My father was skeptical of Zionism. He saw no reason to assume that the Jews would do better with nationalism than all the others had. Yet he winced only weakly when I joined Habonim Dror, the Labor Zionist youth movement, which became for the next 10 years as much my home/family as my family home was. There I became, few questions asked, a Zionist.
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In the mid-1960s, Zionism stopped making usable sense to me. It was a doctrine that had been developed in an entirely different time under entirely different circumstances, to address problems quite unlike those that now confronted us. So I stopped thinking of myself as a Zionist; Zionism, having won the Jewish state it had sought, could now be retired.
But when the United Nations, in 1975, declared that “Zionism is racism,” my sense of honor revived my Zionism. Mine is in the end a simple Zionism: Jews are entitled to a national home — a sovereign state — and the only place where such a state makes sense is in what was Palestine and has become Israel. That is by no means all there is to Zionism, but those are its twin axiomatic essentials.