and heroism" as a fundamental educational objective. This legislative change formalized what had been developing since the Eichmann trial: the centrality of Holocaust memory to Israeli identity formation. Students now studied the Holocaust twice during their school years – once in elementary school and again, more comprehensively, in high school. The content of Holocaust education evolved significantly during this period. Earlier approaches had emphasized Jewish resistance and heroism while downplaying victimhood. By the 1980s, curricula had become more nuanced, presenting a fuller picture of Jewish life before and during the Holocaust. Students learned not just about death camps but about the rich cultural heritage that had been destroyed. The pedagogical approach shifted from moral simplicity (Nazis as inhuman monsters) to moral complexity (ordinary people committing extraordinary crimes). As one educator explained: "We want students to understand that the Holocaust happened not because the perpetrators were monsters, but because they were human beings who made monstrous choices." Perhaps the most visible manifestation of Holocaust education in this period was the emergence of organized student trips to death camp sites in Poland. These journeys, which began in the 1980s and expanded dramatically in the 1990s, became a rite of passage for many Israeli teenagers. Wrapped in Israeli flags, students visited Auschwitz, Majdanek, and other sites of destruction, participating in ceremonies that emphasized the connection between Holocaust memory and Israeli sovereignty. Critics argued that these trips often emphasized nationalist messages rather than universal humanitarian lessons, with one educator noting: "We take them to Poland as Israelis and bring them back as Zionists." Commemoration practices also expanded and evolved. Holocaust Remembrance Day (Yom HaShoah) became more thoroughly integrated into national life, with a two-minute siren bringing the entire country to a standstill. Yad Vashem, Israel's official Holocaust memorial, underwent significant expansion, transforming from a modest institution into a world-class museum and research center. Local memorials proliferated throughout the country, ensuring that Holocaust remembrance was not confined to Jerusalem but embedded in communities nationwide. The legal dimension of Holocaust memory also strengthened during this period. In 1986, Israel amended its law against genocide to remove the statute of limitations, ensuring that Nazi criminals could be prosecuted regardless of when they were discovered. The trial of John Demjanjuk, accused of being the notorious Treblinka guard "Ivan the Terrible," dominated headlines from 1986 to 1993, reviving public interest in Holocaust justice even as the number of survivors and perpetrators dwindled. Though Demjanjuk was ultimately acquitted of the Treblinka charges (he was later convicted in Germany for his role at Sobibor), the trial demonstrated Israel's commitment to pursuing Nazi criminals decades after the events. This institutionalization of Holocaust memory served multiple purposes. It ensured that younger generations would maintain connection to this defining historical trauma even as direct witnesses passed away. It reinforced national cohesion around shared historical consciousness, particularly important as Israeli society became increasingly diverse and politically divided. And it provided moral legitimacy for the state's existence and policies, framing Israel not just as a national homeland but as the historical answer to Jewish vulnerability. By the end of the 1990s, Holocaust memory had become so thoroughly embedded in Israeli institutions and practices that it functioned as what sociologist Eviatar Zerubavel calls a "mnemonic community" – a group defined by shared remembrance of a formative past.

Chapter 6: Contemporary Tensions: Universal Lessons vs. National Narrative (2000-Present)

