Why Did Hitler Want a Jewish Delegation at the 1936 Nazi Olympics?

The 1936 Olympics in Berlin were an international event which Hitler used as an awesome spectacle. He wanted to show off Aryan Germany rising from the ashes, with its crowds giving the Nazi salute and shouting "sieg heil". Yet still, Jewish athletes participated in competitions, and a delegation was even invited from Mandatory Palestine, which would be allowed to march under the Jewish flag. How did the Nazis attempt to legitimize the 1936 Olympics? What did the Germans really want? And how was the Nazi invitation received back home in the Land of Israel?

Hitler arriving at the opening of the Berlin Olympics, 1936. German Federal Archive

Two flags wave in the gentle breeze blowing over the heads of the masses occupying the streets of Berlin. The crowds are happy and excited to be witnessing the upcoming events. Does the combination of symbols hovering above even bother them in the least? Are any of them terrified to see the famous five Olympic rings hanging alongside the Nazi swastika?

Berlin, 1936.

Almost five years earlier, the German capital had been chosen to host the Olympic games of 1936. The decision was a sort of peace offering by the European countries to their defeated, proud neighbor, humbled at their hands during the First World War. The year was 1931, and although the Nazi party had already gained substantial power in Germany, few saw what was coming.

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The streets of Berlin adorned for the Olympic games, 1936. Press photo Gmbh

By 1936, everything looked very different. Germany was now under Nazi control, and Nazi racial doctrine was no longer just a terrifying theoretical premise but governmental policy. Concentration camps were established, racial laws passed, signs reading “No Jews and Dogs” were hung in store windows. Jewish blood was made forfeit and Jews were excluded from the public sphere as a whole – this of course included all official sports teams, organizations and arenas.

According to the Nuremberg Laws passed a year earlier, a Jew could not be a German citizen, which naturally meant that they could not represent Germany in any sort of tournament.

The more rumors spread about Hitler’s Germany, the louder the calls became, especially in the United States, to move the Olympics to another country or at least to boycott this round of games.

For a brief moment, Hitler agreed: He at first thought hosting the Olympics was a bad idea, one which did not align with the fascist ideology he created. How could Germany allow impure races on its soil? How could Nazi Germany afford to allow competitions where Aryan athletes, with their blond hair and blue eyes, might find themselves defeated by “subhuman” Blacks, Jews, or homosexuals?

But Minister of Propaganda Josef Goebbels, the man who would embrace anything so long as it served the Nazi interest, convinced Hitler to change his mind. The Olympics could be a golden opportunity to prove to the western world that Germany was a state that could be trusted, an enlightened state which was being smeared with lies and falsehoods. A state which the free countries of the world could happily let control the enormous “living spaces” of Eastern Europe in place of the hated communists.

The Germans hit the ground running. They planned and erected the most glorious Olympic village yet seen in the history of the modern Olympic games, renovating and building installations for the various competitions at an unprecedented level, with the crown jewel being the main Olympic Stadium which contained 110,000 seats.

Alongside these efforts, they worked hard to convince the world, and especially the United States, not to boycott the coming event. The American delegation was the largest and most important in the world; if it boycotted the Olympics or worse – decided on an alternate tournament – all the German efforts would be in vain.

The Nazi propaganda machine, which was already well-oiled and becoming ever more sophisticated, began working on a plan which included three main elements: “cleaning” the city of Berlin from inconvenient signs of repression, choosing a German representative with Jewish blood to take part in the games, and most blatantly of all – inviting an Olympic delegation from the Land of Israel to take part in the competition alongside the other countries of the world.

The man invited to see this “clean” and “renewed” Berlin for himself was the President of the American Olympic Committee, Avery Brundage. Brundage was not a particularly hard nut to crack for the Nazis, as he was one of the greatest opponents of the American boycott effort, and did not hesitate to state that Jewish complaints were intentionally exaggerated and that the boycott effort was an attempt to undermine the global Olympic spirit.

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An ad for the Berlin Olympics. Courtesy of the University of Illinois

Although their audience was a captive one, the Nazis still left nothing to chance. There would be little opportunity for journalists to stumble upon stories that might damage the Nazi cause. All signs prohibiting Jews from public places were removed. The Nazi daily Der Stürmer was suddenly unavailable at newsstands. The Hitler Youth were ordered not to sing their racist songs for the duration of the games. Homosexual bars and clubs which had been shut down were allowed to reopen, and the police were instructed not to harm Jews, gypsies, or homosexuals in public places.

None of this was the result of any real soul-searching or permanent change of policy, of course. Outside of Berlin, where the world wasn’t watching, things continued very much as usual. Dachau and other concentration camps continued to brutally enslave Jews, gypsies and others who “polluted” the pure Aryan realm, subjecting them to torture and murder. But the city of Berlin, in a chilling prelude to a similar façade that would be created in the ghetto of Theresienstadt – took on a mantle of tolerance and equality for a few very brief moments.

Brundage returned to America and declared that the Jews were in an entirely tolerable state in Germany and all the calls for boycotts were needless.

This was the signal for the next stages of Goebbels’ plan.

Helene Mayer was Hitler’s Jewish fig leaf. At first, Hitler threatened to cancel the Olympics if any Jew represented Germany, but then the German Olympic Committee presented the talented fencer, who was half-Jewish and a bona fide star athlete. At the 1928 Olympics, she had won the gold medal, and though she did not win any medals at the 1932 Olympics, she was still greatly admired.

