The Only Language They Understand

Why Israel needs better Arabic (LOTL Remastered)

Throughout the summer, I’m revisiting and updating earlier LOTL pieces, giving them the broader readership they deserve with some minor revisions and expanded analysis. Today, I’m returning to an article I originally published in February 2024, about the need for better Arabic teaching in Israel, this time with some updated figures and developments from the past 18 months.

Back in February 2024, I guided in Jerusalem for only the second time since October 7^th. The Old City was predictably empty, but it was great to be back doing my day job, however briefly. Following tradition, I took my tourist to Abu Musa’s tea stand in the Cotton Market (Suq El Qattanin), next to one of the entrances to the Temple Mount/Al Aqsa. The market was built by the Mamluks in the 14^th century, and although it no longer sells much cotton, it still has plenty of charm, and – when there isn’t a war – it’s full of tourists and locals sitting together on simple chairs drinking coffee or smoking shisha.

While tourists can leave the Temple Mount via the Cotton Market gate, only Muslims are permitted to enter from there. As a result, tourists occasionally head obliviously towards the gate, only to be turned back. Last week, I was guiding the only tourist in the market, but there was some action regardless. A young Palestinian man had a verbal altercation with one of the Israeli policemen guarding the entrance to the Temple Mount. The policeman was Druze, so they argued in Arabic, until they were on the verge of physical blows. My tourist asked me what was going on.

I once studied Arabic for a year, nearly a decade ago. It was at the Jerusalem Intercultural Center, where my wife was working at the time, and I was taught by a leading Arabic teacher in the city, Anwar Ben Badis. He was great, but I struggled. The problem was twofold: First, from my perspective, which I’m aware is disputed, Arabic is extremely difficult. Second, alongside work and other commitments, I didn’t have the time I needed to invest in it properly, which meant I was always struggling. This problem was exacerbated by the fact that many of my fellow students were pensioners. With all the time in the world to do their homework, they quickly became far more proficient than me.

The private JICC course is highly regarded, but poor Arabic instruction in Israeli schools and universities is a longstanding problem. English is the only mandatory language in Hebrew-language schools, with classes starting in second grade. Arabic is offered from the fifth grade, but only as an elective. Between seventh and ninth grades, students must begin three years of a mandatory second language – either Arabic or French. They can then do the bagrut – matriculation – in either language (Arabic schools, by contrast, must start Hebrew (alongside English) by second or third grade and continue through graduation). In 2011-12, only 11,000 high school students studied Arabic, out of a total of 253,000. There are also a few Hebrew-Arabic bilingual schools run by the Hand in Hand network.

According to Madrasa (‘School’), a civil society organization that works to teach Arabic to Israelis, 95 percent of Jewish Israelis have no ability to communicate in Arabic, though 22% of Israel’s total population are native Arabic speakers. In 2011 (the most recent figures available), only 11.5% of Jewish Israelis over 20 had any knowledge of the language. Of those, one in four consider Arabic to be their native language. Only one percent of Jewish Israelis were fluent in Arabic.

A big part of the problem is how Arabic is taught. Although over 20% of Israel’s population mother tongue is Arabic, in 2021, out of 1,306 Arabic teachers, 406 were Arab (a decade earlier it was only 173). In high schools, fewer than one in 10 Arabic teachers are Arab. As Yoni Mandel, an expert on Arab teaching in Israel, puts it: “Arabic [in Israel] has become an Arab-free field.”

The emphasis in schools, and some universities, is on linguistics and preparation for intelligence roles in the army. In Mendel’s words: “[It’s] as if we’re learning ancient Greek, not a language of the Middle East, the closest language to Hebrew.” The focus is on Modern Standard Arabic (known as Fusha); only in 2019 was an elective spoken Arabic course introduced. There is an emphasis on grammar over communication, and students are not given the ability to use Arabic in non-academic settings. As a result, even those who graduate with a perfect score feel that their Arabic is weak. Despite this, 64% of Jewish Israelis think it’s important for Arabic to be mandatory in schools. Indeed, in 2015, maverick Likud MK Oren Hazan (of all people) introduced legislation to make Arabic mandatory, which didn’t pass the Knesset.