The twenty-first century has witnessed growing tensions in how Holocaust memory functions in Israeli society, particularly between universal and particularistic interpretations. On one hand, many Israelis and Jewish organizations worldwide have promoted the Holocaust as a universal moral lesson about the dangers of hatred, racism, and genocide. On the other hand, Israeli political leaders have increasingly emphasized the Holocaust's particular significance for Jewish security and Israeli policy, especially regarding Iran and other perceived existential threats. This tension became particularly evident during Benjamin Netanyahu's long tenure as prime minister. Netanyahu frequently invoked Holocaust imagery when discussing Iran's nuclear program, comparing Iran's leaders to Hitler and warning of a potential "second Holocaust." In a 2012 speech to the United Nations, he explicitly drew this parallel: "The Jewish people have lived an exceptional history of exceptional suffering... I speak for a hundred generations of Jews who were dispersed throughout the lands, suffered every evil under the sun, but never gave up hope of restoring their national life in the one and only Jewish state." This rhetoric reflected a particularistic interpretation of Holocaust memory that emphasized Jewish vulnerability and the necessity of Israeli strength. Critics within Israel have increasingly challenged this political deployment of Holocaust memory. Historian Moshe Zimmermann argued that "the Holocaust has become an instrument of policy rather than a subject of memory," while author David Grossman warned against "the cynical political use of the trauma we all share." These criticisms reflect concern that Holocaust analogies can distort threat perception and inhibit diplomatic compromise. As former Mossad chief Efraim Halevy observed: "Not everything is Auschwitz. We need to be able to distinguish between existential threats and serious but manageable security challenges." The universalization of Holocaust memory has created additional tensions. Israel has sometimes been criticized for claiming unique ownership of Holocaust memory while simultaneously promoting its universal significance. This paradox became evident in diplomatic disputes with Poland and other Eastern European countries over Holocaust remembrance and responsibility. When Poland passed a law in 2018 criminalizing statements implying Polish complicity in Nazi crimes, Israel responded with fierce criticism, leading to a diplomatic crisis that revealed competing national narratives about the Holocaust. Educational approaches have also evolved to reflect these tensions. While earlier Holocaust education focused primarily on Jewish victimhood and the necessity of Jewish self-defense, contemporary curricula increasingly incorporate universal human rights perspectives. Students are encouraged to consider the Holocaust's implications for other genocides and for minority rights worldwide. As one curriculum developer explained: "We want students to understand both what made the Holocaust unique and what makes it universally relevant – to see it as both a Jewish tragedy and a human catastrophe." The status of survivors in contemporary Israeli society reflects a similar evolution. Once marginalized and often viewed with suspicion, survivors are now honored as witnesses to history whose testimonies contain essential truths about both Jewish vulnerability and human capacity for evil. As their numbers dwindle, increasing resources have been devoted to preserving their stories through video testimonies, digital archives, and innovative technologies like interactive holograms that allow future generations to "converse" with recorded survivor testimonies. Perhaps the most profound contemporary tension involves the transition from lived memory to historical memory. As the generation of survivors passes away, Holocaust remembrance necessarily changes from direct testimony to mediated representation. This transition raises fundamental questions about how Holocaust memory will function in Israeli society when it is no longer anchored in living witnesses but must be transmitted entirely through institutions, commemorations, and educational programs. Will it retain its emotional power and political significance, or will it gradually fade into the background of historical consciousness? The answer will depend largely on how Israeli society continues to negotiate the complex relationship between Holocaust memory and national identity in the decades to come.

Summary

The evolution of Holocaust memory in Israeli society reveals a profound journey from initial avoidance to central commemoration, from silence to institutionalization. This transformation reflects Israel's struggle to incorporate catastrophic trauma into a national narrative originally built on rejecting diaspora weakness in favor of sovereign strength. The tension between these impulses – remembering victimhood while celebrating power, honoring the dead while building the future – has never been fully resolved. Instead, it has evolved into increasingly complex forms as Holocaust memory has become embedded in education, law, diplomacy, and security discourse. What began as a painful memory often shrouded in silence has become a cornerstone of national identity, though one whose meaning remains contested across political and generational divides. This history offers crucial insights for understanding how societies incorporate traumatic pasts into collective identity. When historical suffering becomes a source of political legitimacy and a framework for interpreting contemporary threats, it can both unite a community around shared memory and distort policy decisions through historical analogies that may not apply to current realities. The challenge for Israel – and for other societies shaped by historical trauma – lies in developing a relationship to the past that acknowledges its continuing emotional power while resisting its exploitation for narrow political purposes. This requires distinguishing between remembrance as moral obligation and remembrance as political tool, between honoring victims and instrumentalizing their memory. As Holocaust survivors pass from the scene, the responsibility falls to new generations to preserve this memory in ways that respect its complexity while drawing from it lessons that serve both particular Jewish needs and universal human values.

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Tom Segev

Tom Segev (Hebrew: תום שגב‎) is an Israeli historian, author and journalist. He is associated with Israel's so-called New Historians, a group challenging many of the country's traditional narratives.

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