The teaching of traumatic narratives: out-of-the-classroom engagement with non-canonical ‘chosen traumas’

Troubled past as a source of concern and motivation

While most students were familiar with the historical chapters at the centre of the curriculum, prior to the course, none had ever visited the Gush Katif or Kfar Qassim museums. Moreover, of those students who had heard about the historical events, most had encountered them in informal settings, such as youth movement events, and in stories that they had heard from family and friends, and from the mass media. Feeling ignorant about what they saw as important events and questions, the students were eager to learn about them, and motivated to challenge themselves by engaging with different narratives and troubled histories. As one student noted, she enrolled in the course for the ‘opportunity to understand the complexity of things, and more than that, for [the] opportunity to recognise the narrative of certain groups and events in society in a way that would not be possible in any other way’ (Anon. A, R1). Another student likewise mentioned that she chose the topic because she was: ‘very interested in hearing more about the subject [and] about my world view through listening to different opinions and learning new things that I didn’t know’ (Anon. B, R1).

At the same time, although motivated to learn and engage with new, troubled history, prior to the course, the students expressed concern. These concerns, however, revolved not around their current status as students, but rather around their future roles as history teachers. After the massacre on 7 October, the Kfar Qassim massacre seemed particularly challenging. Putting herself in her imagined future classroom, one student wrote:

The event that will be most challenging for me to teach in the classroom is the massacre in Kfar Qassim. It’s an important event that has left many implications and conclusions. However, teaching about such a massacre is difficult for me. The understanding that humanity perpetrates such heinous acts raises questions of values, beliefs, many of which, as an educator, I sometimes struggle to answer myself. (Anon. G, R1)

In addition to personal involvement, the students were concerned about the social and political context within which they will be teaching. ‘From my limited experience in recent years with youth in various frameworks’, shared one student, ‘I feel a polarisation of opinions towards this population [Arab citizens of Israel]. There’s a strengthening of nationalism among young people, leading to fear/animosity/avoidance towards a group numbering about 2 million residents in our country. These feelings intensified after the events of October 7th’ (Anon. E, R1).

Ultimately, the fact that the students chose to enrol in the course suggests that professional considerations – pedagogic, educational and disciplinary – surpassed doubts and worries. The course was elective, and the syllabus was published well in advance, but after 7 October. From another angle, it seems that, as Israeli citizens, responsible for the growth of their own political and social consciousness, the students felt secure enough to be exposed to troubled histories, and to face them indirectly. However, doing so as teachers seemed riskier.

The gaps that exist between a teacher’s sense of meaningful teaching and their worries about being able to do so in practice has proven to be a key source of frustration for many in the field, often leading talented educators to leave the profession. This frustration stems from the fact that teachers play only a peripheral role in shaping educational programmes and influencing educational policy (Bourke et al., 2015). Moreover, in a politically charged atmosphere, a teacher’s autonomy is further constrained by increased oversight, regulation and criticism by officials, principals and colleagues, as well as by their students, by their students’ parents and by the community. In such a highly charged political atmosphere, teachers often self-censor and suppress their educational goals and world views (Bar-Tal et al., 2017). The students’ reflections prior to the course indicate that they were aware of these tensions. In taking the course, their texts show, they hoped that they would both gain new knowledge and develop skills that could enable them to bridge these gaps.

Furthermore, building on Zembylas and Bekerman (2008), the reflections of the students demonstrate that they wished that ‘dangerous memories’ would not only challenge the master-narrative, but also open the door to empathy and hope. A fractured canonical narrative, in other words, seemed to them to offer an opportunity for a renewed, more just, narrative.

