Learning From All Things
by Karim Dajani and Eyal Rozmarin
Dear Eyal,
Thank you for your courage to engage with me. I say this knowing full well that the risks to me for speaking about Palestine are far greater than they are to you. Nevertheless, I am grateful.
The first thing I want to say is that your approach makes sense to me. It is similar to mine. You are trying to be brutally honest while maintaining your allegiances, or while speaking from personal and collective dispositions. For me, psychoanalysis is about truth, and a real psychoanalyst is one who refuses to lie, refuses to flinch away from painful realities.
I felt appreciative of you for being willing to write the material facts. Israel has dropped the equivalent of two nuclear bombs in Gaza on a helpless and trapped population. It has killed tens of thousands, maimed hundreds of thousands, destroyed almost all habitable structures and almost all infrastructure including healthcare. In fact, health care facilities are being intentionally targeted and destroyed. Doctors are routinely killed by sniper fire when they walk by hospital windows. They are being arrested, tortured, and killed. Dr. Adnan Al Bursh, who was the head of the orthopedic department at Shifa Hospital in Gaza City, was taken from the hospital while caring for patients. He was detained at Ofer detention center in the West Bank and tortured to death. He died on April 19th, 2024. He was loved and appreciated by everyone who knew him. In other words, he was a national treasure who was deliberately erased. The Israeli government has yet to release his body.
We were speaking earlier of not being on an even playing field. My group is hated by the global northern powers and it is being decimated. Your group is loved by the global northern powers and is being given EVERYTHING it wants, regardless of its actions. The numbers speak for themselves. Twelve hundred Israelis were killed by Hamas fighters, some in a most brutal and inhumane way. Millions of Palestinians are being decimated in response. Furthermore, Israel is a nuclear state with one of the world’s most sophisticated and well-equipped armies. Palestinians have been displaced and dispossessed for seventy-five years, occupied and blockaded for fifty-six years. They make rockets out of plumbing pipes. They do not have an army. They are fighting a giant with sticks and stones, with handguns and plumbing pipes. It is their way of saying NO to this reality. The material unevenness of the playing field speaks for itself.
In the world we live in, this unevenness must remain hidden, or denuded from its meaning even though it is lying in plain sight. And it goes back to the very beginning of this “conflict.” Moreover, it is reproduced in individuals because the collective is a mental structure, and cultural systems are shared codes that organize perception, shape thought, and determine comportment. You reproduce it, Eyal. I will show you how and rely on you to show me what I reproduce that keeps me from seeing the full picture.
You write:
the war between the Jews and the Palestinians, or perhaps better said between the totalitarian-supremacist Jews and the totalitarian-supremacist Palestinians, is a morbid symptom, a scape-goating process, where our civilization manifests its terminal sickness, yet again.
I am going to analyze every word of the sentence in the hope of opening a new window of shared understanding. First, the word “war.” It is not really a war. Israel is occupying land and people in Gaza and the West Bank. It is creating a two-tier system where citizens of Israel who are of Arab descent are treated badly, kept in their place in more ways that I care to recount. The occupied and oppressed are resisting. This is natural. What is happening, from our perspective, is an occupation that is spawning resistance, again naturally. Second, the characterization that a war is unfolding between two groups you call “totalitarian-supremacists” suggests some kind of horizontal playing field. The field is not horizontal; it is vertical. Israel controls land and treasure. It has an unlimited supply of weapons and enjoys untold riches, technological advances, and world support. The Palestinians are beleaguered, maimed, deprived, controlled, humiliated, helpless. That is not to say they are broken. Far from it. They resist, they live, they make culture, they take care of their own. But they are resisting the might of a nuclear state with pipes and handguns. Israel has the power to end this nightmare today: end the occupation and empower cohorts of moderate Palestinians to lead. To do so, you would have to give up on your expansionist ideologies and aims. You must return the land that is not yours and make peace with those whose land you took to make a homeland. It is possible. Yitzhak Rabin thought it was possible. He was killed by an extremist Jew for trying to make peace. I grieve for him and fear for us.
You refer to civilization’s “terminal sickness,” which makes me associate to Freud hating to distinguish between civilization and culture. In this context, you are referring to Western civilization with its Eurocentric cultures. The assumption that Eurocentric culture with its civilizations equates with civilization as such is a manifestation of a tendency toward supremacy, toward assuming that one’s position and culture are the apex, the real thing, the whole thing, the natural thing.
