The history of Israeli science and technology offers a unique case study of a young and small nation that has developed an unprecedented love affair with science and technology. Unlike other nineteenth-century ideologies, Zionism was never considered to be founded on science. Nevertheless, from the very start, the Zionist movement perceived the sciences, pure and applied, as central to its program of creating a new Jewish society in the Land of Israel (Funkenstein [1985] 2003). Modern science was to provide twice for the Jews: a relief from their suffocating religion and the tools needed to recover their ancient land from its ruins. Israel would remain the people of the book, but it would be the Book of Nature, not of God, that would set it free. Sharing the universal knowledge and values of science with mankind, the Jews would finally become both normal and self-determined. Thus, already in the nineteenth century, long before the State of Israel was founded, Zionist visionaries had dreamt of it as a modern version of Francis Bacon's utopian Kingdom of Bensalem, where science and technology would provide health, wealth, and power (Elboim-Dror 1993; Herzl 1902).

We examine the creation and functioning of the “Pasteur Institute in Palestine” focusing on the relationship between biological science, health policy, and the creation of a “new society” within the framework of Zionism. Similar to other bacteriological institutes founded by colonial powers, this laboratory was developed in response to public health needs. But it also had a political role. Dr. Leo Böhm, a Zionist physician, strived to establish his institution along the lines of the Zionist aspiration to develop a national entity based on strong scientific foundations. Even though the institute enjoyed several fruitful years of operation, mainly during World War I, it achieved no lasting national or scientific importance in the country. Böhm failed to adapt to new ways of knowledge production, scientifically and socially. The case study of the “Pasteur Institute in Palestine” serves as a prism to view the role of the public health laboratory in the history of Palestine with its ongoing changes of scientific, organizational, and political context.

This article gives the background to a public lecture delivered in Hebrew by Edmund Landau at the opening ceremony of the Hebrew University in Jerusalem in 1925. On the surface, the lecture appears to be a slightly awkward attempt by a distinguished German-Jewish mathematician to popularize a few number-theoretical tidbits. However, quite unexpectedly, what emerges here is Landau's personal blend of Zionism, German nationalism, and the proud ethos of pure, rigorous mathematics – against the backdrop of the situation of Germany after World War I. Landau's Jerusalem lecture thus shows how the Zionist cause was inextricably linked to, and determined by political agendas that were taking place in Europe at that time. The lecture stands in various historical contexts - Landau's biography, the history of Jewish scientists in the German Zionist movement, the founding of the Hebrew University in Jerusalem, and the creation of a modern Hebrew mathematical language. This article provides a broad historical introduction to the English translation, with commentary, of the original Hebrew text.

Few chapters in the historiography of psychoanalysis are as densely packed with trans-cultural, ideological, institutional, and moral issues as the coming of psychoanalysis to Jewish Palestine – a geopolitical space which bears some of the deepest scars of twentieth-century European, and in particular German, history. From the historical as well as the critical perspective, this article reconstructs the intricate connections between migration, separation and loss, continuity and new beginning which resonate in the formative years of psychoanalysis in pre-state Israel.

Following World War II, as macroeconomics and econometrics became a necessary tool for policy-making, economists worldwide rose in influence. Those economists in peripheral and new countries were especially important as they could wield the instruments essential in forming states. Israel was no exception. In Israel this process was associated with the establishment of the economics department at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem and the Falk Project, led by Don Patinkin and the community of economists that he nurtured. This article poses three questions regarding Patinkin's influence and his role in the process of state formation. First, how did he affect economic policy discourse in Israel; second, what role did Patinkin and his students play in the process of state formation; and finally, what was the effect of Patinkin and his students on Israeli government policies? I argue that Patinkin had a specific and irreducible influence on the localization of pro-market ideas and policies in Israel, and that he and his students contributed to the consolidation of the state autonomy and capacity. Furthermore, I argue that they contributed to a more strict implementation of the recession policy in the mid-1960s.

This article describes how science and law were called upon (and failed) to resolve a controversy that created a painful rift between the Israeli State and some of its elite soldiers. The controversy, which came to be known as “the Kishon affair,” erupted in 2000, when veterans of an elite and secretive unit in the Israeli navy claimed that pollution in the Kishon River where they had trained and dived during their military service had been the cause of a rash of cancers. The veterans demanded that the Ministry of Defense take responsibility for their illnesses, finance their medical treatment, and support their families if they die. The military denied the causal connection between the polluted river and the veterans’ cancers and rejected their demands. The dispute quickly escalated into a bitter public controversy, and a high-rank commission comprised of one of Israel's top jurists and two prominent scientists was called upon to study the disputed causal relation and reveal its true nature. However, after nearly three years of intense inquiry the jurist and the scientists reached opposing conclusions: the jurist found a causal connection while the scientists rejected it.

When Emanuel Ringelblum was born on November 21, 1900, in Buczacz, the small, multilingual and multi-ethnic Galician town was to be found on the far northeastern part of the Austrian Empire. As a mail stamp on a Correspondenz-Karte or Karta korrespondencyja of 1890 shows, the place was officially spelled in accordance with its Polish orthography. However, it was called Butschtasch in German, Bichuch in Yiddish, and still differently in Ukranian. After World War I, it was for a short while part of Ukrania, and subsequently became Polish, then Soviet, and Ukranian again in the aftermath of the end of the Soviet Union. Ringelblum's cousin, Shmuel Josef Agnon (1888–1970), was also born in Buczacz. But their lives were to diverge in most respects. Agnon is remembered as one of the leading authors of modern Hebrew belles-lettres who was awarded the Nobel Prize for literature in 1966. And one remembers Ringelblum as the one who, with utmost and relentless courage, organized the underground archive Oyneg Shabes in the Warsaw ghetto. Samuel D. Kassow, the expert on the history of Oyneg Shabes and the author of a brilliant monograph on this subject, asserts that “more than anyone else it was Emanuel Ringelblum who encouraged individuals to write, who organized and conceptualized the archive, and who transformed it into a powerful center of civil resistance” (Kassow [2007] 2009, 7).

The World Congress of Jewish Physicians is to be held during a very difficult period for the Jewish population. Grim reactionary policies and their sibling, anti-Semitism, pose a growing threat to all the beautiful ideas that humanity has created over the centuries. In the struggle between progress and reaction the whole world is experiencing in these uncertain times, the Jewish population is becoming a target of assault and attack.