Antecedents in Palestine

Boycotting Germany was by no means an Israeli Zionist invention. Commercial boycotts of German products existed in the United States, Britain, France, the Netherlands, Poland, and elsewhere after the Nazis rose to power. These boycotts originated at the grassroots level,Footnote ³⁵ and were intended to harm Germany’s economic interests. Many of these boycotts were triggered by Germany’s own boycott of Jewish businesses and the exclusion of Jews from the labor market and public life.Footnote ³⁶ Obviously, the boycotts were not successful in protecting Jews or putting an end to their persecution,Footnote ³⁷ and they ended when the respective countries entered the war, often replaced by official embargoes, blockades, or other trade restrictions.Footnote ³⁸

As Jews around the world were initiating boycotts, Jews in Palestine were no exception. The Jewish press, for example, attacked the sale of German language newspapers.Footnote ³⁹ In 1942, A bomb was detonated at the “Blumenthal Press,” which published the leading German language daily in Palestine, “Blumenthal’s Neuste Nachrichten” (Blumenthal’s Latest News).Footnote ⁴⁰ Especially noteworthy was the informal boycott of German films.Footnote ⁴¹ Responding to the boycott of Jewish products in Germany on April 1, 1933, the Jewish community in Palestine established a “boycott committee,” under which was a sub-committee for German-speaking films, which “disqualified” films made in Germany after the Nazis took power. Although the sub-committee had no formal authority, the public was mostly supportive of the boycott. German-speaking films that were approved and shown often triggered criticism from more militant segments in Jewish society.Footnote ⁴²

Theater owners also complied. For example, the Mughrabi Theatre in Tel Aviv refused to show Leni Riefenstahl’s film “The Blue Light” after agreeing to buy it from a movie agent. Upon cancellation, the theater was sued for breach of contract. However, the (Jewish) magistrate judge dismissed the suit, holding that the owner was justified in pulling the film, since he was mindful of the public sentiment toward German goods. “There is no place in Tel Aviv for German films,” the reporter concluded.Footnote ⁴³

Still, the boycott was not hermetic. German immigrants, although a minority among Jewish immigrants,Footnote ⁴⁴ were one of the more vocal detractors, wanting to preserve their culture in their new home, and, the accusation went, for refusing to assimilate and embrace a new Jewish identity in Palestine, which by then was mostly controlled by Eastern European Jews. Indeed, the role of German culture in Palestine was complicated. German Jews, at least from the secular bourgeois elite, embraced German culture while in Germany, an identity they brought with them when emigrating to Palestine.Footnote ⁴⁵ Their desire to preserve their culture occasionally positioned them as somewhat of an outsider to the Zionist project and the “melting pot” ideology it espoused. Of course, the rift caused by Hitler’s rise to power in 1933 distanced them from Germany, but not necessarily from their German identity, which they viewed as separate from that of Nazism.Footnote ⁴⁶ Their cultural heroes were not so much present day German film stars, but the legacy of German culture more generally, be it Goethe, Schiller, Mozart, or Thomas Mann. It is thus no coincidence that central cultural institutions in pre-Israel Palestine such as the Israel Philharmonic and numerous theater companies, alongside German language newspapers, were established by German Jews, who endeavored to preserve their heritage, language, and culture, also in the face of what they saw as rival Eastern European Jewish domination.Footnote ⁴⁷

Accordingly, German Jews were blamed for the boycott’s failure.Footnote ⁴⁸ Movie agents were also “complicit,” because at times they could secure the committee’s approval for screening films purchased before 1933, since the committee was wary of causing financial hardship.Footnote ⁴⁹

The film and theater review board

With the disbanding of the British Board, no censorship could take place until an Israeli Board was assembled. This took only three months, a remarkable achievement given that the country was embroiled in a war with the surrounding Arab armies and public attention was directed elsewhere. Israel’s temporary parliament amended the Cinematograph Ordinance, charging the Minister of Interior with its staffing.Footnote ⁵⁰

Once given the authority to staff the Board, Ministers appointed both civil servants and public representatives outside the state bureaucracy. Officials included members from the police and the Ministries of Welfare and Education, but public representatives included poets, journalists, educators, movie critics, novelists, editors, musicians, and socialites.Footnote ⁵¹ The purpose of such diverse appointments was to democratize censorship, to introduce various approaches and ideologies into the work of the Board and to reflect the diversity in Israeli society. The official position maintained that the Board had “no political inclinations” and that its approach was “purely national and educational.”Footnote ⁵²

The Board was indeed professionally diverse, but in other aspects, it was monolithic. Almost all Board members were Jewish Ashkenazi men. There were no Arabs (who were appointed starting in the late 1970s) and hardly any women. Most members were relatively advanced in age. Almost all members resided in Tel Aviv or Jerusalem.Footnote ⁵³ In many ways, this was not an anomaly. Ashkenazi Jews dominated during Israel’s first decade, whereas mass immigration waves from North Africa and Asia countries began after Israel’s establishment. Those waves shifted the demographic balance, though not the balance of power, with the ruling elite remaining overwhelmingly Ashkenazi men.Footnote ⁵⁴ Similarly, military rule over Arab citizens until 1966 guaranteed that Arabs would be excluded from positions of power and influence.Footnote ⁵⁵