Past traumas as sources of empathy and motivation to acquire new knowledge

In accordance with the students’ expectations, the visits to the museums and direct engagement with the two narratives proved challenging – first and foremost, emotionally. ‘During the visit to the [Gush Katif] museum, I experienced a range of emotions. The tour was confusing, emotional, and profound’, reflected one student (Anon. B, R2). Another wrote, ‘I felt anger about the way the story [of Gush Katif] was told, as well as pain about the personal experiences and feelings’ (Anon. A, R2). This mixture of emotions, including confusion, was a recurring motif. It was ‘a roller-coaster!’, wrote a student about the visit to Kfar Qassim, ‘Excitement and high expectations turned into sadness, anger, and feelings of guilt’ (Anon. E, R3).

Intellectually, the intertwining of new and upsetting knowledge with difficult feelings was disquieting. As one student noted about the visit to Kfar Qassim:

[T]he feelings were mixed. On one hand, I was glad that I got to learn and hear about a new chapter in history as accurately as possible. On the other hand, it was difficult to hear about the IDF’s operation as such and the personal stories of the descendants of the massacre victims. (Anon. C, R3)

In the same vein, another student reported that ‘I think the visits to the Gush Katif Museum and the Kfar Qassim Massacre Museum were challenging for me because they presented narratives and perceived reality in a way that challenged my own perception of reality’ (Anon. B, R4).

However, the encounter with others’ past traumas also lowered the walls between the students and the new experience and information presented to them. ‘I have been exposed to personal stories, to the trauma spanning generations of people torn from their homes’, noted a student after the tour to the Gush Katif museum. ‘Due to my perspective, it’s easier for me to ignore them, but when they are given a platform to speak, my thoughts on the subject become more nuanced, considering emotions and not just “logic”’ (Anon. F, R2). To some, the difficulties raised in these encounters were in fact fertile soil for connecting with the heretofore remote, almost unreachable, ‘other’ for the first time. As one student reported:

The massacre in Kfar Qassim, especially after the October 7th massacre, was particularly poignant. Hearing about a massacre from the ‘other side’ when we ourselves experienced such a tragedy was surprising. I am surprised at myself for being able to contain and set aside the pain for a moment and empathise with their pain. (Anon. C, R4)

Another student summarised the two visits by noting that:

like at the Gush Katif Museum, I felt immense compassion and almost complete identification with the massacre in the surrounding settlements. I thought to myself that for the first time, I truly succeed in partially understanding the sadness and anger of the Arab Israeli and even the Palestinian public. (Anon. E, R3)

Furthermore, although the visit to the Kfar Qassim museum was particularly challenging for the students after the events of 7 October, from a broader perspective, and together with the visit to the Gush Katif museum, the visits ultimately allowed a more complex consideration. One student, for example, expressed her frustration after the Gush Katif museum visit, writing, ‘I reject the statement that Arabs [in the Gaza Strip, where the Jewish settlements once were] only understand force as a broad and clear generalisation, as well as the statement that there is only one possibility for an absolute victory of one side – that there is no room for compromise’ (Anon. D, R2). She thus vehemently opposed the local guide’s contention. Following the visits, it appeared that the students could show empathy not only towards Palestinian citizens of Israel, such as the population of Kfar Qassim, but also towards contemporary citizens in Gaza.

Moreover, even in cases when past traumas did not arouse empathy, they motivated the students to hear about the ‘other’ and acquire new knowledge from and about them. Thus, for example, one student noted about the visit to the Gush Katif museum that: ‘I mainly feel distant from [the ideology of the people from Gush Katif]. It’s hard for me to understand and empathise with the perspective of the people who lived there, and that’s precisely why I’m interested in hearing first-hand testimonies’ (Anon. H, R2). Another student likewise mentioned that, although she does not share the world view, she was happy about the visit to the museum because, ‘I wasn’t exposed to the impressive settlement enterprise that developed in the Gaza Strip. Initially, I imagined settlements in the West Bank’ (Anon. E, R2). A third student noted: ‘it was fascinating to listen and see things as they used to be. It was difficult to watch videos of the evacuation as a sensitive person’ (Anon. C, R2). In general, the encounter with difficult histories proved meaningful and motivating. One student wrote: ‘I felt extremely uncomfortable [at the Kfar Qassim museum] and found it very difficult to deal with the situation … There’s a conflict that sometimes we prefer to push aside and ignore, and the visit to Kfar Qassim left no choice but to delve into the narrative and confront it’, adding, ‘It was challenging, meaningful, and I am very grateful for it!’ (Anon. B, R3).

