Einat Wilf: Herzl Came to Life in My Classroom

Why did American college students find his life and works so resonant?

Editor’s Note: One hundred thirty years ago, a Viennese journalist burst into the consciousness of global Jewry and changed it forever. In a decade-long frenzy of writing, organizing, and diplomacy that drove him to an early grave, Theodor Herzl wrote two world-changing books, created the Zionist Organization along with key bodies of the movement, launched the Zionist Congresses, met with world leaders, extracted an offer from the British to create a Jewish state in Eastern Africa, and inspired generations of Jews to believe they have the right, honor, and ability to return to their ancient homeland in the form of a modern nation state.

But who was Theodor Herzl? In the following essay, adapted from her new book Teaching Zionism, Einat Wilf retells her exploration of the man behind the legend with students she taught at Georgetown. By looking at the motives, methods, and inner thinking of Herzl, she opens a window not just to the revolution that began back then—but to the possibilities of what may yet be. Enjoy!

—David Hazony

Herzl Came to Life in My Classroom

Einat Wilf

A few years ago, I taught a fall-semester course at Georgetown University on the history of Zionism and anti-Zionism. I took the students on a historical journey, from the time of ancient Israel to the Soviet era and the Abraham Accords, offering both the primary sources of the revival of Jewish sovereignty and those that opposed it in every era.

I found during this course that students often changed their opinions after receiving the genuine narrative of Zionism, as opposed to academia’s hegemonic defamation. The course acted, as I hoped, as a kind of “inoculation,” allowing the students to make up their own minds about Zionism, favorable or unfavorable, while at least having the true facts at their disposal.

Naturally, I taught the students about many of the great figures of Zionism, from Leo Pinsker to Ahad Ha’am to Ze’ev Jabotinsky to Albert Memmi. But without doubt, the high point of the course was our section on Theodor Herzl, whose 1896 book The Jewish State and his concurrent political activism jump-started the Zionist movement and laid the foundations for the State of Israel.

One of the things I learned in teaching this section was that there is a renewed perception of Herzl’s immense significance, not only as the intellectual and activist founder of the state, but also as a man who saw things as they were and had the courage to say so. His warnings to European Jewry, that the ground was burning and the time to escape was now, were astoundingly prescient, accurate, and uncompromising.

Today, in a time of rising antisemitism, they are, sadly, as relevant as ever; Herzl’s warning is our warning. The implications of this were only vague while I was teaching the course, but in a post-October 7 world, with Jews under attack across the globe, they are as clear and significant as ever.

***

When we reached our section on Herzl, I freely told my students that I consider him an extraordinary man, one of the most extraordinary in Jewish history. Perhaps comparable to all of America’s founding fathers in one.

I highlighted this by noting the diversity of his activities. In Hebrew, he is often called hozeh ha’medina, “the visionary of the state,” but he offered much more than vision. He was not just a dreamer. He was also a thinker, writer, institution builder, politician, and diplomat.

To underscore his importance, I mentioned that in the decade before his death at just 44 years old, he had not only set out a detailed vision for a Jewish state but also established the institutions that would eventually form the foundation of that state, such as a proto-Israeli government, a proto-Knesset, a proto-national-bank, and the Jewish National Fund.

Moreover, it is common to attribute the Balfour Declaration, which established the diplomatic foundation for the international legitimacy of a Jewish state, to Chaim Weizmann—who undoubtedly deserves immense credit. But Herzl initiated the process that eventually secured British support for Jewish sovereignty by negotiating with the British—whose prime minister at the time was Arthur Balfour—about a potential temporary Jewish settlement in Uganda. In other words, the entire foundation of Zionism as a practical enterprise was laid by Herzl.

I sometimes tell students that Herzl was the first Israeli entrepreneur, and he surpasses even the creators of Waze or Wiz, because Israel itself was his startup. He accomplished the extraordinary and unique feat of creating an entire country. Herzl achieved this despite starting from virtually nothing. This is an accomplishment almost unparalleled in modern history.

***

To understand the breadth of Herzl’s accomplishments, students were asked also to understand his personality. Fortunately, his writings, diaries, letters, and other sources provide a clear picture of his thoughts, activism, and certainly his emotions.