Freud thought civilization’s terminal illness is related to our instincts. We are innately destructive, he claimed. We will keep waging wars until we accept our innate destructiveness and work toward compromise and sublimation. This view is interesting and relevant, but it is not my view. I need to elaborate some of the context and references that inform my perspective.
I am convinced that psychoanalysis has great potential to heal individuals and to address trenchant social problems. Ideally, the two go together. I am also convinced that the psychoanalysis we have is necessary but woefully inadequate. The psychoanalysis we need is the one we are going to make together, all of us. But first, we must face the lack.
The lack, as I see it, is related to the field’s early rejection of the social unconscious and its sequelae in which the social is internalized into unconscious mental structures that organize, shape, and direct subjective experience in ways that correspond with (are recognized by) the culture’s norms, ideologies, and practices. This idea keeps being pushed into the margins or denuded from its meaning by relating it to super-ego development. Cultural systems, the collective within the individual, is antecedent to individual development. It precedes development because it provides the tools, enigmatic as they might be, to shape experience and establish communication with other subjects.
I will use a seminal idea of Jean Laplanche to illustrate my point. He thought the mother communicates a message about her sexuality to the infant, who cannot translate it. This message becomes an enigmatic signifier that cannot be entirely known. The trauma of being injected or of acquiring a sexual message from an “other” that cannot be translated (enigmatic) puts an enormous pressure on the mind to do what it cannot do—understand the other’s enigmatic sexual message. This initial trauma, Laplanche thought, creates the unconscious. This initial sexual trauma makes it necessary to repress the enigmatic message and the unconscious fantasies that emerge from it. For Laplanche, the unconscious comes from the outside. Or when the external becomes mental, it gives rise to the unconscious because enigma and excess must be managed out of awareness or consciousness.
Let us apply this idea to Trigant Burrow’s observations about the social unconscious, or the way collectives and their shared systems of meaning-making are reproduced in individuals in the form of unconscious psychic structures. The social is mental and it is largely unconscious. Burrow observed: “The image which every individual carries in the locket of his unconscious is the mother image.”[1] This idea corresponds with Laplanche’s thesis. The mother is lodged deep in the infant’s unconscious. However, the mother is simultaneously a singular person as well as a communal agent. He writes: “As we observe the outlines of this early implanted image, that what is called the mother-image is but the sum of the impressions reflected by the mother from the social environment about her and that these impressions are again transmitted by others through their reflection within ourselves.” He concludes: “With the social mind the important image is the immediate community about it. The community occupies the central position within the social unconscious that the mother-image occupies within the individual unconscious.”
If we extend Laplanche’s idea to include the structuring structures of the social surround, we can then say enigmatic messages regarding the mother’s sexuality and the social systems that organize her (her culture or habitus) are lodged deep in the child’s unconscious. The mother’s culture or her social unconscious is imported or reproduced in the child’s mind. They become a set of tools that derive from a shared matrix that organize and shape subjective experience. The acquired system contains enigmatic messages that cannot be fully translated. It lies in plain sight while remaining deeply unconscious. Culture is to humans as water is to fish. It is obvious, necessary, and unrecognized because it is the medium in which life unfolds. Culture pulls, pushes, and shapes subjective experience along normative lines. The main point here is that collective and culture are unconscious mental structures.
The mind traffics in illusion; we fabricate much of what we see. Illusion turns to delusion when we turn our fabrications into concrete facts. There is some degree of unknowing that makes knowing possible. Psychopathology tends to emerge when we can no longer tolerate not knowing. This is true on the private and social levels.
The main illusion that suffuses the social unconscious is the illusion of absolutism. Again, let us draw on a more familiar metaphor to illustrate the point. Donald Winnicott made a distinction between object relating and object usage. In object relating, the mind is suffused in an illusion of absolutism (omnipotence) of sorts. It does not locate the object outside of itself. Instead, the object becomes a self-image, a cluster of projections that can be controlled. Winnicott suggests crucial developmental processes must occur before the mind can tolerate not knowing, before the mind can perceive the object as separate, unique, distinct, and existing outside the person’s immediate and omnipotent control.
