Klezmer and the Unity of the Jewish People (?)

We enjoyed the Klezmer festival in Safed because the music was, in general, great, the crowds were relaxed and friendly, and almost every variety of Jewish Israeli was represented. Because admission to the concerts was free, lots of people who couldn't ordinarily afford to go to concerts came to Safed to hear the music. The streets were lined with booths selling fast food, jewelry, clothes, and assorted stuff (I bought a digital wristwatch for only twenty sheqels!).

Between pieces, many of the Israeli musicians offered religious inspiration. After all, Safed was the home of Kabbalah five hundred years ago, and a lot of the townspeople are following personal, mystical agendas, floating through the streets of the old city a few centimeters off the ground.
Speaking for myself, I could have done without earnest sermons about the potency of the month of Elul for penitence, the coming of the messiah, and miracles that came through prayer. Music itself is enough of a miracle.
One of the sermonizers, the guitarist in the middle of the top picture, gave a heartfelt plea for Jewish unity. If only we were all unified, respecting differences but still together, we could surmount all obstacles.
His talk made me realize how much anxiety people like him feel because of the deep and significant conflicts among segments of the Israeli Jewish population (forget about the gaps between the Jewish Israelis and the Muslim, Christian, and Druze Arabs, as well as the black African asylum seekers, and the non-Jewish immigrants from the former USSR).
What kind of unity was he talking about?
I deeply disapprove of the behavior and opinions of quite a few of my fellow Jewish citizens of Israel, and I know they disapprove of me. For example, I regard the Jewish settlers in Hebron as criminals. Expressing that opinion publicly, on Facebook, for example, is an invitation to vicious attacks, even death threats (since almost no one reads this blog, I don't think I have anything to fear on that account). How can there be unity between people who disapprove so categorically of one another?
Anyway, Jewish unity is a myth. There never was Jewish unity, and there never will be. We have a culture of controversy and confrontation, both within the tradition and between traditionalists and modernists. Perhaps because we were always differentiated from the gentiles around us, we are very sensitive to differences within our community: differences in ethnicity, in levels of Jewish observance, in social class, in political orientation, and in level of education.

Shlomo Bar, an extremely Moroccan musician, appeared with Tsemed Re'im, an extremely Ashkenazic pair of singers who have been performing together for more than forty years. They sang beautifully and made a lot of stupid jokes about Moroccans and Ashkenazim, but they also showed great respect for each other's music and made a show of the traditional Jewishness they all drew upon. They, too, preached Jewish unity, as if admiration for both Andalusian and Moldovan Jewish music would solve all of Israel's problems. Their message was a feel good message, not overtly religious or political: we can all get along, and our culture is big enough for both Oriental and Klezmer music.
But anxiety about lack of unity has a strong political dimension. That anxiety is a characteristic of right wing politics, certainly in Israel, and probably elsewhere as well, and comfort with diversity and difference of opinion is characteristic of the left. The left challenges the status quo, the right maintains it.
One reason why the left can't get its message across to the very people who are suffering most because of right wing policies is the failure to address this anxiety. The left is seen as negative, controversial, divisive. Zahava Galon (the head of the leftwing Zionist party, Meretz) doesn't make anyone feel good.