Herzl was born on May 2, 1860 in Budapest, but he made his mark in late nineteenth-century Vienna, which was in the midst of a cultural renaissance of immense proportions. He was a strongly assimilated Jew and shared the values and ambitions of his assimilated brethren: to be accepted, to belong, and to succeed. This had been the accepted paradigm of liberal Jewish life in Europe since the Jews had been politically and socially “freed” by the late-eighteenth and early-nineteenth-century process of European Emancipation.

Herzl certainly succeeded. Most people do not realize that, in his heyday, he was one of the leading cultural figures in Vienna, serving as a writer and editor who helped define the media landscape of the era. It was remarkable, then, that he became a Zionist who effectively rejected all of this, jettisoning assimilation to embark on what seemed to be a Quixotic quest for a new solution to the plight of European Jews.

This was not a coincidence, however. The first thing I taught my students was that the traditional narrative of how Herzl became a Zionist is, at best, half-true. This narrative usually suggests that he was a typical assimilated Jew who went to Paris to report on the Dreyfus affair and experienced a political conversion.

It is true that the affair was Herzl’s turning point. Alfred Dreyfus was a French-Jewish army officer falsely convicted of espionage in 1894. His case became a cause célèbre, and the anti-Dreyfus side of the debate was bitterly antisemitic. When he went to Paris to cover the case, Herzl was shocked by the antisemitic chants of the crowds, and he suddenly realized the necessity of a Jewish state.

However, the Dreyfus affair was not the sole reason he became a Zionist. In fact, there was no single reason. When you examine the sources I taught my students, it becomes evident that Herzl was moving toward Zionism long before the Dreyfus affair, starting in his student years. By the time he embraced Zionism, Herzl had dedicated much of his adult life to contemplating the “Jewish Question.”

I brought in a few short passages from Herzl’s writings to illustrate this. In one, Herzl wrote:

As the years went on, the Jewish Question bored into me and gnawed at me, tormented me, and made me very miserable. In fact, I kept coming back to it whenever my own personal experiences—joys and sorrows—permitted me to rise to broader considerations.

He also presented a brief personal recollection in this context:

When, as a green young writer, I took a manuscript to the Vienna Deutsche Wochenschrift, Dr. Friedjung advised me to adopt a pen name less Jewish than my own. I flatly refused, saying that I wanted to continue to bear the name of my father and I offered to withdraw the manuscript. Friedjung accepted it anyway.

The latter passage is particularly important. It reveals something essential about Herzl’s personality, which is crucial to his reaction to the devastating impact on Jews when they first experience antisemitism: His sense of honor.

I taught my students that this was evident even in his student days. While studying law at the prestigious University of Vienna, Herzl joined a highly prestigious non-Jewish fraternity, a kind of fencing club. He was ecstatic about his acceptance. It was the fulfillment of the assimilationist quest for him—a pinnacle of belonging.

But two or three years into his university career, the renowned and antisemitic German composer Richard Wagner died. The fraternity held an event to celebrate his life, and Herzl’s best friend delivered a horrendously antisemitic speech.

If a single event in his life truly shocked Herzl, it was this speech. He was deeply hurt. He complained to his friend, who responded with the classic: “It’s not about you. You’re a good Jew.” Herzl responded by quitting the club.

It should be emphasized to students that this was a massive decision for a young Jew in Vienna at that time. It meant giving up what all Jews hoped for: acceptance into non-Jewish society. Herzl wanted that acceptance, but he was unwilling to compromise his sense of self to get it. It must be emphasized that this was not normal. Most assimilated Jews would have simply moved on, but Herzl did not.

Most people do not realize that, in his heyday, [Herzl] was one of the leading cultural figures in Vienna, serving as a writer and editor who helped define the media landscape of the era. It was remarkable, then, that he became a Zionist who effectively rejected all of this...

What it says about him, I told students, is that from a very early age, Herzl had a strong sense of honor and pride, never willing to compromise his sense of personal integrity even when presented with difficult circumstances and alluring rewards. As assimilated as he was, he saw his Jewish identity as an indelible part of him. He was not going to debase himself to be accepted by antisemites.

Another example of this is related to the Dreyfus affair. After he was wrongly convicted, Dreyfus endured a humiliating public ceremony in which he was stripped of his medals and sword. In response, he said, “Vive la France!”

