If there is one bird that can spark a heated argument in almost any casual conversation or WhatsApp group, it is the common myna. With its yellow bill, loud calls and aggressive behaviour, it has become an inseparable part of Israel’s urban landscape over the past 30 years.
But the myna, which most likely arrived here after escaping from the “Tzapari” bird park in Yarkon Park, is much more than “just another bird”. It has been officially listed by international nature conservation organisations as one of the 100 worst invasive species in the world.
Recently, an ethnographic study was published in the journal Environment and Planning E: Nature and Space by researcher Eran Schwarzfuchs from the Department of Sociology and Anthropology at Tel Aviv University, who studies the Israel Center for Citizen Science at the Steinhardt Museum of Natural History. The study, titled
The researcher found that in Israel the myna is characterized by three conflicting identities: an invasive threat, a socio cultural “other” similar to social groups that are seen as threatening the existing order in Israeli society, and a reflection of Israeli identity itself.
The myna as an invasive threat
As nature enthusiasts and interviewees describe it, the main reason for the hostility toward the myna lies in its behaviour. It is seen as aggressive, domineering and particularly intelligent, and it has been spreading in Israel very quickly and in large numbers.
So what is the problem? The myna poses a real threat to the local ecosystem. It competes with native species for food and nesting sites, and is especially known for driving the hoopoe, Israel’s national bird, out of its traditional nesting cavities. For many birdwatchers, its conspicuous and violent behaviour is “an existential threat to Israeli nature”.
To describe this invasiveness, Israelis often adopt sharp security metaphors. A quick search of news headlines about the myna makes this clear. For example, in the television show “Ma SheTagidu” on Kan 11, media personality Kuti Sabag referred to the mynas as “Nukhba” (after Hamas’s commando unit). Many nature lovers use nicknames such as “Hamas” or “the eliminator”. Through these labels, people express both security anxieties and ecological fear.
The myna as a socio-cultural “other”
Beyond being an ecological threat, the myna has become a symbol of social changes that many people do not want to see. Different groups in the Israeli public use it to express what they regard as a socio cultural threat. On one hand it serves as a rhetorical tool onto which internal social tensions are projected, and on the other hand it serves as a way to interpret the social changes Israel is undergoing. Nostalgia for the “good old Land of Israel” ties together social change and environmental change.
One striking example is an advertisement by a pest control company that draws an explicit analogy between the arrival of mynas and the “Russian aliyah” of the 1990s. In the ad, the exterminator describes an imaginary scenario in which most of Tel Aviv becomes Russian, with Russian delicatessens on every corner. This imagery raises questions about Israeli identity and cultural belonging. The myna, whose origin is in India, is presented as a threat to “the beautiful and diverse nature of the Land of Israel”, rather than as something that might enrich that diversity. The parallel with immigration from the former Soviet Union turns the myna from an external invader into a symbol of internal change that is perceived as threatening “the good old Israel”.
In Israeli discourse the myna is also often described as a “arsy bird” in headlines, television programs, online comments sections and conversations between birders, using a derogatory slang term associated with a loud, macho stereotype. In WhatsApp and Facebook groups of nature enthusiasts, mynas are described as “gangs of arsims” or even as “La Familia”. Illustrator Dana Bar-Lev, in a series of cartoons, turns mynas into a symbol of the Israeli right wing by drawing coalition members as mynas. Journalist Haim Levinson shared a link to an article about mynas and wrote that it was “the best text anyone has ever written about the phenomenon of “garinim toraniyim” (groups of Religious-Zionist families who strategically inhabit neighborhoods to increase religious
presence in secular areas) and the religious-nationalist takeover of Israel’s cities”. The equation of mynas with “arsim”, with the political right and with garinim toraniyim exposes deep anxieties about demographic and cultural change.
At the same time, it is important and interesting to note that the politics of the myna is not consistent. It shoots in many directions and reflects multi directional tensions in Israeli society. The myna is not a simple political symbol but a complex mirror of social anxieties. Each group shapes its own images of the bird around the fears it is dealing with. The myna allows people to impose a sense of logic and to build an orderly story about the “good old Land of Israel” that is gradually changing, both environmentally and socially.
The myna as a reflection of Israeli identity
Alongside invasion narratives, a third narrative has emerged in recent years that places the myna as a mirror of Israeli society itself, thanks to traits attributed to the bird that are seen as parallel to Israeli identity. This narrative is much less common, but it is slowly entering the conversation.
Supporters of the myna highlight its intelligence, resilience and remarkable adaptability, traits that are usually valued and celebrated as part of being “Israeli”. Some even compare its story to the Jewish historical experience: a bird that was forced, without choosing, to live in foreign places, showed impressive adaptation to a new environment, and in return has had to cope with locals who do not recognise it as belonging.
In the children’s podcast “Baduk” produced by the Davidson Institute, the myna itself appears as a character and insists that it is “already completely Israeli”: it loves falafel, stands during the memorial siren, and makes a barbecue on Independence Day. It describes itself as tough and a survivor, just like Israelis, and therefore claims that it should be declared the national bird instead of the hoopoe. This is of course a joke, but researchers have shown that even the hoopoe was not originally a permanent resident in Israel. It was a summer visitor that became a year round resident only over the past two hundred years or so. In one nature enthusiasts’ group, this process was described as the hoopoe’s “aliyah”. This tension highlights and reminds us that the boundary between “native” and “invasive” is fluid and constantly changing, just as in Israeli society itself, which wrestles with accusations of colonialism and invasion alongside a narrative of immigration and settlement.
The takeaway: The myna is more than a metaphor
The study shows that the categories “native” and “invasive” are neither purely scientific nor purely cultural. They are created in the interaction between material reality, such as the biology and ecology of a species, and cultural interpretation, such as how society understands that behaviour. Within these relations the myna is not passive. It takes an active part in shaping its own meaning.
The common myna in Israel is a hybrid creature of nature and culture. It is an important part of Israeli nature, yet also a threat to it. It is one of the most common birds in Israel, yet it also arrived only recently. On one hand it is an ecological threat. On another it serves as a symbol of our political and social anxieties. At the same time it reflects aspects of the Israeli character. It reminds us that debates about nature conservation and the environment are often also debates about who belongs in our society.
We need to learn to live with this contradiction. The myna is both invader and neighbour, both threat and mirror, both “them” and “us”. Donna Haraway, an anthropologist of science, calls this “staying with the trouble”: choosing to remain within the complexity rather than escaping it. This means not ignoring the real ecological damage caused by the myna and claiming that it is all rhetoric, but also not being drawn into a fight against windmills by trying to eradicate species that are already well established. With all the contradictions it embodies, the myna invites us to think about ourselves, about how we define belonging, about our fears and hopes, and about our ability to live in a world that is constantly changing.
Photo credit: iwantsonya1, iNaturalist