Why does Israel’s immigration rule work so well?
One Jewish grandparent is the singular threshold to become a citizen of the country. It has no right to be a successful policy. Yet it has built a thriving cultural bedrock that defines belonging.
Yesterday I was talking to friends about national identity. We discussed what it meant to be American in a post-Trump era, British in a post-Brexit era currently on the verge of an imminent class war, and what it meant to be Jews living as immigrants in Israel. It took us to the topics of assimilation and multiculturalism.
Israel’s immigration policy is almost startling in its simplicity: if you have one Jewish grandparent, you qualify under the Law of Return. It mirrors the definition used by the Nazis in the Holocaust: Then, one Jewish grandparent was enough to mark you for death. Today, it is designed to grant you life in a Jewish homeland. There is no litmus test for age, wealth, country of origin, or even personal belief. It has no right to be a successful policy that can help shape a country and its culture.
And yet, somehow, it works. Better yet, it thrives.
Millions arrive from Russia, Ukraine, Ethiopia, the UK, the US, France, Argentina, and everywhere in between. They come with different languages, customs, and social codes. New immigrants from Europe have little in common with those from Latin America or Africa. Yet, within a generation, their children speak Hebrew, celebrate the holidays, serve in the army, and marry across cultural divides.
The glue is not economics or nationalism in the traditional sense. It is Judaism—not necessarily the religious practice, but the cultural bedrock that defines belonging. There is generally overwhelming success in ‘Olim’ and their ability to assimilate into the country. They grow families, start companies, and embed themselves in a new nation. They create a collective nation of people all in alignment with one another.
Take something arbitrary, for example, like the public transport system. Israel’s trains and buses do not operate on Friday afternoons or most of Saturday, making it almost impossible to travel the country without a private vehicle. Yet no one immigrates to Israel and demands change for their personal convenience.
Or take major Jewish holidays, where nearly all shops and businesses close. On Holocaust Memorial Day, thousands of drivers famously stop their vehicles and stand on the highway to honor those who died before us. I challenge others to find another country in the world that could achieve this collective action among its people.
Compare this to other Western nations, specifically, where immigration debates focus endlessly on the dishonest praise of multiculturalism, or ignore the failure of assimilation and the fear of lost identity. Britain today, in particular, feels hollow. There was admiration for The Crown once. There was also a community in football. Both provided a kind of national religion.
Today, the monarchy feels ornamental and outdated; football feels corrupted by foreign money. What, then, holds its center? Ask what it means to be British, and most people stumble. Ask what it means to be Jewish, and even the secular will find an answer.
Next week, Britain will attempt to ‘Unite The Kingdom’ with a rally that promotes a cultural movement to protect free speech, seek an end to overflowing migration, and reclaim the pride of what it means to be British. It will be painted as a far-right violent attack on anything ‘different’. What it is, in reality, is a cry for help. A yearning to be heard and seen and feel at home on your land. It’s the very feeling Israelis cherish and protect with each passing generation.
This is not to say Israel has solved the challenges of diversity - far from it. There is no need to indulge in the country’s problems among its different communities, political or otherwise. However, it is undeniable that Israel shows us that a nation with a clear cultural core can absorb outsiders without losing its identity.
The question for countries like Britain, which are experiencing their own identity crises, is this: without a unifying story, how can you expect immigrants, or even your own children, to feel at home?