Yentluben versus the Cult of Excellence in Israel

The Israeli cult of excellence builds a glorious career for our children, but it is also what prevents us from creating a society worth living in.

Why do only the outsiders speak?

In the third lesson of one of the master's courses in medical anthropology at the University of Copenhagen, I could no longer hold back. I approached my classmate and asked her, "Tell me, why are only the outsiders participating in the class?"

You have to understand, it was strange; just a few minutes earlier, we had divided into groups and worked together on the articles we had read for the class. I knew they had something to say, yet it was the French student who joined via Zoom, said nonsense, and took the entire spotlight.

Janteloven

Freya smiled: "Janteloven! What, haven't you heard? These are ten rules originally formulated as literary satire, but they have become Danish DNA":

You must not think you are something special.

You must not think you are as good as us.

You must not think you are smarter than us.

You must not imagine yourself better than us.

You must not think you know more than us.

You must not think you are more important than us.

You must not think you are good at anything.

You must not laugh at us.

You must not think anyone cares about you.

You must not think you can teach us anything.

Freya explained to me: "We all know it's absurd, but the anxiety that someone in the room will think to themselves, 'Who does he think he is?' is stronger than us. We try to fight it, really, but it's like a reflex. Sometimes I look at you, the outsiders, and I just envy your freedom to be 'more' without apologizing."

The Average Line

Suddenly, the endless group work made sense. In Denmark, personal excellence is a social offense. The goal is not to shine as an individual, but to ensure that everyone reaches the average line together.

Alongside the heartbreak I felt for my classmates, I couldn't help but look inward as well.

A Snowflake of Excellence

As an outstanding student, "gifted," and someone who cries over a score of 87, it wasn't just culture shock. Suddenly, I realized that my "self," my thoughts and aspirations, is also a product of society.

In Israeli culture, the self is a commercial project: it is polished, branded, invested in, and showcased. Somewhere, someone is waiting for your app, and Dumbledore will soon discover you and send you an owl from Hogwarts to leave everyone in the dust.

And it made me wonder: what price have I paid in my life by insisting, at all costs, to be a snowflake of excellence?

The students around me were, almost all, 87s. There were no failures, nor were there outstanding students. The second happiest country in the world understood something we are missing:

When you walk alone, you walk fast, but when you walk together, you go far.