Commentary Magazine

Israel's Rights and Arab Propaganda

It is one of the ironies of the Arab-Israeli conflict that the popular slogan, “the right of all peoples to self-determination,” has become a battle cry raised, precisely, against the right of the Jewish people to self-determination. Similarly, the word “refugees” now carries the automatic prefix Arab, and “national liberation” is seen as an Arab issue. Even the concept of homeland has taken on an Arab coloration.

In an ideological dispute, it has been said, the winning side can be recognized by the terms adopted for public discussion. From this point of view, it is clear that the Arabs have for a long time now been prevailing on a large and crucial sector of world opinion. As long as everybody keeps talking about the right of Arabs alone to self-determination, half the victory is theirs, no matter what is said.

Strangely enough, on this particular battlefront there has been virtually no Israeli counterattack. One hears little of self-determination and national liberation for the Jewish people—seldom, certainly, in those ringing and evocative terms. The security of a state recently established is not at all the same thing. In the fashionable public perception of this feverish decade, the life of a state appears an abstraction when compared with the rights of a people. Yet it is upon the demonstrably pale precept of the protection of the state that Zionists have chosen to take their rhetorical stand. And they continue, in particular, to ignore the right to self-determination in the Middle East of the indigenous Middle Eastern Jews who are today a majority of Jewish Israelis.

The matter is more than merely semantic and more than just public relations or propaganda. It goes to the heart of Zionist ideals and philosophy and reflects the nature of Jewish commitment to national independence in Israel. The words which are most often used, the principles and purposes which are most vigorously espoused, the moral and political and historical concepts and interpretations which clothe official pronouncements and publications and public utterances—these paint the self-image as well as the face turned to the world. They tell a great deal about Israel and Zionism.



Since the Yom Kippur war, there has been a virtual abdication of Israeli moral suasion addressed to the world at large. In the face of a worldwide barrage of carefully targeted Arab argumentation, Israel has offered almost no effective self-defense or retaliation. Israeli statements, for the most part, express little more than simple stonewall resistance: Israel lives, Israel must live, here we are and on this ground we mean to stay. The Arabs, on the other hand, back up each attack and public statement with a heavy arsenal of moral, historical, and political postulates and justifications and pleadings for public sympathy and support.

Reasons are easy to find for the dearth of Israeli rhetoric. Clearly, Israel feels that events speak for themselves and that it should not be necessary to justify the country’s self-defense. Perceiving itself caught in the cynicism of oil diplomacy and power politics, Israel puts scant reliance on the likelihood of disinterested international discussion. Above all, Israelis apparently despair of a world which they find to be either uncaring at best or, at worst, actively anti-Semitic.

All this is true—to a degree. But the very ease with which these thoughts come to the Jewish mind serves to obscure an additional and very important factor: the effect on world opinion of Arab preemption of the issue of self-determination and the degree to which this propaganda success has weakened the moral position of Israel. The most frequent and most effective attacks upon the independence of Israel are made in the name of national liberation and self-determination for the Palestinians. Under this banner, friends of the Palestinians insist that any just solution for their problem must assure them of majority status in any country they inhabit. It is held to be self-evident, moreover, that this is a Palestinian right—and almost no discussion of the Palestinian cause omits its invocation.

Friends of Israel, on the other hand, base their support on quite other considerations. A public-opinion poll after the October war found that a majority of Americans support Israel because it is anti-Communist and because it is a democratic country. Secretary Kissinger, asked to explain the U.S. interest in Israel’s security, listed the reasons as: the emotional ties between the two countries, the democratic tradition of Israel, the fact that Israel is a “going concern,” and the U.S. objection to “domination by force.” New York Times editorialist William V. Shannon has written of America’s sense of guilt at not opening its doors quickly or widely enough to survivors of the Holocaust and “thereby providing an alternative to the Zionist answer.”

Any examination of editorial opinion, or any exchange of comment with the proverbial taxi driver, is likely to bring out some variation of these themes. Time magazine recently wrote: “Non-Jewish Americans harbor profound [pro-Israel] sentiments that have nothing to do with Jewish lobbying: a sense of something owed the Jewish people after the Nazi Holocaust; shared religious roots and democratic ideals; admiration for the pioneer spirit of the Israeli nation builders, so seemingly akin to America’s own beginnings; empathy for the underdog. . . . Besides, there were the geopolitical cold-war realities of the 1950’s. . . .” Israelis themselves most often assert Israel’s right to existence as, simply and redundantly, that “Israel lives.” For further justification, if they must, they will cite legal precedents or historic persecutions.

