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Adultery, treason, and apostasy no longer carry the weight they once did. Yet we constantly see and hear stories of betrayal, and many people have personally experienced a destructive breach of loyalty. Avishai Margalit argues that the tension between the ubiquity of betrayal and the loosening of its hold is a sign of the strain between ethics and morality, between thick and thin human relations. On Betrayal offers a philosophical account of thick human relations―relationships with friends, family, and core communities―through their pathology, betrayal. Judgments of betrayal often shift unreliably. A whistle-blower to some is a backstabber to others; a traitor to one side is a hero to the other. Yet the notion of what it means to betray is remarkably consistent across cultures and eras. Betrayal undermines thick trust, dissolving the glue that holds our most meaningful relationships together. Recently, public attention has lingered on trust between strangers―on relations that play a central role in the globalized economy. These, according to Margalit, are guided by morality. On Betrayal is about ethics: what we owe to the people and groups that give us our sense of belonging. Margalit's clear-sighted account draws on literary, historical, and personal sources, including stories from his childhood during the 1948 Arab-Israeli War. Through its discussion of betrayal, it examines what our thick relationships are and should be and revives the long-discarded notion of fraternity.

When is political compromise acceptable--and when is it fundamentally rotten, something we should never accept, come what may? What if a rotten compromise is politically necessary? Compromise is a great political virtue, especially for the sake of peace. But, as Avishai Margalit argues, there are moral limits to acceptable compromise even for peace. But just what are those limits? At what point does peace secured with compromise become unjust? Focusing attention on vitally important questions that have received surprisingly little attention, Margalit argues that we should be concerned not only

When is political compromise acceptable--and when is it fundamentally rotten, something we should never accept, come what may? What if a rotten compromise is politically necessary? Compromise is a great political virtue, especially for the sake of peace. But, as Avishai Margalit argues, there are moral limits to acceptable compromise even for peace. But just what are those limits? At what point does peace secured with compromise become unjust? Focusing attention on vitally important questions that have received surprisingly little attention, Margalit argues that we should be concerned not only.

16 Essays und substantielle Rezensionen, die zum großen Teil in der New York Review of Books im letzten Jahrzehnt erstveröffentlicht wurden, über herausragende Persönlichkeiten und gesellschaftliche Fragen in Israel. (DÜI-Hns)

ABSTRACT: This is an essay in political theology, namely the theological underpinnings of politics. It is centered on the idea of the authority of God and its current implications in radical political Islam. There is a tension between two attributes of God as the source of authority: the will and reason. The will stresses God's absolute decisionism as the source of his authority among the radical Islamists. The Messenger (Muhammad) who conveys God's will is not a postman, although he hands over to the believes God's book. Yet his exemplary life as told by authentic stories should be taken as authoritative, as part of God's message.

Is there a difference between a liberal and a social democrat that amounts to a distinction? If there is, is it a distinction with merit? Michael Walzer is a social democrat; it is an honorary badge. For a long time, he wore his badge while driving an antique Volvo—the second-hand car for mature social democrats. Sidney Morgenbesser, a master of fine and funny distinctions, tried to answer our question with a quip: A liberal believes money should be taken from the very rich and handed over to the poor. But he stands exactly at the point at which no money should be taken and no money should be given. In contrast, the social democrat believes she, too, has to give money.

Is there a difference between a liberal and a social democrat that amounts to a distinction? If there is, is it a distinction with merit? Michael Walzer is a social democrat; it is an honorary badge. For a long time, he wore his badge while driving an antique Volvothe second-hand car for mature social democrats. Sidney Morgenbesser, a master of fine and funny distinctions, tried to answer our question with a quip: A liberal believes money should be taken from the very rich and handed over to the poor. But he stands exactly at the point at which no money should be taken and no money should be given. In contrast, the social democrat believes she, too, has to give money. Social democrats are more concerned about the distribution of income than are liberals. For the social democrat, it is not just taking from the rich and giving to the poor. Rather it is about caring about equality all the way down the slope of the income curve. There is another quip, the source of which I don't know: a social democrat is a socialist who compromised with reality, whereas a liberal is an anarchist who compromised with reality. Liberals moved from defending free trade against the yoke of privileged protectionism in the nineteenth century, to promoting the active interference of government in the market. At the same time, social democrats moved away from the ideal of public ownership of the means of production to a mixed economy of private and public enterprises, tethered to a welfare state. Those who may lament the watered-down versions of these ideologies shouldn't forget that there was a rather noble reason why the dilution occurred: both had a deep commitment to gain power solely by democratic means. Parliamentary democracy calls for constant compromises, which tend to dilute messages and blur distinctions. But the relation between liberalism and democracy is not complementary, like fish and chips. Liberalism is in tension with the popular understanding of democracy. Adapted from the source document.

The idea of the nation-state is in a grip of two pictures: first, the nation as an extended family; and second, its territory as home. The nation as an extended family is a metaphor for an ethnic nation, whereas a civic nation is guided by a different picture, by the metaphor of contract. Isaiah Berlin's own thoughts on nationalism, and in particular on Zionism, were, I contend, strongly influenced by the two pictures of family and home. More important, Berlin's core idea of psychological freedom, as distinct from political liberty, is coupled with the idea of the homeland as home.

Explores Berlin's thinking on Zionism, which, it is argued, is influenced by the idea of nation as extended family & its territory as home, & his notion of psychological freedom, which is tied to the idea of homeland as home. It is noted that Berlin shifted away from "sense-centered" to "sensibility-centered" philosophy. Attention is then given to the impact of the term "national home" on the Zionist movement (& Berlin); Berlin's interpretation of Johann Gottfried Herder's notion of "feeling at home"; the meaning of home in terms of the kind of freedom to be found there; the idea of the uncanny, particularly Leo Pinsker's view; a kind of self-consciousness that is bad for human freedom; & social anxiety as a plight of Jews in exile. D. Edelman

In the gloomy days after the 1973 Yom Kippur War, a delegation of intellectuals from the United States came to Jerusalem. There were no visitors in Israel at the time, and they were perhaps the first to arrive. It was after the war and just before the elections. I was on the slate of a leftist party called Moked. It was a tiny party. We knew almost all our voters by name. The quality of the supporters was never in doubt-it was the party of the left intelligentsia-but the numbers were very much in doubt.