The most important detail in her favor? She wasn’t “really” Jewish; only her father was. Her mother was Aryan and she herself lived a life free of any sign of Jewishness, including public declarations disavowing any Jewish identity. The cherry on top was her appearance: She looked like the perfect Aryan – blonde, tall, and green eyed. She was the epitome of what an ideal German woman should look like under the Nazi regime.

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Helene Mayer gives the Nazi salute on the podium at the Berlin Olympics

Hitler approved her as the representative, and even allowed the existence of a “training camp” for Jewish athletes – none of whom were actually allowed to represent the country.

After the public areas of Berlin were sufficiently cleansed and the German delegation had its impressive fig leaf athlete, the time came for the third phase of the plan.

To round out the picture, Goebbels needed to bring a truly Jewish delegation to the Olympics to show off to the world.

The Palestine National Olympic Committee was formed in 1933, the year the Nazis rose to power. Its rules stated that it “represent[ed] the Jewish National Home”. A year later, it was recognized by the International Olympic Committee, and by 1935 it was accepted as a partner with full rights.

Many questions loomed over this achievement: How could a body not even representing a sovereign and independent state be allowed to join this prestigious club, and why now? Did the Nazi regime, so desperate to show off its hosting of a majority Jewish delegation, competing under the Jewish flag, have anything to do with it?

Either way, an official request that the Palestine National Olympic Committee participate in the Berlin Olympics was placed on the desk of Frederick Kisch, chairman of the committee.

The request was sent through diplomatic channels – Dr. Theodor Lewald, President of the Organizing Committee in Berlin, sent the request to Dr. Heinrich Wolf, Nazi Germany’s General Consul in Jerusalem. It may sound very strange today, but until 1939, a Nazi consulate operated in Jerusalem, located downtown in the Hotel Fast. Wolf himself was no enthusiastic Nazi, to say the least, and he refused at first to raise the Nazi flag at the consulate. He was however ultimately forced to fall in line.

When Wolf received the invitation, he was very blunt with Lewald: There was no chance Jews would be allowed to participate in the Berlin Olympics, “and I don’t think there’s any need to explain the motives to you,” he said in his letter.

In the meantime, Hebrew language papers in the Land of Israel and around the world began to report on these negotiations, and a public outcry emerged. Serious complaints were made against Kisch for not summarily rejecting the request.

Only after the publication of the Nuremberg Laws the following year did Kisch officially refuse in the name of the Olympic Committee, with an unconvincing explanation put forward – that the athletes were not yet ready to compete in the Olympics.

Kisch felt a complete and blunt rejection of the proposal would jeopardize the safety of German Jews, but Jews both at home and abroad were not impressed.

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Col. Kisch Playing Politics” – The contemporary Hebrew press was highly critical of Olympic Committee chairman Kisch and his communications with the Nazi regime concerning the Berlin Olympics. Article in Hazit Ha’am, 1934. From the Historical Jewish Press Collection, the National Library of Israel

On August 1, 1936, the Berlin Olympic games officially began. Tens of thousands of onlookers screamed “sieg heil!” in unison when Hitler made his entrance Olympic Stadium. Spyridon Louis, the Greek marathon runner who won a gold medal at the Athens Olympics, the first modern Olympic tournament, presented the Fuehrer with an olive branch. Members of the Austrian delegation and other European delegations gave the Nazi salute when they passed by him. The members of the American delegation settled for removing their hats as an honorific gesture which they would later claim was “minimal.”

The power of Nazi Germany was now fully on display, before the eyes of the entire world.

When Helene Mayer went onto the podium after winning the silver medal – next to two other Jewish fencers who won gold and bronze – she wore the official delegation uniform bearing the swastika symbol, and gave the Nazi salute.

The Americans, in a very controversial last-minute decision, removed two Jews from their delegation, Maty Glickman and Sam Stoller, and replaced them with two other runners. Jesse Owens, the indisputable star of the Olympics, would later remark, “Hitler didn’t snub me—it was [Roosevelt] who snubbed me. The president didn’t even send me a telegram.” 

But other Jews represented other countries and won a slew of medals, to the dismay of the Nazis.

After the conclusion of the Olympics, the Nazi machine went back into full gear. Berlin was once again carpeted with anti-Jewish signs. But the prohibition on Jews in public areas or insulting caricatures would soon become the least of German Jewry’s problems. This would shortly afterwards be true for European Jewry as a whole.

The next two Olympics did not take place, in 1940 and 1944, as the world was busy trying to stop that same Germany which had so graciously hosted their delegations in 1936. In the first Olympics following the war in 1948, Germany was not allowed to participate, and the Jews of the Land of Israel were busy with more existential problems.

More than 70 Jewish athletes representing 20 other countries did take part, though. Among these was French Jewish swimmer Alfred Nakache, who had been liberated from Auschwitz just three years earlier. His wife and daughter were both murdered there.

It was only in 1952, in Helsinki, that the blue and white flag was finally flown at the head of a delegation of athletes representing the independent State of Israel.

