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At first, as I gazed at the flag my focus turned to its center: The Magen David, which means the "Shield of David", but is usually translated in English as "Star of David". The difference between the two meanings is not insignificant: the shield suggests protection and envelopment, while the star represents openness and light.

The Magen David is a symbol that has been part of Jewish iconography since ancient times (although it was not exclusively Jewish). An early example is found on a lintel from the synagogue at Capernaum on the Sea of Galilee. But the hexagram was only appropriated as a major and universal Jewish symbol in the late 19th and early 20th century.

As a geometric symbol, what is striking about the Magen David is the way in which the corners of the triangles forcefully point upwards and downwards. The top suggests future, opportunity, and potentiality, while the bottom suggests roots, history, and tradition. Their intersection attests to the value of memory intermingling with imagination - past and future forever linked.

From the center I turned to the whole. The background of the flag is of course a tallit - the traditional Jewish prayer shawl, which is white with blue stripe. The sky-like colors are said to evoke the presence of God. The idea of combining the tallit and the Star of David together belonged to one David Wolfsohn who introduced the flag at the eighth Zionist Congress in Prague. (It is interesting to note that Herzl, in contrast to Wolfsohn, wanted a flag with seven golden stars - symbolizing the seven-hour workday of the enlightened Jewish-state to be.)

When Israel was founded, David Ben-Gurion had the following words to say about the meaning of the flag: "The state flag is a symbol of historical unity and continuity, and makes the renewed identity unique. The flag is above changing governments and forces within the country that are in unrelenting conflict with each other. The flag personifies the unifying, consolidating, generalizing, mutualizing and historical foundation that is in the state and the people."

As I stared at the flag some more, my mind wandered: I remembered a heated debate I had with an Arab-Israeli friend during the height of the second Intifadah. Discussing the disproportionate and deadly use of power exercised by the government in response to an Arab-Israeli protest, which left 12 citizens dead, my friend cried in a broken voice:

"Just look at your flag, where the hell am I represented there?"

I had no good reply. Unfortunately, I still don't.

Looking at the flag with the eyes of an Arab-Israeli one does not see Ben-Gurion's personification of unity and continuity, rather, one sees a symbol of exclusion.

Countering that so many other countries have exclusive ethnic and religious symbols on their flags misses the mark. Because what my friend was pointing to was a much larger institutional and social bias - one that renders non-Jewish citizens of Israel de facto secondary status.

Israel, being an ethnic-democracy, is first and foremost a Jewish state - as opposed to a state of its citizens. It is a country that promotes the social, economic, political and cultural welfare of a particular group above others. Yes, non-Jews in Israel have civic and voting rights (rights that are impressive in comparison to neighboring countries), but they are not (and will probably never be) equal to their Jewish counterparts. This is a fact that cannot be whitewashed by repeating the mantra that Israel is the only democracy in the Middle East.

The more optimistic and liberal-minded among Israelis may look at the flag and see space, an open white canvas, with potential for an additional or more inclusive symbol. But it is hard to imagine how non-Jewish Israelis could ever hope to fully identify or be identified with the state.

The sound of a car horn woke me from my flag daze. I looked to my right and a saw a number of vehicles with Palestinian flags draped over their windows. Their honking taunted us and what we were walking for. In response, the Star of David instantly became the Shield of David, and willingly or not, all of us became participants in a dynamic of kneejerk dualism, them and us. I was once again reminded why I am suspicious and afraid of flags.

Roi Ben-Yehuda is an Israeli-American writer living in Spain. He is a regular contributer to Jewcy and France 24. His blog can be read at Roi's Word Weblog

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