Journal of Israeli History

Politics, Society, Culture

ISSN: 1353-1042 (Print) 1744-0548 (Online) Journal homepage: http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/fjih20

Olei Hagardom: Between official and popular

memory

Amir Goldstein

To cite this article: Amir Goldstein (2015) Olei Hagardom: Between official and popular
memory, Journal of Israeli History, 34:2, 159-180, DOI: 10.1080/13531042.2015.1068974

To link to this article: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/13531042.2015.1068974

Published online: 20 Aug 2015.

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The Journal of Israeli History, 2015
Vol. 34, No. 2, 159–180, http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/13531042.2015.1068974

Olei Hagardom: Between official and popular memory

Amir Goldstein*

Tel Hai College, Israel

(Accepted 25 March 2015)

This article examines the interaction between official memory and popular memory
through the case study of Olei Hagardom – Jewish underground fighters executed by
the British in Mandatory Palestine. Studies of collective memory usually maintain
that the ruling elite, with its control of state resources, dominates collective memory
formation. However, the case of Olei Hargardom demonstrates the potentially
limited power of institutional commemoration and exclusion in a democratic
society. David Ben-Gurion and his government’s attempt to exclude these right-
wing heroes from the national pantheon had limited impact. Menachem Begin’s
persistent, partisan political efforts to include them were only partially successful.
Ultimately, Olei Hargardom became entrenched in Israeli collective memory as a
result of apolitical literary works, popular culture, and the establishment of a site of
memory by spontaneous, grassroots efforts.
Keywords: collective memory; official memory; popular memory; Olei Hagardom;
Menachem Begin; Haim Hazaz; Acre Prison

This article seeks to explore the process of collective memory generation and its
formation by examining the case study of Olei Hagardom (Hebrew for “those who
ascended the gallows,” the term commonly used for the Jewish underground fighters
who were tried before British Mandate courts and executed by hanging). The analysis
focuses on the roles of politics and literature in shaping the status of these Jewish
fighters during Israel’s first two decades.
During the period of British rule in Palestine, the British Mandate government
executed hundreds of residents in the territory, the vast majority of whom were Arabs
who were hanged during the period of the Arab Revolt (1936 – 39). Towards the end of
the Arab Revolt, for the first time, two Jews were hanged. Shlomo Ben-Yosef (executed
June 1938), a member of the Revisionist underground organization Irgun Zvai Leumi
(National Military Organization, also known by its Hebrew acronym, Etzel) was the
first to whom the epithet Olei Hagardom was applied by members of Etzel and the
Revisionist movement (the other man was hanged for a criminal offense). The term Olei
Hagardom which was subsequently applied to other Revisionist underground fighters
hanged by the British, was laden with deep semantic meaning. Beyond the actual
execution by the British through hanging, the Hebrew word oleh (he who ascends) has
the connotation of a moral ascent, while the term gardom (gallows) was traditionally
used to describe forms of Jewish martyrdom, such as the pogroms and later the
Holocaust, with the connotation of a death of national significance.

*Email: amirgold@telhai.ac.il

q 2015 Taylor & Francis

160 A. Goldstein

Following the assassination of Lord Moyne (Walter Edward Guinness), the British
Minister of State in the Middle East, Eliyahu Bet-Zuri and Eliyahu Hakim of Lehi (the
Hebrew acronym for the Fighters for the Freedom of Israel, also known in English as the
Stern Gang) were hanged in Cairo in March 1945. In 1947, seven members of Etzel
were executed for their involvement in terrorist activities. The most famous among
them was Dov Gruner, an Etzel fighter who was captured during his organization’s
attack on the British police station in Ramat Gan. He was executed despite a month-
long struggle to have his sentence commuted. Two others, Meir Feinstein of Etzel and
Moshe Barazani of Lehi, committed suicide in a Jerusalem jail a short time before the
British government intended to carry out their death sentence. This group of men was
named by spokespersons of their respective underground organizations and by right-
wing Zionists as Olei Hagardom, an epithet that was subsequently also adopted in the
general Israeli discourse.1

The creation of collective memory

Collective memory is characterized by its dynamic nature. It is constantly reshaped as
members and groups of a society debate their attitude towards the past and what it
represents.2 To what extent this process is elitist and controlled from above, and to what
extent it is impacted by popular and spontaneous grassroots movements has been
extensively explored.
Numerous studies have sought to reveal the relationship between power and
knowledge throughout history, underscoring the power mechanisms that control sites of
memory.3 These studies maintain that because state resources are in the hands of the
ruling elite, the latter has an advantage over other social groups on issues related to the
creation of collective memory. Members of the elite are mindful of the central role of
discourse in creating images and molding consciousness for the purpose of shaping
the economic and social order. They have the capacity to utilize the institutionalized
commemorative structure for the manipulative creation of a collective memory that
legitimizes their hegemony.4 According to this view, civil society is subject to
indisputable dominance through economic structures, the political system, and culture,
so that memory that is created “from above” is another form of exploitation by society’s
governing forces, which are seen as having a monopoly over canonized memory.
Modern national traditions are often presented as “invented traditions,” that is,
collective stories fabricated by the ruling elite and to their advantage.5 It is difficult to
question the assertion that the memory creation process is based on the active
engagement of agents who seek, beyond the ability to create an appealing narrative, the
capacity and resources for influencing society. The establishment therefore seems
positioned to become the key player in this process. However, other studies suggest that
the weight attributed to the regime in the creation of collective memory may in fact be
overstated and, alongside the “top-down” forces that impact the creation of collective
memory, there exist “bottom-up” memory processes, which have not been set in motion
by the establishment.6 Popular culture, spontaneous action taken by the civil society,
competing elites, fringe groups, and other circles – some of which are subversive – can
also transform the collective memory, at least in a democratic society, making it
multivocal and diverse. These forces contest the memory that the establishment seeks to
create.7 Furthermore, as Mordechai Bar-On cautions, the focus on those who create
 The Journal of Israeli History 161

memory and on their manipulation of history to legitimize their rule may overlook the
consumers of memory, who do not constitute a passive mob, but have their own
outlooks and belief systems. An overly elitist view of the formation of collective
memory not only demonstrates a dismissive attitude toward the members of the
memory community but may also ignore the need to evaluate to what extent the official
version of collective memory is adopted.8 If collective memory is molded by forces
from both above and below, it is necessary to determine which components of that
memory are the products of a deliberate action by the hegemonic groups and which
were incorporated into the discourse from the “opposing memories” of fringe groups.
This case study of the memory of Olei Hagardom in Israel therefore aims to
examine the methods and level of influence of various forces and factors in the
processes of molding the society’s collective memory. Specifically, it examines the
extent to which “top-down” institutional and state-run processes had the capacity to
shape and police the Israeli collective memory of Olei Hagardom, as opposed to the
role and influence of social and popular factors, which dissented from the hegemonic
narrative. In this case, it turns out that the myth of Olei Hagardom is a product of
“bottom-up” efforts, both by partisan political efforts and other forces such as literature,
the media, and education.
Udi Lebel has studied the components of Israeli memory over which the Mapai and
Herut movements disputed for many years.9 He focused primarily on the partisan
political dimension: first analyzing the political memory promoted by Mapai leader
David Ben-Gurion through the state’s apparatus, and then examining Menachem Begin
and the Herut leadership’s struggle to gain national and institutional recognition of
Etzel and Lehi’s heroism and what they considered their decisive contribution to the
creation of the State of Israel.10 However, this one-dimensional partisan political thesis
often overlooks the complexity of historical reality. The thesis is too simple: Mapai,
especially Ben-Gurion, chose to exclude the Etzel and Lehi movements from public
memory for political reasons. Herut’s exclusion and delegitimization have been
examined in various studies,11 and Lebel justifiably emphasizes that bereavement is not
detached from politics. However, the historical process is not one-dimensional or
linear, and never “pure” or utterly coherent. Although Mapai and Ben-Gurion
dominated Israeli politics during its transformative years, they did not enjoy unlimited
influence over shaping memory. A civil society, non-partisan media, and other factors
have always coexisted in Israeli democracy, despite its flaws, and have succeeded in
balancing the power of the ruling party. A careful historical analysis of the status of Olei
Hagardom in Israeli collective memory during the first two decades of the state can
enhance an understanding of the memory dynamics, the forces that shaped it and their
relative influence.
This article, therefore, seeks to contribute to a more balanced view of the processes
of collective memory creation in Israeli society. The test case of Olei Hagardom will
also illustrate the contribution of Hebrew literature to the acceptance by Israeli culture
of the national-romantic myth of the right wing.

Olei Hagardom: Political and ideological dimensions

The attitude of the Mapai-dominated Israeli establishment towards Olei Hagardom was
characterized in the early years of the state by exclusion, disdain, and lack of attention.
162 A. Goldstein

Examples are wide and varied: Acre Prison, where they had been incarcerated, became
a mental-health institution, possibly due to the desire to create an association between
insanity and the valor of the so-called “dissidents” – members of Etzel and Lehi;12 the
educational system ignored the existence of Olei Hagardom13; and the government
failed to dedicate monuments in honor of Etzel and Lehi fighters who were hanged by
the British, refused to name settlements in their honor, and often thwarted or blocked
private initiatives to do so.14 In general, Ben-Gurion, Mapai, and state-run institutions
overlooked Olei Hagardom’s valor and excluded them from the established Zionist
camp. This refusal to include the Revisionist narrative in the Israeli-Zionist meta-
narrative was not motivated only by power-political considerations; it also reflected the
ideological conflict between the labor and Herut movements. Ben-Gurion not only
served as the first prime minister, but the “founding father” of the State of Israel also
assumed a central role in shaping the young state’s national consciousness. When Ben-
Gurion opened Israel’s gates to hundreds of thousands of new immigrants, he was
keenly aware of the nation-building processes that were taking place and was troubled
by the potential negative impact of mass immigration upon these processes. He sought
to strengthen the authority of the political center and his own power against the
backdrop of these demographic and ideological changes, whose impact on the character
of the newly created Israeli society was difficult to predict. Ben-Gurion promoted the
idea of an educating state. He felt responsible for instilling collective memory by means
of the institutional forces at Mapai’s disposal, which were instrumental in making its
mark on the new Israelis.15 He viewed national authority as fundamental, and was
aware of the potentially harmful consequences of providing the right to dispute it. For
that reason, he refused to recognize the valor of Etzel and Lehi fighters, who embodied
the notion of challenging the central authority. It was, therefore, an ideological conflict
and not only a political struggle that stood at the heart of the battle that erupted in the
early years of the state over how to recount the story of Israel’s establishment and the
Zionist vision in the Land of Israel. Ben-Gurion apparently recognized Begin’s myth as
a dangerous attempt to create an aura of messianic, national romance around the valor
of Olei Hagardom that encourages non-pragmatic policies. Labor movement leaders
saw Zionism as a balancing force between vision and reality, based upon Jewish
immigration and settlement spearheaded by labor Zionist pioneers. Zionism’s military
dimension was incorporated into this narrative as the result of historical developments
– the opposition of the Palestinian Arabs and the Arab countries to the Zionist
enterpise.16 In contrast, the Zionist struggle against the British emphasized conflicts
over immigration and settlement. In Ben-Gurion’s view, Olei Hagardom, who did not
conform to the desired ethos, constituted an unnecessary and even harmful “background
noise” that should be erased from memory. The status of Olei Hagardom was, therefore,
influenced in the 1950s both by the power struggle of the ruling party against its
opposition and by the ideological struggle over the continuing formation of the Zionist
meta-narrative after the state’s establishment.
For his part, Begin, who was sidelined by Ben-Gurion’s delegitimization of his
movement, its leadership, and heroes, devoutly nurtured the memory of Olei Hagardom
as ideal heroes and glorified their actions. His ultimate purpose was to accord Etzel and
Lehi fighters their deserved position in the history of Zionism as instrumental players in
the state’s establishment.17 He persisted despite the feeling of losing the battle over
collective memory, the humiliating experience of exclusion, and needing to bridge the
 The Journal of Israeli History 163

ever-growing divide between the self-image of a sacrificial movement standing at the

forefront of the national struggle and the lack of acknowledgment of the contribution,
valor, and patriotic sacrifice made by Olei Hagardom. Nonetheless, the very need to
confront these obstacles generated the energy to transform the feeling of political defeat
into a constant struggle to engrave their actions and image in the collective memory.
Begin positioned himself as the best-qualified interpreter, or possibly the only
interpreter, of Olei Hagardom’s testament and legacy.18 He fervently referred to them
whenever possible, waging this battle with a strong inner sense of belief and genuine
enthusiasm. It is possible that Etzel’s failure to free Olei Hagardom or at least to have
their sentences commuted weighed heavily on the organization’s commander. Begin’s
vulnerability regarding the loss of human life is well known. It appears that he had
conflicting feelings resulting from the pain over human loss and guilt over the
organization’s failure to rescue those who were condemned to die and his refusal to
grant subordinates the right to ask for clemency from the British. It is possible that Dov
Gruner’s long waiting period before his hanging was a trigger for the Etzel
commander’s sense of guilt.19 Perhaps Begin’s struggle to eternalize the myth of Olei
Hagardom served to conceal and overcome his emotions by presenting the hanging as a
triumph over death and the executioners.
Yet, it was this very struggle and his status as a political leader at the forefront of the
battle to engrave Olei Hagardom in the collective memory that contributed to the
politicization of their memory. Begin wanted Olei Hagardom to become national
heroes, but his efforts to this end actually destined them to become partisan political
heroes instead. Begin often evoked the memory of Olei Hagardom in Knesset election
campaigns. During the second Knesset elections, the Herut leader visited the ma’abarot
(immigrant transit camps) to lecture on the efforts that had been required to create the
state. He made it clear that the process was born not of “the collaboration with the
British oppressor, who used to blow the whistle on underground fighters,” but rather of
“the blood of the heroes and the spirit of Olei Hagardom.”20 Another example among
many is the dedication of a monument that Shalah (the commemorative wing and the
welfare organization for former Herut resistance fighters) had created in honor of
Shlomo Ben-Yosef. Begin delivered the keynote address at the monument dedication
ceremony which was held during the fourth Knesset elections. By highlighting the Olei
Hagardom myth, he chose to underscore the important role of the Herut movement in
continuing the work of Beitar’s leader Ze’ev Jabotinsky:
No, it’s not by chance, nor can it be by chance that each and every one of the Olei
Hagardom, who were part of the generation that called for revolt and self-liberation, drew
their belief from a single spring, received their doctrine from a single teacher, and forged
the steel of their souls on a single anvil. All of them, without exception, are sons of a single
family whose paternal teacher is Ze’ev Jabotinsky. That family not only reared its sons on
the principles of faith, aliyah [immigration to the Land of Israel], nation building, defense,
battle, and self-sacrifice, but also on the supreme sacrifice sanctified in the death chamber
and on the gallows.21
Olei Hagardom, who had grown up in the right-wing Revisionist movement, were used
by the Herut leader in his rhetoric as a testament to the justified path of his party. Herut
deserved to be liberated from its status as an opposition party and from its
marginalization in Israeli society. Begin concluded his speech: “The full redemption
will come. Long live Ze’ev Jabotinsky.”
164 A. Goldstein

This political use of mythical valor and sacrifice was not exclusively Begin’s
domain. It appears, however, that the former Etzel commander’s fervent promotion of
the myth of Olei Hagardom contributed, in opposition to his explicit intent, to the delay
in their inclusion in the official Israeli pantheon of heroes. A national hero is expected
to represent his country and not be associated with a political party, especially not an
opposition party. The debate over the recognition of Olei Hagardom’s valor was
connected to the tense and strident political discourse that erupted between Mapai and
Herut against the backdrop of both fresh and past grudges. Therefore, there was little
chance that Olei Hagardom would be adopted as national heroes by the labor
movement’s establishment.
Ben-Gurion was deeply aware of this process and prudent enough to take advantage
of it. He recognized Begin’s vulnerability in the commemoration struggle and sought to
ridicule him. During a January 1959 Knesset session on the Altalena incident that had
occurred over ten years before, Begin noted in his opening statement that the plenum
session was being held during the week of the fifteenth anniversary of Etzel’s
declaration of revolt (against the British): “We kept this vow for years, in the terror of
the underground, in the battlefields, in prisons, in concentration camps, in torture
chambers, in military courts, in the death camps, and on the gallows.”22 In response to
his speech, the prime minister turned to the Herut leader with biting sarcasm:
I have no intention of writing the history of the past decade or the history of the past eighty
years of Jewish settlement in the country. But I heard the amusing history that Begin told us
about a time fifteen years ago when the revival of Israel apparently began. I heard for the
hundredth time the glory of the Herut leader, his actions in the underground movement, on
the battlefield, in concentration camps, in military courts, in death chambers, and upon the
gallows. I wonder why he does not take pride in the valor he displayed in the War of
Independence after the state’s establishment.23
Later in the session, Ben-Gurion used the gallows affair as a cynical analogy for Begin
and his party’s empty heroic pride. He talked of “the tales of the concentration camps
where Mr. Begin was arrested, the gallows chambers where he sat, or the scaffold to
which he was taken,” and even commented in an aside to Herut MK Yosef Shofman:
“Were you also taken to the gallows with MK Begin?” Herut MK Aryeh Ben-Eliezer
made the following accusation in response: “Didn’t you send enough people to the
gallows? Why do you have to send him there as well?” Shofman added: “You must
regret the fact that we were not all taken to the gallows.”24 This exchange illustrates the
place that Olei Hagardom had at the heart of the very sensitive commemoration
discourse and the Herut movement’s political isolation.

Begin’s attempt to engrave Olei Hagardom in memory

Begin as a political leader was deeply aware of the national commemoration processes
and sought to control them no less than Ben-Gurion. He wanted to dominate the process
of shaping the image of Olei Hagardom in the memory of the “fighting family” (as
Begin called the Herut movement), and his book The Revolt laid the groundwork for
Revisionist hagiography. The Olei Hagardom affair is both the culmination of the
uprising against the British and the climax of the book. The main chapter that relates to
the hangings does not appear in the chronological order of events but only at the end of
the book, after the occupation of Jaffa during the War of Independence. Begin refers to
 The Journal of Israeli History 165

four types of heroism, beginning with the triad of the heroism of battle, trial (i.e., the
British courts), and exile. As the narrative proceeds, the reader climbs up the ladder of
heroism and reaches the fourth level, that of the gallows: “And the ladder of new
Hebrew heroism rises even higher. Before our eyes is revealed the heroism of the death
cell in its full splendor.”25 The Revolt depicts the valor of Olei Hagardom and draws a
comparison between the courage of the death-cell and that of the battlefield, venerating
the former: “No, I do not transcend the instinct for self-survival on this occasion only.
The transcendence is ongoing. Not everyone and not every brave soldier can withstand
this test. Our sons, the dissidents, withstood this test. They all did.”26 In his description
of their valor, Begin used biblical and poetic language in order to elevate their status
and to transfer their valor from history to the mythical dimension that transcends time.
Describing Feinstein’s and Barazani’s suicides, he wrote: “And they awoke on the third
watch of the night, embracing each other in a final and amicable farewell, clutching the
hand grenades to their chests.”27 The Revolt ends with a list of Etzel’s fallen fighters;
after the name of Etzel Commander David Raziel, appear the names of the eight Olei
Hagardom, including Meir Feinsten, who commited suicide just before he was about to
be executed.28
In the wake of The Revolt, many other former underground fighters published books
that made references to Olei Hagardom’s valor. Begin’s influence is visible in almost
all of them. The books contain forewords by him whose central theme is that historical
truth will triumph. The former Etzel commander’s desire to dominate the party
narrative and to shape the memory of Olei Hagardom is clearly manifest in his editing
of these books prior to their publication. His editorial emphases in earlier books
impacted all later work written by movement members. The first book on Olei
Hagardom, written by Yosef Nedava, was published in 1952, followed a few years later
by Itzhak Gurion’s Triumph on the Gallows.29 The Herut leader wrote the forewords to
these two books. It can be argued that following their publication, a genre of Revisionist
sacred literature developed that sought to shape the image of Olei Hagardom as
legendary figures of supreme heroism, with Begin himself working behind the scenes.
The examples of Nedava and Gurion are typical. They both learned the key elements
of the myth of Olei Hagardom from the Etzel commander and sent him the handwritten
drafts of their books for review. Begin returned them with corrections on dozens of
pages down to the finest textual details, which were all clearly intended to make the
figures more mythical and to remove any information that might sully their image.30
The Herut leader wrote significant comments to the chapters on Dov Gruner in both
books. For example, Begin took the liberty of erasing from Gurion’s text a few
paragraphs concerning the negotiations between Gruner and his lawyer, claiming that
“they are historically insignificant and can only weaken its impression!”31 Begin’s
comment reveals his editorial preference for a particular narrative method that would
enhance Olei Hagardom’s valor. This method consisted of filtering the story of prosaic
detail in order to highlight those components capable of glorifying their sacrifice.
The way in which Begin shaped the myth of Olei Hagardom, as demonstrated by his
editing of the works of Herut writers who sought to memorialize them, illustrates his
skill in all things related to the symbolic arena of politics. Begin sought to immortalize
Olei Hagardom by turning the legend of their heroism from a complex, historical,
human feat into the embodiment of Jewish, rebellious nationalism. Yet Begin’s work in
shaping the image of Olei Hagardom not only politicized their cause and narrowed their
166 A. Goldstein

status to that of party heroes, but also eroded their image, turning them into political
placards.