On Plants and Prejudice: Rachel Yanait and Aaron Aaronsohn

Ideological differences and raised eyebrows couldn’t get in the way of the personal and professional relationship between Aaron Aaronsohn and Rachel Yanait. While he was busy spying for the Nili underground network right in front of her, she focused on researching nature and became close with Aaron's sister and fellow spy Sarah. Her life was saved thanks to Avshalom Feinberg's coldness towards her, and she later became the wife of Israel’s second President.

Aaron Aaronsohn and Rachel Yanait Ben-Zvi. These photographs are part of the Archive Network Israel project and are made available thanks to the collaborative efforts of Yad Yitzhak Ben-Zvi, the Ministry of Jerusalem and Heritage, and the National Library of Israel.

In such a turbulent period as we are in the midst of now, it can be interesting to go back in time and observe a surprising personal and professional relationship that spanned an ideological divide during another tumultuous period in our history. This story took place about 110 years ago, when two people with serious ideological differences managed to connect with each other thanks to their shared love of nature.

He was a world-renowned agronomist who was involved in spying for the British against the Ottoman Empire, which was just about to lose its control over the Land of Israel.

She was a young agronomist, a member of HaShomer, a Jewish defense organization, and an activist in the Poale Zion party, who later became the wife of the second President of the State of Israel.

Driving along Israel’s coastal road today, you can see where this story unfolded. Near Atlit, just south of Haifa, you can spot the row of Washingtonia palm trees that led to the agricultural research station where this friendship was forged.

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Aaron Aaronsohn’s agricultural experimental farm in Atlit. This photograph is part of the Archive Network Israel project and is made available thanks to the collaborative efforts of Yad Yitzhak Ben-Zvi, the Ministry of Jerusalem and Heritage, and the National Library of Israel.

This is the story of Aaron Aaronsohn and Rachel Yanait. Their worldviews were radically different, but their shared love of nature and Israel connected them.

This was the period of the First World War. Aaron Aaronsohn, who lived in the little town of Zikhron Ya’akov, was already known around the globe for his discovery in 1906 of wild emmer, believed to be “the mother of wheat”. It was this discovery that led him to establish an agricultural experimentation station in Atlit, with funding from American donors. The station employed Jewish and Arab workers alike, triggering a charged ideological controversy within Zionist circles around what was known then as Kibbush HaAvoda – “the conquest of labor”: Should Arab laborers be hired to work on Zionist farms and factories? Or should the Zionist enterprise rely on Jewish labor only?

And if that wasn’t enough, at that same time, Aaron’s brother Alexander was establishing an organization by the name of HaGidonim, which was in competition with HaShomer. Aaron’s right-hand man in managing the station, the young Avshalom Feinberg, also belonged to HaGidonim.

And then there was Rachel Yanait, who was born in the Russian Empire as Golda Lishansky and adopted a Hebrew name. She was a member of HaShomer and the Poale Zion political party, which were dedicated advocates of Jewish labor. Later in life, she would play a critical role in helping Jews, especially women, immigrate to the Land of Israel from the Arab world.

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Rachel Yanait in 1908, this item is part of the Archive Network Israel project and is made accessible thanks to the collaborative efforts of the Yad Yitzchak Ben-Zvi Archive, the Ministry of Jerusalem and Heritage and the National Library of Israel.

There is no doubt that Yanait and Aaronsohn belonged to opposing camps, separated by a tense and passionate political divide. Was it possible to bridge this gap?

“I’d even go to a remote monastery”

Yanait traveled to Nancy, France to study agronomy. When she returned, she wanted to continue her professional specialization. She quickly discovered that the best place for her to develop her expertise was Aaronsohn’s agricultural experimentation station in Atlit.

But could anyone conceive of Yanait going to work with Aaronsohn, the well-known agronomist from the opposite political camp?

Yanait traveled to Jerusalem to meet with Aaronsohn. She got there just as he was writing a letter to Djemal Pasha, the Ottoman Governor of the region, concerning locusts that were rampant in the land in those days. He handed her the letter. She read it and, to her astonishment, the document revealed that Aaronsohn was a proud nationalist Jew and an experienced farmer. From that moment on, she saw him in a new light, different from everything she had heard about him in her circles, where he was considered “a hater of the working man” and a boycotter of Jewish laborers. As for what Aaronsohn thought about Yanait, we’ll get to that soon.

Because of his reputation, the idea that Yanait would work for Aaronsohn was met with strong opposition from the majority of the Poale Zion movement. “Is it possible that a member of the merkaz [the party’s central committee] would go and work for…the hater of the laborer?” wrote one of the party members. On the other hand, people from HaShomer were quite open to the idea. But Yanait was determined and could not be swayed by what the party thought. She responded: “If the experimentation station were in a remote monastery, I would go there as well to study the nature of the soil and of the crops we cultivate.”  The objections of her fellow party members had no effect. Yanait remained steadfast, convinced that the path she was headed on was the right one.

Yanait arrived in Zikhron Ya’akov and asked Aaronsohn if she could work as an unpaid intern in the laboratory and library, and for one day a week in the nursery and vegetable garden in the experimentation station in Atlit.

At first, Aaronsohn responded coldly, but when he remembered their previous conversation in Jerusalem, he softened and evenexpressed surprise: “Not many people come to me, not to the laboratory or the library. As far as I’m concerned, you can come to Atlit as well.”

