food, culture society

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Food, Culture Society

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volume 16 issue 2 june 2013

Grilled Nationalism POWER, MASCULINITY AND SPACE IN ISRAELI BARBEQUES

Nir Avieli Ben-Gurion University Abstract Barbequing meat is the main activity for most Israeli Jews celebrating the nation’s Independence Day. It is a ritual without which the festival is incomplete, and beyond which not much is done. Identification with the nation-state is embodied through the consumption of meat that represents processed and refined chunks of Israeliness. But what is the meaning of this ritual and what does al ha’esh ([meat] over fire) stand for? Anthropological theory tends to discuss roasted meat as an extreme expression of power, potency and masculinity, and highlights its relationship to territory and to the modern nation-state. In this article, based on ethnographic research conducted from 2002 to 2009, I stress the Israeli features of this food event. I analyze the two main features of Israeli Independence Day barbeques—handling the meat and managing the space—and argue that these features expose the ambivalent sense of power and weakness, and of stability and influx, underlining Israeli barbeques and, perhaps, Israeli society at large. Keywords: meat, masculinity, power, nationalism, Israel

Introduction

DOI: 10.2752/175174413X13589681351458 Reprints available directly from the publishers. Photocopying permitted by licence only © Association for the Study of Food and Society 2013

Cooking meat al ha’esh (“over fire,” i.e. grilling or barbequing) has in recent years become the main practice associated with Israel’s Independence Day, a culinary activity without which Independence Day is not proper, and beyond which not much is left. For example, on Independence Day in 2006, an enthusiastic radio broadcaster reported: “We combed the entire country looking for people who don’t barbeque. It wasn’t easy, but eventually we found some. They are the graduates of the class of 1953 of Hakfar Hayarok agricultural high school.” He then interviewed one of the group members, who hosted his former classmates in his back yard. The interviewee explained that the group met yearly to celebrate Independence Day— without a barbeque: “We sing, we light a campfire … we remember days when al ha’esh was not the only thing to do on Independence Day…” Later in the

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Nir Avieli ◊ Grilled Nationalism

conversation, however, he did confess that “just to be on the safe side, we do hang a picture of a barbeque …” Grilling meat is so central to Independence Day in Israel that it has come to be known as “BBQ Day.” Blumenfeld (2007) describes it as follows: “Plumes of smoke will rise from the parks and woods on BBQ Day, which some still insist on calling Independence Day.” Similarly, under the headline “We have celebrated Independence,” Katz (2007) writes: “The Israelis did not remain at home. Masses of people went outdoors to celebrate ‘BBQ Day’…” A newspaper ad for Mizrah-Maarav (East-West), an importer of Asian food products, goes even further: “For 59 years we have been barbequing with the very same spices—now it’s time to become truly independent with new tastes.” While the ad promotes exotic barbeque sauces, it also implies that cooking meat al ha’esh on Independence Day has been a central practice of the festival since the state of Israel was established in 1948. This claim runs counter to the statement by the interviewee quoted above, as well as to my own recollection of Independence Days during the 1960s and 1970s; however, it is very much in line with the feelings articulated by the many Israelis I have interviewed since 2002, who strongly associate Independence Day with roasting meat al ha’esh. Yom Ha’atzmaut (Independence Day) is the most Israeli day on the Israeli calendar, a day in which the nation’s Jewish citizens recount their constitutive myth as a distinct social group and celebrate their unique history (Handelam and Katz 1995). This is a Durkheimian ritual of cohesion par excellence, an event during which the community celebrates itself and exposes its social rules and cultural arrangements, reproducing and reinforcing them. The chunks of grilled meat are therefore pieces of distilled Israeliness, symbolic and material representations of the way many Israelis experience their national identity. The present article explores what Israelis tell themselves about themselves when they grill meat al ha’esh on Independence Day. The article begins with a discussion of the anthropological theorization of the relationship between meat, masculinity and power. I then review the ethnographic and historical literature that associates barbequed meat on the one hand and modern nationalism on the other. After presenting the research site and research methods, I describe the two main features of Israeli Independence Day barbeques: handling the meat and managing the space. These features expose the ambivalent sense of power and weakness, and of stability and influx, underlining Israeli barbeques and, perhaps, Israeli society at large.

Meat, Power, Masculinity and Nationalism Anthropologists have long noted the strong links between meat consumption, physical power and social dominance. While nutritionists and material anthropologists (e.g. Harris 1987) contend that meat is exceptionally nutritious, Nick Fiddes (1991) argues that meat eating is, above all, symbolic: “Killing, cooking and eating other animals’ flesh is the ultimate authentication of human superiority over the rest of nature” (Fiddes 1991: 65; cf. Willard 2002). Mary Douglas (1975) and Anne Murcott (1982) likewise suggest that the centrality of

