Typewriter / Photo: Depositphotos
In the rhythmic click of keys on paper, the typewriter has carved a place in history – not just as a tool, but as a vessel of human ambition, ingenuity and voice. Nowhere was this more evident than in the young state of Israel, where the mechanical pulse of the typewriter fuelled the birth of a dynamic press amidst the tumultuous process of nation-building. From the ink-stained hands of the first editors to the digital screens of today, the story of Israeli newspapers is one of resilience, reinvention and a relentless drive to shape the soul of society.
The birth of the typewriter
The typewriter emerged in the late 19th century as a marvel of industrial precision, attributed to the American inventor Christopher Latham Sholes, who patented the first practical model in 1868. By the time the Zionist pioneers began to settle in Ottoman Palestine, the machine had become a global symbol of modernisation. In Israel’s early days, typewriters-often imported from Europe or the United States-were cumbersome, capricious companions of journalists bent over desks in makeshift newsrooms. Hebrew, with its right-to-left writing, posed unique challenges, requiring special machines that upended the traditional layout. Companies such as Remington and Olivetti took up the challenge, creating Hebrew typewriters that clicked and hummed their way into history.
Remington and Olivetti
These machines were more than tools – they were lifelines. In a land of immigrants and dreamers, the typewriter gave voice to a stitched-together society of many voices. The sound of its keys echoed through the stone alleys of Jerusalem and the sandy streets of Tel Aviv, becoming the mechanical anthem of a nascent nation.
The soul of Israel’s first newspapers
The very first newspapers in Israel appeared before the creation of the state, under the rule of the Ottoman Empire and the British Mandate. HaZvi (The Deer), founded in 1884 by Eliezer Ben-Yehuda, the father of modern Hebrew, was a pioneer. Printed on primitive presses, its pages were a labour of love – hand-typed text and ink-smeared sheets were distributed to a small but eager audience. Ben-Yehuda, a lexicographer and visionary, used HaZvi to revive Hebrew as a living language, turning the newspaper into a cultural crucible.
When Israel declared independence in 1948, the press exploded with urgency. Davar, founded in 1925 by the Histadrut labour federation, and Haaretz, established in 1918, became the pillars of the young state’s identity. Typewriters churned out stories of war, migration, and hope, their output feeding humming presses that could barely keep up with demand. In those chaotic years, newspapers were not just read – they were consumed. Families gathered around the soiled pages, discussing the headlines that recorded the birth of a nation.
The process was spiritual, almost sacred. Editors such as Haaretz‘s Gershom Shoken worked late into the night, their typewriters churning out editorials that combined European intellectualism with Middle Eastern courage. Distribution was a grassroots affair, with vendors shouting headlines on street corners and kibbutzniks passing copies from hand to hand. The newspaper was a mirror and a megaphone, reflecting a society on the move and amplifying its aspirations.
Talented voices: Journalists who shaped the nation
Among the ink-stained heroes of the early Israeli press, few shone brighter than Hannah Semer, a pioneering journalist who would go on to lead Davar as editor-in-chief from 1970 to 1990. Born in Czechoslovakia in 1924, Semer was a Holocaust survivor who arrived in Israel with a sharp intellect and a typewriter in hand. Her reporting on labour struggles and women’s rights cut through the male-dominated newsrooms of her time, earning her a reputation as a fearless truth-teller. Semer’s prose – sharp, compassionate and unflinching – turned Davar into a moral compass for a nation struggling with its identity.
Another luminary was Uri Avnery, a nonconformist journalist and peace activist who founded HaOlam HaZeh (This World) in 1950. Printed in an attic in Tel Aviv, Avnery’s magazine was a provocateur’s dream – a combination of investigative scoops and biting satire. His exposés of government corruption and calls for coexistence with the Palestinians made him a polarising figure, but his typewriter was a weapon of change, challenging the status quo with every stroke of the key.
The evolution of style: From sermons to snapshots
In the early days, the style of Israeli newspapers reflected its people: sincere, eclectic and raw. The articles in HaZvi and Davar read like sermons – long, instructive treatises imbued with Zionist fervour and biblical rhythm. The limitations of the typewriter shaped this prose; each line was a commitment, painfully extracted with no room for error. But as Israel modernised, so did the press. By the 1950s, Yedioth Ahronoth, founded in 1939, had ushered in a tabloid revolution, its vivid headlines and lively photographs capturing a restless, young nation. Typewriters adapted, their output reduced to shorter, sharper bursts as journalists rushed to keep up with the pace of a fast-moving society.
The 1970s brought a literary heyday, when writers like Semer and Amos Oz (who moonlighted as a colonist) filled articles with introspection and nuance. Today, digital platforms such as the Times of Israel favour brevity and immediacy, with tweets and bullet points replacing the long musings of the typewriter. But the soul remains: Israeli journalism is still grappling with the big questions – war, peace, identity – that defined its early days.
The press and society: Then and now
In 1948, newspapers were Israel’s lifeline, connecting a fragmented population. During the War of Independence, Haaretz and Davar published updates from the frontlines alongside calls for unity, their words rallying the nation under siege. They shaped public opinion with an almost prophetic weight – editorials could influence elections, provoke protests, or reassure frightened citizens. Circulation soared; by the 1960s, Israel had one of the highest per capita newspaper readership rates in the world.
Today, the landscape has changed. Print publications are struggling with the wave of social media, where X-posts and viral videos are outpacing the measured pace of the printing press. Yet newspapers retain a quiet influence. Yedioth Ahronoth and Israel Hayom still have a loyal audience, and their investigative reporting – whether on corruption scandals or security threats – fuels national debate. Digital platforms amplify this reach by combining the weight of print with the speed of the web.
The typewriter may have become a relic, its clicks replaced by the hum of laptops, but its legacy lives on in the Israeli press. From Ben-Yehuda’s dreamy conception to Semer’s steely determination, the newspaper remains a soulful chronicle of the nation’s journey – one that continues to shape and be shaped by the society it serves. As Israel moves toward an uncertain future, its journalists – armed now with pixels rather than keys – carry on a tradition as old as the state itself: to question, to inform, to endure.
Author: Marianna Nyzhnia
