Between one war and the next, it would appear as if Israelis give up on the state. We were born into the state, we are gorged with it and we no longer bother to understand its importance. It has birth defects and deep scars that we inflicted on it. In the best case, the state is taken for granted and most frequently inspires a sigh. In the worst case, it is an object of scorn. Independence Day has lost its glory. Most of us enjoy a spring holiday around a barbecue decked out in flags, but with no real festiveness.

This is astounding collective blindness. The Jews of previous generations can only look at us in bewilderment: Everything they dreamed of has been realized, and we shrug our shoulders in indifference. The Jews of future generations will accuse us in the court of history of missing opportunities for them. We will argue in our defense that we fought and spilled blood for the sake of the state, that we understood the necessity of a defensive army for a persecuted people. This is a truth to which Memorial Day testifies with thousands of tombstones. Nevertheless, these past and the future generations must wonder: sacrifice for the sake of what?

When we stutter in response, they will riposte: The importance of the state is that it is a long arm of Jewish identity extended into our generation. The value of sovereignty is multi-dimensional: In addition to preserving the very fact of existence, it is supposed to afford the state with unique depth and content. Its role is to establish a public-political space that enriches the Jewish experience in all its diversity.

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In terms of identity, it appears that the existence of a homeland would suffice for us, even without a state. A "homeland" is a real or mythical place to which memories and wishes flow; where a language and a culture are shaped; from which we draw our primary sense of belonging and security. Thus, "the Land of Israel" is a homeland not only for its inhabitants but also for the Jews of the Diaspora, from Babylon to Los Angeles.

However, a "state" is not a place, but rather an organizational and social framework with a legal personality, the aim of which is to enable its inhabitants to coexist. The two, homeland and state, need not necessarily be one and the same: Had the Uganda plan come to fruition, we would have a state in Africa and a homeland in the Middle East. Why, then, should we not be content with the existence of a homeland and relinquish political sovereignty?

The question is all the more relevant today given international trends. In the global era, a flat, borderless world is run by global corporations, regional pacts and open markets. The state, overwhelmed by these forces, loses relevance on a number of important fronts. Who would have believed that the states of Europe would relinquish their national currencies and discuss a common constitution?

Moreover, a distinction between two spaces took root in the 20th century. In the private space, our unique identity is realized, in which we exist the way we are and for ourselves. The public space, however, is perceived as a universal, neutral space, in which unique identity is replaced by personae, masks we don in accordance with various roles of profession, gender, age, social labeling and the like. Thus, the public space established by the state does not appear to have a hand in the formation of the identities of its citizens. The state relates to citizens and mediates among them through a system of laws, built on a human or civil bill of rights that grants equal protection to all regardless of personal identity.

The distinction between the two spaces grows more acute in societies that adopt liberal worldviews. Paradoxically, it is precisely the approach that places the individual and his freedom at its center that ultimately limits his unique living space to the private home. For the liberal, the absence of the unique "face" of the individual ensures that the state will allocate rights and obligations in an egalitarian way. In the name of equality, the personal seal is erased and special identity blurred. But if this is the case, then do we even need a state?

Human rights, being universal, apply equally to the American, the European and the Israeli. By what measure then is the state superior to supra-national organizations like the United Nations or intra-national organizations like the Association for Civil Rights in Israel? Why would we prefer a court in Jerusalem to an international tribunal? Indeed, a state that claims to act on the basis of unique values is suspected of using government violence toward its minorities. A state that has its own identity spelled out is perceived as a threat to the universal, liberal citizen.

Decline of the state

It turns out that the more important the individual becomes relative to the collective and the more the political space loses elements of culture and identity, the value of the state declines. "The state" - a key institution in modern history - finds itself between a rock and a hard place, as the external world in one corner and its inhabitants in the other chip away at its very being.

These general trends are amplified further in the Jewish-Israeli context. Many among us deny the role of the state in shaping Jewish identity: There are those who call for its "normalization," so that it will become the state of those who live in it, cutting off the connection between Israeli and historical Jewish existence. This is a call for separation not only between Jewish religion and the state but also between the state and Jewish nationality and culture.