Notably missing from almost all pro-Israeli arguments and statements is any explicit or insistent or passionate defense of a self-evident Jewish right to national liberation and self-determination.

The point to be remarked here is that the friends of Israel do accurately reflect the basic lines of Zionist propaganda—just as the Arab apologists repeat the Arab line. Thus, for example, a recent American Jewish Committee pamphlet states the moral reasons for American support of Israel as Israel’s “strong democratic commitment, its pioneering spirit, and its heroic citizenry,” but gives preponderant weight to the pragmatic political purpose of “maintaining the balance of power between the United States and the Soviet Union.” In another AJC pamphlet, a definition of Zionism speaks of the “deep attachment” of Jews to their homeland, of the need for a haven from European anti-Semitism, and of the Jewish “sense of people-hood.” In three paragraphs, the AJC definition of Zionism makes no mention of any Jewish right whatever, let alone the specific right to self-determination or national liberation.

Thus, also, the influential Near East Report of the American-Israel Public Affairs Committee, in its widely distributed Myths and Facts, 1974, leads off with a question about the state: what right, it asks, does Israel have to exist? It answers by citing the Bible, the Balfour Declaration, the League of Nations, and the United Nations. Self-determination for the Jewish people is only finally mentioned much later, in the third paragraph of a lengthy definition of Zionism, and then as the second of the purposes of a Jewish national home, the first being sanctuary.

Israeli officials, as well, have generally left the talk of self-determination to their Arab counterparts. Exceptions have been something of a surprise—such as, for example, when early last year the then Foreign Secretary Abba Eban was pressed by newsmen on the matter of self-determination for the Palestinians. Cornered, he remarked that the real question was not self-determination for a twenty-first Arab state, but self-determination for the one, single Jewish state. He did not dwell upon the point, however, but slipped quickly away onto more familiar ground.

And when, finally, an articulated and unmistakable demand for Jewish self-determination would seem to have been unavoidable with Yasir Arafat’s appearance at the United Nations, the Zionists chose to exhort the world, rather, upon the facts of Arab terrorism.



Historians of the future, examining the record, will surely find very strange this want of Jewish self-assertion. Is it not, after all, the Jewish right to self-determination that the Israelis are defending? For centuries, Jews have suffered the relentless pressures of Muslim and Christian conformism. In the Middle East itself, they have endured thirteen centuries of discrimination and persecution to keep from being forced into the vast Arab melting pot. But today the world has legitimized, and indeed apotheosized, national and cultural particularism and separatism. Why then are the Jews still standing outside this mainstream?

Certainly such a self-defeating position is difficult to understand as a matter of strategy. It can perhaps, however, be explained as a matter of ideology. It would seem that, in this regard, Zionism has simply held fast to its early precepts and philosophy and has not moved with the times. It has stood aloof from the value changes which have swept current radical-socialist movements and has declined either to accept new ideological idols or even to use them to its own advantage.

What has happened today is that self-determination has come to stand for a compelling nationalism of exceptional predominance and priority. In general theory it may be associated with some more or less defined expectations of economic progress or individual liberty or political or social improvement. But in dogma and practice these are lesser considerations, and self-determination—meaning political power, pure and simple—is asserted to be the most fundamental and most imperative of all group goals.

This is an idea essentially alien to Zionism. Zionist nationalism has from the beginning been much less extreme and more pragmatic. True, the aim was Jewish liberation in the Jewish homeland, but even in theory the movement was based more on necessity than on mystique. Centuries of persecution had demonstrated, it was thought, that the Jewish people could have no lasting expectation of physical safety or, freedom or economic security without some measure of political independence. The Jews therefore “needed” their homeland. It is significant that the word “need” occurs far more often in Zionist literature than the word “right.” The nationalism of the Zionist—for all its religious, historical, and emotional ties to the Land of Israel—was essentially a means to an end, and the end was seen to be the tangible welfare of the people.,

Nor, in the beginning, did Zionism demand absolute national independence. It was most generally held that Jewish needs could—and probably should—be accommodated within some larger national or international or regional limitations.

Thus, to cite a few random examples: In an address at the organizing convention of the later predominant Labor party (Mapai) in 1931, one of its leading theoreticians, Berl Katznelson, spoke eloquently in favor of a bi-national state in Palestine and pointed out, “. . . nor did Herzl try to set down what the form of government would be in a Jewish state, and whether it would exist as a totally autonomous state or as an autonomous province in a greater governmental unit.” The workers’ movement, Katznelson continued, “no longer utilizes the term state which Herzl himself ceased using when he changed from abstract dreams to concrete political actions.” In 1933, Eliezer Livneh, subsequently an influential member of the Knesset, wrote of “a Jewish Palestine within a greater Arab federation” as “probably the final goal of any serious Zionist foreign policy. Economic as well as political and strategic considerations speak in its favor.” And David Ben-Gurion himself, at the 1931 Mapai convention, said that “there is [in Palestine] a political necessity and a moral justification for a superior international rule . . . that will protect all rights and interests that may possibly clash and encroach upon one another.”



If, however, today’s brand of passionate, extremist nationalism is foreign to historic Zionism, it is not new to the Arabs who long ago made it their weapon against the Jewish people. From the beginning, the Arab Palestinians insisted upon their own unique title to guaranteed political and economic predominance in the entire country. No Jewish political rights would be recognized which permitted any possibility of future challenge to continued Arab power and majority status. Thus Arab nationalism came early to be exclusive and uncompromising. It denied categorically the right of the Jews to effective self-determination and political equality and to the free development and growth of their own community.

The issue was pointed up early and clearly in the Jewish and Arab responses to the Churchill-Samuels White Paper of 1922. That document, seeking a compromise with the Arabs, defined Jewish national liberation in the most minimal terms. The Jewish National Home, it stated explicitly, was not to be “a wholly Jewish Palestine”; the White Paper did not contemplate “the subordination of the Arabic population, language, or culture,” nor did it seek “the imposition of a Jewish nationality upon the inhabitants of Palestine as a whole.” The Jewish National Home meant only “the further development of the existing Jewish community with the assistance of Jews in other parts of the world, in order that it may become a center in which the Jewish people, as a whole, may take, on grounds of religion and race, an interest and a pride. But in order that this community should have the best prospects of free development and provide a full opportunity for the Jewish people to display its capacities, it is essential that it should know that it is in Palestine as of right, and not on sufferance” (emphasis added).

The 1922 White Paper was approved by the Zionist Organization. But even so little went too far for the Arabs, and they rejected it.,

Arab intransigence was based entirely on considerations of political power. The Arabs did not attempt to make their argument on grounds of the physical or material or social welfare of their people. Indeed, they could not. Zionist enterprise in Palestine was irrigating the desert, draining the swamps, rapidly improving the lives of Arabs as well as Jews. Palestine quickly achieved the highest standard of living in the Middle East, and tens of thousands of poor Arab immigrants flocked into the country from neighboring Arab lands.

But all this was held to be irrelevant. Arab leaders stated bluntly that they preferred that the country remain barren rather than be developed by a strong and self-reliant Jewish community. They quickly narrowed the issue and stand today, essentially, upon the same spot which they chose in 1920: that for them hegemony was the sine qua non, and for it they were prepared to forgo all thought of economic and social benefit and progress.

The Zionists could not believe that the Arab people truly endorsed what their leaders were saying. Surely these spokesmen were only the absentee landowners, protecting their continued exploitation of a docile peasantry. Surely these were only the words of corrupt petty bureaucrats, defending their positions and prerogatives. Surely the problem lay with British imperialists, dividing in order to rule. But surely, the Arab people would not long persist in policies so clearly contrary to their own self-interest. Zionist literature is full of the vision of oppressed Arab peasants who would soon, inevitably, join the Jewish workers to build a new socialist society of mutual benefit and prosperity.



That the Zionists were able so to mislead themselves was due, first of all, to a serious misreading of Arab-Jewish history. This is a history which is even today not very well known, and it was particularly far from the experience of European theorists. For several reasons—including, no doubt, wishful thinking—they helped to foster a myth of traditional tolerant and brotherly relations which distorts the realities of the centuries of Jewish life under Arab domination. The truth is that, for qualified permission to practice their religion, the Jews had had to pay the price of constant exploitation and submission. Within Arab countries (unless or until changed by European administrations) the Jewish people occupied a visibly inferior and oppressed-minority status which was enforced by religious as well as civil laws and was specifically encouraged by the Koran itself. Centuries of cultural conditioning had taught every Arab, whatever might be his own deprivation, to feel innately superior at least to the defenseless Jew. This is, of course, the other side of the coin of the much-noted Arab “pride.”

The Zionists did not appreciate the depth and tenacity of Arab religious bigotry and hostility. Even in the 1930’s, after the rapid spread of Nazi anti-Semitism among the Arabs had given clear evidence of the fertile soil in which it was planted, Zionists continued to look forward to a voluntary Arab change of heart and eventual cooperation and coexistence. Self-determination, therefore, remained a lesser goal in the rhetoric of Zionism, nor did it become so central and extreme a demand as to rule out the possibilities of political compromise. Arab intransigence, of course, ultimately had its effect upon Zionist actions—indeed, Israel’s complete independence can be seen as substantially the result of Arab policies themselves. But somehow no proportionate change found its way into Zionist teachings and propaganda, where one finds little to reflect the historic record of Arab oppression of the Jewish people or any insistent priority on Jewish self-determination which could effectively challenge that of the Palestinians.

The record of the past, added to the events of this century, might have disposed a more realistic people to have reexamined their hypotheses. But the Zionists also had a dream. They were socialists and Jews, and they held a view of the world compounded of both socialist theory and messianic Judaism.

The socialist Zionists departed from orthodox Marxism in insisting upon their own religious and cultural particularity. They thus early excited the hostility of the Communists, to whom at that time both ethnicity and religion were everywhere dialectical heresies. Nonetheless, the Zionists did fundamentally believe that class and economic interests were the primary determinants of political action and that what all peoples most desired was economic betterment. And so they kept instructively telling the world the tale of their kibbutzim and their crops, their schools and hospitals and the rise in the Arab as well as the Jewish standard of living. And when hundreds of thousands of Jews fled from Arab countries, Israel took them in with no attempt to exploit the potential of these other Middle Eastern refugees for political or propaganda purposes. The world, it appeared, had turned its face toward a future of material progress and international order. The rigidities and festering resentments of the Arabs, unproductive as their refugee camps, seemed medieval and irrelevant when set beside the irrigation of deserts and the drainage of swamps and the planting of vineyards and orchards and orange groves.

The Israelis believed that they were laboring on the side of the realities, and it has been primarily upon the economic and strategic self-interest of other nations that they have wished to rely. Like the United States, Israel made an aggressive national policy of the attempt to export its example and its know-how in programs of technical and educational assistance to underdeveloped countries. This was expected to win for Israel wide gratitude and support. Unfortunately, it turned out that self-interest alone made for undependable allies, as Israel was to learn later when that very incentive, indeed, led its erstwhile friends in new directions.

But it was not only diplomatic considerations which motivated Israel’s foreign-aid programs. In its public posture, Israel has deeply wished to stand not for itself alone. A persistent leitmotif in Zionism is the theme that it is not enough for Israel to be “just” a country for the Jews. Israel must also be a light unto the nations. Ben-Gurion required that it be “a model for the redemption of the human race.” Martin Buber sternly advised that it was up to the people whether Israel “will be the center of humanity or only a Jewish Albania.” Hayim Greenberg, spokesman for the American Labor Zionists, stated that Zionism would deserve no support if it were “merely the expression of an egotistic nationalism.”

This kind of rhetoric is, of course, quite different from the current prevailing fashion in national-liberation movements. It is interesting to note, incidentally, that the same sense of a unique Jewish mission and high ethical responsibility has also produced some of the most vigorous Jewish criticism of Israel. Arguments are frequently advanced that the Jews ought to be devoting themselves to more spiritual pursuits than the worldly and compromising job of running and defending a country of their own. Critics of this sort have ranged from Orthodox rabbis and religionists all the way to Philip Roth, who could only view the Jewish freedom fighter with contempt. “At long last,” he wrote, “the Jew is no longer the spectator of the violence of our age, nor is he the victim of that violence; now he is a participant. Fine then. Welcome aboard. . . .” Apparently there exists a significant strain of Jewish thinking which qualifies its allegiance to the principles of national liberation and self-determination, or is embarrassed by them.

In any event, Zionist statements of humanitarian responsibility and benevolent intentions in the Middle East only angered the Arabs. These declarations offended their ingrained religious and historical sense of the Jewish people as properly a subject minority dependent upon the “protection” of their Arab overlords. The inflated rhetoric smacked to them of elitism and imperialism. They were infuriated by the picture of Jews bringing civilization to the natives. Even if many Arabs did actually benefit from Israeli enterprises and jobs and public services, this was considered to be of no real consequence.

No matter how often or how explicitly this point was made, however, the Jews did not hear it. Even as late as 1967, after the Six-Day War, the Israelis seriously believed that plumbing and prosperity would win them friends in the occupied territories. And even Nahum Goldmann of the World Zionist Organization, this past winter, after taking the Zionists to task for the “original sin” of not having fully understood the “true significance” of the Arab problem, went on to urge that Israel try to make peace quickly and “become a partner of the Arabs in building up the Middle East. Arab financial power, coupled with Jewish ingenuity, resourcefulness, and international contacts, could make of the Middle East a paradise in a decade or two,” he said.

Mr. Goldmann has an international reputation for devotion to the cause of understanding and compromise with the Arabs. Yet he, too, remains the prisoner of old delusions. A partnership is just what the Arabs have again and again rejected—and in particular and most categorically this sort of partnership, to which Jews were expected to bring the brains and the skills and Arabs the resources. The formula used to read a bit differently: originally, the Jewish contribution was also to have been financial and the Arab resources were mostly manpower. The offer was refused in the past, and is surely even less acceptable today.

That there is a wide gap in Arab-Israeli communication is obvious. Noticeably missing has been the elementary communication of direct confrontation and engagement on the bedrock issues. The Arabs will talk only of rights. The Israelis wish to discuss only needs and accomplishments and legalities. They talk past each other.



In the fall of 1957, in a widely-quoted speech before the United Nations, Golda Meir directed a typical Israeli appeal to the Arab people: “Would it not be better for all to build a future for the Middle East based on cooperation?” she asked. “Does hate for Israel and the aspiration for its destruction make one child in your country happier? Does it convert one hovel into a house? Does culture thrive on the soil of hatred?”

Whatever its sincerity, Mrs. Meir’s appeal was beside the point. It was no response whatever to what the Arabs were saying. To be sure, there was perhaps reason, in the early hopeful days of the UN, to believe that housing and culture and the happiness of children might be the predominant concerns of the nations of the world. The Israelis were not alone in their vision of the future. But soon public attention began perceptibly to shift and to swing around to the Arab view of the political priorities. There was a growing international acquiescence, at least, in the principle that another cause is really the most important of all: a cause named self-determination, whose culture does indeed thrive on the soil of hatred and violence.

Israel now faced a war of propaganda in which the field of battle had been chosen by her enemies. Still, she was not in a strategically untenable position, much as it might not have been to her taste. If the issue was to be the right to self-determination for all peoples, then the Jewish people might also credibly claim that right. What was required, however, was that the Arabs not be permitted to control the debate and that the concept of self-determination immediately and unmistakably be made to include the Jews.

No directed, concentrated offensive of this sort appears to have been attempted by Israeli diplomacy and Zionist information programs. There were skirmishes on the fringes of the battle. There was a continued busy emphasis upon facts and the correction of facts. But the vital center was left undefended. Do the Jewish people have a right to self-determination in Israel? The Jews simply did not wish to discuss the issue in the terms in which the rest of the world was in fact discussing it.

They preferred, in the first place, to insist that the matter had long ago been settled by the Balfour Declaration and by the United Nations, and they ignored the growing signs of popular erosion of these legal supports. Former Israeli premier Moshe Sharett, for example, after a tour of Asian countries in 1956, had reported on his visits with new nations who had little knowledge of the Bible or of ancient Jewish history and who still smarted from bruising experiences with British and other European imperialisms. Under no circumstances must Israel talk to them of the Balfour Declaration, Sharett had warned prophetically. Ten years later, some UN decisions had come to be viewed in much of the world with similar hostility. Yet Israeli publicists persisted in stressing the UN “creation” of the State.

