The history of Zionism is one of profound complexity, marked by tragedy, perseverance, and, as both Lenni Brenner and Ken Livingstone argue, troubling episodes of moral compromise. In Zionism in the Age of the Dictators, Brenner meticulously exposes the uncomfortable reality of collaboration between certain Zionist factions and the Nazi regime — a history which resurfaced in British political discourse when Ken Livingstone, the former Mayor of London, referenced these events in defence of Labour MP Naz Shah in 2016. Livingstone, drawing directly from Brenner’s research, asserted that Hitler had initially supported Zionism before “he went mad and ended up killing six million Jews”.
Though Livingstone’s comments ignited a fierce controversy, they were not without historical foundation. Rather, they reflected a neglected and deeply uncomfortable aspect of history that deserves careful examination, not political point-scoring or suppression. When considered alongside Brenner’s scholarship, Livingstone’s observations offer a window into the long shadow these events continue to cast over modern debates about Israel, antisemitism, and historical memory.
Zionism’s Early Pragmatism: A Movement on the Margins
At its inception, Zionism was a minority position among European Jews. The vast majority, particularly in Germany, felt integrated into European society and rejected the notion that their future lay in a distant Middle Eastern homeland. Zionists, however, believed assimilation was futile and dangerous. To them, the rise of antisemitism confirmed their conviction that Jews required their own state.
When Hitler seized power in 1933, the Zionist leadership in Germany saw an opportunity within the horror: the chance to advance the Zionist project by encouraging emigration to Palestine. Lenni Brenner documents how the Zionist Federation of Germany reached out to the Nazi regime, offering cooperation based on a shared goal — the removal of Jews from Germany.
This outreach led to the notorious Haavara Agreement. Brokered between the German authorities and the Zionist movement, the agreement allowed German Jews to transfer part of their assets to Palestine by purchasing German-made goods. It facilitated the emigration of approximately 60,000 Jews to Palestine at a time when escape routes were rapidly closing. While this saved lives, it came at a moral cost: it directly undermined the worldwide Jewish-led boycott of Nazi Germany, designed to economically isolate Hitler’s regime.
Ken Livingstone, in his memoir You Can’t Say That, reflects on this uncomfortable bargain. He points out that while the global Jewish community sought to strangle the Nazi economy through boycott, Zionist leaders chose instead to cut a deal that enriched both the Nazis and the Zionist settlements in Palestine. To Livingstone, this exemplifies how nationalist aspirations can lead to “historically grotesque alliances” — not as a singular Zionist failure, but as a broader warning about the corrosive nature of political expediency.
Nazi Calculations and Zionist Utility
For the Nazis, this arrangement was not a capitulation but a tactical manoeuvre. Before they turned to extermination, the Nazis pursued a policy of Jewish expulsion. The Zionists, with their commitment to Jewish emigration, appeared as natural partners. Nazi propagandists even expressed occasional admiration for Zionist aims, viewing them as parallel to their own racialist ideology of national purity.
Brenner and Livingstone both note how disturbing echoes between Nazi rhetoric and Zionist messaging arose during this period. Zionist publications in Germany encouraged Jews to adopt Hebrew, embrace their distinct national identity, and see themselves as a separate people — positions that, in the grotesque irony of history, dovetailed with Nazi racial policies aimed at segregating Jews from German society.
This uneasy convergence reached its most extreme form in 1941, with the actions of the Lehi (Stern Gang) — a radical Zionist faction. Lehi leaders attempted to broker a formal alliance with Nazi Germany, offering military cooperation against British forces in Palestine. In return, they sought Nazi support for the mass transfer of European Jews to Palestine, which they argued would further both parties’ interests. Although this proposal was ignored by the Nazi leadership, its very existence underscores the depths of political pragmatism embraced by certain Zionist elements during the war.