Some might have seen this as noble, but Herzl was appalled. He saw it as a shameful submission to antisemitism and injustice. He felt personally ashamed of it, and this was before he formally became a Zionist.

Herzl, in other words, was already an outlier among assimilated European Jews. He was unwilling to endure the kind of humiliation that many Jews had accepted. He believed Jews should not debase themselves before those who hate them.

What Herzl finally decided to do about this was a response to his sense of injustice and humiliation, similar in a way to the American industrialist Andrew Carnegie’s response to being snubbed by New York society. Herzl’s idea of a Jewish state essentially said to the antisemites: You won’t let me in the club? Fine, I will build my own and it will be better than yours. You are telling me I do not belong in your Vienna? Fine, I will build a new and better Vienna on the Mediterranean.

I emphasized to students that this did not come from just a bitter sense of betrayal. It was also an act of defiance. It was how Herzl stood up for himself and his people rather than just sit there and take it.

***

This brings us to what Herzl actually does. He understood that, above all, the Jews needed a new story, a story beyond the “success” of assimilation. This assimilationist story held that the Jews had suffered persecution and oppression for centuries, but modernity, the Enlightenment, and Emancipation had finally liberated them and given them a chance to become fully part of European society.

Herzl had accepted and lived this story, but he lost his faith in it. So, since he was a writer, he decided to rewrite the Jewish story. He sat down and wrote his famous manifesto Der Judenstaat, or The Jewish State.

Reading The Jewish State today, one can easily miss what a radical and, in some ways, dangerous book it was. It was radical and dangerous because of a single line: “We are a people, one people.” He repeated this phrase in one form or another several times, and there is a reason for that: In that single line, he was demolishing the entire story of Emancipation. He was saying that Emancipation had failed, and he was saying it unequivocally.

This must be carefully explained to students, because they must understand it in its historical context. The “bargain” of Emancipation was that Jews would become “Frenchmen of the Mosaic Faith” or “Germans of the Mosaic Faith” in exchange for acceptance as equal citizens. That by confining their Jewish identity to a religion among other religions, they could fit in and enjoy equality among citizens.

Herzl was saying: No, while you might think you are fully French or German, to the non-Jews you are not truly French, you are not truly German. In the end, you are nothing other than a Jew, and the Jews are one people. We are one people. “We are a people, one people” is by far the most important and impactful sentence Herzl wrote.

Herzl went on to explain why he believed Emancipation had failed:

We have honestly endeavored everywhere to merge ourselves into the social life of surrounding communities and to preserve the faith of our fathers. We are not permitted to do so. In vain are we loyal patriots, our loyalty in some places running to extremes; in vain do we make the same sacrifices of life and property as our fellow-citizens; in vain do we strive to increase the fame of our native land in science and art, or her wealth by trade and commerce. In countries where we have lived for centuries, we are still denounced as strangers, and often by those whose ancestors were not yet domiciled in the land where Jews had already started suffering.

Essentially, Herzl was saying that the Jews had done everything in their power to assimilate. They had done everything they were expected to do and everything that was asked of them in hopes of receiving acceptance and equality in return, but it was not enough and would never be enough.

It was important to emphasize to my students that Herzl did not say Emancipation is not working, which implies that it could conceivably be made to work. Herzl was saying it already didn’t work. It was over. There was no point in continuing the process. Jews would never be accepted as equal citizens, no matter how hard they tried. Non-Jews were never going to hold up their end of the bargain. The Jews needed to come up with something else.

***

It is certainly important to emphasize the role of antisemitism in prompting Herzl’s conversion to Zionism, but this requires context: Antisemitism, as Herzl encountered it, was a new phenomenon.

Hatred and suspicion of Jews, along with the belief that their continued presence was problematic, had persisted for centuries in both Christendom and the Islamic world. In Europe, these sentiments were historically rooted in religious and theological contexts.

However, in the modern secular world, these old ideas had resurfaced, been secularized, and come to be called “antisemitism.” This new form of Jew-hatred billed itself as a seemingly “respectable” pseudo-scientific ideology. It exploited the respected—at the time—concept of “race” to classify Jews as belonging to a “race” inherently and immutably different from other Europeans.