On the social level, the collectives and cultures within us are invisible, just like mother’s enigmatic message is invisible. The collective and cultures of others are perceived through our collectives and cultures. However, the social unconscious is suffused in an illusion of absolutism. We are disposed to “see” the cultures of others as “lower.” Difference is organized along a vertical axis, with our perspective occupying the zenith, and others are placed on lower rungs of the hierarchy. Here is a good example of what I mean. Freud thought we are all alike because we are all instinctual. Our minds are fueled by instinct and impulse. However, he thought the cultures of his collectives are superior to the cultures of other collectives. They are savages or uncivilized. We are cultured or civilized. “They,” ultimately, will become like us—the natural incarnation of progress, exceptionalism, and greatness.
Forgive this long foray into theory, but these ideas form the basis for what I am going to say about Zionism and the Balfour Declaration of 1917, and about you. Zionism was conceived in Europe by European Jews. The Balfour Declaration was produced by Britain, a European colonial entity. You have acquired the European system and your perception is partly shaped by it. Fortunately, it is also shaped by your beautiful sensibilities and other systems of thought, like the psychoanalysis we are making.
Before I go on, I must say a few things so that we can be on the same page as much as possible. I do understand the Jewish diaspora (millennia ago albeit). I do understand antisemitism and the extraordinary persecution the Jewish people endured for millennia that culminated in the crime of all crimes—the Holocaust. I do understand the need for the Jewish people to have a state, to have a safe heaven. I do understand the significance of Historic Palestine, particularly Jerusalem, to the Jewish people. I understand and respect it. However, Zionism was conceived by Europeans, and the Balfour Declaration was issued by a colonial state. In both cases, pathogenic cultural dispositions and practices were baked into these systems. And you, naturally, reproduce some of them.
Colonial Britain operated on the maxim of divide and conquer. The more division it sowed between people of a nation, the more control it could exert over them. The British mastered the art of dividing and conquering. This philosophy is evident in the way borders were drawn in the Middle East after the fall of the Ottoman Empire. Borders were there to divide a common people rather than to demarcate territory. Furthermore, the Balfour Declaration was about dividing the land into a Jewish and Arab partition. On the surface that seems sensible. But the land cannot be divided in this way, because people have been living, working, and dying on it for centuries. What are you going to do with the Palestinians of that land? The implicit answer—displace and kill. This approach, obviously, sowed the seeds for perpetual conflict. The British government of that time was okay with that.
The Zionists who came to Palestine to form the state of Israel were traumatized people. They had been dealing with centuries of oppression where their basic humanity was erased and their dignity trampled. They were either invisible (tucked away in shtetels) or used as receptacles for the dominant group’s hateful and dehumanizing projections. Trauma repeats. Unfortunately, they viewed Palestinians living in Palestine through the lens of antisemitism in reverse. The Palestinians were now occupying the position of the erased, dehumanized, dispensable, and wretched. How else could Golda Meir state that the Jews were a people without a land that came to a land without a people. The land is full of people, but she did not see them as human. Again, this is about trauma and repetition. How can we see this differently?
WA DO KI KAI or, “to learn from all things.” Indeed, we must draw on all the world’s wisdom to empty our minds enough to see what needs to be seen, to learn what needs to be learned, to do what needs to be done. Taoist Chinese Philosophy tells this story. In Heaven and Hell, chopsticks are six feet long. In Hell, people are starving because they cannot get the food into their mouths despite sitting at banquets full of sumptuous food. They see it but cannot eat it. In Heaven, the people have figured out how to use the six-foot-long chopsticks to feed each other. Sitting across a six-foot-wide table, the chopsticks are ideal for feeding the people across the divide (table). In Heaven, everyone is fed, healthy, and happy. In Hell, everyone is starving, ill, and miserable.
Are we going to live in Heaven or Hell? The people of historic Palestine, all of them, must sit at one table and learn to feed each other, look out for each other, and protect each other. Otherwise, we will all starve in one way or another. This is what I mean when I say all the people in Historic Palestine (Israel-Palestine) and their descendants will be free from the River to the Sea. Obviously, this includes Jews and does not exclude them.
In my next letter I will take up the thorny issue of racism between us and how to think and feel about the people in our collectives who murder the other side. IDF soldiers who are killing Palestinians and Palestinians who are killing Israelis.
Until Then,
KD
[1] Burrow, T. (1924). “Social Images Versus Reality.” The Journal of Abnormal Psychology and Social Psychology, 19(3), 230–35. https://doi.org/10.1037/h0064512
Karim, azizi,
Every day, it is becoming more evident that our worst fears were justified. We are seeing a second Nakba in motion. A twenty-first-century rendering of the primitive foundations of our civilization. Perhaps our Greco-Roman-Judeo-Christian civilization, as you argue. Clearly Freud’s civilization of imperialism and colonization as it morphs to continue exploiting our part of the world with American and German weapons, with Wall Street and petrodollars, and with those intense paranoid-schizoid projections directed at us. On the local level, a co-production of Israel and Hamas, it is important to say, willing to sacrifice the people of Gaza, and the youth, sent to battle. The hostages have been abandoned as well.