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Rachel Yanait in 1915, this item is part of the Archive Network Israel project and is made accessible thanks to the collaborative efforts of the Yad Yitzchak Ben-Zvi Archive, the Ministry of Jerusalem and Heritage and the National Library of Israel.

Yanait visited Aaronsohn’s laboratory and library in Zikhron Ya’akov and was impressed by what she saw. She excitedly described the treasures she discovered there:

“…I look and read from the covers, and I catch my breath at the sight of this rare treasure – books about nature and agriculture in the Land of Israel, in foreign languages and in Hebrew. A devoted and experienced hand selected and collected every book dedicated to knowledge of the natural environment of our land – the living and the inanimate, archeological and historical studies, from everything written about our land, whether written impressions from the field or research papers. Among the books are ancient folios, in illustrated leather-bound volumes that bring to mind my grandfather’s Gemara books and inspire awe and respect. From the adjacent wing comes the gentle scent of the rich herbarium. Here is the rare collection that the agronomist Aaronsohn collected from the wild herbs of the land as well as the collection of wild plants from lands of similar climate to our own…”

That very night, Yanait wrote to her friends in HaShomer: “In Zikhron, I’ve found study materials to my heart’s content. I will stay here as long as I can, and I will not be removed except for urgent matters of HaShomer. All I want is to learn and teach nature and agriculture, and this is the place to do it.”

From a Professional Relationship to True Friendship

At first, the relationship was quite formal, but their shared love of nature, landscapes, and the flora of the Land of Israel brought them closer.

Aaronsohn’s assistants accompanied Yanait on field excursions and taught her to work with plants. Not long after, Aaronsohn opened his library and home to her and even introduced her to his family.

Yanait informed her friends that she was going to stay there as long as possible, not only to learn but also because tending to the plants gave her peace of mind. The longer they worked together, the closer they got despite their arguments. Aaronsohn let her read an article he wrote about forestation in Israel, and Yanait shared with him her dream of seeing forestation of the land’s mountainous regions.

She also showed him a paper she wrote during her agricultural studies, and Aaronsohn told her, “…If you seek knowledge, put down the books, walk the length and breadth of the land, observe nature…”

One of their biggest debates was over the subject of Jewish labor. Yanait wrote the following about this: “Apparently, he never considered the question of what the future of our land will be if labor remains in foreign hands. I was sorry for this because Aaronsohn was an outstanding man of nature.”

For his part, Aaronsohn revealed how disappointed and insulted he was that hardly anyone from the local Jewish community acknowledged his achievements. “’Out there in the world, I am recognized,’ and he gritted his teeth, ‘and only here, in my land -,’ and here, he stopped speaking and his hands trembled in anger.”

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Aaron Aaronsohn, this item is part of the Archive Network Israel project and is made accessible thanks to the collaborative efforts of the Yad Yitzchak Ben-Zvi Archive, the Ministry of Jerusalem and Heritage and the National Library of Israel.

Their arguments continued, but they also continued to grow closer. The debates didn’t take away from their appreciation for one another. To the contrary, time and again Yanait was made aware of his positive opinion of her. Aaronsohn held no grudges over political differences, and Yanait enjoyed her time in Atlit. “Ever since I began my agricultural studies, I never had an agricultural experience like I had in Atlit.”

Many people from her own political camp in Zikhron didn’t approve of Yanait working at the experimentation station. She regretted that, and sadly stated: “What a great blessing it could have been for all of us, had we known how to forge direct ties with him, and what harm this feud between his people and ours has caused us all.”

Rachel Yanait agonized over the idea of sitting in a library and enjoying her time in the experimentation station while her friends in HaShomer faced various trials and tribulations. And yet, she kept returning to the station and immersing herself in the wonderful world of nature.

Rachel became friends with Aaron’s sister Sarah Aaronsohn, who had just returned home in 1915 after her failed marriage to a Jewish merchant who lived in Turkey. Aaron thought the two young women might realize they had a lot in common, and so he introduced them.

And that was further proof for Yanait that Aaronsohn thought well of her.

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Sarah Aaronsohn, 1910-1912, this item is part of the Archive Network Israel project and is made accessible thanks to the collaborative efforts of the Yad Yitzchak Ben-Zvi Archive, the Ministry of Jerusalem and Heritage and the National Library of Israe

Indeed, the two forged a great friendship, so great in fact that Rachel was invited on the siblings’ tours of the Carmel region. Rachel offered an amusing description of their search for particular plant specimens during one of these trips: “A few days passed, and Sarah came to the laboratory. She found me bent over the microscope and asked if I wanted to come with her on a tour of the mountain range on horseback…” Rachel rented a horse and joined. “…Suddenly, Aaronsohn commented that among the rocks he noticed a rare and special plant. He suggested I try – if I was indeed so passionate about plants – to find it without his help…” Rachel wandered about, pointing at various specimens, and Aaronsohn merely shook his head, angry that she couldn’t find what he had easily spotted. She was offended but continued searching until her eyes suddenly grew wide: “The queen of the wild plants was there right before my eyes – the rare wild orchid appeared in all its glory! I forgot the affront and exhaustion and took it in both hands as if I was holding a great deal of treasure, and Aaronsohn laughed.”