Politicizing the memory

A certain similarity can be observed in the methods and terminology used by both Ben-
Gurion and Begin in their efforts to shape the collective memory. Both regarded politics,
power, and partisan activity as the key instruments in this process. Begin’s effort to gain
recognition for Olei Hagardom’s heroism is a mirror image of Ben-Gurion’s exclusion.
Begin believed that only politics could change Olei Hagardom’s status in the collective
memory and overcome the exclusion of their heroism from that memory. The right-wing
Revisionist movement had to muster political strength and be in power rather than in the
opposition. Only by gaining an influence in government could Begin and his affiliates
hold the keys to the national pantheon. This message was clear in a speech he delivered
in honor of Olei Hagardom in 1957, marking the tenth anniversary of their execution.
It was one of Begin’s key speeches in his battle against “the history of the victors” that
Mapai had initiated. While describing the sense of party humiliation resulting from the
government’s attitude toward the key symbols of the Herut movement, he also spoke
about his inner conviction that the “fighting family” would soon be recognized and gain
its rightful place in the pantheon of Israeli national valor. The demand to recognize Olei
Hagardom as national heroes was accompanied by a demand to recognize Ze’ev
Jabotinsky’s status as one of the most notable leaders of the Zionist movement. In his
speech, Begin claimed that there were “three dark symbols of the evil that still
dominates Israel.” The first was the refusal to bring Ze’ev Jabotinsky’s remains to Israel.
The other two symbols were related to the myth of Olei Hagardom.32
The second symbol of this evil was the mental institution at Acre Fortress still in use
a decade after the hangings. The official reason given was that there were insufficient
funds to create an institution of this kind elsewhere. “There’s money for everything
else: but we don’t have a penny for this cause,” Begin noted sardonically. The third
symbol was the absence of an official state spokesperson from memorial ceremonies
held at Olei Hagardom gravesites: “The president, the speaker of the Knesset, and the
chief of staff did not send representatives to pay their respects. That is a sign of the
government’s malice on all three levels.” In his speech, Begin reflected on the bleak
reality that his movement was facing in the battle for commemoration, but there was
solace in his tone:
Is there anyone who knows what our fate will be, and is there anyone willing to tell us what
is our providence? Maybe we are the ones who are ordered to go to his tomb and bring his
remains to the land of Zion and Jerusalem. Maybe it is up to us, brethren in arms of the Acre
jail breakers, to order its sanctification and turn it into a temple of valor and sacrifice.
Maybe it is up to us, brethren in faith of Olei Hagardom, to act on behalf of the State of
Israel and on behalf of the whole nation, to bow to the state’s flags and its victorious army
before the graves of the kingdom’s dead. When the day comes, and it will come, we will do
so. May God help us every step of the way and even more.33
In this speech, Begin suggested a strategy for changing the Israeli collective
memory of Olei Hagardom. He presumed that the process had to begin by first winning
broad electoral support for the Herut movement. Then Herut would effect political
change, gain authority, and create an alternative memory with the valor of Olei
 The Journal of Israeli History 167

Hagardom at its core. However, that notion was rejected as unrealistic after Herut won
such narrow support in the Knesset elections. Begin saw the status of Olei Hagardom as
an example of the relationship between knowledge and power in Israeli society. He was
convinced that as long as the political balance of power remained, he and his colleagues
would not be entitled to voice their protest to its fullest.
However, the actual process of shaping Israeli memory regarding Olei Hagardom
ran completely counter to the path that Begin originally charted. To break through the
exclusion there had to be a different platform that would bypass politics and enable the
memory of Olei Hagardom to penetrate Israeli consciousness. Without intervention,
they may have gained gradual recognition as national heroes as Israeli society became
more unified and stable, but the path chosen by Begin in fact impeded this development.
Begin, who was sidelined by Ben-Gurion’s delegitimization of his movement, his
leadership, and heroes, acted intensively and often obsessively in order to shape the
memory of Olei Hagardom as the primary heroes of the Jewish War of Independence.
The alternative culture of memory that he shaped strengthened the link between Olei
Hagardom’s valor and the Herut movement, as Herut was the sole political heir to the
right-wing Revisionist movement. However, this emphasis on the political identity of
Olei Hagardom was the main reason for their marginalization in the hegemonic
collective memory in the early 1950s. The slow and lengthy process of their inclusion in
the Israeli national pantheon required mitigating and even discarding their
identification with an opposition movement. It also required putting aside the argument
over “ha-porshim” (the pre-state dissident organizations) and creating a link between
the struggle of the right-wing underground movements for the creation of the State of
Israel and that of the central labor-dominated institutions. That process would only
develop later, during the state’s second decade of existence.

The role of literature in inculcating the myth of Olei Hagardom during the 1960s
Literature plays a key role in the creation of memory and in nation building.34 From the
first years of Zionist settlement in Palestine, Hebrew literature had an important part in
the creation of a new national tradition that contributed to legitimizing Zionism’s
national aspirations. The successful integration of the national myths into the collective
memory was facilitated by diverse literary works that not only glorified the ancient
national heroes but also used modern myths such as that of the 1920 battle of Tel Hai to
promote didactic messages.35
However, the myth of Olei Hagardom that had been created in the late 1940s was
absent from mainstream Hebrew literature and poetry of that period. Even in the 1950s,
when awareness of anti-British resistance activities was gradually increasing,
references to Olei Hagardom’s valor mainly appeared in books of a partisan nature
by relatively marginal authors.36 It was only in the early 1960s that a book by a major
Hebrew writer contributed significantly to bringing the myth of Olei Hagardom from
the margins to the center of national consciousness.37 The book In One Noose, written
by Israel Prize laureate for literature Haim Hazaz, one of Ben-Gurion’s intellectual
cronies and a key figure in the Mapai establishment, described the lives and deaths of
two Olei Hagardom, Meir Feinstein (Etzel) and Moshe Barazani (Lehi). The
publication of a book focusing on Olei Hagardom and printed by Am Oved, a Histadrut
Federation affiliate, was, of course, far from standard practice. The book was published
168 A. Goldstein

in the spring of 1963 and immediately generated great public interest, rapidly becoming
a bestseller. The left-leaning newspaper Davar ran weekly ads that encouraged the
public to buy the new bestseller telling the story of Feinstein and Barazani, and even
sent the book as a gift to its readers on numerous occasions. At a time when the memory
of Olei Hagardom was sidelined in the national-political arena, a book focusing on their
valor was published and promoted by the political establishment itself. In One Noose,
which appeared a few months before Levi Eshkol succeeded Ben-Gurion as prime
minister, received good reviews from both men. Ben-Gurion, while still in office,
invited Hazaz to his home; and Eshkol, who was prime minister elect, sent the author a
letter that was read aloud at an event held in Hazaz’s home to honor him and his book.38
At the book tribute, Hazaz told his guests and admirers that he had been convinced that
his book would be rejected after its publication and was surprised by the acclaim it
received.
Hazaz’s choice to tell the stories of Feinstein and Barazani was not incidental. The
heroes belonged to two different ethnic groups. Feinstein, the Etzel member, was of
European (Ashkenazi) descent, while Barazani, the Lehi member, was of Middle
Eastern (Mizrahi) origin. Their story was perceived as a symbol of the merger between
the various ethnic groups in the emergent Israeli society. Poet Natan Alterman had
dedicated a poem in their honor just a few days after their deaths (even if the poem
sharply criticized the “dissident” groups).39 Their suicide, a night before their
scheduled execution, had caused the Jewish public to identify strongly with them. Their
heroic sacrifice accorded with the myth of valor and victim that occupied a central
position in Zionist discourse. The symbolic power of their refusal to allow the British to
execute them made Feinstein and Barazani the best candidates among the Olei
Hagardom to earn widespread recognition, even by groups who disapproved of the
romantic Revisionist movement. Their dramatic and moving suicide contributed to the
growing public veneration of the conscious self-sacrifice of the two underground
fighters.
The idea to write a book about Feinstein and Barazani seems to have first occurred
to Hazaz when he was hospitalized. The man lying in the bed next to him was Rabbi
Aryeh Levin, who had been Feinstein’s teacher and who had visited him and other Olei
Hagardom prisoners in jail before their deaths.40 Rabbi Levin told Hazaz stories about
Feinstein and other members of Olei Hagardom, probably provoking his interest in the
topic. A short time thereafter, in 1958, Hazaz by chance met the reporter Geula Cohen, a
former Lehi member, in a Jerusalem café and asked her to tell him about Olei
Hagardom, with particular emphasis on Barazani and Feinstein.41 However, even
though Hazaz chose to highlight the story of these “dissident” underground fighters, his
book played down the political dimension of the Olei Hagardom affair. In interviews he
often dismissed the role of Etzel and Lehi, particularly that of members whose heroism
the organizations had vaunted throughout the years, and was ambiguous about his
motives for publishing the book. In one interview he said: “The opinions of the two
heroes are not party partisan. It’s not a political book. It’s only a literary work.
My political views are not expressed in my new book on the Etzel and Lehi men.”42 He
opposed any attempt to attribute political motives to the book, insisting that the values
depicted in the book, such as valor, Jewish pride, and martyrdom applied to the actions
of all young people at the time. The noose that the British had intended to put on the
necks of Feinstein and Barazani was depicted in the book as a symbol of national
 The Journal of Israeli History 169