Although, as previous studies have shown (Psaltis et al., 2017), encounters with troubled history, others’ past traumas and conflicting narratives can potentially raise barriers between learners and the new information with which they are presented, the students’ experience in the course shows that such encounters can also bridge seemingly unbridgeable abysses. Difficult feelings proved to be common ground for human contact between the students and the people and histories they met, while the discomfort that the students experienced drove them to ask questions. Importantly, engaging with others’ traumas and one’s troubled past does not necessarily lead to empathy and a willingness to learn; however, as Zembylas and Bekerman (2008) argue, they hold the potential to do so, particularly in contexts of open conflict and tension. Moreover, the fact that the group was nationally homogeneous, rather than bi-national, provided a safe space for students to openly and honestly reflect on their experiences without the need to defend their previously held narratives and vantage points. Furthermore, in the Israeli context, where the education system is segregated into Jewish and Arab sectors, this more accurately mirrors the students’ future classrooms.

Finally, although engaging with a troubled past and dangerous memories can take place inside the classroom, the students’ reflections indicate that direct engagement with such histories – by visiting the places of the trauma and meeting people that are closely connected to it – evoke a more encompassing experience. The ‘roller-coaster’ created an opportunity to learn.

Troubled past, emotional reaction and critical thinking

When exposed to new information in the context of others’ past traumas, although showing empathy and acceptance of the other’s pain, the students nonetheless regarded the historical information with caution. For some of the students, the direct engagement with the chosen traumas enabled them to separate emotions from opinions, and their personal discomfort from their professional view of the events as meaningful. ‘I listened to everything he said and respected his words and opinions’, wrote a student about the visit to the Gush Katif museum, ‘but I tried to maintain a critical ear and I also gave myself homework to examine different opinions and statements from a different perspective’ (Anon. B, R2). Contemplating the nature of the information presented in the museum, he noted that: ‘for the most part, I found the story credible. I think the word “credibility” didn’t concern me as much as “accuracy” did’ (Anon. B, R2). Narratives, he thought, should be listened to with openness, but then carefully examined: ‘I believe that there are various versions of the event from different perspectives, and one of the important things is to go and check others’ interpretations of the event’ (Anon. B, R2). ‘It was very interesting to learn about the ancient history of the Jewish settlement in Gaza throughout the generations’, wrote another student, but ‘it’s interesting to check and investigate the information’ (Anon. C, R2). While difficult emotions served as entry points of empathy and facilitated openness to listening, they did not prevent, and in fact even set the stage for, a more critical assessment of the historical events.

Moreover, the students even rejected some of the information presented to them by the guides in the museums. However, they did so not because the information was uncomfortable (which indeed it often was), but because it seemed to them, to the best of their judgement, to be inaccurate, biased and unsubstantiated. In Kfar Qassim, the fact that the museum was extremely difficult for many students highlighted the importance, in their eyes, of maintaining a professional stance: ‘Throughout the visits, I tried to remain as attentive as possible. I really tried to neutralise my pre-existing knowledge’ (Anon. B, R3). Another emphasised that the visit was so unsettling that she felt that it was essential to postpone any judgement: ‘My overall feeling is confusion. Honestly, I’m still trying to understand what I think about what we were exposed to and where I stand regarding it’ (Anon. H, R3). ‘I believe them that the event was difficult to bear and traumatic’, wrote a student, ‘[but the story was] partly credible, a mixture of facts with intentions and desires’ (Anon. E, R3).

Thus, the students were able to acquire new information and ask new questions, even in the midst of discomfort: ‘It was very clear that there was a great effort to base the feelings and the story on facts. I was particularly puzzled by the statements about Ben-Gurion and Mapai in the context of transfer and the massacre’, wrote a student after the visit in Kfar Qassim, ‘I never thought about the significant connection between Ben-Gurion and the military government’ (Anon. D, R3). ‘I learned many new things during the tour’, mentioned another with satisfaction (Anon. B, R3), while a third student stated: ‘I learned during the tour that the government did not agree for the village residents to hold events related to commemorating the massacre, even after the event was exposed and they were aware of its existence’ (Anon. F, R3).

Moreover, the motivation for learning about the past traumas of others, and learning through these traumas, led to a greater openness towards acquiring new knowledge, especially following a direct and personal engagement with different narratives. ‘At each visit’, reported one student, ‘I saw vivid evidence of how trauma affects populations and how they “deal with” that trauma. Additionally, I learned a lot about the events presented during the tours, new details, how people perceive these events, and how they process them’ (Anon. F, R4). Another wrote:

The main thing I learned in the course is the realisation that there is a lot of information I don’t know, and I always need to approach learning with curiosity and openness. Although I didn’t get answers to all the questions that arose during the visits, I definitely learned a lot of new information. From now on, I will continue to listen and explore with the understanding that there is no limit to learning. (Anon. B, R4)

Following the visits, many felt like the student who was astonished to realise ‘how much there is always more to discover, more to learn, more to listen. Pain is a subjective thing that can linger for years upon years. How much recognition of pain can do and influence’ (Anon. D, R3).

During and following the personal encounter with others’ past chosen trauma, the students were able to situate themselves in a place of both empathy and critical thinking, acceptance and reservations. Establishing a distance from the narratives they encountered enabled them to practice what Sirkka Ahonen (2021) calls ‘reasoned ethical judgment’ of the past. In other words, judging acts in historical context, rather than experiencing solely an emotional reaction to injustice (although this is equally important and was experienced by the students as well). Outside the classroom, the students widened the range of possible distances from the past (Savenije et al., 2019) and, in most cases, situated themselves in a position from which they could both empathise with what they encountered and criticise it, enabling them to acknowledge and contextualise the traumas of others, and motivating them to further learning.

Moreover, while the incorporation of empathy (and emotions more generally) into history education has faced criticism, there exists abundant evidence suggesting its potential to enhance historical thinking (Naishtat Bornstein and Naveh, 2017; Stoskopf and Bermudez, 2017). As demonstrated here, along with empathy, anger, discontent, frustration and antagonism can ignite critical thinking and motivate historical research; meaningful learning can occur even when students do not align with witnesses and feel compelled to challenge their narrative of past traumas. The disruption that Simon (2000: 13) has shown as opening ‘new ways of perceiving, thinking, and acting’ is particularly effective in such cases.

Thus, the students’ reflections on their museum experience suggest that the interplay between emotional experiences and historical critical thinking is complex, and that the distinctions between them are not clear-cut. In this case, directly encountering representations and narratives of the troubled past outside the classroom enabled the students to question and reconsider their pre-existing narratives. This, in turn, can later facilitate the development of critical analysis of the events and their learning in the classroom.

From students to teachers: passing forward knowledge, disciplinary skills and empathy

While the students adopted the point of view of learners of troubled history during the course, their future role as history teachers attempting to relay such history played an equal role in their motivation to participate in the course. Reflecting on her desire to develop pedagogical skills, one student shared that ‘it seems [to me] that the course will allow me to develop a skill that was lacking in my training’ (Anon. D, R4). The chance to hone the skills of out-of-the-classroom learning and pedagogy was a particularly important source of motivation. ‘Going into the field is a blessed opportunity (which is very much absent in college)’, a student wrote (Anon. E, R1).

Above all, the students felt that both learning and teaching different conflicting narratives is especially important because it touches upon pressing questions current in Israeli society today. One student, for example, wrote that she is ‘interested in discussing and hearing opinions regarding different narratives, especially concerning the polarisation and division that has arisen in the country. What is our role and responsibility as educators in the current period?’ (Anon. I, R1). The museums and the historical traumas they present seemed particularly important specifically against the background of the war in Gaza. ‘The evacuation of Gush Katif is the event that has the most significant impact on our current reality, and therefore it is the most urgent for discussion in our times’, noted one (Anon. D, R1); ‘the most important thing in the current period we are in is the massacre in Kfar Qassim, especially to confront the clashes it generates today’, wrote another (Anon. I, R1). ‘I hope that in the future, more attention will be given to these events in the education system’, summarised a third (Anon. B, R4).

Contemplating the purpose of teaching these troubled chapters in Israeli history, the students saw the evoking of the emotions of their future students as a central goal. Teaching it in school, stated one student, might ‘evoke empathy and compassion towards Arab Israelis and [allow my pupils to] understand that in the early years of the state, the situation was significantly different from today’ (Anon. H, R3). These events are immensely important, argued another student, because ‘each historical chapter is part of the history of Israel. Each chapter presents us with a different culture or pain that existed in our society. As an educator, I would like students to recognise all the complexities’ (Anon. L, R4).

Also important for the students was the potential of teaching troubled history through direct engagement to contribute to the honing of their future students’ historical thinking skills. ‘In my opinion, there is always room to incorporate such tours into the education system, but only in the upper grades (9th–11th), where students are capable of exercising some critical thinking and scrutiny’, argued one student (Anon. B, R4). Accordingly, in the unit that she planned as part of the course assignments, she highlighted that its aim was to ‘develop learning skills such as working with historical sources, analysing texts, and engaging in discussion’, and noted that ‘it is important to emphasise the importance of critical and open-minded historical learning’ (Anon. B). These kinds of lessons, wrote another, are ‘about learning about the other and developing a critical perspective on those events’ (Anon. J). The main goal of this type of teaching unit, noted a third student, was ‘critical thinking about historical events’ (Anon. E).

Furthermore, building on their own experience in the course, the students saw in emotional connection and a sense of discomfort an important first step towards acquiring new knowledge and developing disciplinary skills. As one student argued, such history lessons ‘may evoke uncomfortable feelings among students and encourage healthy and critical discussion as part of history studies’ (Anon. H, R4). ‘The … goal should be to … delve into the complexity of the narrative and recognition of the painful past in order to understand the complex and sometimes painful present reality’, thought a student about her future classes (Anon. D, R4). ‘The objectives can include a critical analysis of the case (based on reports from both the Jewish and Arab sides about the massacre), empathy, understanding, and acceptance of the pain of others’ (Anon. F, R4), concluded another student.

Finally, the visits raised an array of questions among the students that they viewed as important to their professional development:

I came out with many questions for myself, thoughts regarding things I know, understand, and even teach. I wonder [who] I want to be as someone who teaches history to children in middle/high school. What narrative am I presenting, and which narratives do I think is right to present and how? I believe this course gave me a new and important perspective, and I’m glad I took part in it. (Anon. H, R4)

Another student wrote:

I’m thankful for the opportunity to participate in the course, despite the range of emotions it has stirred in me. I believe these are feelings I need to confront as a citizen of this country, especially considering my aspiration to be an excellent educator … This is a subject that, as educators, we are committed to confront in order to become more open when facing the class. (Anon. L, R4)

‘The course was fascinating and highly important for citizens in the country, especially for women in education’, wrote another student in their anonymous assessment of the course.

Although highly motivated to teach about these and similar events, the students were also concerned about the personal, professional and political difficulties this might raise in the context of contemporary Israeli reality. ‘I think the evacuation of Gush Katif is not currently included in the school curriculum’, wrote one student, ‘making it difficult to integrate it in a non-political manner or without sparking political debates that might not be pleasant and constructive’, adding, ‘Additionally, it is the narrative that most contradicts the world view’ (Anon. F, R2). Another shared that:

I think the most challenging aspect would be the massacre in Kfar Qassim. Without belittling it, we know and understand that it is harder for the Jewish society in Israel to accept events where the IDF acted improperly and caused such great injustice. For students, soldiers are heroes who defend our security, which is true of course, but the story of the massacre undermines that admiration. (Anon. B, R4)

A third student opined that ‘the most challenging historical chapter to teach would the evacuation of Gush Katif because it touches on very sensitive points for me. I’m afraid that it might affect me too much during the discussion with the children, and it’s important not to dismiss any opinion and give proper respect to everyone’ (Anon. L, R4).

Ultimately, however, the students nonetheless appeared to be in agreement that the two troubled chapters in their national history should be incorporated into the official curricula. ‘The existence of the State of Israel is not in doubt any more, and it is time to present the injustices alongside the victories’, stressed one student (Anon. E, R3). Several students went so far as to argue that the Kfar Qassim massacre should even be studied ‘as part of the narrative of the establishment of the State of Israel’, thus entering the official master-narrative (Anon. J, R3).

Moreover, the teaching units developed by the students demonstrated that they were able to extrapolate and project what they had learned. It seems that the Druze society in particular occupied their minds, especially in the current reality. One student, for example, described the rationale for her unit, stressing that:

In the current period, during a war unlike any other in nature and scale compared to past events, we are witnessing a significant representation of the Druze community in their contribution to the war effort. The importance of their contribution to the country, within a Zionist context, is not self-evident and underscores the uniqueness of the Druze within Israeli society today. I see great importance in learning about and becoming acquainted with the Druze community, its history, and life in the country. Therefore, I feel that integrating the Druze narrative into high school history studies is essential and will contribute not only to academic knowledge but also to our societal perspective on minorities and their position within society. (Anon. H)

Furthermore, the students were able not only to project what they experienced and learned in terms of subject matter (that is, to think about other historical chapters to tackle), but also in terms of professional skills. For example, in their units, they stressed that visits to memorial sites and meeting people should give their future students the required distance that they themselves had in the course, allowing them to develop ‘reasoned ethical judgment’ (Ahonen, 2021). ‘The study unit’, the above student wrote, ‘will examine the challenge of the belonging of a national minority group in Israel’s multicultural society’ (Anon. H). The field-tour she planned reflected that complex view: ‘A tour of the Druze Beit Yad Labanim [memorial for fallen Druze IDF soldiers] in Daliyat al-Karmel, visiting a Druze family, and finally conducting research on a significant event or person from the Druze community’ (Anon. H). Another student also planned his unit around the Druze community, titled: ‘The Story of the Druze Community in Israel: A story of struggle for recognition and identity’, based on his view that ‘in today’s multicultural Israeli society, the canonical historical narrative does not fully reflect the complex reality and the multitude of identities and stories within it’ (Anon. J). Accordingly, his teaching unit was ‘designed to expose students to the story of the Druze community in Israel and its struggle for recognition of its unique identity. Exposure to this story will broaden students’ historical knowledge and encourage them to think critically about the official canon and recognise the existence of different perspectives within society’ (Anon. J).

Other students dived into different burning issues and chapters in Israel’s troubled past, such as the Israeli–Palestinian conflict, Haredi (ultra-Orthodox religious Jews)/secular relations, the Bedouin society in Israel, and the history of ethnic discrimination of Jews from Arab counties. As diverse as the topics were, equally so were the places outside the classroom that the students chose as suitable to achieve their educational and disciplinary goals. The goals, in turn, reflected their understanding, their ability to internalise, and their potential to use troubled past and engagement with chosen traumas to hone their future students’ thinking skills. One student asserted in a typical way that her unit aimed to hone learners’ capacity to ‘analyse historical events from diverse perspectives; understand historical concepts such as “canon”, “collective memory” and “historiography”; and develop of learning skills such as working with historical sources, text analysis, and discussion’ (Anon. B). Another unit asked likewise to practise a critical understanding of the master-narrative: ‘The students will be exposed to a historical narrative that is not expressed in the canonical narrative’ (Anon. J).