Sarah came back again to speak with her, sharing details about her terrible time in Constantinople with her husband, about her childhood and about her dear friend Avshalom Feinberg. It was as if Sarah had been seeking someone she could pour her heart out to. Rachel learned that Avshalom was the star of every field trip and party, and that there wasn’t a spot on the mountain range he was unfamiliar with. “And his eyes,” Sarah added, “shine brighter than every precious stone – that’s Avshalom!”

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Sarah Aaronsohn and Avshalom Feinberg in Damascus in 1916, this item is part of the Archive Network Israel project and is made accessible thanks to the collaborative efforts of the Yad Yitzchak Ben-Zvi Archive, the Ministry of Jerusalem and Heritage and the National Library of Israel.

Rachel thought to herself that Sarah was the same way. “Full of passion to do something even if there was nothing in return, no glory, and no boasting! And above all – Sarah is a country girl, a daughter of Zikhron Ya’akov, this is her home and her birthplace, she will never be taken away from this place ever again.”

A Final Conversation With Sarah and a Tragic Farewell

As is well documented, Avshalom, Aaron, and Sarah were the leaders of the Nili underground organization that spied on behalf of the British during World War I. The tragic developments that were to come heavily impacted the close relationships among this circle.

The rift began on the day that Avshalom Feinberg was released from prison, after the Ottomans caught and imprisoned him for a short period. He soon returned to the station in Atlit.

Rachel wouldn’t see Sarah again, except for one last time when Sarah came to visit her. Rachel would not forget their final conversation for the rest of her life. Sarah was surprised to see a book by Rabbi Nachman of Breslov on Rachel’s desk, which she had borrowed from Aaron’s library and hadn’t yet managed to read. Rachel told Sarah a legend about Rabbi Nachman of Breslov, and then Sarah asked her, “What do Hasidic legends have to do with nature research?” Rachel responded that “Rabbi Nachman, like the other great Hasidim, must have loved nature and understood the secrets of creation, and as far as I’m concerned, there is a connection between Hasidism and the nature of our land.” Afterwards, they spoke about suggesting to the newly formed Hebrew Language Committee that the title geveret (“missus”), which neither of them liked, be replaced with a more suitable title like adona for a married woman and adonit for an unmarried girl (feminine versions of the masculine Hebrew term for “master”). That was the last time they spoke.

Rachel worked at the experimentation station while the Aaronsohns were relaying reports to the British, as part of their work with Nili. She often came upon espionage material, but unlike the majority of the local Jewish community at the time, she apparently didn’t object to the idea of spying on the Ottomans, and in any case she truly loved working at the station and the people she met there.

Despite how much she enjoyed it, her work there came to a bitter end as soon as Aaron left for Europe, on his way to meet with the British. Aaron was replaced by his right-hand man and Sarah’s close friend Avshalom Feinberg. Despite his close friendship with Sarah, he managed the station with a firm hand and kicked Rachel out.

Rachel wrote about how he treated her: “The man who Sarah often described as chivalrous and benevolent seemed hostile and narrow-minded. It was clear that all he wanted was for me to disappear.”

Rachel left in distress and never set foot in Atlit again. It was only once the spy ring was discovered that Rachel understood the reasons for Feinberg’s behavior, but at the time, she felt badly hurt.

In January 1917, Avshalom was killed in the desert on his way to make contact with British forces and his body was only found decades later, following the Six-Day War. In October 1917, the Ottomans uncovered Nili. They arrested Sarah and subjected her to cruel torture. She eventually took her own life so as not to betray her friends.

After the spy ring was revealed and the station in Atlit was looted, Rachel’s sister thanked Avshalom, noting that his harsh treatment of Rachel had probably saved her life. In 1918, towards the end of the war, Rachel married Yitzhak Ben-Zvi, who was later elected the second President of the State of Israel.

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Rachel Yanait Ben-Zvi later in life, photo: Nadav Mann, Bitmuna. From the Edgar Hirschbein collection. Collection source: Tamar Levy. The Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

After the war, Rachel met Aaron at a meeting of the Zionist Commission, attended by Chaim Weizmann. Aaron turned to both Rachel and Weizmann at the same time and laughed, “I have never met as innocent a farmer as you. You were strange to the people of Atlit. Nothing mattered to you other than the plants and the field experiments. You didn’t understand a thing, you didn’t pay attention to anything other than the plants and fossils.”

He told Weizmann how he used to write Nili codes on the doorframe right in front of her and she’d buy his excuse that these markings were for meteorological purposes. Rachel admitted that nothing had interested her other than the plants in the station.

It’s interesting to imagine how their personal and professional friendship might have developed had Aaron Aaronsohn not died in 1919 in a mysterious plane crash on his way to the Paris Peace Conference.

The quotes in this article and a significant portion of the information were taken from Rachel Yanait Ben-Zvi’s book Coming Home (published in Hebrew originally as Anu Olim – “We Ascend”), Massadah, 1963.

Feldenkrais: The Man Who Stood Ben-Gurion on His Head

He was an engineer and physicist who struggled with chronic physical pain, when he developed a unique theory of movement which attracted masses of practitioners and trainers around the world. One of these was Israel’s first Prime Minister, David Ben-Gurion, who succeeded in doing a headstand for the first time in his life, at the age of 70. This is the story of Moshe Feldenkrais.