unity.43 In a meeting at Prime Minister Eshkol’s residence, Hazaz emphasized: “There

is a place without divisions. I didn’t mention the names ‘Lehi,’ ‘Etzel,’ ‘Haganah,’ or
‘Mahteret’ (underground). I wrote specific things on martyrdom . . . and described the
nature of the Jewish people.”44 On a different occasion, however, Hazaz suggested the
possibility that the book was connected to guilt feelings that he had experienced
throughout the years as a result of his attitude towards the Etzel.45

Depoliticizing the myth

The appearance of In One Noose was a significant milestone in the process of changing
Israeli memory of Olei Hagardom. It seems likely that the book’s positive reception,
which transcended partisan political lines, can be attributed to Hazaz’s efforts to detach
its heroes from their political associations. This approach was the reverse of Begin’s
struggle for recognition of their heroism, which evoked intense antagonism and often
even sarcasm. As Geula Cohen wrote in her memoirs: “Hazaz asked me to look at the
stories and the book from the outside, to look into the eyes of Olei Hagardom and tell him
what I see in them.”46 In other words,, Hazaz asked her to read this heroic tale on its own
merits and not from the perspective of the usual political discourse. In one of his
interviews, Hazaz explained: “Now the storm has passed . . . the underground movement
is gone . . . . the political aspect of that event has been removed, and only history remains
. . . and now the time of literature has come.” Pointing to the difference between
politics and literature as agents of memory, he continued: “Literature searches for the
truth. It needs a creative side to make the figure it evokes reliable . . . the party is merely a
one-way street while literature is a road with many directions, of back and forth.”47
Indeed, Hazaz does not call the heroes of his book by their real names. Meir
Feinstein appears as Meir Halperin, while Moshe Barazani is called Eliyahu Mizrahi
(maybe referring to his origin). Even though the book explicitly referred to Feinstein’s
and Barazani’s suicides (as announced prior to its publication), Hazaz chose to divest
his literary heroes of the partisan political identity that Begin had made every effort to
create for many years. Moreover, by giving the two underground members fictitious
names, Hazaz detached them from their full historical significance. Instead of their
association with the Revisionist ideology and participation in actions that violated the
policy of the pre-state national institutions, the underground fighters were turned into
unknown heroes, devoid of a political identity and party affiliation, which paved the
way for their acceptance as national figures. As a novelist who played a central role in
Israeli society at that time, Hazaz realized that Olei Hagardom’s inclusion in the
dominant collective memory required playing down the salient ideological and political
dimension and creating a more general, profound affiliation to the Zionist meta-
narrative of valor, sacrifice, and redemption devoid of a concrete political context.
In Hazaz’s words:
Here I witnessed the eternal Jew, who gives his life for the sanctity of God . . . those Jews
did not bow down before their enemy but went gladly to their death. Those Jews are taken
from my own gallery [of heroes] . . . as the political aspect is no longer relevant, while
devotion is eternal. Lehi and Etzel are long gone, but their self-sacrifice endures. The fact
that they were taken to the gallows will remain forever.48
Comments in Davar indeed confirmed that Hazaz’s portrait of Feinstein and Barazani
had achieved its objective. The newspaper ran articles lauding Hazaz’s new book as
170 A. Goldstein

well as letters from readers sharing their experiences. One wrote: “While reading [the
book], I forget that the figures were Lehi and Etzel men, with whom I disagreed so much
at the time, and I completely believe the accuracy of the description” 49 The author of
this letter noted Hazaz’s success in incorporating Olei Hagardom into the general
narrative of Jewish martyrdom: “If I wish, I can see Menachem and Eliyahu as they
were in their place and time. If I wish, I can transfer them to the days of Hadrian Caesar,
the crusades, Spain and Portugal, and more, as they retain their identities and qualities,
while they rise up in flames.”50
These texts attest both to the role of forgetting in shaping collective memory51 and
to the ability of that memory to integrate factors that had previously been rejected, by
eliminating the features that generated antagonism. Hazaz grasped that the myth of
heroism and the ritual of sacrifice, elements essential to the creation of a new nation,
were vital to the gallery of literary heroes that he created. Levi Eshkol recognized
Hazaz’s achievement in a letter written for the event held in honor of In One Noose.
While noting that “The differences emerged when some individuals decided to deviate
from disciplinary rule,” he acknowledged that “The momentum of endless self-sacrifice
and devotion will forever remain in the heritage of our history, and your account will
contribute by recognizing the generation that searches for its values and its spiritual
figure.”52
The Herut movement was delighted with the publication of a book telling the story
of Olei Hagardom. Begin and Ya’akov Meridor visited Hazaz at his home and thanked
him warmly for choosing to dedicate a book to their rejected heroes.53 The book was
received in the “fighting family” circles with great enthusiasm and with the hope that it
symbolized the end of the “traditional denial” of Olei Hagardom.54 Yet despite the
support it received, literary critics close to the Herut movement voiced their
disappointment with the book. They applauded the reference to their heroes but
searched in vain for the familiar mythical language that Begin had formulated for their
portrayal. The most striking example of this attitude appeared in a critical article by the
Revisionist poet, journalist, and literary scholar Moshe-Giora Elimelekh, who wrote,
“It’s hard to overcome the distaste that any decent individual must feel when reading
this mask of deception, which is the work of someone who was a self-proclaimed enemy
of the underground fighters who were sentenced to death.”55 Elimelekh rejected the
attempt to write a literary work on Olei Hagardom as premature: “the blood has barely
dried on the walls” and “the bleeding heart is not able to look at this issue
unemotionally.” He saw the book as an attempt to clear the author’s conscience and
protect the labor-dominated pre-state national institutions that had denied Etzel’s and
Lehi’s acts of heroism in the 1940s. Elimelekh criticized the portrayal of the figures as
weak and fallacious, and offensive to the memory of their heroism.56 This critique
reflects the disparity between the meticulous adhesion to the narrative that accorded
with the Revisionist myth and characterized the description of Olei Hagardom in books
edited by Begin, and the free and non-partisan manner in which Hazaz depicted his
protagonists in In One Noose. Elimelekh was outraged at the establishment author’s
audacity to strip Feinstein and Barazani of their political identity: “What were
Feinstein’s and Barazani’s sins as dead individuals compared to Mr. Hazaz, who is still
alive, when he wraps his notions around their necks?”57
This and other critiques overlooked the advantage of Hazaz’s literary devices. Since
forgetting is an integral part of the creation and modification of collective memory,
 The Journal of Israeli History 171