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meat in the Western meal derives from the power and control represented by its consumption. Alan Beardsworth and Teresa Keil (1996: 202) argue, however, that the physiological-nutritious and the symbolic are complementary rather than contradictory, as eating meat combines the physical and the symbolic: “Eating red meat is seen … as the ingesting of the very nature of the animal itself, its strength and aggression.” Thus, eating meat has the potential of making the eater “as strong as an ox,” with matter and spirit reinforcing each other. Relatedly, Carol Adams (1997) claims that the British Yeomen Warders were dubbed “Beefeaters” due to their diet, which was designed to ensure their physical strength as members of a crack unit (as soldiers that should be “as strong as oxen”), as well as reward them with a high-status food, otherwise reserved for the aristocratic classes. The religious injunction against eating carnivores in Judaism and Buddhism, may also be explained by the fear of assimilating their ferociousness and cruelty into the eater’s body and mind. Meat eating also represents socioeconomic and political power. Julia Twigg (1983: 21) suggests that in Western societies, “meat is the most highly prized and culturally significant of foods,” while Norbert Elias shows that in Medieval Europe, members of the higher classes ate prodigious amounts of meat, while peasants ate very little of it: “Cattle were expensive and therefore destined … essentially for the ruler’s table” (Elias 1978: 118). Pierre Bourdieu (1984) also argues that meat is indicative of economic wealth and high social status, and that eating certain kinds of meat is a symbolic action which represents economic, cultural and symbolic capital, designed to reproduce and enhance class distinctions. On the other hand, many researchers who study meat consumption in so-called “primitive” or indigenous societies claim that this practice is characterized not only by social competition but also by cooperation and sharing within broad social circles and according to meticulous rules. Thus, Kristen Hawkes (1993) argues that men hunt big game and share their meat in order to receive social benefits in return, while Kent (1993) and Peterson (1993) claim that meat is shared primarily for social reasons (Thiel 1994). In more recent discussions, Hawkes et al. (2001a, 2001b) add competition and social prestige to their model as further dimensions affecting the sharing of meat. Indeed, in his classic article on “political types in Melanesia and Polynesia,” Marshall Sahlins (1963) argues that the sharing of pork during public feasts constitutes a key physical and symbolic resource in the political game. Accordingly, far from being exclusively an act of generosity and cooperation, meat consumption is also a token in the social competition for status and prestige. Claude Lévi-Strauss’s contribution is seminal here. In his classic essay “The culinary triangle” (1966), he argues that grilling is the most wasteful form of cooking, as a considerable portion of the meat’s volume, weight and fat are lost in the process. Indeed, one kilogram of meat cooked in 10 liters of water would provide 11 kilograms of soup, while grilling 1 kilogram of raw meat would deliver about half a kilogram of grilled meat only. When meat is boiled, it is diluted; grilling, by contrast, is a process of concentration. Cooking meat over fire therefore connotes wealth, abundance and generosity as it implies a willingness to waste a

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precious resource. Grilling also concentrates the meat, imbuing it with higher nutritional, economic and symbolic value. Grilling is thus a cooking technique that increases meat’s value as a symbol of power and wealth. Eating meat, particularly red meat, is also a gendered practice. Michael Herzfeld (1985) describes how meat is central to the meal of every Cretan who considers himself a man, while Twigg (1983) suggests that the blood that gives red meat its color is expressive of power, aggression, passion and sexuality—attributes that are desirable for men but are considered offensive when it comes to women. Willard (2002) thus concludes: “Because physical power is historically associated with masculinity and virility … meat has been perceived as a masculine subject.” Feminist critiques such as Twigg (1983) and Adams (2003) further develop the discussion of the relationship between meat, masculinity and power by proposing that specific symbols related to meat are situated in a concentric hierarchy: culture above nature, humans above animals and men above women. While Twigg suggests that the association of vegetarian and dairy foods with femininity indicates weakness and passiveness (as in the use of the word “vegetable” to describe a brain-dead person), Fiddes (1991: 210) argues: “What meat exemplifies, more than anything, is an attitude: the masculine worldview that ubiquitously perceives, values and legitimates hierarchical domination of nature, of women and of other men.” Adams (2003), however, is the most outspoken in her critique, showing how men use similar language when referring to animals and to women, and how they subject them to similar kinds of symbolic and physical violence: Men butcher women’s bodies as if they were made of different meat cuts (breasts, thighs, buttocks etc.) and use cooking metaphors (bang, hook, skewer, grind etc.) when referring to sexual intercourse with women. Adams claims that condoning violence towards animals serves to legitimize violence against women, states that feminism is consistent with vegetarianism, and calls upon all those who consider themselves feminists to avoid meat. Moving away from general references about the meaning of eating meat, let us consider another article by Sahlins, which deals specifically with the American barbeque and the relations between grilled meat, power, masculinity and space, thereby bringing us a step closer to the Israeli case. Sahlins (1976) notes that beef is an essential component in the American diet and is especially crucial with respect to power and masculinity. Without his steak, he argues, the American male is powerless and impotent. The American masculine icon is the cowboy, the lonely tough man, the individualist who represents most distinctly the relationship between masculinity and power on the one hand, and cattle/beef on the other. The cowboy and cattle also define a spatial context: the American frontier was conquered by cowboys, who gradually moved westwards with their herds and turned an area seen—as late as 1890—as a vast and desolate area populated by savages and wild animals (Willard 2002: 108)—into a productive area and one of the largest pasturelands in the world. Accordingly, American historian Frederick J. Turner states that the migration to the West was “the greatest pastoral movement in recorded history” (Willard 2002: 108), and that cattle were the most important vehicle in the conquest of the West. In return, argues Willard,