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Dr. Moshe Feldenkrais (photo courtesy of the Association of Licensed Feldenkrais Method Trainers in Israel) and David Ben-Gurion standing on his head at Herzliya Beach, 1957 (Photo: Paul Goldman courtesy of the Photohouse).

There was one man who was able to tell David Ben-Gurion what to do. He even told him to stand on his head, and Ben-Gurion obeyed. His name was Moshe Feldenkrais, a gifted teacher of movement who accumulated many students and patients, one of which was Israel’s first Prime Minister. When asked how often Ben-Gurion practiced with him, he responded: “Every day.” When asked “what hours,” he responded: “It depends. When I have free time.”

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Article about Moshe Feldenkrais in Haaretz, November 1, 1957. From the Historical Jewish Press Collection, the National Library of Israel

The first connection formed between Moshe Feldenkrais and David Ben-Gurion was a little odd:

In the early 1950s, Ben-Gurion suffered from lumbago, meaning he had severe lower back pain problems. After reports were published in the press about the Prime Minister’s physical discomfort, Ben-Gurion received a letter from a citizen who claimed he could cure him. The Prime Minister’s doctors, who saw the letter from a man named Moshe Feldenkrais lacking any professional medical training, dismissed him as a con artist. It was only on the eve of the Sinai Campaign in 1956, when Ben-Gurion once again suffered from back spasms, that he was visited by Professor Aharon Katzir, one of Israel’s top scientists, who advised he meet with his colleague – a physicist and judo expert. The man was not a doctor but he did have some original ideas in the field of orthopedics. This time, Ben-Gurion did not refuse the strange proposal.

Feldenkrais arrived at Ben-Gurion’s home where the Prime Minister was overseeing the Sinai Campaign from his bed, and gave him a thorough physical examination. Once it was completed, he announced: “You will need seventy lessons.” He added that “If you have not already committed yourself to attending the last class, you’d better not start with the first.” Ben-Gurion agreed to the strict conditions laid down by Feldenkrais, and the daily treatment of the Prime Minister began.

Where did Moshe Feldenkrais get the gall and the confidence to personally attend to the health of one of the most important people in the country?

Moshe Feldenkrais was born in 1904. Already at the age of 13, as a bar mitzvah gift, he made a special request of his parents – to allow him make Aliyah from Ukraine to the Land of Israel. With a simple satchel on his back, he set out on his way. Once there, he first worked in construction, and at this stage in his life there was little to hint of what was to come. With great effort, Feldenkrais completed his high school matriculation exams, after which he travelled to the Sorbonne in Paris to study engineering and physics. There, he completed a doctorate in physics cum laude, and afterwards worked as an engineer and physicist in military industry.

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Signed copy of the French version of Feldenkrais’ 1935 book on jiu-jitsu, dedicated to philosopher Samuel Hugo Bergman, who served as Director of the National Library of Israel. From the Samuel Hugo Bergman Archive, the National Library of Israel

In his youth, he took an interest in self-defense and read a book by Kanō Jigorō about the teaching of jiu-jitsu (Feldenkrais would later write the first book on the subject in Hebrew in 1930). As a youth growing up in Tel Aviv, he loved playing ball games with his friends, but in the last year of his studies in high school, he suffered a knee injury, causing him severe pains which kept him bedridden and limited his movement. Doctors at the time had no solution for him, and the only thing they could offer was a risky operation whose odds of recovery were only partial. Feldenkrais refused, and was determined to find another solution.

During his studies in France, he met Kanō, the author of the book he had read, who was impressed with this diligent and curious individual. Though he was an expert in jiu-jitsu as well, Kanō is famous today for having founded the martial art of judo, and Feldenkrais took advantage of his time in Paris to learn from him when he could. Feldenkrais would also later write the first Hebrew-language book on judo. In a letter from 1935 kept at the National Library of Israel, Feldenkrais tells of how Kanō was very impressed with his first book: “This is the best book written on this subject in a language which is not Japanese.” Kanō agreed to write an introduction to Feldenkrais’ book and even saw to it that the book be translated into Japanese.

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Cover of Judo – The Art of Defense and Attack [Hebrew], by Moshe Feldenkrais, the National Library of Israel collections
קטע מהמכתב מארכיון הוגו ברמן
Letter from Feldenkrais to Hugo Bergman about the jiu-jitsu book he wrote: “Here we see the first Hebrew book on physical culture which merited to be the first and only to be translated into the Japanese language in which the method was created”. From the Samuel Hugo Bergman Archive, the National Library of Israel

But that was just the beginning. Feldenkrais would later use all the knowledge he accumulated from his Japanese mentor, as well as his studies in engineering and physics, to invent a new theory of movement.

“I decided to see what action I took which led to my knee being strained,” he said an interview in 1957. When he began observing his body as a whole unit, he understood that he was not using it properly and that bad habits which he had accrued were causing him harm. Alongside his work as a physicist in military industry, Feldenkrais continued to develop his own unique theory in the field of movement, aimed at preventing pain and increasing acquaintance with the body. He devoted his scientific skills to try and understand his own physical condition: Why are there days where the knee hurts more than others? Does psychological stress affect it? He studied and investigated the matter but did not arrive at any new insights.