The ultra-Orthodox preach an opposite process, but its results are identical: The public space should be entirely subordinated to the expression of mythical, historical Judaism and disengaged from characteristics of sovereignty. The state is of no importance; rather, it is "the most bitter diaspora of all."

A third group places the geographical-physical space at its core. According to this group, Jewish history should be replaced by a different history. The meaning of our uniqueness is found in the myth linked to the expanse of Canaan and Philistia.

Extreme formulations of these views - and this is but a partial selection - tend to post-Zionism, the main thrust of which is the denial of continuity between the historic Jewish people and the present sovereign Israeli reality. They have in common the aspiration to empty the words "Jewish state" of real content: There are those who want to extirpate the uniqueness of Jewish identity from the state; those who want to impose a Jewish-religious designation while relinquishing the state organization; and those who are interested in a state for the sake of realizing a geographical-native uniqueness, which is not Jewish.

Home is no longer our castle

Yet, the importance of the state in general and the Jewish state in particular emerges, once we recognize the error in the exaggerated distinction between public and private space. The two spaces in fact interpenetrate each other: In the one direction from the public to the private, it is clear that our home is no longer our castle; the "outside" filters in quite successfully, riding on battalions of Trojan horses. It is enough to look at failed attempts by the ultra-Orthodox, the guardians of the walls, to "defend themselves" against the Internet, which is waiting in ambush at their gates.

And in the other direction, the public space is influenced by the private; after all, when we enter the public sphere, we do not divest ourselves of our selves. The common space is populated by people who carry their personal identities, their hopes and their pain with them. The market square is a patchwork quilt of personal stories. It turns out that the public space both influences and is influenced by private identity.

And indeed, identity is also built up outside the home: in the educational space (Kabbalat Shabbat in kindergartens, study of Jewish history at school and researching halakhah, Jewish law, at universities); in the social space (a political party, a sports stadium, a youth movement); in the local space (names like Kings of Israel Square and Rabin Square, a hike along the Israel National Trail, a swearing-in at the Western Wall); in the space of time (is Yom Kippur in Israel identical to Yom Kippur in Australia?); in the ceremonial space (Holocaust Remembrance Day, postage stamps, a candelabrum and olive branches); and in the cultural space (a national theater, a state television channel, a language academy).

The state has an important role in all of these identity-shaping spaces, whether in establishing the public space or in regulating its modes of conduct through policy, finance or even coersion.

The only game in town

In addition to the private home and the spaces of education, society, locale, time, ceremonies and culture, there also exists another public space of great value in the formation of identity: the political-government space. Here the state not only has a role, but is the sole player. This space did not exist for the Jews during 2,000 years of exile nor is it available today in the liberal Western countries.

On the 5th of the Hebrew month of Iyar in 1948, a rare window of opportunity opened in the history of the Jewish nation for realizing its unique identity in all possible contexts, including government. The challenge is great and touches upon all the organs of the state: How is a Jewish army different from other armies? Will it stand out for its morality? Can we learn something from Jewish culture that will enable us to cope with the use of force? What unique tikkun olam, "repair of the world," can be achieved by a legal system in a Jewish state? Will the social security that the State of Israel gives its citizens be influenced by our tradition of charity? And how will our heritage be realized in the state justice that will be shaped by the laws of an Israeli parliament? How will "you were a stranger in the land of Egypt" influence our attitude toward the minorities in our midst? Will the Jewish discourse of obligations and communal solidarity moderate the fever of privatization that has gripped the country? These are questions that only life in a sovereign state awakens. Dealing with them will afford the state meaning and depth that will justify the sacrifice that is marked by Memorial Day and the celebration of Independence Day.

The importance of Israel, a mere pinhead on the globe, becomes clear when we allow a complex, pluralistic Jewish identity to be manifested in the public and political space. Along with strict observance of the Charter of Universal Human Rights, the state must express in its deeds, its budgets, its symbols and its laws what the Jews carry with them as distant and recent memory.

The shaping of the state through a close relationship with Jewish culture and history brings up questions, including those about citizens who are not Jews. But the complexity of the questions does not justify effacing identity altogether from the public space. Only if we face up to the challenge of identity can we celebrate independence wholeheartedly. Only then will we be transformed from the state of the Jews to the Jewish state.