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American culture endowed the frontiersmen with the cowboy myth: the lone hero who overcomes the forces of nature, wild animals and Indians and turns the wilderness into the area where Americans produce the most important ingredient in their diet—beef. Naturally, the (iconic) cowboy cooks his meat over a campfire, under a starlit sky. Willard argues that the American barbeque represents not only power and masculinity, but also the relationship between masculinity, nature and space. The American barbeque dinner is a celebration of masculine power, the subjugation of nature and the conquest of space. This is why Americans celebrate the Fourth of July with a barbeque: by eating grilled beef, the participants reenact the American formative myth of the conquest of an immense, wild space by tough, armed, individualistic men and their cows. Therefore, argues Rebecca Scott (2010: 7), meat eating was as much a “nation-building project as it was food consumption.” Scott also coins the term “meat heroism” to connote the relationship between meat, North American masculinity and nationalism. Barbequing is privileged also in other modern nation-states such as Argentina, Brazil, Uruguay, Australia, New Zealand and South Africa. As in the case of the United States, these are modern migrant nations where white men used their immense cattle herds to occupy and colonize the territory. Michael Symons (2007), for example, argues that the promise of plentiful meat (“three times a day”) was one of the key factors that attracted British immigrants to Australia, while Denny et al. (2005) emphasize the barbeque as emblematic of present-day Australian and Kiwi identity. In her ethnography of Tucuman (Argentina), Ariela Zycherman (2008: 33) states: “During my research beef was used on numerous occasions as a signifier of national identity and its consumption was one of the main differences between being Argentine and being from anywhere else.” In turn, the gaucho, the cowboy figure in Brazil, Argentina and Uruguay, is also an icon of masculinity, spatial domination and domestication of the frontier (Bornholdt 2010). A particularly extreme instance of barbequing in a violent colonialist context is described by Feldman (2003: 241–2), who analyzes a series of events in Apartheid era South Africa in which white policemen interrogated and tortured prisoners while barbequing meat:


Braai is Afrikaans … for an outdoor barbecue, and braaing is a ubiquitous weekend recreational practice throughout South Africa. Associated with sports competitions, hunting, the frontier geography of the bush … it is also part of the political culture of white male dominance … It is my contention that at the Braai and torture sites described above, consumption, commensality and violence were integrated, and that this synthesis seems to have become a convention… (Feldman 2003: 45)

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To conclude, the literature clearly associates barbequing with power, masculinity and modern nationalism. It also points to the colonial context, in which the grilled meat represents the violent process of occupying indigenous space, with cattle serving both as a means to take over the land (for pasture) and as a key source for

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the energy required to occupy that space (as a form of nutrition). As such, grilled meat is privileged in modern migrant nations as representative of the historical processes of their formation. Based on this literature review I suggest an explanation for the Israeli Independence Day barbeques: as with the United States and in other modern migrant nations, Israeli barbeques stand for power, masculinity and the conquest of space. These ideas are especially important during Israel’s Independence Day, which commemorates the ongoing struggle over space and emphasizes the central role played by men in this struggle. Moreover, as in the other nations referred to above, grilled meat alludes to the colonial context of the Israeli national project, with pasture representing a key strategy not only for taming and acculturating space, but also for the concomitant dispossession of indigenous populations. Therefore, just as in North America, South America, South Africa, Australia and New Zealand, grilled meat is a key symbol of modern Israeli nationalism, holding a privileged position in national events, and above all during Independence Day. Having pointed to the relationship between grilled meat, migrant states and modern nationalism, I now turn to a detailed analysis of the Israeli Independence Day barbeques held at Jerusalem’s Sakker Park. This examination sheds light on the unique complexities of the Israeli case and is intended to facilitate a discussion of the nuances of Israeliness.

Fieldwork at Jerusalem’s Sakker Park This article is based on anthropological fieldwork conducted in Jerusalem’s Sakker Park from 2002 to 2009. Every Independence Day I stayed at Sakker Park from the early morning hours till late afternoon. I walked among the celebrators, spoke to them, asked them questions, observed the variety of interactions taking place and listened to the “public conversations” accompanying them (here I mean vocal exchanges as opposed to private discussions). On some years, I also visited the park on the day preceding Independence Day and followed the various events taking place in preparation for the next day’s barbeques. I collected most of the material presented below through informal conversations with the celebrators. When they were willing, I also conducted non-structured interviews with them, usually once they expressed interest in my study and wanted to discuss my observations further. Naturally, I was often invited to share in the meat. In these cases, I would spend more time (up to several hours) with my hosts. Beyond participant observation at Sakker Park, I also conducted semi-structured and open interviews with Jewish Israelis of various socioeconomic classes, ethnic groups and locations, before and after Independence Day. These interviews revolved around their participation in (or avoidance of) al ha’esh events, whether on Independence Day, or on other occasions. I also followed media reports on Independence Day in general and on al ha’esh in particular, collecting written and visual texts about what is often referred to as “the Israeli mangal [charcoal grill] culture” (tarbut ha’mangal ha’Israelit).1 Here I should emphasize that I do not conceive of Sakker Park Independence Day barbeques as wholesome or accurate representations of “Israeliness” at any

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level of generalization or abstraction. As one of my interviewees (a business administration doctoral student) suggested on Independence Day in 2004, “the people here do not make for a representative sample of Israeli society … they are mizrahi’im (oriental),2 masorti’im (traditional—in relation to religious observance) and of low socioeconomic status.” This observation is accurate and important for understanding the arguments that follow. I argue neither that al ha’esh events at Sakker Park are inaccurate representations of barbeques held elsewhere in Israel, nor that they represent a microcosm of Israeli society. In fact, there is a huge variety of ways in which Israelis of diverse classes, ethnic groups, religious propensities or political affiliations celebrate and/or commemorate Independence Day (inclusive of many activities other than al ha’esh). These, in turn, represent diverse conceptualizations of Israeliness. Independence Day barbeques at Sakker Park are representative, however, in two respects. First, they are salient and iconic events that attract media attention and were perceived by many of my interviewees as key reference points, whether positive or negative. Second, they are similar in many ways to other public al ha’esh events held on Independence Day (and on other occasions), at Ben Shemen Forest, Tel Aviv’s Charles Clore Park or the Angels Forest near Kiryat Gat (all of which were frequented during the research period). The following analysis of the Sakker Park events, although not strictly “representative,” does reveal and problematize key characteristics of what it means to be Israeli in the early twenty-first century.