פלדנקרייז בצעירותו מתוך הספר ג'ו ג'יטסו והגנה עצמית 1931
A young Moshe Feldenkrais. Picture from his first book Jiu-Jitsu and Self Defense (Hebrew), which came out in 1930, when he was just 26

One day, while hopping on his good leg, he slipped and injured it. Despairing and in pain, he lay in bed and fell into a deep sleep. When he awoke, he discovered that his “bad leg” had suddenly improved tremendously, and he was able to easily stand on it. He tried to understand what had happened, leading him to a revolutionary conclusion: in response to his second injury, his brain created new neural circuits, reorganizing his body’s response as a whole.

In the wake of these insights, Feldenkrais developed the ability to carefully observe physical phenomena and became highly sensitive to even the subtlest changes in his body. He created a series of sensory-kinetic experiments which usually took place when lying down on a mattress and which illuminated how the brain, body, and psyche all work together as a single unit. Following Feldenkrais’ discoveries, he adhered to self-healing, slowly improving his functioning to the point that he no longer needed surgery. He even taught himself to walk in a new and graceful manner, which served as the basis for the exercise method he developed, which is named after him – the Feldenkrais Method. His principles were found to be effective not only in solving common physical problems but also in helping those who suffered from developmental and neurological problems.

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Personal Power – A Guide to Spontaneity [Hebrew] by Moshe Feldenkrais

The use of non-invasive methods to improve the nervous system and individual awareness on how to properly use the body were among the principles of the new method, which quickly became popular in Israel.

Back to Feldenkrais’ most important patient. At Ben-Gurion’s request, his therapy sessions with Feldenkrais were kept secret, but at one of their meetings, the Prime Minister let slip that he had never been able to stand on his head, even as a child. Feldenkrais, who saw an indelible link between body and soul, understood that despite their daily sessions, Ben-Gurion still had the “body image of a nebech” (Yiddish for “weak/helpless/unfortunate person”).

Feldenkrais had his own definition of what health meant: “My first definition of a healthy person is someone who can realize their undeclared dreams.” If these dreams are abandoned or repressed, he explained, they will continue to immiserate their dreamers.

He could not ignore Ben-Gurion’s passing comment and went about formulating a plan, at the end of which the unthinkable would happen (as far as Ben-Gurion was concerned), and “the Old Man”, as he was affectionately known, would indeed stand on his head. For the next month, the two worked on strengthening the body of the 70-year-old Ben-Gurion, and learning the movements to prepare for the headstand became the focus of their work. The results became apparent during Ben-Gurion’s trip to Herzliya Beach, made immortal by Paul Goodman’s camera in 1957. That famous frame of the Prime Minister in a bathing suit, nonchalantly and proudly standing on his head, would become iconic.

בן גוריון בחוף הרצליה 1957, הצלמניה
Ben-Gurion, Prime Minister of Israel, in his 70s, with his bodyguard David Bashari. Herzliya Beach, 1957. Photo: Paul Goldman, courtesy of the Photohouse

It wasn’t just Ben-Gurion who came to Feldenkrais for help. So did the famous violinist Yehudi Menuhin, Nachum Goldman (president of the Zionist Congress), Meyer Weisgal (president of the Weizmann Institute), Levi Eshkol (Israel’s Finance Minister and later Prime Minister), Pinchas Sapir (Minister of Commerce and Industry), Moshe Dayan (Chief of Staff and later Defense Minister), and many more.

He also wrote eight books which were translated into different languages. His students teach his method around the world to this day.

Feldenkrais passed away 40 years ago. This fascinating man who devoted his whole life to improving the quality of life of others, left behind a glorious legacy of students who continue to make the world a better place.

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In the preparation of this article, we made use of a Hebrew report from Maariv from September 20, 1957 (“B.G.’s Teacher”) and a Hebrew report from Haaretz from November 1, 1957 (“Moshe Feldenkrais and the Culture of the Body”), both of which can be found in the National Library’s Historical Jewish Press Collection. We also made use of Moshe Cohen-Gil’s book The Israelis Who Sought to Cure the World – Feldenkrais/Paula/Nezah/Hooppe [Hebrew].

The Haredi Soldiers Who Served in Israel’s War of Independence

For seven months, Haredi yeshiva students who served in "Gdud Tuvia" (Tuvia’s Battalion) proved that Torah study and IDF service could go hand in hand. Rare documents describe the profound reflections of those who viewed their military service as a sacred mission.

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A group of Haredi recruits during training. Photo: Fred Csasznik, IDF and Defense Establishment Archives

370 out of 900 reported for duty.

These were the enlistment numbers for Haredi Yeshiva students shortly after the establishment of the State of Israel. 270 received medical exemptions. 260 received exemptions on spiritual grounds. The rest, under directives given by leading rabbis, enlisted in the struggle to defend the fledgling state in its War of Independence. This enlistment was the result of an agreement between the yeshivas and the IDF enlistment offices: outstanding students would be exempted, and the conditions of enlistment would allow recruits from the yeshivas to continue studying Torah during their military service.

It was Tuvia Bier, a former Haganah member, who gathered the young Haredi recruits and gave them a home – a new battalion for yeshiva students. Bier was so dedicated to these soldiers that the battalion was later named Gdud Tuvia (Tuvia’s Battalion) after him. For seven months, the yeshiva students worked on setting up and strengthening fortifications in bombarded Jerusalem, simply because there was no time to provide proper training in anything else. They weren’t sent to the front lines because they hadn’t learned to operate firearms and also because of concerns that the world of Torah study would be destroyed if they were to perish in battle.