The Board’s self-conception during the first decades was also markedly different than the British Board that preceded it. Whereas the British Board was tightly controlled by the British bureaucracy and an apparatus of colonial rule, the Israeli Board was a product of a formal democracy. This affected the mindset of its members, who did not see themselves—at least not explicitly so—committed to any partisan dogma nor to any political party. Indeed, the Board—inasmuch one can determine about a collective body—did not view itself as censorship body whose purpose is to prohibit, but rather as a liberal agency that seeks to allow what it can while channeling public sentiments into its decisions.Footnote ⁵⁶ Importantly, it had no strict guidelines what to censor other than vague categories such as obscenity or immorality.Footnote ⁵⁷ When the Board decided to ban the German language in movies and plays, it stated that it “responded to the feelings of most Jews in Israel, including the youth, who cannot forgive the German people for what they did to our people, and who see these shows as hurting their private and national feelings.”Footnote ⁵⁸ At the same time, the Board also saw itself as a protector of the Israeli public, who might not understand complicated messages or those foreign to Israeli society.Footnote ⁵⁹ And because it included public representatives, it believed it reflected public opinion more accurately than other government agencies.

Unsurprisingly, public opinion was divided. The public took a keen interest in the Board’s work, and decisions to censor a film or play received coverage in the press, often negative. Given that most of the public, at least occasionally, consumed films and theater, many felt affected by Board decisions. As Board Chairman Levi Gery said, the Board will always be attacked because “censorship” and the press do not go hand in hand.Footnote ⁶⁰ But this was not always the case. Although most of the press condemned censorship and the Board, opinions were not uniform. Some denounced the Board in its entirety,Footnote ⁶¹ others disagreed with individual decisions,Footnote ⁶² and a more conservative segment supported its operation, for example when it came to censoring films featuring former Nazis.Footnote ⁶³ Citizens too were conflicted and corresponded with the Board over particular decisions, sometimes to support its denial of a permit and sometimes to voice criticism over its decision to grant a permit. Press coverage and public correspondence reflect the importance of the Board as the cultural gatekeeper, but they also attest to the Board’s self-conception as a representative agency. Letters to the Board were discussed in Board meetings. “Letters to the editor,” sent by the public to newspapers, were frequently met with Board replies a few days later and were assiduously filed in the Board’s records.Footnote ⁶⁴

Finally, what made the Board especially important as a cultural gatekeeper was its independence, as the Basserman affair demonstrates. As an agency entrusted with censorship, it could never be completely consensual. It thus needed institutional independence, both to be able to function and to have its decisions enforced. Indeed, Board members often perceived themselves as democratic representatives of public opinion in the face of possible government objection. Consequently, in terms of institutional design, the Board was not subordinate to any other agency, nor to the Minister of Interior who appointed the members.

Once members were appointed, their decisions could only be reversed by the Supreme Court, which during that period almost always deferred to the Board’s judgment.Footnote ⁶⁵ Members of the Knesset (Israel’s parliament) who complained about Board decisions were told by the Minister of Interior that the Board receives instructions from no one and decides based on its own discretion.Footnote ⁶⁶ Film studios, angered with Board decisions, sought relief to no avail with the Minister of Interior.Footnote ⁶⁷ Indeed, in its first years of operation, the Board did not even provide reasons for its decisions, perceiving its discretion as absolute, in line with the provisions of the British Ordinances that did not impose any substantive limits on the Board’s discretion.Footnote ⁶⁸

Concerned that certain decisions would upset allies or important states, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs beseeched the Board to reverse decisions, only to be turned down.Footnote ⁶⁹ Similarly, the Board was able to stand up to the Prime Minister’s Office when it demanded a scene describing Egyptian commando training be deleted in a film, on account that it might provoke nationalist sentiments among Israel’s Arabs. The Board, having concluded the scene was comedic, declined the request.Footnote ⁷⁰ The Board also clashed with the government. In 1959, the government decided not to import films from Arab states, but the Board nevertheless decided to consider Arab films that made it to Israel, notwithstanding the boycott.Footnote ⁷¹ Finally, the Board occasionally butted heads with the Ministry of Justice, which represented the Board in the Supreme Court. On the rare occasion when the Ministry sided with the petitioners, the Board hired private attorneys to argue its case before the Court.Footnote ⁷²

The Board’s power, then, did not stem solely from its legal monopoly over cultural activity in Israel, but also from its independence vis-à-vis other government entities, an independence the Supreme Court acknowledged early on.Footnote ⁷³ Thus, the Board’s power made it almost immune to external interference in its work. But what was the Board’s work? What did it seek to achieve? What values undergirded its policy? Focusing on the banning of German and Germany, the next part argues that by boycotting German and then Germany, the Board sought to achieve two goals: first, to protect the feelings of Holocaust survivors and the public at large. Second, to instill sentiments of national pride and dignity in Jewish Israelis by refusing let in German culture into the newly created Jewish state. In this way, the Board did its part in asserting Israeli independence and forming a nascent Israeli identity.

Artistic censorship of German and Germany

Calls to boycott Germany persisted, with greater vigor, upon the establishment of Israel and the initiation of diplomatic contact between the two countries, on which public opinion was divided.Footnote ⁷⁴ And yet, although German films and theater were banned almost immediately, commercial goods escaped formal legal sanctions, notwithstanding social and political pressure, mostly from the right-wing Herut movement, to maintain a boycott over all goods.Footnote ⁷⁵ Thus, before attending to the cultural ban, one must account for the difference between culture and commercial goods.