Grilled Meat at Sakker Park


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While most of the researchers mentioned so far refer to red meat (mammalian muscular tissue), particularly beef, as the ultimate source of power and a basic component of masculinity, those who celebrate Independence Day at Sakker Park consume many types of meat. Despite this large variety, however, al ha’esh events retain a pretty consistent culinary structure. First, only men cook, because as a male interviewee pointed out: “only men can prepare meat properly.” They ignite the charcoal, handle and fan the fire, decide when to place the meat over the grill and when to remove it, season it and serve it to the other celebrators. Many of the men interviewed reported that they personally bought and prepared (marinated, skewered, seasoned etc.) the meat. Second, grilling the various types of meat follows a simple logic, from the cheaper and quickly-cooked cuts (practically fast food) to the prestigious slowcooked portions; sausages and chicken wings are cooked first, followed by hamburgers and kebabs. Skewered pargiot (spring chicken) and other kinds of meat skewers come next, with the steaks left for the end. The common explanation for this culinary sequence is that the children have to eat first “because they are hungry and cannot wait,” while the women, who must also be fed quickly, prefer skewered chicken or pargiot (“the kids like it too”). The men, who are busy barbequing, serve the meat to the children and women and are the last to join the feast, once the steaks are ready. Thus, the men at Sakker Park barbeques undertake the classic role of the masculine provider. This sequence of cooking and eating reaffirms the Israeli

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tendency to prioritize children and reflects Israeli men’s predisposition to sacrifice themselves for their families—the master narrative of Independence Day and of Yom Hazikaron (Memorial Day), celebrated a day earlier. Both events emphasize the role played by the (predominantly male) soldiers who have sacrificed themselves so that their wives and children could continue to live in an independent state. Yet, this order of grilling may be understood differently. First, the argument that children (and perhaps also women) have to be fed quickly because “they can’t wait” suggests that children and women are weak and are have poor self-restraint. If this is the case, it results that men, who are able to restrain themselves and wait patiently for their share, are morally superior. Second, while beef is the symbolic and physical source of power and potency, women and children are fed with chicken and inferior cuts of highly-processed meat. Thus, despite their need for more nourishing food, women and children are given inferior food. Finally, despite the claim that “children and women can’t wait,” the men who cook the meat constantly nibble bits and pieces of the inferior cuts before getting their steaks. Thus, in practice, the men at Sakker Park eat a significantly larger variety and quantity of meat. This culinary sequence therefore expresses a hierarchy in which men are superior to women and children. Though a classic patriarchal hierarchy, it contradicts both the Israeli discourse that prioritizes women and children, as well as the master narrative of Israel’s Independence Day, which celebrates self-sacrifice by fathers and soldiers. The fact that children and women have a privileged access to food, as they eat first, actually represents inferiority: women and children cannot restrain themselves and therefore have to settle for inferior meat, while the patient, upright men get the better cuts. However, while barbequed meat signifies masculine superiority in Israel as in North America, the variety of meat types, including mass-produced ground meats, and mainly the pargiot (spring chicken skewers)—the most popular meat grilled at Sakker Park—suggest further possibilities for understanding the power structures that govern the event. If the power inherent in beef derives from the immense strength of the ox, eating pargiot (singular pargit) does not express power, but rather weakness: the chicken is a small, vulnerable animal, and the young spring chicken, not much older than a hatchling, is more defenseless still. As indicated by the slang terminology associated with the chicken, the “cock” represents virility and potency (Geertz 1973), while the “chick” is a young woman and “prey” for those men who covet her soft flesh. Although the preference for poultry may be explained by health considerations (chicken is considered less fatty and healthier than red meat in Israel) or economic preferences (chicken is cheaper than beef), my interviewees usually explained the popularity of pargiot by arguing that it was “soft meat”—i.e. less muscular. As such, chicken is perceived by the celebrators as charged with less strength than beef. The fact that beef is eaten mostly by men suggests that the power hierarchy described in the literature reviewed above is also true in the Israeli case: beef is considered suitable for men, while chicken and specifically chicks are served to women and children, because their meat is “soft.”

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Although my informants did not explicitly say that pargiot are less strengthening or nourishing than beef, their actual eating practices chart a power structure made up of two parallel systems: children–women–men and sausages–pargiot–steaks. Their references to masculine restraint and women’s inability to “deal with steaks,” and their insinuations that women that prefer steaks are sexually assertive all emphasize the notion that chicks are less empowering than beef. Pargiot also represent Israeliness in another intriguing way. The name pargiot was coined by Yehuda Avazi, a famous Israeli restaurateur, and refers to the boned thighs of mature chickens, cut into neat, succulent and skewerable pieces. Thus, the most popular type of meat at Sakker Park is actually a fraud: old chicken disguised as young. In this sense, pargiot are emblematic of the Israeli tendency to cut corners and shortchange, which is fondly termed letachmen in modern Hebrew, implying cheating—but cleverly. The widespread ingestion of processed meats (kebabs, hamburgers and sausages, usually mass-produced, made of inferior meat and diluted with flour and vegetable proteins), the relatively limited numbers of steaks and the fact that many opt for imitation products (such as “chicken steak”), raise doubts regarding the symbolic meaning of the meat eaten at Sakker Park. If indeed, as the anthropological literature suggests, the thick and bleeding beefsteak represents potency and power, it seems that chicken wings, industrial hamburgers and, in particular, skewered spring chicken, do not represent unbridled power and masculinity but rather weakness and vulnerability, or possibly an ambivalent sense of power and weakness combined.