Secondly, the Zionists chose to leave virtually undisturbed those big guns of Arab propaganda: that Israelis are all Europeans, that no significant numbers of Jews remained in Palestine and the Middle East after the Roman conquest of Jerusalem, and that in any case Jews had always been well treated and secure in Arab countries until Zionism arrived to disturb the peace.



That these potent premises are widely believed today—and by Jews as well as non-Jews—is as much a result of Israeli silence as of Arab persuasion. This silence was dramatically illustrated in an exchange which took place at the UN Security Council meeting of October 21, 1973, during discussion of the cease-fire to end the October war. Jamil Baroody, representative of Saudi Arabia, used the occasion to deliver a lengthy attack upon Zionism and Israel. However verbose and rambling his oratory, Mr. Baroody’s central thesis came through loud and clear: Israelis have no historic rights whatsoever in the Middle East. They are all foreigners and intruders. Arabs therefore have no responsibility to live with them as neighbors nor any obligation, certainly, to compensate for the persecution of their European past.

Israel’s representative, Yosef Tekoah, answered with a ringing defense of Zionism as the Jewish people’s liberation movement. But in recounting the long Jewish struggle against oppression, Mr. Tekoah spoke only of Europe: of Rome, of Spain, of Russia, of Germany. He did not mention the harassment and exploitation of the Jewish people in Palestine after the Arab conquest. He did not mention the pillage and persecution of Jewish communities in the Middle East during the centuries of Arab domination. He did not mention the families of Jewish refugees from Arab countries who are today a substantial majority of the Jews of Israel. He did not include a single instance of Arab oppression of the Jewish people, nor a single descriptive word about the vital post-Roman Jewish history in the Middle East. Mr. Tekoah simply let stand, unchallenged, Mr. Baroody’s pivotal contentions—the same ones, as it happened, which were that week being widely circulated in Arab advertisements in newspapers like the Washington Post and the New York Times.

In this strange Israeli silence there lies a curious double standard about the very meaning of the word oppression. For other nations, and even groups within nations, oppression has come to include any restriction of power, any limitation upon absolute self-determination and equality. All history is being reexamined from this point of view and redress is demanded for past transgressions of the new standards. When it comes to the Jews, however, oppression means the auto-da-fé and the gas oven, and the Jewish people are not thought to have been really oppressed unless they were being systematically slaughtered. For the most part, Jews and Arabs seem to be agreed on this point.

Thus an old Zionist cannot be much aroused by the record of Arab persecutions before Zionism. “The Germans were worse,” he says philosophically.

Thus the PLO is applauded for the perfect justice of its proposed “democratic secular state” in which Arabs will be assured of a permanently guaranteed majority over the Jews. But Arab Palestinians are held to suffer an unbearable loss of identity if they live in Arab Syria or Arab Jordan. Thus we are never permitted to forget that the Israeli Arab, whatever the relative comfort or advantage of his life, is constantly tormented by the humiliation of belonging to a minority group. A young Arab student, for example, offers as proof of his oppression that, should he wish to go to the University of Tel-Aviv, he will perhaps have difficulty finding a nearby Arab family with whom to board. But Mrs. Abba Eban, in the New Yorker, tells us delightful stories of her carefree girlhood in Cairo (before the Jews were unfortunately driven out) when she was able to watch the colorful royal festivities from across the street and to scramble for handfuls of gold coins tossed by King Farouk.

If, then, self-determination is now an Arab word, it is in large part because the Jews have not made it theirs. What the Israelis and their supporters have patently not done is to establish in the public perception the Jewish right to self-determination in Israel—perhaps because they have not thought it a really important task. It is this hole at the center of Israel’s public image which has so easily been filled with damaging charges of foreign aggression and imperialism.

One cannot, of course, say precisely what would have been the results of different policies on the part of Israeli spokesmen. Perhaps there would have been no effect upon the Arab world—although it is possible to suggest that insistence upon the post-biblical history of Middle Eastern Jewry and upon the Arabs’ own historic responsibilities might somewhat have dented their self-righteousness and might somewhat have allayed their smarting sense of injustice. It is, however, very likely that there would have been some appreciable effect upon pro-Arab opinion elsewhere in the world. In any case, one must wonder how, vulnerable as it is and with such an obviously poor hand, Israel can afford not to play its every possible trump card.

The Israelis worked and created facts. The Arabs talked and created other facts. It is now clear that words can, after all, become facts as real and as powerful as vineyards and orange groves.


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