Mary Dejevsky: Soul-searching, self-doubt and a shock to the system

It is not obvious that the Beatles and a landmark Israeli government report would have anything at all in common. This week, though, the juxtaposition is eloquent.

The Israeli establishment is quaking in anticipation of what is expected to be an excoriating report out tomorrow. The Prime Minister, Ehud Olmert, has been piling up his defences against likely calls for his resignation. The top brass and the intelligence services are searching for scapegoats. Opposition parties are positioning themselves for an election. Recriminations seethe below the surface, erupting periodically in angry public exchanges about irresponsibility, incompetence and plain folly.

The report in question has been compiled by a government-appointed commission under a retired judge, Eliyahu Winograd. His remit was to investigate what Israel calls the Second Lebanon War – and the rest of the world called a "disproportionate response" to the capture of two Israeli soldiers. The interim report, published last April, was a devastating indictment of the whole operation, from flawed conception to misfired execution. The final report is expected to hit no less hard.

For those of us still waiting for a proper inquiry into the Iraq war, the painstaking thoroughness and institutional iconoclasm of the Winograd commission are enviable. For many Israelis, however, the report, which will include an analysis of lessons to be learnt, marks a watershed in Israel's history. Even if Mr Olmert survives, they envisage profound changes in the way government and military operate and interact.

It is worth asking, though, whether the Winograd report might be less the cause, than a consequence, of changes that are already well in train in Israeli society. This year, for the first time in several visits over many years, I sensed that Israel might finally be evolving into a "normal" country.

Normality is not easy to define. Those who lived in the countries of the now defunct Soviet bloc and had half an awareness of the outside world were very clear that they were not living in "normal" countries. Talk to a Czech or a Latvian today about the past, and one of the first joys they will mention is their "normal" country.

For some this means an end to food queues, or not having to bribe a doctor for decent treatment. For others it means not living in fear of informers or not starting an essay with references to Marx and Lenin. For many more it is the discovery that the state remains outside their front door: family life is back, to be lived pretty much as they choose.

Israel's abnormality expressed, and expresses, itself differently. Hermetic security gives the country a fortress-like quality, which is exacerbated by the almost completed barrier along the length of its eastern border. The duration of military service, for both sexes, means that you see many more people in uniform – and armed – than in most advanced countries. There is a gruff and basic efficiency that bespeaks a country still at war. And a pervasive, often irritating, sense of rightness: the past that justifies the present.

In just a couple of years, though, some of the hardest edges seem to have softened. Those young people in uniform look a little more relaxed and less stony-faced about their duty. The ubiquitous weapons are carried just a fraction more casually (which is not necessarily reassuring). There is a greater awareness of demography and neighbourhood, and at state level the response to a crisis is less paranoid. Consider this: when Gazans breached the border into Egypt in their thousands last week, Mr Olmert's response was to meet his Palestinian counterpart. It was not to rush troops to the southern frontier, nor yet to reoccupy Gaza.

Perhaps the Second Lebanon War was not the defeat it appeared. Hezbollah was driven from the border; attacks on Israel ceased. But Israel's two soldiers remained in captivity. And anything less than complete victory was a shock to Israeli confidence. Rather than uniting the country against the enemy, this war sowed division. It also prompted salutary soul-searching about whether tried and tested 20th-century methods would be as effective in the 21st. More self-doubt will greet the Winograd report when it appears tomorrow.

And the Beatles? Forty-three years after withdrawing an invitation on the grounds that their music might corrupt the morals of its young people, Israel is inviting the remaining Beatles to play at Israel's 60th anniversary celebrations this year. The letter says that Israel wants to "correct a historic omission".

Every abnormal country, it might be said, is abnormal in its own way. Normal countries, though, are essentially the same, and a broadminded approach to music-making is surely a small part of what defines them.

m.dejevsky@independent.co.uk

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