Thankfully, things are beginning to change. Mandel is one of the founders of a new program at Ben-Gurion University focusing on conversational Arabic. Meanwhile, Madrasa serves over 95,000 students with free videos that allow them to learn the language at their own pace: “Our vision is that the Arabic language will become a common denominator across the various ethnic, cultural and societal groups in Israel and will help transform Israeli society into one in which all members of the society can communicate with each other fluently and without difficulty.”

October 7^th has paradoxically led to a surge in Arabic learning among Israelis. Despite an initial drop in registrations immediately after the Hamas attack, demand for online Arabic learning programs has more than doubled. According to Gilad Sevitt, founder of Madrasa: “Before October 7, we had 50 Israelis every day registering to learn on the website, which is a lot. But there was a huge leap after, it was amazing.” This uptick has been attributed both to a desire to “know the enemy” and to better communicate with neighbors.

Arabic has a complex place in Israeli society. It is both the language of over one fifth of Israel’s citizens, the language of the enemy, and the language of large numbers of Jews who were ethnically cleansed from the Middle East. Previously an official language, in 2018 the controversial Nation-State Law changed its status to “special,” adding “this clause does not harm the status given to the Arabic language before this law came into effect.” In 2022, when Ra’am MK Walid Taha gave a speech in the Knesset in Arabic, there was fury from the right. “Look at what we’ve gotten to,” Likud MK David Amsalem said. “Two Arabs speaking to each other [in Arabic]…You will speak Hebrew here in the Israeli parliament.” This was particularly ironic given that both his parents made Aliyah from Morocco.

Today, though, there is increased understanding of the importance of Arabic across the political divide. Whether it’s those on the far right who seek to know the language of the enemy, or those on the far left who seek a more binational future, there are no serious objections to ensuring that Israeli children speak better Arabic. As with many other eminently sensible ideas here in Israel, though, for now there is little sign of them being implemented. In the wake of forced cutbacks caused by the war, they have become even less likely. However, even before the war, some Jerusalem schools began implementing the “Ahlan” program, which aims to enhance Jewish students’ ability to communicate in spoken Arabic as an effort to create more positive relations between the city’s Arab and Jewish residents.

In writing this, I appreciate that I’m being quite hypocritical. I haven’t studied Arabic since that year at the JICC, and if I’m being honest with myself, given other commitments, it’s hard to see myself doing so properly for the foreseeable future, or perhaps even until I’m a pensioner myself. It’s very important to me, though that my children will be able to learn to speak Arabic, especially in a city where one third of the residents are Palestinians. Finally, one doesn’t need to adopt the obviously colonial notion of the “Arab Jew” to acknowledge the importance of Arabic for Jewish history and culture, as reflected in the recent renaissance of Israeli music in Arabic, from groups such as A-WA, Dudu Tassa, and Yemen Blues, to name but a few.

Improved Israeli Arabic would naturally have an impact on our relations with Palestinians. Everyone remembers Sadat’s famous visit to Jerusalem in 1977, but what about an Israeli prime minister speaking Arabic? Here one figure that springs to mind is the suave former Mossad director Yossi Cohen, an eighth-generation sabra. Speaking Arabic wouldn’t change the fundamentals of our conflict, but it might help shift the mentality. As Ittay Flescher, former education director at Kids4Peace Jerusalem, says: “A common theme that often arises in our dialogue between teenagers is the issue of language. Many Palestinian youths often comment about how meaningful it is to be spoken to in their own language, in acknowledgement that another person is trying to make them feel more included and at home in this city.” Through learning each other’s language, we are symbolically acknowledging our mutual presence here.

So what about the confrontation at the market? I explained to the tourist that there were often tensions because of the clash between Jewish and Palestinian claims to the city, that the Palestinians view Israelis as occupiers, and in the absence of an agreed solution to this problem, hostility was inevitable, especially at a place like the Temple Mount/Al Aqsa. I think the explanation holds, but in this case, my lack of Arabic caused me to misread what was happening. When I went to pay for our drinks, I asked what the problem had been, and was told that the young Palestinian man was a bit of a meshuggana, and that both police and Waqf alike were keen to keep him away from the holy site. It was refreshing to witness this unexpected moment of consensus in such a resolutely divided city. If only I had been able to understand what was happening in the first place.