The Organization of Space


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While grilling and eating meat is the professed purpose of Independence Day barbeques, another salient characteristic of the Sakker Park event is its spatial organization, particularly the constant struggle over a “good spot.” As in Ben Shemen Forest, Tel Aviv’s Charles Clore Park and the Angels Forest near Kiryat Gat, thousands upon thousands congregate in the fairly limited area of Sakker Park: a sweaty mass, shrouded in smoke, the scent of lighter fluid and charred meat, loud music and screaming. It is important to note that despite the common perceptions, many of the parks and groves in Israel are virtually deserted on Independence Day, as people tend to congregate in very particular places. Thus, on Independence Day 2006, the radio newscast reported that Ben Shemen Forest was completely full by noontime, while the nearby Britannia Park was empty, with police advising celebrators to go to there instead. That afternoon, while driving past Britannia Park, I noticed that it was still fairly empty, while the roads to Ben Shemen Forest were heavily congested. Time and again I observed that celebrators actually preferred those locations known to be crowded on Independence Day. At first glance the gatherings seemed chaotic; however, the gatherings at Sakker Park are organized according to internal rules known to the regular participants, which are immediately (and sometimes forcefully) made clear to newcomers. These rules relate to the organization of space and to its division among the participants,

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who primarily seek “a good spot,” which is an object of admiration, envy, challenge and controversy, as occupying one connotes seniority, experience, diligence, organizational skills and, above all, power. A good barbeque spot at Sakker Park is defined by several parameters, the first and foremost of which is shade. Independence Day is celebrated in late April or early May—usually a fairly hot day—and shade is scarce at Sakker Park. Located along Ben-Zvi Boulevard, the park is divided into two lawns surrounded by thin strips of trees. The area around the trees at the edge of the lawns offers the ideal combination of shade and grass. The northern area, closest to the main access route to the park and the parking areas, is preferable because grilling there means that the celebrators have to carry their equipment over a shorter distance from the car. Another parameter, so important in the region, is access to water. The park has a limited number of water fountains, used by the celebrators for drinking and dishwashing. Naturally, the areas nearest to the fountains are most congested. To conclude, a “good spot” is a shaded, well-spaced area close to the parking area and a water fountain. Accordingly, some of the celebrators, mainly the senior regulars with larger families, who require considerable space for their equipment, arrive early in the morning, and sometimes the night before, right after the Memorial Day festivities, in order to “litfos makom tov” (catch a good spot). Catching a spot is done by fencing the desirable space. Those who arrive the evening before use barriers such as thick ropes or green nylon sheets tied to trees, and even metal poles planted into the grass. This preliminary fencing is problematic as light or ambiguous barriers such as ropes may be ignored or removed, while more massive barriers may be vandalized or even stolen. While only a few catch a spot as early as the night before, many regular participants send an advance guard to do so early in the morning. Sixty-seven yearold Micha said: “The objective is to come early … to catch a spot. I arrive early with my truck. We are fifty people from my side of the family alone—daughters and grandchildren. We come every year, catch a spot there … But this year someone came at night to catch—we let them be…” The Cohens came at 5 am: “Our dad, may he rest in peace, used to come yearly, and now we come.” They find a spot in the shade and close to the road, and build a large pavilion with a metal skeleton. After they finish building, they mark their territory with adhesive nylon tapes and go home to rest, leaving a “guard” behind. As early as 6 am, many of the preferable areas are marked with ropes, nylons or orange police-style tape. Those with large amounts of equipment unload it from vans and use chairs and other items to mark their territory. In 2007, one of the territories was marked with thin ropes on which inflated garbage bags were hung, while another was marked with white and blue balloons (the colors of the national flag). Only two territories were marked with chains of small national flags. One of these was the huge camp of the International Evangelical Church, whose members form one of the largest and most visible groups on Independence Day yearly.

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One of the interviewees, walking with her husband and son among the celebrators and observing these makeshift barriers, commented: “I’m a landscape architect … and it is clear that demarcation is very central here…” This being the case, the discourse around “catching a good spot” is very central: “Those ones came last night to catch a spot…”; “Run quickly and catch a spot over there…” (to a child); “Well done, Naor!” (to a child who ran ahead “caught a spot” by standing in the shade); “We have a big family, we need a lot of space”; “Punct (to the point), isn’t it?” (a proud husband shows his wife a shaded spot on the grass, very close where he had parked his car). When I asked one of the celebrators why a territory has to be marked in advance he replied: “That’s the way Israelis are: they go to the beach, plant four stakes—and now this is ours and all trespassers beware…” The struggle for space naturally leads to friction and conflict. In the morning, people still try to keep a distance, and anyone coming too close is greeted with remarks such as, “There’s plenty of room to spare! Why are you sitting over our heads?” But later in the day, as it gets hotter, the park becomes more crowded and the shade rotates and shrinks, people crowd into the shaded areas and demand to share them. Those who massively demarcated their territories are protected against this creeping annexation, but those who used chairs or bags often have to make concessions. Here are some illustrative quotes: “Your son invaded a territory which is not ours” (says a woman to a relative); “You can’t just stand next to the car and say, ‘this is ours’…”; “They saved this spot for us”; and “We were already here before.” In 2008, I witnessed an argument between an Ethiopian Jew,3 who used a rope to mark a territory among the trees before driving off to collect his family members, and the men of three families who arrived later and shared this space between them, ignoring the rope. When “the Ethiopian,” as he was referred to by the other men, returned with his family, he claimed that “this area is mine, because I put up a rope in the morning,” while the three countered that the area wasn’t marked at all. The “Ethiopian” pointed at the rope still hanging between the trees, but the response was: “Where were you all morning? … Did you drive all the way to Tel Aviv to bring your family?” From where I was standing I could hear the three men, who had previously not known each other, coordinating their versions in order to refute the Ethiopian’s claim. One of them approached him in a way combining familiarity (“come here bro”) with a semi-serious physical and verbal threat (“come here and I’ll kick your ass,” smiling and hugging him tightly) and offered him a non-shaded area between the three family-territories. While his family members began looking for another spot, the Ethiopian man kept insisting: “We will go away, but don’t say I wasn’t here first…” Beyond “catching a spot,” the other distinct characteristic of space management is equipment. While some celebrators settled for a small tin barbeque, picnic cooler and blanket, many brought impressive amounts of gear. The barbeque itself can be large, heavy and sophisticated. Some celebrators used massive hi-tech gasoperated devices, with wheels, metal covers and surfaces for the meat, spices and forks. Someone told me: “You just wait and see the show we’re going to put up