There is a Hebrew word with no good English translation that keeps reverberating in my head: hefkerut (הפקרות)-a state of lawlessness and abandon. We are trapped in a vortex propelling us from Babi Yar to Khan Yunis. Giorgio Agamben’s notion of bare life comes to mind, as well as the sacrificial logic described by René Girard. It is no wonder that we all feel we are destined for elimination, Palestinians and Jews alike.
There has always been Palestinian resistance to bearing the cost of the grief and the vengeance the Jews brought with them to Palestine, to the hope as well-although it is difficult to join a hope that erases you. There has been some resistance to the foundational militarism of the Zionist settlement of Palestine within the Jewish Israeli collectivity as well. But it has always been marginal. There is a deep sense of collective danger that makes any resistance seem like betrayal, much of it the result of decades of collective self-deception, but some of it real. This sense of betrayal and the power it exerts on us is our biggest challenge.
I have been living for a while with the words of Jean Améry: “Where barbarism begins, even existential commitments must end.” Améry, who was an Austrian turned Belgian Jew, and an Auschwitz survivor, wrote these words in 1978, after it became known that Palestinians resistance fighters were being tortured in Israeli prisons. He was a devout Zionist until then, believing that after the Holocaust, the Jews needed a homeland, but this knowledge made him begin to turn away from his existential commitment to guaranteeing Israel’s survival. A year later he killed himself.
If this was enough for Améry to be so revolted that he felt he had to reject his chosen community and, in the end, life itself, how should any of us feel today? I live with a shattering sense of revulsion, betrayal, loss, constantly.
But then there is also Mahmoud Darwish, who said: “Identity is what we bequeath, not what we inherit, what we renew, not what we recall. Identity is a faulty mirror that we must break each time we are enthralled with the image we see in it.” A different kind of existential commitment, one that demands of both self and collective to constantly change.
I hold to this sentiment. It is hopeful. It allows for a horizon where the parameters of one’s collective identity and identification can be negotiated rather than given as a take-it-or-leave-it pact. I am thinking of the many mirrors presented to me these days, claiming me, vying to own my reflection. Faulty does not begin to describe how corrupt most of these mirrors are. But I do have a choice in the matter of my Jewishness and Israeliness.
My challenge, as I write to you, is to find a place to speak from that does not turn away from what’s being done by, or in the name of “my people” and does not turn away from the collectivity that binds my people together. And, if I hold to my association, to also not turn away from this paralyzing guilt and shame. I see this as my task in general: to find a space between un-belonging with its alienation and denouncement of responsibility, and belonging with its ethical-existential devastation, but also some kind of commitment—a space where I could find something useful so say.
I am with you in trying to articulate the parameters of a social unconscious. What seems to me most useful these days is to think on the social through the prism of belonging-belonging as the link between the psychological and the political, between the personal and the communal, between the subjective and the collective.
Belonging is how we feel our collective attachments, associations, identifications, the love-need-fear relations we have with the people we think of as “our people.” There is nothing more powerful than the bonds of belonging. It is stronger than love. It is easier to divorce a spouse, even a child, than to renounce one’s ideology or religion or nation. I see it in my practice these days, and I hear about families broken up by battles over collective-ideological identifications vis-à-vis what’s going on in Israel-Palestine.
Because the coin of belonging has three sides, not two. There is belonging itself: being with, being a part of, being identified, having a place in the world, a community, having identity-belonging as a fundamental part of who we are.
There is, on the other side of belonging, the alienation of un-belonging, the feeling of having no family, no community, no psychic home. Not belonging, whether forced by rejection or chosen in self-realization, feels like being alone, being cast out.
And then there is the even more complicated third side of the coin: to forsake one’s belonging feels like betrayal-a sense that in moving away from one’s given community, in dis-identifying, one is betraying, and being betrayed by all others. This is because, beyond the loss of one’s home, the reverse of belonging is a sense of guilty and shameful abandonment-an abandonment of and by those whom you consider “your people.” So much harder to do when those people, “your people,” and the forces that bind them together pull you in at the root of your soul, saying “We need you!” But this is precisely what happens at times of crisis. To pull away, to dis-associate, to divest from one’s collective attachments means betraying your people. (It is often portrayed as treason.) And not only your people but also your own, often carefully made and lovingly given identity. It means betraying your own sense of self.
This is why, in times like these, dissent is so rare.
I see this as our psychoanalytic task-to instill dissent in our collective spaces, to challenge hegemonic narratives, to make the social unconscious conscious, to effect change. It might sound farfetched, but it is actually our creed: every interpretation we make to a patient is an effort to loosen up the hold of a personal hegemony that has been in control of the self’s narrative, to unsettle a repression, a dissociation, a defensive complex, to allow a mental space of greater contemplation and freedom. We need to do it on the level of the collective as well. We need to understand how belonging works, how it is (psychologically) felt and (socially) exploited, how it is sought and received, driven and anchored. And we need to work toward envisioning more conscious, more resistant, more creative kinds of belonging than those we have in our repertoire currently-new ways for being “me” in relation to new kinds of “we.”
I am glad you are bringing Trigant Burrow back to the psychoanalytic fold after decades of erasure. In the same vein, I would like to add to our circle of guiding spirits the Spanish-Salvadorian psychologist Ignacio Martín-Baró. Martín-Baró was the father of liberation psychology, a psychological perspective he founded in the spirit of the liberation theology that emerged in South and Central America in the 1970s. He was murdered by the Salvadorian army in 1989.
Martín-Baró advocated for a locally informed psychology, drawing from and answerable to particular populations in their specific circumstances. There was, for him, a need for such particular, local psychology, to counter the imported, universalizing psychology that dominated the Salvadorian academic mainstream-a psychology that forced on Salvadorian reality foreign concepts, replicating rather than addressing the traumatizing oppression and injustice endemic to Salvadorian society-a psychology serving the exploitative interests of the elites, a psychology of and in the service of the descendants of the Euro-colonizers.
The liberation psychology Martín-Baró formulated aims to understand people in their own social-political context. But beyond understanding, it seeks to help people liberate themselves from the hold of deceptive-oppressive political systems. Anything else would be a dishonest, self-serving effort to heal the injuries of the victim while collaborating with the aggressor-oppressor as he continues to injure.
Liberation psychology aims to work vis-á-vis the psycho-social relation-in dialogue between the learning and the learned. It is not a unilateral quest to understand people from a detached, superior perspective, rather an effort to enter a dialogue where everyone learns, and everyone is impacted. Its drive is to give individuals and collectives the ability to struggle against their traumatizing, dehumanizing conditions, not to adapt to them. An antithesis to the psychology we were all raised on, where the best we can hope for is creative-depressive adaptation to the world as it is.
The way to assist such a struggle is what Martín-Baró calls (following Paulo Freire) concientizatíon. One aspect of concientizatíon is what we would call making the social unconscious conscious: helping people see the historical, political, and ideological factors that act to make their social conditions seem inevitably as they are, as if they were elements of a natural order-while being in fact the product of social constructions that work in the service of some people and at the expense of others. But concientizatíon is not only about awareness; it is also about generating collective action towards social empowerment and social change.
Martín-Baró converses with Fanon and draws deeply on his understanding of the self-alienation of colonized people. But he does not envision decolonization the same way. He does not follow Fanon to the conclusion that the liberation of the colonized requires a complete retreat of the colonizer. Instead, he advocates for what he calls de-ideologizing-freeing both the colonized and the colonizer from the ideological contraptions that lock them, both socially and psychologically, into a perpetual cycle of domination and subjugation.
It might be that the difference in how Fanon and Martín-Baró envision liberation reflects the particular contexts from within which they worked-the colonization of Africa and its aftermath are different from those of Central and South America. In the Americas, the descendants of the European colonizers remain dramatically more powerful than the indigenous people, but the two groups are bound together in shared, emergent collective identities that did not develop in Africa. And there is in America more mestizaje-a mixing of colonizers and colonized. Moreover, unlike in Africa and much of Asia, where the European colonizers were successfully repelled, there is no feasible scenario in the Americas where the descendants of the colonizers could be driven back across the Atlantic. They no longer identify as European.
I am bringing Martín-Baró into our correspondence because I think his thinking could serve us better than Fanon’s as we try to address the impossible situation in Israel-Palestine. Because although we could say that the present catastrophe harkens back to a colonization of Palestine by waves of European and later Arab Jews, these colonizers have now become indigenous, and they have nowhere else to go. The same way a Euro-descendant citizen of Mexico or Colombia cannot simply return to Spain, a Jew living in Israel-Palestine cannot simply return to Iraq or Poland. Nothing is left of whatever residency rights my grandparents had in the Austro-Hungarian empire or White Russia or Lithuania. Whatever property they had is long gone, as are the ownership records. There is nothing to go back to.
And so I think that although Fanon can serve us as a formidable model for what a critical thinker and a critical psychoanalyst can achieve, Martín-Baró is a better guide for us as we try to envision what liberation could look like in Israel-Palestine. We have two peoples locked in a genocidal, oppressor-oppressed dynamic. We have two peoples who need to be liberated from a horrifically violent and unjust ideological bind.
You and I are holding each other for dear life. We want to be free of this vile situation, and in some ways we are. But if we actually want to make a difference, we need to understand where we too, both of us, are still unconscious of what drives the broken, agitated, and desperate collectives we find ourselves representing in this conversation. I have the bad luck of talking with you as a Jewish Israeli, an identity, a belonging that has been a moral and emotional torment for me since I became politically conscious, sometime during my adolescence, but also an irreplaceable psycho-social anchor. It is crazy, but although I have not lived there for more than three decades, and although I am disgusted by so much of it, and injured, seriously injured by it, this is where a fundamental part of my self is placed. I want to make it drastically different, to change it at the core, to repair as much as can be repaired, to insist that it guarantees equality and justice and the right of return for those who were chased away. I want it to cease considering itself Jewish, to detach itself from the demanding, exploitative projections of much of the Jewish diaspora. But I don’t want to give it up completely as Améry has done. I am desperate to keep breaking the faulty mirrors of identity Darwish speaks of, to do what I can to shatter the malevolent ideological reflections that deceive all of us. And I want you and me to free ourselves from the theoretical colonialism that has taken hold of the discourse about us, to engage our particular psycho-social environments, to explore our unique, intertwined, binational unconscious, to understand who we really are and what we could become.
Dear Eyal,
I do think bringing liberation psychology into the mix is brilliant and useful. I also think that your turning away from Franz Fanon is meaningful. We are getting close to where we need to be—an impasse of sorts where we need to figure out how to dig ourselves out. I understand your love for Israel, your belonging there, your deep protective impulse. I too love Palestine, belong there (same place, as I come from Jaffa), and the impulse to protect courses through my veins. I have the deeds to our property in Jaffa and the key to our home. Will I ever see the place of my birthright? This is one of the things that need to get worked out, the emotional meaning of loving a place that was taken by force. The place you love is soiled with blood and the rivers you drink from are sourced from tears. And now the total destruction of Gaza and the erasure of 2.2 million people. The rock, my dear, is heavy and the mountain is steep. This is where liberation psychology provides the antidote we need; everyone is included and everyone must be protected. But millennia of suffering have to get worked out and new systems have to be envisioned. There is a way to work it out, because I accept that you have become indigenous to Palestine; you returned to your ancestral home. But Israel has to accept that I too am indigenous to Palestine and I too need to return to my ancestral home. It has to accept that it has committed sins in the Holy Land and to atone for them. How do we do that without killing or displacing anyone? There is a way. I can see its contours. But nothing good will come until Israel stops genociding us in Gaza. It must stop now. I say these words as it gets ready to invade Rafah, where 1 million displaced Palestinians are sheltering. The horror that keeps spawning more horror.
Karim
- Karim G. Dajani, PsyD, is a clinical psychologist and psychoanalyst in private practice with a specialization in treating bicultural individuals. His research and writing include publications on psychological resilience and culture. He focuses on the role culture plays in determining an individual’s role within a collective and on the experience of cultural dislocation.
- Email: karimdajanisf@gmail.com
- Eyal Rozmarin, PhD, is a psychoanalyst and writer. He was born in Israel-Palestine and now lives in New York. He writes at the intersection of the psychological and the social-political about subjects, collectives, and the forces that drive them and pull them together and apart. He is co-editor of the book series Relational Perspectives in Psychoanalysis and on the editorial boards of Studies in Gender and Sexuality and Psychoanalytic Dialogues. Eyal teaches at the William Alanson White Institute and the Psychoanalytic Institute of Northern California. His upcoming book is titled Belonging and Its Discontents.
- Email: eyal.rozmarin@gmail.com
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