the author’s “forgetting” of his characters’ ideological affiliation was a prerequisite for
his decision to write their life stories as a heroic Zionist affair. Hazaz explained: “This
isn’t a biography of Barazani and Feinstein. . . . I merely described the nature of the
Jewish people in trying times.”58 Olei Hagardom were inserted into the collective
memory by being released from Menachem Begin’s tight grip. It was now easier to
integrate them into the pantheon of heroes.
This change in Olei Hagardom’s status in the collective memory was made possible
in the literary arena primarily because it was relatively devoid of historical and partisan
political disputes in this period. The response to In One Noose points to the difference
between institutional memory, which is controlled by the authorities, and popular
memory, which develops from below, from within society, beyond establishment
control.59 As Hazaz’s book illustrates, the popular memory undermined the institutional
political memory, overcoming the partisan memory of Olei Hagardom promoted by
Begin and the Herut movement. The political arena does not exist in a vacuum.
Particularly in a democratic society, in the much more diverse venues of education,
literature, and local journalism, the forces of political exclusion can be bypassed.
The process described here parallels, in a number of respects, that described by
Anita Shapira in her analysis of the shaping of collective memory of the 1948 battles of
Latrun, in which Haganah ineptitude caused numerous casualties.60 According to Ben-
Gurion and official historiography, the battles at Latrun diverted the Jordanian Arab
Legion forces from Jerusalem and saved the city. This official narrative gradually gave
way to an alternative one shaped by the new elite that emerged in 1970s Israeli society.
In the new narrative, Latrun became an indictment of the exploitation of immigrant
Holocaust survivors sent by Israeli leaders to die in a hopeless battle upon arrival
in their new country. Using quasi-historical messages, authors and poets played a
decisive role in creating and gaining acceptance for this alternative narrative. The case
of Olei Hagardom is similar yet also unique in Israeli collective memory shaping
processes, for in this instance literature contributed to dismantling the Zionist meta-
narrative, but simultaneously replaced it with a right-wing heroic myth rather than a
Zionist critique.61

The acceptance of Olei Hagardom as a national myth

The formation of Israeli collective memory was influenced by the temporal distance
both from the original events and from the political discourse that had accompanied
them. It was also influenced by Israeli society’s consolidation as an immigrant society,
as many of its members had not lived in Israel in 1947 or had not yet been born.62 For
those new Israelis, Olei Hagardom’s valor was part of Zionist heroism and the dispute
between the Mapai and Herut over their memory, the distinctions made between
socialist and Revisionist Zionist heroism, were irrelevant. This popular platform for
memory construction provided the basis for the acceptance of the Olei Hagardom myth
into the Israeli narrative. As the 1948 War receded into the past, the educational system
sought models of self-sacrifice who could transcend the internal disagreements between
the various streams of Zionism. The Israeli press also played a role as a strategic
agent of popular memory. The Herut newspaper frequently demanded that the valor of
Olei Hagardom, in particular, and the underground fighters, in general, be recognized.
In addition, former Revisionists became prominent writers and reporters in non-partisan
172 A. Goldstein

newspapers. Those individuals, even if they often distanced themselves from the views
of the Herut movement, served as strategic agents for acceptance of the Revisionist
heroic narrative.63
Furthermore, the way in which the first prime minister had shaped Israeli memory
may eventually have contributed, in opposition to his intended policy, to the merging of
the Revisionist narrative with the Zionist-Israeli meta-narrative. According to the meta-
narrative, of which Ben-Gurion was its chief architect, there were two adversaries in the
Zionist struggle for the establishment of the Jewish state in the second half of the 1940s.
The Arabs were the key enemy, and the War of Independence that brought about defeat
of the Arab armies was the historic event that had led to the creation of the state.
However, the British were the secondary enemy, primarily in all matters related to
settlements and illegal immigration. The establishment of the so-called Tower and
Stockade settlements during the 1936 – 39 Arab Revolt was showcased as an almost
anti-British settlement enterprise.64 It was likened to the new Jewish settlement of
Biriah, which was established time and again near Tzfat at the beginning of 1946 until
the British relinquished their efforts to evacuate the residents from the place. Themes of
British hard-heartedness, brutality, and anti-Zionist policy were particularly salient in
the hegemonic Zionist narrative of the illegal immigration to Palestine. The image of
the British as an enemy in Israeli popular memory is demonstrated in Hasamba, the
series of children’s adventure stories by Yigal Mossinson which were first published
soon after Israel’s establishment. Its heroic tales of a group of young people were
interwoven with the Haganah’s struggle against British rule and set against the
backdrop of the Zionist hegemonic narrative. That narrative maintains Britain’s status
not only as an adversary but also as an enemy that had suppressed its own contribution
to the Zionist movement and the state’s establishment. Mordechai Bar-On has described
the negative British image in the waning days of the British Mandate, arguing that it
acted against Israeli interests in the War of Independence. He notes that “to this very
day, this narrative of the War of Independence is deeply engrained in the collective
memory of the State of Israel.”65
The structure of this narrative accorded with the alternative narrative shaped by
Begin. If Britain was an enemy, then young Jews who had been executed by the British
authorities deserved a place at the center of national commemoration and as models for
the next generation. They also deserved immediate entry into the pantheon of national
heroes. Hence, the legitimacy that the Revisionist narrative gained during the 1960s
demonstrates that it had much in common with the hegemonic Zionist narrative. Even
though the earlier polarization had been created during the political struggle between
the two camps, the underlying structure of the national-Zionist discourse was common
to both the labor and Herut movements. The publication of Hazaz’s In One Noose and
similar works, which depoliticized the memory of Olei Hagardom, removed the barriers
that were holding back the process of memory change.
Israeli teenagers who grew up in the 1960s were exposed to the heroic exploits of
Etzel and Lehi fighters in literature, newspapers, and epics such as Leon Uris’s Exodus.
These portrayals linked the struggle for illegal immigration and the attack on Acre
Prison with resistance to the cruel and foreign British rule. Otto Preminger’s film
Exodus was released in Israel in June 1961 after it had attracted record audiences in
Europe and the United States. Aviva Halamish has noted the discrepancies between the
film’s plot and the actual events of the period, as well as the film’s impact on shaping
 The Journal of Israeli History 173

individual and collective memory in Israel, which, she argues, was far greater than the
events themselves.66 The film won the establishment’s approval as an effective
propaganda tool for the State of Israel. Although this was an American film, the Israeli
government played an enthusiastic and significant role in its production and in the
design of its content and message.67 The film was also heavily criticized by former
Etzel and Lehi members for presenting Haganah fighters as those who broke into Acre
Prison, as well as characterizing the “dissidents” as individuals who had acted radically
because of their personal troubles.68 Yet the great interest that the film generated and
the emotional impact it had on its viewers enabled it to be integrated naturally into the
broader narrative, in which the struggle to create the state had involved admirable and
even miraculous heroism.
Begin and his partners in the struggle for recognition of Etzel’s rightful position in
Israeli history were outraged over what they regarded as the film’s distortion of the
historical facts. Nonetheless, the popular memory formed by books, films, and
educational trips in fact became a strategic partner in the political struggle of the Herut
movement against Etzel and Lehi’s institutional exclusion from national memory.
Indeed, in those years, there was a dramatic increase in the number of students who
visited Acre Prison and its gallows chamber as part of their school trips.69 The
educational system assumed the role of nation builder and key agent in the creation of
Zionist memory and national consciousness among the younger generation. There was
a growing awareness of the school’s crucial role in creating a common identity in a
society made up of immigrants from such a large number of countries. Moreover, the
emergence of the first signs of a skeptical, individualistic, and judgmental attitude
toward the Zionist ethos by the generation born after the establishment of the state also
pointed to the need to strengthen their national identity. Since events are usually
incorporated into school syllabi and textbooks only a long time after they have
occurred, knowledge of more recent history is provided via more informal channels.
The Israeli educational system, therefore, requires sites of memory to help its students
form a Zionist consciousness. Clearly the visits were not ordered or encouraged by the
political leadership of the time, as the Ministry of Education and Culture was
controlled by Mapai member Zalman Aran, but it seems that the ministry’s
professional bodies did not oppose turning Acre Prison’s gallows chamber into a major
destination for these trips.70 The existence of a prominent historical site that could be
used for instilling a collective Zionist memory was, in Acre Prison’s case, stronger
than any institutional opposition. Hearing the story of Olei Hagardom from within the
gallows chamber had an immense psychological impact on young people, who yearn
for heroic tales. The story of Olei Hagardom was thus transformed from a Revisionist
into an Israeli legend.
The aspiration of former underground fighters to create a memorial at Acre Prison
for Olei Hagardom and other anti-British Lehi and Etzel fighters following the
establishment of the State of Israel was rejected by the establishment, which instead
created an asylum on the location. Begin and Herut failed in their struggle to have the
Acre Fortress psychiatric hospital redesignated as a museum, and the government
would only approve turning the gallows chamber into a commemorative site within the
hospital’s premises. However, a growing number of visitors came to visit the site.
Towards the end of 1966, three years after the publication of In One Noose, a group of
twelfth-grade students from Haifa’s Hugim High School visited Acre Prison. The visit
174 A. Goldstein