Ben-Gurion’s Dilemma: Prioritising Statehood over Rescue
David Ben-Gurion, later the founding Prime Minister of Israel, also provides a revealing case study of Zionist priorities. As the horrors of the Holocaust intensified, Ben-Gurion notoriously remarked in 1938 that if he were faced with saving all Jewish children from Germany by sending them to Britain or only half by sending them to Palestine, he would choose the latter. To him, state-building outweighed even the immediate imperative of saving as many Jewish lives as possible.
Livingstone, reflecting on such moments, criticises what he perceives as the prioritisation of ideology over humanity. He argues that Zionist leaders, consumed by the vision of a future Jewish state, sometimes placed their nationalist ambitions ahead of the desperate needs of their people under Nazi terror. Whether one agrees with Livingstone’s interpretation or not, these documented decisions demand serious historical reckoning.
The Legacy of Collaboration: Historical Amnesia or Honest Confrontation?
Brenner and Livingstone, despite writing in different contexts and for different audiences, converge in their call for an honest confrontation with history. Both argue that acknowledging these uncomfortable episodes is not an attack on Jewish identity or the right of Israel to exist, but a necessary act of historical truth-telling.
Livingstone’s public remarks, whatever their political fallout, served to expose how little these histories are taught or discussed. They challenge the sanitised narratives of Zionism as an unblemished liberation movement and instead portray it as a political project marked, like so many others, by profound compromises and moral ambiguities.
From Victims to Perpetrators: Israeli Politics and the Echo of Fascism
While Brenner and Livingstone focus on the past, the shadow of these historical episodes looms large over contemporary Israeli politics. In particular, the shift towards right-wing, ultra-nationalist, and authoritarian politics in Israel has mirrored aspects of the very fascism that Zionism sought to escape.
In recent years, Israeli political figures, particularly within the Likud Party and the far-right Kahanist factions, have increasingly embraced an aggressive form of nationalism that echoes the authoritarian elements of fascism. Under the leadership of Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, Israel has seen an escalating militarisation of politics, a clampdown on dissent, and the suppression of Palestinian rights. This, in Brenner’s terms, represents the culmination of a process where Zionism’s early compromises with authoritarian regimes have led to the establishment of a political system where militarism, territorial expansion, and ethnic exclusivity are not only tolerated but actively promoted.
The treatment of Palestinians, both within Israel’s borders and in the occupied territories, has drawn international condemnation. Human rights groups, including Israeli organisations like B’Tselem and Breaking the Silence, have likened the policies of the Israeli government to apartheid and described Israel as an apartheid state. The imposition of harsh, dehumanising measures on Palestinians, including military occupation, settler violence, and restrictions on movement, has drawn comparisons to the Nazi regime’s treatment of Jews in Europe.
This continuity between Zionism’s compromises during the Nazi era and the authoritarian turn in Israeli politics raises uncomfortable questions. Just as Zionist leaders during the early 20th century were willing to make alliances with totalitarian regimes to secure their nationalist aims, so too have modern Israeli politicians increasingly shown an authoritarian impulse — prioritising state security over human rights, dismissing Palestinian claims to statehood, and employing fascist-like rhetoric in the process.
Lessons from the Past, Warnings for the Future
Lenni Brenner’s Zionism in the Age of the Dictators, Ken Livingstone’s reflections in You Can’t Say That, and the dark trajectory of modern Israeli politics serve as important reminders that nationalism, when left unchecked, can easily descend into authoritarianism and fascism. The uncomfortable historical truth is that Zionism, like any nationalist movement, is not exempt from the moral compromises of political pragmatism. The collaboration with the Nazis in the 1930s, the moral ambiguities of the Zionist leaders, and the growing authoritarian tendencies of the Israeli government today all point to a sobering lesson: the pursuit of a nation-state must always be carefully examined, lest the very traits of the oppressor be adopted in the quest for survival.
By confronting these uncomfortable realities, both historical and contemporary, we can perhaps begin to disentangle the past from the present, recognising that no political movement, no matter its origins, is immune from the corrupting effects of power and nationalism.
