I have started reading Checkbook Zionism which discusses the philanthropic relationship between Jews in the US and causes they are interested in in Israel. The book is about the US. However, it may be quite interesting for those who spend time supporting or critiquing the relationship between Israel and diaspora Jewish communities. Apparently, the book was published in January of 2024, which is long before the public in Canada was aware of the JNF Canada proposed revocation and subsequent revocation.
The first two pages of the introduction are quite interesting, and I have reproduced them below. They deal with a story involving JNF in Israel, not in Canada, but I would encourage people to check out the whole book.
There is a satirical but telling scene in the classic 1964 Israeli film Sallah Shabati. Several halutzim are planting trees in an area slated by the Jewish National Fund (JNF) to become a forest. While they are hoeing and digging, a man working for the JNF drives up the dirt path in a car, takes a sign out of the car reading “Simon Birnbaum Forest New York, NY,” and hammers it into the ground next to a newly planted tree. Just as he finishes, another car pulls up chauffeuring a wealthy American couple. The Americans, ill dressed for the rugged terrain, get out of the car and awkwardly follow the JNF officer to the tree. The officer says in broken English, “Mrs. and Mr. Birnbaum. This is your forest!” The Americans look admiringly at the tree and all of the halutzim planting more like it, appear pleased, snap some pictures, and then get back into their car and drive away. No sooner than they are out of sight does the JNF officer take down the sign with the Birnbaums’ name on it and hammers in a sign next to the same tree that says “Mrs. Pearl Sonnenschein Forest Detroit.” A moment later, the Sonnenscheins also drive up, are also greeted by the JNF officer welcoming them to “their” forest in the same broken English, and are also pleased to be seeing what they are making possible through their generosity.
The scene parodies a peculiar dynamic often at play in relationships between those living in a given “homeland” (be it real or imagined) and their associated diaspora populations. On the surface, the relationship appears to be between well-meaning supporters from afar wanting to aid financially in the development of their homeland and those on the ground in the homeland happy to receive donations. But the subtext of the interaction tells a very different story. Though we do not know how the JNF was going to actually use the funds donated by the Birnbaums and Sonnenscheins, a few points can be inferred: (1) The funds were not going to be used as the donors thought, (2) the donors would almost certainly not be consulted on their actual use, and (3) the recipient JNF officer did not seem to have any problems with deceiving the donors.
What might explain what is really going on here behind the curtain?
One might think that needy recipients—of which Israelis in the 1950s certainly were— principally would appreciate the help (and, secondarily, would hope that the donor would give again in the future). What, then, does it say that the JNF officer does not have any qualms about manipulating the seemingly well-meaning donors? The officer, most likely, would go to such lengths of acting unethically and—maybe even more importantly—possibly jeopardizing the relationships only if he felt very strongly that he did not want the donors to be involved in deciding how the money was actually to be used.
But why might he feel so strongly? Is it that he did not trust donors’ ability to accurately evaluate how best to use the money? Perhaps, yes.
But if that were the case, why would the officer not be more forthright and tactfully explain the reason why Israelis believed that they, as the people who lived there, naturally had a clearer understanding of where money was most needed? Genuinely well-meaning donors might actually respond well to such an honest assessment. Maybe it was because the officer’s concerns were deeper than just having low confidence in the donors’ judgment.
What if his real issue was that he questioned whether the donors’ motives were truly as “well-meaning” as they appeared? What if, instead of being chiefly driven by an altruistic desire to help, donors wanted the money they contributed to be used for some other purpose that was more in line with their own visions for what Israel’s priorities should be—but not necessarily what Israel actually needed? In other words, maybe planting new forests fit with the donors’ ideas for what the new state most needed, but according to those who lived there it did not.
If this were indeed the case, one could understand why the JNF could want to maintain control over the money badly enough that its officers would be willing to lie to donors. These issues—of communication and control, divergent agendas and sometime deception—have classically been central features of the American Jewish-Israeli relationship parodied in Sallah Shabati, but they apply far beyond this one case to homeland-diaspora relationships all over the world. Often, despite a veneer of partnership and collaboration in relationships between diaspora populations donating money to their homeland and those in the homeland receiving it, these types of dynamics linger right below the surface.
Here is the description of the book from Amazon: