Herb Keinon on 'To be ourselves, without apologizing'

In a world where saying “I’m from Israel” can feel like a risk, a new El Al ad captures a simple, powerful longing: to be ourselves, without apologizing.

This was originally posted on JPost and I am republishing here with permission from Herb Keinon. Links in this post are added for those who want more information on specific items Herb mentions.

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The most effective advertisements are those that succinctly tap into recognizable truths, desires, or frustrations.

For instance, in 1954, M&M’s came up with a slogan still memorable 70 years later: “Melts in your mouth, not in your hands.” It captured a basic human desire – for chocolate that’s tasty, not messy.

Or take Nike’s iconic phrase, “Just do it.” That tagline taps into the self-doubt many people feel before taking action. But that hesitation, the ad suggests, will melt away when you lace up your Nikes. Then, you’ll transcend self-made limits and, well, just do it.

More recently, El Al captured something many Israelis are feeling in a new ad featuring popular singer Hanan Ben-Ari. He performs a modern take on the hit song “Ach Ya Rab” from the classic 1964 film Sallah Shabati.

In the ad, Ben-Ari – usually seen wearing a kippah – dons a knit dockworker’s cap as he travels the world with a friend. When asked in taxis where he’s from, he or his friend answers: “Greece,” “France,” “Italy,” “Sweden” – anywhere but Israel.

At a Starbucks-style café, he tells the barista his name is Johan since “Hanan” would be a giveaway. Besides, the “Han” in Johan is close enough to “Hanan.” Only when he boards an El Al flight back home does he finally relax, singing: “Now, finally, it is possible, thank God, to simply be ourselves, without apologizing.”

THE AD is both sad and true. It reflects a reality many of us recognize: a growing reluctance to say we’re from Israel in passing conversations abroad. After recently spending a couple of weeks in the US, I can attest this feeling is real.

Truth be told, I’ve never been one of those who, on principle, insists on wearing my kippah in public abroad in all circumstances. And no, before the angry talkbackers chime in, it’s not because I’m ashamed of who I am. I just don’t always feel comfortable standing out or being immediately identified as The Jew.

What if I get into an argument with a store clerk? What if I inadvertently hold up the checkout line? Then, all those impatient people behind me might forever think poorly of the Jewish people. So, over the years, I’ve generally traveled with a cap.

But, as everyone knows, that cap fools no one – especially since I’m usually with The Wife, and she’s wearing a head covering of her own.

On a trip to Switzerland last year, The Wife and I lined up to buy tickets for a boat ride at the Rhine Falls. The woman at the counter asked if I wanted the audio guide in Hebrew.

I was stunned. Here I was, wearing a cap and speaking in American-accented English, yet I was still pegged as an Israeli.

“How do you know?” I asked.

“We know,” she replied ominously.

The irony, I noted to The Wife, is that in Israel, I don’t have to open my mouth, and people speak to me in English. In Switzerland, I open my mouth and speak flawless English, and they assume I’m a Hebrew speaker.

FOR YEARS, I lived in a comfort zone where I wore a hat abroad but, for the most part, still said “Israel” when asked where I was from – unless the cab driver’s name placard said “Mohammed.” More often than not, it led to interesting conversations in which I’d try to dispel widely held myths about the Promised Land.

“It’s actually a wonderful place,” I’d typically say. “The problem is, the only time it makes the news is when there’s violence or conflict. But that’s a very skewed misrepresentation – Israel is far more than what you see on TV.”

My conversation partner would usually nod in silent agreement, and I’d feel a quiet sense of satisfaction for having put my country in a positive light.

But not this time. Not on a recent trip to the States.

Why not? Two reasons. First, I read the Foreign Ministry advisories urging Israelis to keep a low profile abroad, and, as an inveterate rule-follower, I take their guidance seriously. Second, I’m a close reader of public opinion polls.

And the current numbers aren’t particularly rosy. A Pew poll last month showed that 53% of Americans now hold an unfavorable view of Israel. That means if you get into an Uber and say you’re from Jerusalem, there’s a better-than-even chance the driver won’t look at you kindly. Heck, he might even hate you – and who knows where that might lead.

If you’re in a liberal city – New York, Chicago, Los Angeles – the odds are even worse: 69% of Democrats now view Israel unfavorably. If your driver in one of those cities is under 50, forget about it. A full 71% in that demographic hold a bias against you.

So, who needs it? Who needs the aggravation?

In years past, I’d glance at the driver’s name and draw conclusions. Now I find myself running quick demographic calculations in my head: Where is he from? How old is he? What’s his background?

ON A recent flight from Denver to Oakland, I sat next to a pleasant young Latino man from Texas, traveling with his family to Hawaii.

Normally, I’m a no-talker on planes. I board, put on my earphones, pray that a linebacker who will spill over into my seat does not sit next to me, and mind my own business.

But not this time. The guy pleasantly introduced himself, shook my hand, and peppered me with questions. He seemed like a genuinely nice fellow. But not wanting to ruin the friendly vibe – or get drawn into a two-hour political conversation – when he asked where I was from, I simply said: “Denver.”

But he didn’t stop. Where in Denver? What do I do for work? What do I think about the hockey team? How’s the weather been? Is it still ski season?

Luckily, I still had enough knowledge of my hometown to answer. But what if I hadn’t?

For much of the flight – or at least during the parts when my new friend wasn’t chatting – I felt disheartened. Not because I didn’t use the opportunity to sing Israel’s praises, but because in today’s world, saying “I’m from Israel” in a casual conversation is no longer automatic.

It’s a calculation. A risk assessment. A pause.

And that pause – that hesitation – is what gives the El Al ad its emotional power. In the end, the ideal – whether on a plane, in a café, or at a tourist attraction – is very simple: To be ourselves, without apologizing.

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