Since the 1980s, the Israeli educational system has undergone processes of neoliberalism, manifested, among other things, in rising numbers of semi-private schools, increasing emphasis on the individual and their personal welfare, and the entry of private business into the educational environment (Ichilov, 2010; Raichel, 2008). As elsewhere around the world, neoliberal educational policy has resulted in an erosion of the status of teachers as autonomous professional agents in charge of leading education processes in schools (Benziger, 2017; Davies and Bansel, 2007; Hill and Kumar, 2009; Zeichner, 2010). As a counter to this, engaging with troubled pasts during the course bolstered the students’ confidence and sense of autonomy, motivating them to confront the personal, pedagogical and political challenges inherent in teaching sensitive historical topics in such an ideological context.

Moreover, although dealing with historical conflicts in an educational context can deepen divisions and encourage aggression (see, for example, Bar-Tal, 2000), when experienced in museums and other sites of memory, representations of difficult histories can in fact be utilised as ‘pedagogical strategies’ to advocate for social justice, as Rose (2016) has shown. Simon (2014: 175) likewise contends that intimate encounters with difficult histories, as often experienced in museums, ‘contain … the possibility of an altered way of living with and learning from images and stories so as to critically engage a person’s sense of limits and possibilities, hopes and fears, and identities and distinctions’. In particular, recognising others’ historical ‘chosen traumas’ is an essential step towards fostering understanding and facilitating conflict transformation (Hameiri and Nadler, 2017; Shnabel et al., 2009).

The students’ teaching units – constituting critical revisions to the exiting curriculum – demonstrate that they were inspired to seek to make an impact on contemporary Israeli social and political reality. As Christodoulou (2021: 219) argues, ‘although these revisions can never rectify past wrongdoings, they can be seen as a material and symbolic attempt at restoring the human dignity of the victims and their loved ones’. While Christodoulou (2021) focuses on textbooks, the present case study bypasses the confines of the classroom and official teaching material, and suggests that learning outside the school affords a more productive opportunity for harnessing troubled histories for conflict transformation. This, indeed, can be done within the existing curriculum and education policy.

Nonetheless, while the units reflect the broadening of the students’ horizons and ability to rethink about the Israeli master-narrative, they also indicate the new limits of these horizons. Most of the units dealt with populations and narrative with little potential to profoundly challenge the existing canon. For example, three units, focused on the Ethiopian community, which for the past four decades has been struggling to become an integral part of Jewish Israeli society, inter alia, by emphasising the links between their history and that of Zionist Israel (Tal, 2023). Two units, as mentioned, were dedicated to the Druze population in Israel, which, although not Jewish, are often seen by the general Jewish population as loyal to the country. At the same time, only one unit asked to address the Israeli–Palestinian conflict. ‘The narrative I chose’, wrote the student (Anon. G), ‘deals with the Israeli–Palestinian conflict’:

The Israeli–Palestinian conflict is presented in the high school curriculum within history lessons as an optional subject; teachers can choose to address it, but from a specific viewpoint that does not present both sides of the conflict … The aim of the unit is to deepen and understand the factors contributing to the current fabric of life. It seeks to … bring students to the understanding that there is a multiplicity of opinions and that narratives shape our approach to the conflict.

Acknowledging that Palestinian narratives might undermine the foundation of the Zionist master-narrative, and indeed seeing Palestinian narratives as important for that very reason, she stressed that ‘the goal of the unit is to develop citizens who are aware of their neighbours and their historical past’.