Two reasons might account for this difference. First, is the special place culture holds in the social imagination. Although German commercial objects, such as cars or washing machines, carried social and cultural significance, especially during the state’s early years when such goods were most desirable, most lacked a public dimension because they were used inside the home. Moreover, they carried less symbolism, as they usually did not convey ideas and values that are inherent in the creative arts. By contrast, cultural goods such as films and theater often carry specific national values and attributes, such as language, images, and cultural references that were anathema to large swaths of the Israeli public. Moreover, they hold special power as the public experiences them collectively, in the theater and not in the privacy of one’s home. Thus, they had the capacity to stir emotions in a way that a German lightbulb did not.

Second, one must consider the economic necessity of certain commercial goods, for example, industrial equipment, that does not apply to “entertainment.” Many resources, material and technological, were needed to build a new state. Commercial goods were deemed essential, even though they might come from Germany. Moreover, German goods were perceived as high quality, making them especially desirable compared with similar goods from other countries. This does not mean that the public made light of German imports. Although after the 1952 reparations agreement German goods flowed freely to Israel, sometimes the country of origin was concealed or blurred, a practice that continued even after formal relations were established.Footnote ⁷⁶ Films and theater, however, were considered as nonessential luxuries or rather as goods that had little relationship to nation-building in the physical material sense. This also enabled a trade-off of sorts: allowing commercial goods to enter while prohibiting cultural goods might have aligned with public sentiment that resisted public displays of German and Germany, but without compromising the national interest.

During Israel’s first years, the cultural boycott seemed to be a near consensus among Israeli Jewish society. The press dismissed “denazification” of German filmmakers and artists as mere façade.Footnote ⁷⁷ Composers such as Richard Wagner and Richard Strauss were de-facto banned because of their virulent antisemitism (Wagner) or Nazi collaboration (Strauss).Footnote ⁷⁸ And yet, these boycotts were purely a matter of social practice rather than law. The Board was to be the only exception.Footnote ⁷⁹ In a famous incident, which took place on April 16, 1953, world renowned Jewish violinist Jascha Heifetz performed a Strauss sonata in Jerusalem. Upon his return to the hotel, an assailant struck him with an iron bar and fled, never to be found.Footnote ⁸⁰ Two days later, Heifetz met with Israel’s Prime Minister, David Ben-Gurion, who told him that while he believed music should only be judged according to its quality, had Heifetz asked him whether to play Strauss, he would have advised against it, given the emotions it will generate among audiences.Footnote ⁸¹ Although this was a rather extreme example, public opinion frowned upon establishing relations with West Germany. Calls for boycott were prevalent, including acts of vandalism of stores that sold German products.Footnote ⁸²

Tensions heated as the government was about to sign a reparations agreement with West Germany in 1952.Footnote ⁸³ The move pitted two opposing camps: The labor-led government, headed by Ben-Gurion’s Mapai party, which, given Israel’s dire economic situation, opted for a “pragmatic” approach. The opposing camp, mostly, though not exclusively, comprised of the socialist “Mapam” party, the communist “Maki” party, and the right wing “Herut” party, which viewed the agreement as an abomination, disparaging the memory of six million Jews who perished in the Holocaust.Footnote ⁸⁴ Nevertheless, the agreement was signed, eventually paving the way for full diplomatic relations established thirteen years later, on March 16, 1965.Footnote ⁸⁵

The idea of a formal ban on German or Germany arose soon after Israel’s establishment, in 1949. When film distributors inquired about showing Austrian films,Footnote ⁸⁶ Yeshayahu Klinov, head of the Press, Information, Broadcasting and Film Administration in the Ministry of Interior, informed them that the Ministry cannot encourage the importation of German-speaking films or any other film from Germany or Austria.Footnote ⁸⁷

In August 1949, the Ministry of Interior moved to ban all German-speaking films in Israel. In a letter to the Board, Klinov noted that no commercial ties exist between Israel and Germany and films should not be the exception: “It is not possible that there be an impression that ‘all is forgotten.’” In exceptional cases, he added, we might deviate from this policy and consider a German language film made after the war, by Jews, on a subject we deem desirable.Footnote ⁸⁸

In an entry the following day in his work journal, Klinov was more equivocal: “the problem isn’t easy,” he wrote. “Refusing to grant permits occasionally harms people for whom the films are their only commercial commodity. There is also room for comparing the situation regarding other systems (newspapers in German, books in German, lectures in German [which were allowed—A. S.]).” However, he noted that movies are more serious; riots are to be expected. Still, he deliberated, although the government hasn’t banned any German products, films are not the type of good that is required for building the new state. Therefore, he concluded, all German films will be banned, regardless of their nature and content.Footnote ⁸⁹ When the Board met a month later, it embraced the decision, stating that “from the national perspective, movies in German continue to offend the public’s feelings and the time has yet to come to allow movies in German.”Footnote ⁹⁰

In a meeting in September 1950, Board Chairman Kisilov stated that “our soul is disgusted when hearing this language and we do not want to blur this.” One Board member said that “the street is flooded with foreign languages and there is much contempt for Hebrew. We must strive for a maximally Hebrew program.” Another stated that “the German language boils our blood. I propose a boycott on this language even in concerts and not allow any public shows in German.”Footnote ⁹¹ The Board reiterated its decision not to allow any German on the Israeli stage, regardless of the content and country of origin.Footnote ⁹² However, it was less concerned with instrumental music by Germans, for example, Bach or Beethoven. Early on, in 1950, it held that although it “objects to the use of the German language in public shows… [it] does not object to music.”Footnote ⁹³