Herzl was acutely aware of the emergence of this new form of antisemitism and immediately recognized its far-reaching and horrific implications. He wrote: “The world denounces the Jews resoundingly, thus reawakening this once-dormant idea [of a Jewish state]. … The decisive factor is our propelling force. And what is that force? The plight of the Jews.”

When Herzl referred to antisemitism as a “propelling force,” he meant it literally. After all, it had already propelled him. To his mind, the new antisemitism was the twin of Emancipation’s failure. Antisemitism and the failure of Emancipation were identical. And they were propelling the Jews out of Europe and towards a Jewish state.

***

Again, Herzl was rewriting the Jewish story in real time. It is no coincidence that he was a writer who understood the power of stories. And the story he was writing encompassed not only the Zionist future he envisioned but also the Jewish state itself.

What is remarkable about The Jewish State is how explicit Herzl was about what he was doing. He was absolutely conscious of the project he was engaged in. He wrote:

No human being is wealthy or powerful enough to transplant a nation from one habitat to another. An idea alone can achieve that, and this idea of a state may have the requisite power to do so. The Jews have dreamt this kingly dream all through the long nights of their history. “Next year in Jerusalem” is our old phrase. It is now a question of showing that the dream can be converted into a living reality.

In other words, Herzl understood how human beings and human societies work and how they can be brought to work together: through the stories and ideas we create. These stories and ideas are not trivial things. We kill and die in their name.

Herzl was deeply aware of this. In The Jewish State, he offered an alternative story for the Jews of his time. While he drew upon the “kingly dream” of redemption and return to the Land of Israel—a central theme of Jewish civilization—he addressed Jews who had largely abandoned that dream in pursuit of Emancipation and assimilation. He told them that the ancient dream is superior and can be revived in the form of a modern Jewish state.

This is arguably the most crucial aspect of Herzl’s new story: While the dream is ancient, Herzl was after something entirely modern. In fact, it was hyper-modern. He believed that the Jews should leave Europe and its failed dream of assimilation, but in doing so, they would be renewed. He wrote:

We are one people—our enemies have made us one without our consent, as repeatedly happens in history. Distress binds us together, and, thus united, we suddenly discover our strength. Yes, we are strong enough to form a state, and, indeed, a model state. We possess all human and material resources necessary for the purpose. … Let sovereignty be granted us over a portion of the globe large enough to satisfy the rightful requirements of a nation; the rest we shall manage for ourselves.

Here, Herzl was expressing his sense of honor and pride by saying: We do not need others to emancipate us. We do not need others to give us anything. We can do it on our own. There will be a place we can call home, and we are going to be nobody’s guests.

When reading Herzl’s later book Altneuland (Old-New Land), one can see the implications of this. Herzl described a utopian Jewish state, essentially a better Europe outside Europe. Everything will be modern and monumental, with a rebuilt Temple that resembles a massive European religious structure rather than a standard Jewish synagogue.

Yet at the same time, it is the Third Temple. So, Herzl was appealing to both the past and the future. As he explicitly stated in the very name of the novel, he was building his new story on a very old story. He was telling non-Jews—whether French, German, or otherwise—that the Jews have a long and ancient history of extraordinary accomplishments. The Jews were a nation when the French and Germans were just barbarian tribes. But Herzl was also saying that the Jews are going to be a new nation as well as an ancient one. The new nation will be better than anything today’s Europeans have come up with. And we are going to do it ourselves.

***

I presented Herzl in this way so students could understand his historical moment and thus understand the present moment.

Students need to feel the immediacy of primary sources. They should see the factors at work: the fermentation of ideas, the struggle with modernity, hope, and betrayal. They must grasp the intensity of the emotions and the depth of people’s feelings.

This helps students understand that, like in every historical moment when great ideas and movements emerge, it is not just a matter of intellectuals discussing abstract ideas. Things change when humans emotionally respond to current events and struggle to cope. I wanted students to experience these emotions. They should feel the hope and the betrayal, which is how they can understand someone like Herzl, who was driven by very intense emotions.

At the same time, I wanted them to reflect on their own emotions and experiences and perhaps understand them in a new way.