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here. This year we bought a gas grill especially.” Small mobile gas stoves were also very common, particularly for coffee making. In addition to the cooking and storage equipment, which included barbeques, picnic coolers, cardboard boxes and plastic bags, many of the celebrators brought tables and chairs, both collapsible and regular plastic garden furniture. Others put up light tents, mainly for the children to play inside, as well as mattresses, sleeping bags and mats. In recent years, many retailers offer “Independence Day packs” which include, for example, a tent, mattresses and sleeping bags, or a set of folding tables and chairs. Many of the celebrators had brand new equipment of this type. In addition, many participants had fetched playthings such as balls, frisbees, backgammon boards, nargila (water pipes), mobile audio and video players and music instruments such as goblet drums and guitars. Some territories boasted real pavilions with extensive equipment. In the consistently largest territory throughout the period of study, demarcated each year around one of the fountains so as to be in sole possession of it, I found in 2009 dozens of chairs, several tables of various sizes, two large barbeque stands, a gas stove, vegetable crates, picnic coolers, four sofas and a large (generator-operated) television. In this context, it is noteworthy that scholars of the Israeli backpacking phenomenon4 have pointed to the importance of equipment items in the discourse and practice of young travelers. For example, in their research on Israeli backpackers, Maoz (1999) and Noy (2003) repeatedly emphasize the salience and importance of tziud ([travelling] gear): backpacks, cameras, sleeping bags, mattresses, portable gas stoves and a large variety of other practical kits, from items used to fix other items, all the way to drug kits. The centrality of these items in Israeli society is derived from the direct relationship between mandatory military service and the so called “Great Trip” after release from service, with the two spheres influencing each other: while the military obsession with equipment and “preparedness” shapes backpackers’ discourse, high-end backpacker equipment is coveted by many soldiers. Indeed, the backpacker stores now cater also to soldiers and increasingly blur the two spheres (one of the largest chains, for example, is called Ricochet). As already mentioned, many of the items used on Independence Day are inexpensive versions of backpacker and/or military gear, and their use suggests the influence of military and backpacker patterns on Independence Day al ha’esh events and on Israeli practices at large.

Struggling for Space Evidently, Independence Day celebrators at Sakker Park do not conduct themselves as chaotically as it would seem at first sight, instead following clear rules. At this point, I would suggest that these rules relate to two key cultural scripts that embody certain Israeli conceptions of space management: “alone together” and “tower and stockade.” Their analysis of the huge popularity of cafés in Israel, Shapira and Navon (1991) suggest that the phenomenon originates in the Israeli tendency to prefer being alone

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together. They attribute this preference to the blurring of boundaries between private and public space by which individuals cope with the historic and structural superiority of the collective in Israel. The café, argue Shapira and Navon, enables Israelis to be “together” with other Israelis, while at the same time maintain a “bubble” of privacy. This bubble is transparent, penetrable and quite elastic, however, enabling café patrons to connect to, or disconnect from, the public and collective according to their wishes and circumstances. As an example for this dynamic, the authors describe the moment when the siren sounds to commemorate the fallen on Memorial Day, when the boundaries of both private bubbles and the café collapse as it were, and the patrons join a common national space for a predetermined period of time: as long as the siren horns (Shapira and Navon 1991: 114). The Sakker Park event facilitates a similar dynamic. As already mentioned, many informants explained their choice of the park by describing it as a place of “togetherness” or where “all the people of Israel” celebrate. Two sisters explained, for example, that they originally wanted to spend the day with their extended family at Ein Hemed (another popular al ha’esh location) because they wanted to be “alone and quiet … but the brothers wanted here, like all the rest of am Israel (the people of Israel).” Members of a family from Jerusalem’s Ramot neighborhood, whose house borders on a large grove, said they preferred Sakker Park because “where we live, at Ramot Forest, it’s isolated.” Many newcomers to Israeli society (primarily immigrants from Ethiopia, France and the United States) emphasized that they had come to Sakker Park to be “together with everyone” and to “connect with the people of Israel.” Many participants apparently consciously chose to crowd together at Sakker Park for a significant reason: on the most collective day on the Israeli calendar, they wanted to experience collective Israeliness in practice. However, as in the Tel Aviv café studied by Shapira and Navon, the relationships between the individual and the collective at Sakker Park are more complex and dynamic than the desire to experience a shared holiday in a communal space. First, the participants clearly challenge the park’s designation as a collective/public space and (temporarily) divide it among themselves. As noted by the abovementioned doctoral student, “they come for togetherness but immediately put up a fence.” Second, the tension at Sakker Park is not strictly between the individual and the collective (as in the café) but between families. The dominant social unit at the park is the extended family, followed by the nuclear family, while peer groups are relatively few in number. Thus, unlike the Tel Aviv café patrons, at Sakker Park we do not have individuals grouping “alone together” but, rather, a congregation of mainly extended families, who fight over the demarcation of temporary territories. To conclude, the desire to be “alone together” on Independence Day is one of Sakker Park’s main attractions, as well as a key source of tension. This tension is managed by rules of conduct which usually prevent overt conflict. Nevertheless, every year I witnessed incidents of verbal and even physical violence around “spot catching” issues, which arose when territorial claims conflicted and the delicate balance between “alone” and “together” was upset.