The Board’s decision to ban shows in German likely reflected a broad consensus. Interestingly, artists such as Nathan Alterman, Israel’s most famous poet, and Ephraim Kishon, Israel’s leading satirist, supported the ban.Footnote ⁹⁴ Nevertheless, the ban was controversial. The main objection rested on the principle that banning a language was both undemocratic, unrealistic and would lead to an impoverished cultural landscape. Here too, some of the main objectors were German immigrants, who were horrified not only with the idea of censorship, but the loss of German culture, which they deemed key to western civilization and to their own life. A paradigmatic example can be found in a letter to the Board in July 1950, by a Jewish-German immigrant by the name of Hans-Oskar Löwenstein who resided in an immigrant absorption camp in Jerusalem. Löwenstein claimed that he immigrated to Israel to realize spiritual freedom, whereas the ban is reminiscent of fascist Germany. German culture, he noted, lives in Israel with the German immigrants; the Jewish culture is also German culture, not to mention there are many German Jews in Israel who don’t know Hebrew, alongside Holocaust survivors who want to see shows in German. But more generally, he asked, “can’t you see the nation’s cultural starvation? Does no one think about their situation?” The reasons for banning German have nothing to do with humanism, but only nationalism, he argued. Our reputation as a democracy, he ended, will be impaired if we ban Heine or Schubert.Footnote ⁹⁵

Members of the press were also critical of the ban.Footnote ⁹⁶ Citizens wrote to the Board demanding its reversal.Footnote ⁹⁷ Another letter, from David Werner Senator, the executive vice-president of the Hebrew University, himself immigrant from Germany, called on the Board to resign. Only totalitarians ban culture, he wrote.Footnote ⁹⁸ Politicians also joined in protest. Yeshayahu Foerder from the leftist Progressive Party, also an immigrant from Germany, argued the ban will create an impression of a low cultural level and narrow-mindedness.Footnote ⁹⁹

Perhaps the most important objection came from Israel’s intellectual and professional elites. In a letter to the Prime Minister Ben-Gurion, signed, among others, by novelist and future Nobel laureate Shmuel Yosef Agnon, Historian and professor of Hebrew literature Joseph Klausner, and the leading attorney of the day, Shalom Horowitz, they called for an end to the ban. Censorship, they argued, should be reserved for security matters, not culture. Moreover, the policy is discriminatory because it permits newspapers while banning performances where texts by Goethe, Heine, and Kant are read. The policy, they argued, severely harms cultural life, and free life generally, and does not accord with cultural life in Israel.Footnote ¹⁰⁰

The Board’s response was unsympathetic. Members argued that songs in German can be heard in another language; that the German language generates negative associations; and that allowing German might bring the two people closer, which is exactly what they don’t want.Footnote ¹⁰¹ Concluding the discussion, Kisilov stated that by initiating the ban “we responded to the feelings of most Jews in Israel, including the youth. Few understand the language, so if they hear a different one no harm will occur. Perhaps our decision infringes on the absolute freedom of the individual… [but] as a public-governmental agency we cannot ignore the public reaction regarding shows in German. The public has yet to transcend its feelings.”Footnote ¹⁰²

Yet concerns about the legality of the ban persisted. The Ministry of Interior’s legal advisor wrote that barring danger of riots, there is no legal basis for banning a language. German, he emphasized, is not only the language of Nazis but also the language of Thomas Mann who “fought the Nazis for us.”Footnote ¹⁰³ The Board, however, remained obdurate. Indeed, it doubled down and began to involve the police. In April 1951, it received a letter from a Dr. Paul Riesenfeld who informed the Board that he intends to organize a concert with Schubert lieder in German. “I forbid any attempt to prevent me from doing this,” he announced.Footnote ¹⁰⁴ The Board, alarmed at the prospect of a concert in German, promptly informed the police, demanding that Riesenfeld be interrogated.Footnote ¹⁰⁵ Riesenfeld was indeed brought in for a “personal conversation,” during which he apparently retreated and clarified that he meant a “private concert.” Nevertheless, he was warned that any public performance without a permit from the Board would lead to criminal charges.Footnote ¹⁰⁶

The ban on German, now formalized, was also enforced, often to the chagrin of both Israelis and German speaking countries.Footnote ¹⁰⁷ Rarely, a German-speaking film “slipped” the Board. When the Board approved the Swiss film “Palace Hotel,” believing it was in French, the right-wing newspaper “Herut” criticized the decision and the audience’s silence when hearing German, blaming them for forgetting the lessons of the War and the six million Jews who perished.Footnote ¹⁰⁸ Fearing a diplomatic crisis, the Board promptly conferred with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, which wrote that it does not want to offend the feelings of a friendly state. This led to Board to revise its policy and to allow Swiss films if the German spoken there was in the Swiss dialect.Footnote ¹⁰⁹

Given the gradual warming of relations between Israel and West Germany and the shifting public attitude toward German in the public sphere, it was clear a total ban would be unworkable. In July 1954, the Board acknowledged the political developments, allowing footage from Germany to be incorporated in newsreels shown before the main feature.Footnote ¹¹⁰ Still, the artistic ban remained absolute.Footnote ¹¹¹