They worked one-to-two days a week on fortifications and spent the rest of their time studying Torah. They did most of their work at night, both for security reasons and to avoid disrupting their study routines at yeshiva.

The battalion was active for seven months before being disbanded. Many praised it, but many others mocked the focus on fortification work, which they perceived as a means to avoid combat service. People commended the Haredi soldiers’ willingness to sacrifice their lives for the defense of their homeland. Still, some wondered whether the work carried out by the battalion truly justified the disruptions in Torah study.

But what was going through the soldiers’ heads? How did they view their service? Did they believe in the righteousness of the path they had taken?

The Fortress

Like many other military units, the soldiers of Gdud Tuvia produced their own magazine. They called it Hamivtzar (“The Fortress”), since fortifications accounted for the majority of their work. In total, they managed to produce two issues, which were each copied and distributed among the battalion’s soldiers, providing them a platform where they could read, study, and even express themselves. The two issues of Hamivtzar are preserved in the IDF and Defense Establishment Archives, and they offer us insight into what the soldiers were thinking and feeling at the time.

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The cover of Issue No. 2 of Hamivtzar (“The Fortress”), 1948. Courtesy of the IDF and Defense Establishment Archives.

The Dilemma

The soldiers from the yeshivas struggled with the question of their enlistment. It is as true today as it was back then. Was it right for them to serve in the army? Is it appropriate for yeshiva students to set aside the study of Torah for the sake of fortifying Jerusalem?

This question was asked in print in Hamivtzar, by a writer who identified himself as “M.S.”:

“Despite all the doubts, despite all the questions burning through every yeshiva student’s mind: Is this even my duty at all? Am I obligated to serve in any role in the war effort beyond my usual role as a yeshiva student, which is no less crucial than any other military role? Moreover, am I allowed to, even momentarily, leave the beit midrash, the spiritual fortress of the Torah of Israel that protects us in every generation?”

One page after this, the answer appears:

“This is the duty of every Jew in general, and our duty as yeshiva students in particular. We are the next link of the golden chain of the Torah of Israel, in action and deed. We are pulling the chariot of the people up a treacherous slope towards the pinnacle of the hoped-for redemption. We are the ones! This is our contemporary duty!”

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A group of Haredi recruits during training. Photo: IDF and Defense Establishment Archives

How irreconcilable was this tension?

Throughout all the texts in Hamivtzar, the yeshiva students emphasize that despite the mission they have now undertaken, they will never for a moment forget their primary task – to study the Torah. This is reiterated in the editorial section of the first issue ofHamivtzar.

“Our role so far has been fortification works, and indeed it is not an easy task. We require significant activity and heightened dedication, and at times, even significant risk, to fulfill this duty… However, precisely because of the importance and value of this task, we must not forget the essence, that the task imposed upon us should never lead us to neglect our primary role, which is the study and observance of the commandments of the Torah.”

The answer to the dilemma is not definitive. Some of the writers viewed their military service as a mission, even a necessary step in the redemption of Israel. Others were content with doing what needed to be done under the circumstances. Some of them fulfilled their missions mainly because “the rabbis instructed it.”

We’ll conclude this chapter with some moving words written by a certain “Mordechai”, under the title Sh’ma Yisrael [“Hear Ye, O Israel”], who viewed IDF service not only as a temporary necessity but as a true mission.

“Students of Torah, dwellers of the beit midrash, oarsmen in the sea of Talmud, a tribe of priests whose generous spirit led them to take part in our liberation struggle, these are the anointed priests who must bring the word of God into the Israeli military camp. You are soldiers of Hashem, you must raise your voice on high, to restore the pure faith in the Eternal One of Israel who will not disappoint. For your eyes have seen what He has done for us when we stood few against many – many soldiers and many weapons – and we saw His greatness and wonders, it is upon you to illuminate with the light of your Torah the hearts of our soldiers who dedicate their lives for the sanctity of the nation and homeland.”

What Next?

On the surface, the pilot program of Gdud Tuvia seems to have been a failure. Ever since, those opposed to the enlistment of Haredi Jews in the IDF have had the upper hand. Even today, decades later, the debate over the enlistment of yeshiva students remains heated and volatile. Just as it was back then.

But did the project truly fail? To a large extent, the ideas of Gdud Tuvia have served as the foundation for the Hesder Yeshiva-military service programs and IDF units like Netzah Yehuda that are operational today. Perhaps the battalion’s principles can still be implemented in one form or another in future programs as well. “Dad didn’t grasp the enormity of the historical moment in real time; he simply did what he did because he thought it was the right thing to do,” recounts Kobi Bier, son of Tuvia, the commander of the yeshiva student battalion. “I think with a bit of goodwill, we can resolve the intense debate over the enlistment of Haredi Jews by using this model. We can set a certain percentage of outstanding Torah students, grant them exemptions, and we can find suitable solutions for the rest. I understand the concerns, but just as we saw with Gdud Tuvia, solutions can always be found. There’s no need to fear this.”

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Tuvia Bier, commander of the yeshiva student battalion

Further Reading (Hebrew):

ההסדרניקים של תש”ח by Aharon Kornfeld