left a lasting impression on the students and also provoked their outrage, prompting
them to write indignant letters to various Israeli leaders:
This isn’t the first time that we visited this site, which left us deeply horrified. We were not
shocked by the museum or the exhibits, but by another thing: as we walked past the gate of
the prison yard, a real sense of holiness and veneration engulfed us. That sense quickly
dissipated as we saw mental patients covering the entire yard. We were dismayed to learn
that patients were even standing around the gallows chamber. It would have been more
appropriate to leave the location as a living monument to those who gave up their lives for
their own people and country, and not turn it into an asylum.71
This protest reflects the change in Israeli popular memory that undermined the
official attitude to Olei Hagardom. In this case, students from an elitist school in
“red [socialist] Haifa,” who had adopted the Zionist meta-narrative and sought to
demonstrate their patriotism, were unwilling to accept the way in which the authorities
treated Acre Prison. For students for whom Olei Hagardom were an integral part of
their nation’s history, and Britain was the enemy that had had to be fought against in the
struggle to establish the state, there was a national obligation to preserve the memory of
those who had sacrificed their lives in the battle against British rule. For the youth who
grew up in the State of Israel, Acre Prison was the most appropriate location for
commemorating the heroic war of the former generation against Britain. Thus, owing to
the success of In One Noose and other factors, Olei Hagardom began to be remembered
as national and not merely partisan heroes.
This change was generated, not by Begin’s political efforts, but by popular memory,
which subsequently influenced the attitude of the establishment. In April 1967, six
months after the Hugim School student protest, for the first time a special circular was
handed down by the Ministry of Education director ordering all state-run institutions to
mark the twentieth anniversary of the executions of the Etzel and Lehi fighters.
In conjunction, the government decided to issue a commemorative postage stamp
bearing the inscription “The state’s dead heroes in the generation of revival.”72 It
should be noted that, at this stage, Begin had not yet been appointed as a minister
without portfolio in Levi Eshkol’s national unity government. That event, which
provided the Herut leader with a foothold on political power for the first time, however
limited, would take place only two months later.

Conclusion
The image attributed to Ben-Gurion as the all-powerful leader of the Israeli state and its
newly formed society does not correlate with reality. Israeli society, even though it did
not possess all the features of a full democracy, was highly pluralistic, had an actively
involved civil society, and enabled additional forces to impact the creation of collective
memory together with the establishment. While Ben-Gurion and his party used the
governmental and establishment tools at their disposal to shape a collective memory
that advanced their own political causes and sought to legitimize their efforts and build
consensus, they did not succeed in obtaining a monopoly over the canonization of all
layers of the collective memory. This article has sought to avoid presenting the case of
Olei Hagardom affair as a one-dimensional tale of excluders and excluded, aiming
instead to depict a more complex picture of the political and cultural dynamics that
impacted upon the changes in Olei Hagardom’s status in the collective memory.
 The Journal of Israeli History 175

Popular memory, characterized by its broad range and diversity, incorporated a growing
number of voices who considered Olei Hagardom heroes of the nation-building project.
It undermined the institutional exclusion, strengthening the cracks that appeared in the
hegemonic narrative.
Literature played a central role in this process. The case of the Olei Hagardom myth
illustrates the important contribution made by literature to the gradual acceptance of the
right-wing narrative and its entry into Israeli culture. The recognition accorded to Olei
Hagardom was based upon the romantic impulses with which Zionist thought was
imbued. These impulses, which were balanced by more pragmatic tendencies until the
1967 war, burst out in full strength after the victory. Among the writers who supported
the movement for a Greater Israel after that war, expressing very similar views to those
of Menachem Begin and the Herut movement, were Natan Alterman, Moshe Shamir,
and Haim Hazaz. Works such as In One Noose can be seen as manifesting the
connection between a certain trend in Israeli literature and the Zionist right even
before 1967, and the central role played by the figure of the romantic, national hero in
this ethos.
The case of Olei Hagardom also demonstrates that institutionalized and popular
memory operated in opposing directions over a long period of time. In the first few
decades of Israel’s establishment, the institutional memory excluded the memory of
Olei Hagardom, while the popular memory afforded them ever-growing legitimacy and
acceptance into the pantheon of national heroes.
A similar process can be seen after Begin’s Likud Party came to power in 1977,
after three decades of Labor Party dominance. While the new ruling party did not
obtain absolute control over the collective memory, it made every effort to
place Olei Hagardom at the heart of the national pantheon. However, even after the
political “upheaval” of 1977, and particularly as a result of the continuing
repercussions of the 1973 Yom Kippur War, Israeli collective memory remained
divided: On the one hand, the majority of the public continued to accept the Zionist
narrative, viewing national heroism and self-sacrifice as valid historical phenomena.73
On the other hand, a growing number of citizens began to question this narrative, as
well as the message it conveyed and the morals arising out of such tales of national
heroism.74
This demythologizing process undermined the ability of Begin and his colleagues to
establish Olei Hagardom as a central myth in popular memory by means of institutional
actions.75 This was part of a larger process of the dismantling of the national-Zionist
ethos brought about by Israeli society’s transition from socialist-collective to capitalist-
individual values. Accordingly, the collective memory was no longer an enterprise of
the nation, the state, and society, but became fragmented and privatized.76 These
processes made it legitimate for different groups to cling to their own narratives and
undermined the concerted effort of the Likud government to instill the myth of Olei
Hagardom by institutional means. Moreover, the post-Zionist and post-heroic climate
found expression in the increasing tendency to turn Zionist myths into objects of
criticism, even of irony and ridicule. This article has not examined this later process;
however, it demonstrates the regime’s limited ability to rule exclusively over the
collective memory shaping processes.
At this stage, Menachem Begin once again made clear political use of the myth of
Olei Hagardom. Exploiting the fact that they had come from diverse ethnic Jewish
176 A. Goldstein

groups, at the height of the summer 1981 Israeli elections, he chose to mention them in
an emotional speech in which he accused his opponents of arrogance toward Mizrahim
and emphasized his commitment as prime minister to the status of Mizrahim in Israeli
society. Referring to two of his heroes, Moshe Barazani, who came from Iraq, and
Moshe Feinstein, who was Ashkenazi, he declared: “Ashkenazim? Iraqis? Jews!
Brothers! Fighters!”77
Indeed, Menachem Begin’s wish to be buried on the Mount of Olives and not in the
Mount Herzl plot reserved for the leaders of the nation may be connected to the fact that
this was the site of the graves of Barazani and Feinstein, whose unique stories had
symbolized the Etzel and Lehi narratives throughout the years, and which had been
located in the part of Jerusalem outside of Israel’s border prior to the Six Day War.
By his burial wish, Begin may have been seeking to thank two of his heroes, who had
paved the way for the entry of Olei Hagardom, via popular memory, into the Israeli
collective memory.