Growing tensions surrounding the ban, however, required the government’s intervention. In a meeting in February 1955, the government convened to discuss G. W. Pabst’s Austrian film, “The Trial.” The Film was banned in 1951 by the Board, both because it was in German and because Pabst made two films under the Third Reich. Four years later, the film came up again, because this time it was in the possession of a Jewish immigrant from Austria who was assured by the consulate in Vienna that he would be able to screen it in Israel. Prime Minister Sharett from the Mapai party said that he does not support boycotting a language. David Ben-Gurion (now the Minister of Defense) said the question is whether there will be riots, but that the focus should be on the Jew who bought the rights and not on Germany. In reply, Sharett stated that banning a language is an anti-cultural act. To this Golda Meir, the Minister of Labor, answered: “I accept the charge of being anti-culture.” In the end, however, since the film was Austrian, the government approved it by a vote of 7–3.Footnote ¹¹² In a follow-up letter, it was conveyed that the decision to permit did not carry precedential force.Footnote ¹¹³

These little breaches inevitably widened. As relations between Israel, West Germany, and Austria were thawing, the pressure on the Board to reverse course intensified. The Board moderated its policy, but only slightly. It now held that shows in German will be permitted if those were closed off to the public and based on members-only audiences.Footnote ¹¹⁴ The Ministry of Foreign Affairs requested that the ban be reconsidered as it puts a strain on the budding relationship between Austria and Israel.Footnote ¹¹⁵ Israel, it noted in a separate missive, “does not have so many friends in the world that it has the privilege to reject those who offer their friendship.”Footnote ¹¹⁶

The government convened on January 22, 1956, making two decisions that reflected the changing relationship with Germany. First, it repealed the restriction printed on Israeli passports “Except for Germany,” which was mostly symbolic as it was not enforced by German authorities.Footnote ¹¹⁷ Second, it reconsidered the blanket ban on performances in German. After an exchange on the virtues of translations from German, and after expressing disdain for the idea of “banning a language” and recalling the “Basserman affair,” the government decided that the Minister of Interior will devise the policy of performances in German.Footnote ¹¹⁸ In effect, this simply meant that the Board carried on with the same policy. It continued to deny permits to theaters which put up plays in German, despite resistance and frequent violations.Footnote ¹¹⁹ When asked about this, the Minister of Interior, Yisrael Bar-Yehuda of the Ahdut Ha’avoda Party, reacted curtly: “They should learn Hebrew.”Footnote ¹²⁰

Films, however, were a different story. Economically more significant and catering to larger audiences, the pressure, including diplomatic pressure, to allow movies was much greater. The Board, uncomfortable with reversing its ban, but realizing that this was first and foremost a political problem, referred the issue to the government.Footnote ¹²¹ Acting on its request, the government decided, in December 1956, to allow German language films, but only if produced in Austria or Switzerland.Footnote ¹²² The decision alleviated some of the pressures, but the issue of German films (as opposed to German plays which were still banned)Footnote ¹²³ remained unresolved.

German-speaking films, albeit from Austria, were now shown across the country, with increasing pressure to allow films produced in Germany. The government reconvened to discuss the matter in February 1958. It was clear the atmosphere changed. Minister of Labor Mordechai Namir from the Mapai party, in line with his party’s conciliatory approach to Germany, argued that there is no reason to discriminate against Germany and that only the content matters. Peretz Naftali, also from Mapai, offered an economic perspective, suggesting that much money would be lost if films were banned. Minister of Transportation Moshe Carmel, from the more hawkish Zionist socialist Ahdut Ha’avoda party, which also rejected the reparations deal, said that no German language films should be permitted because what the Germans did to the nation of Israel in this generation, no other people have done. The feelings of the people, he said, must be considered. To this, Ben-Gurion replied sharply: “who forces them to see movies?” Carmel’s response was that merely seeing the posters on the street is enough to trigger emotions.Footnote ¹²⁴

Ben-Gurion’s more pragmatic position notwithstanding, the government decided to ban films from Germany and Austria made between 1933 and 1945 and to permit films in German if they are German co-productions with another country, not made during the Nazi period, and as long as the content was sympathetic to the Nazis.Footnote ¹²⁵ This required the Board to compile lists of former Nazi personnel in the movie business. Over the next decade, the Board collected evidence and held inquiries to this effect, assembling a dossier of over 600 pages of “Nazi film personnel.”Footnote ¹²⁶

Some Board members did not view the government’s co-production decision favorably. Board member Haim Toren denounced the government for intervening in the Board’s work and for undermining its independence. The Board represents cultural values and is sovereign to adopt a decision, he said. It should therefore reject the government’s position and announce a clear stand, according to which no film or play in German should be played, as “[t]he mere sound of German hurts the public’s feelings.”Footnote ¹²⁷ Board member Miriam Fekete, impressed by demonstrations against the government’s decision, also supported the banning of German films, which she believed disturb the peace.Footnote ¹²⁸ Board member Haim Gouri, a novelist and a poet, and a member of the “Ahdut Ha’avoda” party that opposed the reparations and the strengthening of Israel-German relations, agreed that the Board cannot ignore the demonstrations. The Board, he emphasized, “does not follow orders but represents public opinion and it may act according to its conscience.” In other words, Gouri, in line with his political views, was in favor of ignoring the government’s decision, opting to ban the German language in its entirety. Still, he made room for an exception—an anti-Nazi film—but otherwise all German-speaking films should be banned. “If the Board’s task is to follow the government’s decisions,” it has no job of its own.Footnote ¹²⁹

Other Board members, however, argued that co-productions should be allowed, for two reasons. First, as Yaacov Nash, the Board’s police representative, said, the government so decided, and democracy dictates compliance, otherwise the violent demonstrators win.Footnote ¹³⁰ Second, the changing nature of diplomatic relations with Germany and Austria should guide the Board’s discretion and lead it to relax its standards. Emblematic of this sentiment was Board member Ze’ev Million, who said that “personally, like any other Jews, [I] hate the Germans, because [my] family perished in Auschwitz. But [I] cannot support the banning of German, which is the language of the Austrians and the Swiss.” The Board must consider, he noted, the diplomatic relations between countries. If the German language will be banned in its entirety, he concluded, it might sabotage the government’s interests.Footnote ¹³¹

