From "Primitive" to "Authentic": The Culinary Politics of Early Israel

Israel is a nation of immigrants—a thin stretch of land where Jews from every corner of the globe suddenly found themselves huddled together. In the early decades of the state, the Ashkenazi elite (hailing from Eastern and Central Europe) viewed themselves as a "modernizing, civilizing force." To them, Jews arriving from Middle Eastern and North African countries were often seen as "primitive" relics of the past.

Yet, this was a complex relationship: even as they sought to "modernize" these newcomers, many Ashkenazi Israelis were enamored with what they perceived as the "primal authenticity" of Mizrahi life. Food became the primary battlefield for this cultural tension. It was a way to adapt to the region, appreciate the "exotic," or scold the "unrefined."

Let’s look at three examples from the first two decades of the State of Israel.

1. Hummus: "Make it Yourself—Cleaner and Cheaper!"

Hummus is perhaps the most iconic dish shared by Israelis and Palestinians, long prevalent across the Middle East. While Palestinians and Mizrahi Jews were already intimately familiar with it, European immigrants quickly developed a taste for the "Oriental" delicacy.

By the 1950s, Ashkenazi Jews were regularly frequenting Middle Eastern eateries. While this was framed as a "healthy cultural exchange," the mainstream media was wary. A prominent column in Haaretz titled "Secrets of the Oriental Kitchen" enticed readers to replicate these dishes at home. The subtext was clear: why eat in a "questionable" alleyway restaurant when you can make it yourself? It was more cost-effective and, most importantly, met European standards of "cleanliness."

The "Graceful Yemenite" and the Soy Revolution

In 1962, the "Eastern Fair" in Tel Aviv featured a surprising high-tech guest: the American Soy booth. Long before Tofu was a staple of Tel Aviv cafes, soy was marketed as a "modern nutrient" for a young state where meat was a rare luxury.

The challenge was how to integrate this "modern marvel" into traditional kitchens. The solution was a fascinating piece of theater: they recruited a "graceful young Yemenite woman" markedly named Geula (Hebrew for "Salvation"). Her role was to demonstrate how traditional Yemenite dishes could be "improved" with soy. It was the ultimate metaphor for the era—using modern Western technology to "elevate" the traditions of the Orient.

Ali Baba at the Central Bus Station

For many immigrants, eating falafel was more than just a quick lunch; it was a "rite of passage" into their "Old-New Homeland." However, the descriptions of these encounters often dripped with Orientalist stereotypes.

In a 1954 article from the newspaper Herut, a writer describes a visit to a stand near the Tel Aviv Central Bus Station:

"I approached one of the cleaner eateries... and asked for a half-portion of falafel. That is, the half of an Arab pita into which the 'cook' inserts—with all five of his fingers—three balls of falafel... and for dessert, also a hot pepper that burns the palate and transports you to the fascinating world of the East, with Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves."

To this writer, the falafel wasn't just food; it was a passport to a folkloric, spicy, and slightly "dangerous" world.

Join Our Upcoming Class: The Politics of Food

How did Israelis use the dinner plate to navigate the complex hodgepodge of immigrant culture? How did "foreign" flavors become the tools used to establish oneself as a "native" in a strange land?

If you want to dive deeper into the recipes, the rivalries, and the rhetoric that shaped the Israeli palate, all while practicing your Hebrew and meeting interesting people,  join us for our upcoming class!