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While Shapira and Navon (1991) use the term “alone together” to refer to the organization of spatial relations among Israeli Jews, I chose the term “wall and stockade” to designate the cultural principle informing the conduct of Israeli Jews in the territory they share with Arabs. Before describing this cultural script, I would emphasize that this term was not explicitly mentioned by my informants, and that it represents my own interpretation. I would also stress that in the discussion below I deliberately expand this historical concept beyond its immediate historical context—the Arab Revolt in Palestine, 1936–39—so as to refer to the cultural script behind the Zionist colonization of Palestine throughout the twentieth century. The cultural script of the wall and stockade took shape gradually thanks to the region’s unique geopolitical characteristics. In the United States and the other migrant nations referred to above, the frontier was generally sparse: wide open spaces thinly populated by indigenous groups (Kimmerling 1989). In order to occupy those vast spaces, lone rangers would herd cattle across huge stretches of land. The iconic symbol of the lone ranger is the rifle over the fireplace, which stands for one’s (perceived) need to defend oneself independently. Thus, and as expounded above, crude and armed individualism, masculinity and cattle are interrelated constitutive concepts in the United States and other migrant states, publicly celebrated in barbeques on national days. In pre-statehood Palestine, Zionist Jewish settlers operated in a very different reality, that of the dense frontier: a small territory with limited arable land and water reserves, densely populated and intensively farmed, with the indigenous population far outnumbering the new migrants/colonizers/settlers. Here, states Kimmerling (1989), spatial conditions shaped a form of colonization that was completely different from the form which characterized other immigrant nations: well-organized groups of settlers used money and/or force to claim small territories (“catch a good spot”), and form enclaves. Due to the low quality of these lands and the security threat, lone-ranger arrangements could not survive, and were replaced by collective and communal forms such as the kibbutz, which proved more effective in managing the limited resources and security threats. The resistance of local Palestinians to Jewish colonization and the future threat it represented required special security arrangements. Gradually, a militarized colonization pattern evolved, which included claiming available land and then quickly settling and fortifying the enclave. During the Arab Revolt of 1936–39, this form reached its ultimate refinement with prefabricated houses and fortifications transported in the dead of night, set up within hours by volunteers mobilized for that purpose, and settled immediately. This form of settlement was known as “wall and stockade” (Homa umigdal) after its most visible features, seen as essential for the survival of the new settlements. Although only a few dozen communities were built this way, this script is representative of the logic and practice of Zionist colonization since the late nineteenth century, and continued to act as a practical model for Zionist settlements during the post-statehood period (Shenhar and Katriel 1992). This script culminated in the Jewish settlement of the territories occupied in 1967, with largely similar

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physical, organizational and ideological elements (although the state plays a complex and contradiction-laden role in the process). One of the paradoxes inherent to the wall and stockade script lies in the constant tension between the Zionist ambition of rectifying the Jewish-diasporic condition by settling and farming in Palestine (Liebman and Don-Yehia 1983: 4) and the “light construction” which characterizes it. Early Zionist settlements used tents; the wall and stockade settlements used prefabricated wooden structures; tents and tin shacks were used to house the immigrants of the early 1950s; and settlements in the Occupied Territories—particularly those not sanctioned by authorities—use caravans and other mobile structures which can also be rebuilt quickly if demolished. During the 1990s, state authorities readopted the “light construction” approach to house the massive wave of immigration from the former Soviet Union, and it was used again more recently to temporarily house the Jewish settlers evacuated from the Gaza Strip in 2005. The paradox lies in the tension between the Zionist ideology which seeks stability and groundedness as a countermeasure to the diaspora, and its enactment in patently unstable structures. My analysis of spatial practices in Sakker Park indicates that “spot catching” follows the logic of wall and stockade: early arrival, sometimes at night; identification of a free space; quick movement into the space with portable equipment; rapid fencing to claim the space as one’s own; and finally, willingness to confront others and defend the territory while denying counterclaims to the essentially public space. I do no argue that this is a conscious process with overt or declared symbolic meaning. I argue only that the celebrators follow a script formulated over more than a century of Jewish colonization, to which they were continually exposed as pioneers, settlers and/or media and culture consumers. This is no conscious enactment of the Zionist myth but a self-evident practice organized along routine and non-reflexive cultural patterns. The participants do not state, and as far as I can tell, do not think that they are reenacting the events of the 1930s, but simply wish to “catch a spot” according to the Israeli custom. Nevertheless, these spatial practices are clearly representative of Zionist patterns of struggling for space.

Discussion


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While the literature stresses the association between meat, masculinity and power, the variety of meats in Sakker Park, and notably the huge popularity of pargiot (spring-chicken skewers), raises questions regarding this relationship in the Israeli context, and points to an experience which involves a sense of weakness and vulnerability. As space does not allow an exhaustive discussion of the centrality of these dimensions in contemporary Jewish Israeli identity, I will mention only the studies by Zerubavel (1994) and Feldman (2008), who analyze the cultural processes that structure feelings of weakness and vulnerability among Israel’s Jewish citizens in recent decades. In these studies, as in my own research, it is not an experience of absolute weakness, but rather an ambivalent attitude which combines power and potency with vulnerability and feebleness. This ambivalence is perfectly symbolized by the spring-chicken skewers: although ingesting any type