The Board was thus conflicted about the government’s co-production decision, but nevertheless decided to adopt it, even though its preference was that German language films not be screened at all.Footnote ¹³² To compensate for its reluctance, the Board adopted rigorous procedures, including obtaining confirmations from embassies and consulates, states’ representatives, and distributors, in addition to its own investigations, in order to confirm that no Nazi element exists in the film.Footnote ¹³³

Nevertheless, the decision allowed the Board to adopt a more liberal policy, although favorable depictions of Germans were still suspect. The Board prohibited the German-Austrian film “Hanussen” because it portrayed some of the German people as resisting Hitler. Similarly, it refused to issue a permit for the French-German film “La Chatte” because it downplayed Nazi cruelty and portrayed the Nazis who occupied France as “human.”Footnote ¹³⁴ A film by the name of “El Hakim,” presented to the Board as a German-Italian co-production, was denied a permit, after the Board suspected it was a German–Egyptian production. The Board was concerned about the “Egyptian content,” which might serve as propaganda in Israel.Footnote ¹³⁵ So, although co-productions were in principle allowed, the Board still moderated for content, denying permits to films it found socially unacceptable.Footnote ¹³⁶

Some films posed unique challenges, even though they were not co-productions. For example, the German film “Paradise and Furnace” (“Paradies und Feuerofen”) should have been rejected, being an exclusive German production. But the movie, which was filmed in Israel with Israelis, was intended to present Israel in a favorable light to German viewers after the Holocaust, portraying it with sympathy and admiration. In this case, the government recommended the film be permitted, but only in closed screenings and with Hebrew narration, without the decision forming a precedent.Footnote ¹³⁷

The Board remained hesitant. Haim Gouri rejected the government’s recommendation, arguing that Israelis should not learn about their country through German eyes. Board member Toren said that permitting the film would be sacrilegious.Footnote ¹³⁸ The Board could not make up its mind, again referring the issue to the government. It was only in July 1960, almost two years after the initial request, that the government decided to approve it.Footnote ¹³⁹ The number of meetings at the highest ranks, the duration of the affair, and the sheer size of the film’s dossier (over 500 pages) attest to the issue’s importance to all concerned. Indeed, in the end, even the Supreme Court played a small role, when it rejected the distributor’s petition that the movie be narrated in the original German. The Court, having not even seen the movie, sided with the Board, holding it was completely autonomous given that it represented the public.Footnote ¹⁴⁰

Contrary to what some might have expected, liberalization did not trigger public protests. In a Board meeting in August 1958, chairman Million noted that “the public fills the movie houses showing German language films. This encourages importers to increase their supply… The situation has become such that a certain agent who received a permit for an Italian film in Italian, requested to import another version in German, and of course we cannot reject his request.”Footnote ¹⁴¹

The decision to allow co-productions posed new challenges because there was no agreed upon definition of what constitutes a co-production. For example, is it a co-production if the director is German but the production company Austrian? If the financing came from France but the film was made in Germany or with German actors? Given that film production requires many entities and persons, virtually anything could be considered a “co-production.” The inherent ambiguity was seized by distributors and movie theaters, who now requested permits for new “co-productions.” This too sparked resistance, spearheaded by the various partisan, Nazi prisoners and former anti-Nazi soldiers, who were alarmed at the number of movies in German showing in Israel.Footnote ¹⁴²

In a meeting in December 1958, between the Minister of Interior Bar-Yehuda and Movie theater representatives, the Minister blamed them for “flooding” the nation with German films:

The Minister’s candid remarks revealed what everyone knew to be true: the co-production category was a bluff open to manipulation. Still, the partisan fighters’ organizations threatened to shut down movie theaters. At first, they met with film distributors, even after the latter offered to cancel existing contracts and to adopt quotas of films in German.Footnote ¹⁴⁴ Once again, the government got involved and started negotiating with the organizations. Eventually, the Minister of Interior struck a deal, according to which only two to three German speaking films would be shown simultaneously. This led to a sharp drop in the screening of German language films, from 88 in 1958, to 19 in 1959.Footnote ¹⁴⁵

The new status quo lasted less than a year, when, in response to rising antisemitism in Europe, the partisan and prisoner organizations demanded the prohibition of all German language films.Footnote ¹⁴⁶ Theater owners, concerned about economic loss, demanded the government clarify its policy, a call the Board joined while also arguing against the meaningless co-production label.Footnote ¹⁴⁷ Indeed, in interviews to the press, Board Chairman Grinshpon acknowledged the difficulties determining what makes a film a co-production.Footnote ¹⁴⁸ In a Knesset hearing, he admitted that co-productions create “extraordinary problems and embarrassments.”Footnote ¹⁴⁹ As for the numerous threats from the partisan organizations,Footnote ¹⁵⁰ those never materialized.Footnote ¹⁵¹

All this time, the Board was on the fence. Troubled by governmental interference with its work, members emphasized the Board’s sovereignty. Board member Gouri, for example, stressed that the Board does not follow orders; it represents public opinion. Other members favored compliance with the government’s decision, insisting that the Board cannot cave to the pressure placed by the partisan organizations. Some believed that German films should be stopped altogether. Board chairman Million said that although he hates the Germans, because his family perished in Auschwitz, he cannot support the boycott of a language, which also belongs to Austrians and Swiss.Footnote ¹⁵² The Board’s inability to reach a decision invited the government into the fold, after which the Board had an easier time adopting it. As Million said to the Knesset’s (Israel’s Parliament) Education and Culture Committee, the Board was against films in German, but it must take into account the government’s position: “Should it be decided otherwise… we will support it. We do not want to permit, in these numbers, German films in Israel.”Footnote ¹⁵³

Notwithstanding these developments, pressure to permit German films did not subside. Although major distributors decided to cease importing German films, the decision was short lived, and screening requests resumed.Footnote ¹⁵⁴

And yet, despite the ambiguity of the co-production label and pressures from distributors, film censorship persistedFootnote ¹⁵⁵ and was even expanded to include commercials, unless those too were co-productions.Footnote ¹⁵⁶ Similarly, the Board continued to reject films that had an affinity to Nazis, regardless of their country of origin. For example, “The Desert Fox: The Story of Rommel,” a 1951 American film starring James Mason and Jesica Tandy, was denied a permit because it idolized a German war hero, something that will offend public feelings.Footnote ¹⁵⁷

At the same time, relations between Israel, West Germany, and Germans were strengthening. The German actress and singer Marlene Dietrich came in 1960, a visit that was considered pathbreaking at the time, even though Dietrich’s anti-Nazi credentials were impeccable. Slated to sing in English and French, Dietrich eventually and spontaneously sang in German after audiences requested she do so.Footnote ¹⁵⁸ Diplomatically, the government expanded its relations with West Germany, allowing the participation of Israel in international events held there and the participation of West Germany in events held in Israel. It also approved visits by German youths who came to learn about Israel. Yet it also decided that insofar as the government had a say, there will be no visits by German artists in Israel or Israeli artists in Germany (Dietrich being an exception probably because of her having left Germany for the United States).Footnote ¹⁵⁹

This ambivalence was also reflected in Board decisions. The Board maintained staunch support for the ban but occasionally deviated when it saw fit. For example, films produced by Artur Brauner were approved, even though they were exclusively German and Brauner operated from Berlin. The reason being that Brauner was “a Jew who is helping to establish a film industry in Israel and invests a fortune in other enterprises in Israel and therefore his films should not be viewed as ‘German’.”Footnote ¹⁶⁰ In a subsequent meeting, Brauner was said to be conducting his business globally and therefore his films should be labeled as co-productions.Footnote ¹⁶¹ These decisions opened the floodgates, and many questionable films in terms of their adherence to the co-production label were approved, for the Board could no longer maintain any veneer of consistency.Footnote ¹⁶²

The turning point came on March 16, 1965, the day Israel and West Germany established full diplomatic relations. A mere twenty years after the end of the Holocaust, the two countries reached an agreement that, at its heart, embodied the view that Germany had turned a page and was now a “different Germany.”Footnote ¹⁶³

What, then, of the ban? The Board discussed its status only a year later, in April 1966. In the meeting, most Board members were willing to relent. As Board member Million said, “we cannot ignore the new reality. The country is conducting full relations with Germany and there’s no point or logic in permitting an Austrian film but not a German film. The government has not addressed the issue, but the Board is independent. The decision must be changed.” Other members, however, suggested the Board should examine every film on a case-by-case basis. Others remained cautious, fearing public backlash if the ban was repealed.Footnote ¹⁶⁴ Board member Rosenfeld argued that the ban should be kept, as “it would be a stinging insult to the Holocaust generation and the victims if, in addition to the economic and political relations there will be social and cultural relations.”Footnote ¹⁶⁵

Unable to reach a decision, the Board stalled.Footnote ¹⁶⁶ Film distributors demanded the ban be lifted, but the Board remained steadfast.Footnote ¹⁶⁷ Things came to a head, and on April 4, 1967, the government intervened and decided to repeal the ban, except for films produced in Nazi Germany, films with a Nazi content, sympathetic to Nazis, or participants with a Nazi past.Footnote ¹⁶⁸

The government’s deliberations revealed that it too was ambivalent. In the end, seven ministers voted to repeal and four to amend the ban to exclude films with a “positive content.” It was clear the government preferred the Board to deal with censorship and on a case-by-case basis. As Minister of Foreign Affairs, Abba Eban (Mapai), said: “I trust the Minister of Interior. We should rely on these Jews [the Board—A. S.] who possess a spectrum of opinions and perspectives. It’s very important the government will not be the one disqualifying or allowing certain films.”Footnote ¹⁶⁹ Eban, and other ministers, expressed the position that the government should not be associated with any censorship, perhaps because of the independence of the Board, or rather a blame deflection mechanism. Nationalist considerations were also in the background. Minister of Culture, Zalman Aran (Mapai), noted that “we should pay attention to the commercial aspect. If we open the market, we’ll be flooded with German films. There is a concern that the German language will spread in a way that no one wants.”Footnote ¹⁷⁰

A month later, realizing that the times have changed, the Board voted to adopt the government’s decision.Footnote ¹⁷¹ Thus, came to an end a two-decade long ban on German films, the only official ban ever instituted against German and Germany in Israel.