Dr. Einat Wilf, senior fellow at the Z3 Institute for Jewish Priorities

Today’s Jewish students are grappling with a novel and extremely violent species of mutated antisemitism, which manifests as antizionism on their campuses. This phenomenon is not dissimilar to how antisemitism evolved from the old theological Jew-hatred. Their non-Jewish fellow students are observing this struggle.

By reflecting on Herzl’s personal journey, students were led to reflect: How different is Herzl’s Vienna from today’s world? Is it really so different? If someone were to tell American, Canadian, British, and Australian Jews today, “the ground is burning,” how crazy would that person be considered? Students will have an emotional reaction to these questions, regardless of their conclusions. This is how they can be brought both to engage with history and to perceive the present in a new way.

My students certainly grasped how “countercultural” Zionism was. They understood why the Jews of that era wanted to ignore the reality of their situation and how Herzl’s refusal to do so made him a controversial figure—not the consensus “founding father” we perceive him as today. They understood why many Jews at the time considered him completely insane.

They also grasped a disturbing parallel to our current moment: the sense of acceptance followed by bitter betrayal. Thus, they understood why new ideas arose, albeit based on old ideas. They understood that the Jews’ place in the world remains unsettled and possibly always will be. “It was interesting to understand now how crazy the Zionists must have sounded at the time,” one of my students later said. “But also, it was just unbelievable to me how prophetic Herzl was.”

They were very moved by the issue of dignity, as well. “I was impressed,” said another, “by the characterization of the bargain of Emancipation as not being dignified; that there was a loss of honor and pride among the Jews as a result.”

They added that they now had a sense of “how crazy Zionism must have sounded at that time. Because, obviously, you don’t think of it as a crazy, radical idea now, but to put this idea forward at that time, when the Jews hadn’t been back to Israel for thousands of years, it was clear why people thought that was madness.”

However, another student was not as shocked by Herzl’s arguments or by the emergence of Zionism in general. They saw a distressingly familiar logic to it:

I think the Zionists were right in saying that liberalism was not satisfactory—especially the form of liberalism they had back then. As a result of their experiences, they were able to see the constraints of that system, which we see influencing later left-wing movements. The idea that “liberalism is not enough” was central.

At the time, liberals were essentially saying to Jews either “get over it” or “it will eventually get better,” which obviously wasn’t sufficient. Zionism naturally emerged from that dissatisfaction.

As I reflect on this section of the course today, I am still astonished by Herzl’s prescience.

***

It is, of course, easy to draw speculative historical parallels. Nonetheless, they exist. Herzl lived in a society in which the Jews appeared to have successfully assimilated, rising high in all aspects of political, cultural, and economic life. For a time, things were relatively good. Then a new form of antisemitism arose, with the rise of Jew-hating politicians and political movements, antisemitic mobs in the streets, and the seeds planted of movements that became fascism and Nazism. All of this, as we are painfully aware, eventually had horrific consequences for the European Jews.

Herzl proved right about more or less everything. But there is a dark side to this. I believe that if Herzl could come back to life and see Israel today, we cannot know what he would think. But I do believe that it is safe to conclude that he would be devastated by his failure to save the European Jews who did not heed his warnings—and distressed, if not surprised, by the resurgence of both new and old forms of Jew-hatred today.

In places like the United States and Britain, we see the same phenomenon taking place as in Herzl’s day. Despite the immense success of those Jewish communities, antisemitism is rising to unprecedented heights of venom and violence and threatening to become a hegemonic force in politics and culture.

Herzl’s legacy therefore sounds a warning and presents an ominous question: should Jews heed his warnings again, while there is still time, and make Aliyah to the Jewish state he created?

Even before October 7, I presented this question to my students and did not receive a definitive answer. I do not know if one is possible, at least not right now. But what Herzl’s extraordinary legacy makes clear is that this question must always be asked.

Nonetheless, as ominous as this question is, we should remember that, thanks to Herzl, we live in a different era today. Because of his prescience and the work he did to make his new story a reality, the Jews, whatever they decide, now have a place to go.

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Dr. Einat Wilf is a former member of Knesset and founder of the Oz party. She is a senior fellow at the Z3 Institute for Jewish Priorities and author of Teaching Zionism: Revelations from a Skeptical Classroom (Z3 and Wicked Son, 2026).

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