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of meat connotes power and control, this particular type—succulent, “feminine” and vulnerable—is limited in its potential to charge the eaters with strength. The second dimension discussed in this article is space. Here too, I have emphasized two Israeli organizing principles that represent key scripts for negotiating space at Sakker Park: “alone together” and “wall and stockade.” The first is about relationships among Jewish Israelis, explaining the tension between the desire for togetherness in the foremost national event and the constant effort to demarcate boundaries between the various groups of participants. The second organizes the relationship between Jews and Arabs in the shared space and serves to explain the practice of catching a good spot. Although the celebrators at Sakker Park are almost exclusively Jewish, they follow the wall and stockade script of claiming territory in a land densely populated by the Palestinian Arabs. Thus, spatial conduct in the park sheds light on inherent tensions between Jews and Arabs, primarily the conflict between the sense of total ownership and other competing claims, as well as the constant tension between the desire for stability and the practice of transience. The spatial dimension of the Independence Day barbeque thus communicates ambivalent senses of stability versus transience and power versus weakness. The huge popularity of the al ha’esh event at Sakker Park thus derives precisely from the complex and polisemic nature of this event. Meat grilling en masse enables those celebrating Independence Day to identify with a variety of cultural sources and points to complex manifestations of power and hierarchy. At the same time, the event facilitates the expression of tensions between the individual and the collective, as well as between various ethnic and socioeconomic groups. It emphasizes the centrality of the family as a significant social unit and as an alternative to other collectives once very central in Jewish Israeli society, above all the peer group. The battle for space between Jews and Palestinians is also spatially represented in the day which celebrates victory in this fight. This apparently trivial food event encompasses and allows the expression of many of the most pressing issues and problems of contemporary Israel, and this is precisely what makes it so popular.

Beyond Sakker Park Prior to the Independence Day celebrations of 2010, a friend living in a rural community reported that someone (“we do not know who”) had placed an outdoor installation on a traffic island at the entrance to the community. The anonymous artist nailed a small synthetic grass carpet to the asphalt, placed a barbeque on it and stuck a small flag in between the embers, of the type commonly hung from car windows in the run-up to Independence Day. Near the flag, was a sign saying “Occupied!” (Figure 1). This installation clearly interrelates with many of the ideas suggested in this article, primarily the relationships between Israel’s Independence Day, grilled meat, spatial organization and “spot catching.” The installation also touches upon the key Zionist ethos of “blooming the wilderness”—the attempt to acculturate space by embedding West European elements such as grass in an Oriental landscape (Feige 2009)—as well as the Israeli dream of a private piece of grass in a densely

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Fig 1: Traffic Island Barbeque. Photograph by Tami Grupper.


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populated country. The resolute claiming of this tiny space is an elegant illustration of Shapira and Navon’s (1991) argument that the boundaries between “private” and “public” in Israel are blurred, and that the state’s claim over its own citizens produces the counter-claim that many Israelis perceive public space as their own. In such a manner, a public traffic island can become a private barbequing site. The installation emphasizes the struggle for space, characteristic not only of al ha’esh events at Sakker Park but also of a variety of public events in Israel. For example, a kibbutz member pointed out in an interview that my description of a “good spot” at Sakker Park and the way it is occupied is “a precise description of what happens at our swimming pool on weekends.” Thus, although the Sakker Park event is not a strictly “representative case” due to the socioeconomic status, ethnic origin and religious affiliation of many participants, they do behave similarly to bathers in a kibbutz pool—their almost complete opposite in socioeconomic respects. This supports my claim that the social mechanisms and organizing principles described above are far from exceptional, and are often manifested in other public arenas. It should be noted that the artwork is somewhat cynical. The appropriation of a traffic island in order to grill meat is grotesquely symbolic of the familiar sweaty, loud and exploitative “red-neck” Israeli who does not recognize other people’s rights to the public space he appropriates. The flag is also a mocking reference to an Israeli founding myth: the heroic act of hoisting the flag over occupied landmarks, such as over the Wailing Wall in the Old City of Jerusalem in 1967. Finally, the composition as a whole seems like a miniature model of settlements built in recent years (on both sides of the Green Line—Israel’s border with its Arab neighbors until the 1967 war), with their cubical houses, synthetic lawns, security fences and yellow electric gates—all of which shout “occupied!” but at the same time communicate a sense of insecurity and transience. Importantly, this installation was located at the entrance to a community whose cultural and socioeconomic characteristics are more similar to the abovementioned kibbutz than to the celebrators at Sakker Park, described as “Oriental, conservative and of low socioeconomic status.” Nevertheless, the artist clearly assumed that

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the local inhabitants would identify the cultural codes embedded in the installation, and probably directed his or her social critique at them (otherwise there would be very little point in placing the installation at the entrance to this particular community). Thus, as with the al ha’esh events at Sakker Park, the installation not only suggests the explicit relationship between grilled meat, national independence, masculinity and power, but also a significant yet implicit relationship between these events and the complex struggle for space between various social and ethnic groups, characterized by the complex combination of power and weakness, stability and transience. Nir Avieli is a senior lecturer at the Department of Sociology and Anthropology, BenGurion University of the Negev. He is a cultural anthropologist interested mainly in food and in tourism. His book, Rice Talks: Food and Community in a Vietnamese Town, presents a culinary ethnography of the central Vietnamese town of Hoi An. He has conducted further ethnographic research in Thailand, India, Singapore and Israel. He is currently writing a book titled, Food and Power: A Culinary Ethnography of Israel. Department of Sociology and Anthropology, Ben-Gurion University of the Negev, Beer Sheva, Israel ([email protected]).

Notes 1 Mangal is a Turkish term for a metal device that holds burning charcoal for heating or cooking. In contemporary Israel, mangal refers to a charcoal grill. 2 Jews who migrated to Israel from Muslim countries. 3 Since the mid-1980s, Israel has absorbed some 200,000 Ethiopian Jews. Members of this community, termed “Ethiopians,” face ongoing discrimination based on the color of their skin. 4 Backpacking is extremely common among Israeli-Jewish youth and has been the object of substantial academic attention.

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