Although the formal ban ended, censorship still occurred occasionally. Recall that theater was not affected by the repeal, as it only applied to film. But since German language productions were scarce to being with, Board activity petered out until it disappeared. Musical productions, however, were a different matter. The Board still intervened when it believed composers had a Nazi past or some affiliation with the Nazis. For example, the Board, for fourteen years, sought to prevent the staging of Franz Lehár’s “The Merry Widow.” Lehár, an Austro-Hungarian composer, was married to a Jew who converted to Catholicism, and thus viewed suspiciously by the Nazis. However, he also received two awards from Hitler, who was fond of his music. The Board mounted difficulties for years, beginning in 1959 up until 1973, long after the film ban was repealed.Footnote ¹⁷²

Films were also subject to a similar lingering ban when suspicions were raised about the participants’ Nazi background. For example, in January 1965, the Board approved the James Bond film, “Goldfinger,” only to retract the permit in December of that year, upon learning that Gert Fröbe, who played Auris Goldfinger, had a Nazi past.Footnote ¹⁷³ The retraction sparked letters from “United Artists” and “Motion Pictures Association of America,” calling to reverse the decision.Footnote ¹⁷⁴ It was only after a Jew by the name of Mario Blumenao came forward, attesting in an affidavit that Fröbe hid him and his mother from the Nazi authorities while also providing food and money during their escape, that the Board restored the permit.Footnote ¹⁷⁵

Such interventions became rarer. In the end, the Board lacked an investigative capacity and soon after the government’s decision delegating discretion to the Board, the ban fizzled and died of its own.

The rise and fall of the ban

In a special meeting held after the government’s 1967 decision, the Board reevaluated its policy. Board members expressed reservations regarding their ability to conduct independent investigations. Some emphasized that times change; what was once prohibited is now permitted and the Board should keep up with the changing times. Others grappled with how to make the Board relevant in an ever-changing social and cultural environment. Should it serve as a gatekeeper or should it be more attuned to the public and the press.Footnote ¹⁷⁶

The Board’s struggles were real, but they operated against a broader context in which the ban was situated, a context that shifted in the nineteen years it was implemented. Ostensibly, the ban was instituted as a measure to protect the feelings of Holocaust survivors and their families, which is why it was also promoted by survivors, former prisoners, and partisans. At the same time, it was much more than that. It was ideological. It promoted a sense of newly established independence, national pride, and identity.Footnote ¹⁷⁷ As the liberal newspaper “Haaretz” argued in its 1958 call to cancel the misleading “co-production” label:

From the outset, then, protection of individual feelings co-existed with a broader nationalist patriotic motivation, which viewed the ban not only as an instrument to commemorate the Holocaust in the nascent Israeli consciousness but also as an instrument to assert Israeli independence and uniqueness among the nations. Obviously, the Holocaust was a formative event, but it also bolstered the argument for an independent Jewish state and the justness of Zionism. The Holocaust thus provided a moral dimension to the political struggle to establish Israel,Footnote ¹⁷⁹ a dimension that carried over into Israel once it was established, embodying itself in the banning of German films and theater, hallmarks of German culture and therefore singled out among German commodities.

National fervor and protection of feelings took a step back once countervailing forces joined the fray. First, Israel’s fledgling economic situation made way for a dramatic reparation agreement in 1952. Denounced by its detractors as paving the way for diplomatic relations with Germany, its proponents insisted it was purely financial and that the question of diplomatic relations will be dealt with separately.Footnote ¹⁸⁰ Second, Israeli elites, coming from bourgeois circles and intellectuals, but also from the German-Jewish community more generally, pressed for the abolishment of the ban on cultural and democratic grounds. Third, commercially motivated movie theaters and film distributors consistently pushed for relaxing the rules to allow more films and screenings.Footnote ¹⁸¹ Fourth, the passage of time also facilitated cultural and generational shifts. Although the memory of the Holocaust was still fundamental to the Jewish state, younger, more liberal audiences, who were perhaps also more detached from the experiences of the older generations, began separating Nazi films from post-Holocaust German cinema or German culture more broadly; the penetration of German and German culture became more widespread.Footnote ¹⁸² Fifth, the changing contours of the ban culminated in the proper identification of the enemy. It was no longer German or Germany, but the Nazis specifically. From this perspective, the ban reflected early internal Jewish struggles. It ended not because Germans were no longer suspect, but to the contrary, because on a cultural level, the sense of clarity had arrived—Nazis were responsible. This explains why we see a shift from a focus on the language (which belonged to German Jews as well) to content associated directly with Nazism.

Similarly, the debate surrounding the protection of survivors’ feelings ended soon thereafter. In 1975, the Board prohibited the screening of “The Night Porter,” an Italian film depicting a sadomasochistic relationship between a former Nazi concentration camp guard and his former prisoner. After initially approving the film, complaints from “Yad Vashem” (the World Holocaust Remembrance Center) and the Partisan organization, coupled with a call to ban the film by a movie critic and a statement by the Hebrew University Student Union,Footnote ¹⁸³ led the Board to retract its decision on account of its offense to the feelings of the Jewish public.Footnote ¹⁸⁴ The Supreme Court reversed the decision, holding that decisions to retract require giving the applicant a right to a hearing. Although procedural in nature, this was the last time the Board denied a permit due to public feelings surrounding the Holocaust.Footnote ¹⁸⁵

These reasons not only explain the demise of the ban, but also its timing—the establishment of full diplomatic relations between Israel and West Germany, as commercial interests received prominence, coupled with a generational shift that perhaps began to view post-Holocaust Germany differently and a focus on Nazis rather than Germans. To be sure, the ban still had its supporters, but those mostly came from the old guard and not the younger audiences, who populated movie theatres.Footnote ¹⁸⁶ As the Board’s gaze turned elsewhere, the ban on German works quietly became obsolete.