opinion If you take the oath, stay for the anthem

An oath of allegiance should mean something for longer than the ceremony in which it is spoken.

On November 10, Israel’s newly elected lawmakers were sworn into the 26th Knesset. By the time the ceremony concluded with Hatikvah, most members of the Arab-led parties were absent, with reports describing lawmakers leaving during the anthem. Mansour Abbas and the rest of Ra’am’s party remained standing, and anyone criticizing what happened should acknowledge it.

Still, as an Arab Israeli, I find the decision to leave disappointing. I want Arab citizens to have a stronger voice in this country. I want our representatives involved in the decisions that shape our lives. Precisely because I take that representation seriously, I expect more from the people entrusted with it.

Remaining respectfully in the chamber during the national anthem is a reasonable place to start.

I understand the discomfort surrounding Hatikvah. Its words express Jewish longing and the hope of a people returning to their homeland. An Arab citizen may hear those words without finding his own family’s story in them. Someone who identifies as Palestinian may experience a much deeper tension.

We should be able to acknowledge that honestly. Expecting every citizen to feel the same emotion when the anthem plays would be unrealistic.

But nobody was asking members of the Knesset to change their ancestry, abandon their language or pretend to be Jewish. They were being asked to observe a state ceremony with the dignity expected of the office they had just accepted.

Abbas demonstrated that this was possible. According to N12, he stood without singing. He found a way to remain present without reciting words he may not personally identify with. Whatever one thinks of his politics, that was a responsible choice.

The others could have made it too.

The Knesset’s declaration of allegiance commits its members to the State of Israel and to faithfully fulfilling their parliamentary duties. It is a commitment that reaches beyond a party platform or the voters who put a particular member in office.

When Arab representatives treat those symbols as something they cannot remain in the room for, they risk conceding that ownership to the very politicians who would prefer to speak for Israel alone.

Why give them that?

There is also a deeper issue here. In my view, serving in Israel’s parliament carries a responsibility to accept the legitimacy of Israel as a Jewish state. You cannot convincingly undertake responsibility for the country while rejecting the Jewish people’s right to national self-determination here.

That still leaves enormous room for disagreement over what a Jewish state should look like, how religion and government should interact, and how equality should be protected. Those are serious debates, and Arab citizens have every right to help shape them.

A Jewish state must be able to provide a full and equal home for citizens who are not Jewish. Its Jewish identity cannot become an excuse to treat my citizenship as less valuable.

Israel’s Declaration of Independence itself places Jewish statehood alongside a promise of equal social and political rights and explicitly calls on Arab inhabitants to participate in building the country through full and equal citizenship. Those commitments should be read together.

As an Arab Christian, I see no reason to surrender either side of that promise. I can recognize the Jewish people’s national home and insist that it is my home too. My argument concerns the judgment of people who voluntarily seek public office. We are entitled to expect conduct from our representatives that we would never demand by law from every private individual.