Disclosure statement
No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author.

Notes
1. The historical affair is described and analyzed in Goldstein, Gvurah ve-hadarah.
2. Beiner, Remembering the Year of the French, 28.
3. Azaryahu, “War Memorials”; Bar-On, “Lizkor u-lehazkir”; Ben-Amos and Bet-El,
“Commemoration and National Identity.”
4. Lebel, Politics of Memory.
5. Hobsbawm and Ranger, eds. The Invention of Tradition.
6. Popular Memory Group, “Popular Memory”; Confino, “Collective Memory and Cultural
History”; Bodnar, Remaking America, 13 – 21.
7. Lowenthal, The Heritage Crusades, 91 – 94. See also Melman, “The Legend of Sarah,” 55.
8. Bar-On, “Lizkor u-lehazkir,” 26.
9. Lebel, Ba-derekh el ha-pante’on.
10. Lebel, “Ve-nizkor et kulam?” 91 – 97.
11. Arian, Politics in Israel, 5 – 6; Vaits, “The Road to the ‘Upheaval’”; Goldstein, “Giborim
mihutz la-pante’on.”
12. Goldstein, “Kele Ako,” 296 – 323.
13. Goldstein, Gvurah ve-hadarah, 175.
14. Ibid., 159 – 71.
15. Bar-On, “Lizkor u-lehazkir,” 51; Baumel-Schwartz, Perfect Heroes; Shapira, “Ben-Gurion
veha-tanakh.”
16. Shapira, Land and Power, 229 – 30.
17. Menachem Begin, “Mikhtav le-hayalei ha-umah u-meshahrereiha” [A letter to the nation’s
soldiers and liberators], Herut, September 2, 1948.
18. Goldstein, Gvurah ve-hadarah, 199.
19. Begin was deeply affected by the announcement of Gruner’s hanging along with three other
members of Etzel. He wept for a whole week and refused to either eat or drink. Grosbard,
Menachem Begin.
20. Herut, July 17, 1951.
21. Herut, July 27, 1959.
22. Divrei ha-Knesset [Knesset protocols], vol. 26, January 12, 1959, 825. The Altalena, a cargo
ship bringing weapons to the Irgun in June 1948, was shelled opposite the Tel Aviv beach on
Ben-Gurion’s orders after Begin refused to hand over the cargo to the newly created Israel
Defense Forces.
 The Journal of Israeli History 177

23. Ibid.
24. Ibid., 830 – 33.
25. Begin, The Revolt, 486.
26. Ibid., 482.
27. Ibid., 497; Rowland, Rhetoric of Menachem Begin, 113.
28. Begin, The Revolt, 514.
29. Nedava, Sefer olei ha-gardom; Gurion, Triumph on the Gallows.
30. Begin’s comment’s to Nedava, Case No P2-4/10-0, Case No 9/14-20P, The Jabotinsky
Institute in Israel, Tel Aviv (hereafter JI).
31. Case No P20-9/14, JI.
32. The speech was printed in Herut, May 27, 1957.
33. Ibid.
34. Baumel-Schwartz, Perfect Heroes, 241.
35. Zerubavel, Recovered Roots, 79 – 83.
36. See, for example, a five-act play by Israel Shtendel, Dov Gruner (1958) (n.p.).
37. Laor, “He’arot le-‘Be-kolar ehad,’” 410 – 19.
38. Davar, April 26, 1963.
39. Natan Alterman, “Leil hitabdut” [The night of suicide], in Alterman, Ha-tor ha-shvi’i, 334.
40. Cohen, Ein li koah lihiyot ayefah, 44.
41. Yair Sheleg, “Ha-soher ha-tov” [The good warden], Ha’aretz, April 4, 2007.
42. Ha’aretz, December 20, 1962.
43. Elhanani, Katavti al kidush ha-shem, 182 – 85.
44. Ibid.
45. Ha-Tzofeh, March 7, 1975.
46. Cohen, Ein li koah lihiyot ayefah, 44.
47. Elhanani, Arba’ah she-sipru, 182, 185.
48. Ibid., 183.
49. Davar, April 19, 1963.
50. Ibid.
51. For the central role of forgetting, see Renan’s seminal essay, “What Is a Nation?” 45;
Sturken, Tangled Memories, 9 – 21.
52. The content of the letter was published in Davar, April 26, 1963.
53. Lebel, Ba-derekh el ha-pante’on, 289.
54. Herut, April 8, 1963.
55. Elimelekh, “Be-kolar ehad.”
56. Ibid.
57. Ibid.
58. Elhanani, Katavti al kidush ha-shem.
59. Goldstein, Gvurah ve-hadarah, 256 – 64.
60. Shapira, “Historiography and Memory.”
61. Gertz, “Social Myths.”
62. Yablonka, Harhek meha-mesilah, 158.
63. Herzl Rosenblum, editor of Yedi’ot Aharonot, Arieh Disenchik, editor of Ma’ariv, and his
successor Shalom Rosenfeld, along with Yedi’ot Aharonot’s main political journalists,
Shlomo Nakdimon and Aviezer Golan, were former Herut reporters.
64. The Tower and Stockade (Homah u-migdal): Jewish settlements established at strategic
points around the country at the end of the 1930s. In the Israeli ethos this project was seen as
an anti-British move.
65. Bar-On, Mi-kol mamlakhot ha-goyim, 31.
66. Halamish, “Exodus.”
67. Goodman, “Operation Exodus.”
68. Weissbrod, “Exodus as Zionist Melodrama,” 298.
69. A similar process took place in Zikhron Yaakov, where a growing number of students from
the very sectors that had excluded Sarah Aaronsohn and the Nili espionage network from the
collective memory visited her home in the wake of Dvorah Omer’s children’s book, Sarah
giborat Nili [Sarah, heroine of Nili] (1967). Melman, “The Legend of Sarah,”82 – 83.
178 A. Goldstein

70. Geula Cohen wrote in her memoirs that she was often invited to speak in schools about Olei
Hagardom. Cohen, Ein li koah lihiyot ayefah, 65.
71. See copy of the letter from December 8, 1966, Ben-Gurion Archive, correspondence unit.
72. “Hotemet do’ar le-zekher harugei malkhut” [Postal stamp in memory of the martyrs], Yedi’ot
Aharonot, April 11, 1967. Itzhak Gurion had tried without success to promote that initiative
throughout the 1960s. Goldstein, Gvurah ve-hadarah, 244 – 45.
73. Baumel-Schwartz, Perfect Heroes, 312.
74. Zerubavel, Recovered Roots, 160 – 67.
75. Goldstein, Gvurah ve-hadarah, 311 – 12.
76. Gutwein, “Left and Right Post-Zionism.”
77. Cited in Gertz, “The Few against the Many,” 103.

Notes on contributor
Amir Goldstein is a Senior Lecture at Tel Hai College. His recent publications include Derekh
rabat panim: Tziyonuto shel Ze’ev Jabotinsky lenokhah ha-antishemiyut [Zionism and anti-
Semitism in the thought and action of Ze’ev Jabotinsky] (2015); and Gvurah ve-hadarah: Olei
ha-gardom ve-ha-zikaron ha-yisre’eli [Heroism and exclusion: The gallows martyrs and Israeli
collective memory] (2011).

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