My basic training begins each morning with a brisk formation, followed by a three-man-line flag ceremony: the flag is raised to the top of the mast, Hatikvah is sung (officers and NCOs salute), and then — because this is Haredi basic training — we continue with Ani Ma’amin (believe in ultimate redemption). The entire company stands at attention for both songs, underscoring the weight accorded to each.
Before I proceed with some analysis, I want to say plainly: Hatikvah has always moved me. It moves me as the anthem of our own nation state here upon the land promised to Avraham Avinu; it moves me with its rousing melody and profound lyrics, describing our 2,000 years of hope — a hope being fulfilled as I write; and it moves me as a symbol of Jewish pride, restoring a dignity downtrodden over so many centuries.
But never has it moved me more than signing the anthem as a soldier, dressed in the uniform of Israel’s defense forces. Though we repeat it daily, I never tire of the ceremony (though to be honest, I know my basic training will only last one month). One morning during our field week, as we lined up in formation alongside our tiny 3-person tents, the company opened in a spontaneous rendition of Hatikvah. We represent the anthem, and it represents us.
Yet, as noted, we do not suffice with Hatikvah alone, and adduce Ani Ma’amin, which makes one think: why is the second song required, and what is the meaning of combining Hatikvah with Ani Ma’amin?
One Ceremony, Two Songs
At first glance, one might think that Ani Ma’amin is added as a kind of “kosher stamp” on what is otherwise a secular state ceremony — as though Hatikvah alone is insufficiently appropriate for the Charedi soldier and must therefore be supplemented by a religious anthem.
Personally, I feel a certain discomfort with this pairing. It reminds me of the “two-passport doctrine” that appears regularly in Yated Ne’eman editorials. According to this theory — repeated by Yisrael Friedman, the editor-in-chief, in a recent and much criticised interview for Mekor Rishon — a Charedi Jew cannot possess an “Israeli passport,” so to speak, because Israeli identity contradicts Jewish identity. A Jew may thus sing the British or Belgian anthems, but not the Israeli one, since Israel is a Jewish state not governed according to Torah.
The solution of singing Ani Ma’amin alongside Hatikvah implicitly accepts part of this argument. On the one hand, we are part of the state, so we sing Hatikvah. Unlike Friedman, we do not try to escape this (though I did notice one member of our platoon who refuses to sing Hatikvah). Yet on the other hand, we acknowledge the problem of a “secular” state, so we add Ani Ma’amin — a Jewish anthem appended to the Israeli one. In this formulation, Ani Ma’amin becomes the “kippah” on top of Hatikvah.
Personally, I feel a certain discomfort with this pairing. It reminds me of the “two-passport doctrine” that appears regularly in Yated Ne’eman editorials
But here lies the difficulty. We may add a religious song, but how does that solve the supposed “problem” of the anthem? The IDF is the army of the State of Israel, and the flag raised to the top of the pole is the national flag of Israel. How then does singing Ani Ma’amin fix anything? I serve in the IDF, and by doing so, I have joined the physical body of the modern Israeli state. Can Ani Ma’amin square that circle?
I would not suggest striking Ani Ma’amin from the ceremony. Hatikvah remains a non-religious song written by a secular author. While moving and poignant, it does not convey the spiritual elevation and Divine presence of the process, and the emergence of Ani Ma’amin from the religious field is a fitting reaction. At the same time, I would like to consider a different approach.
A Proud Exile or a Proud Israeli?
In stark contrast to Friedman, who describes himself (in the same interview) as a “proud exilic Jew,” I see myself — along with thousands of other Charedim — as a “proud Israeli.” True, this identity raises some theological questions that require attention. But too much has happened by means of Israel for us just to stand by and watch: the miracle of ingathering the exiles (still unfolding before our very eyes), the flourishing of Torah learning, the teshuvah movement, and the remarkable Jewish vitality that characterizes life in the Jewish state.
The fact that we — all of us — speak Hebrew, the ancient language of the Bible, is itself a wonder unmatched in human history. Along with countless other Olim, I thank Hashem each day for the privilege of living in a Hebrew-speaking country, whose calendar and rhythm are Jewish, whose culture is rooted in the heritage of Israel, and whose sovereign is us — the people of Israel dwelling in Zion. And the list goes on.
The State of Israel cannot escape these questions, and grappling with them creates an extraordinary dynamic surrounding the realization of Torah within contemporary life
As I heard from my mentor, Rabbi Eliyahu Meir Feivelson, there is no other place in the world where every news broadcast begins with the basic questions of what Judaism is and how it is expressed within the Jewish state, or what the place of God, Torah, and halacha is in the public sphere. The State of Israel cannot escape these questions, and grappling with them creates an extraordinary dynamic surrounding the realization of Torah within contemporary life.
I am not blind to the flaws of the Jewish state, and I don’t hallow the state and its leaders. But I recoil from Friedman’s ingratitude (his “proud exilic identity”), and I thank Heaven for a gift our ancestors could only dream of. The flaw of kochi ve’otzem yadi — “Israeli arrogance,” as Friedman calls it — does not push me away from the state but rather the opposite: the need for repair, and the knowledge that this responsibility rests on us, has driven me to enlist in the IDF.
Ultimately, our reality has been settled: the State of Israel is the nation-state of the Jewish people and its legitimate political representative. The only ones who deny this are the enemies of the Jewish people — anti-Semites of various stripes — and fringe Jewish groups, both Charedi and post-Jewish. Among the overwhelming majority in the middle, there is no doubt. And if so, Hatikvah should not be disdained. We are Israelis, and this is our song.
It is not a heretical song, God forbid. Yes, many preferred Rav Kook’s “Emunatenu,” and one could certainly propose alternatives — Tehillim 126 would do beautifully, in my opinion
It is not a heretical song, God forbid. Many religious Jews indeed preferred Rav Kook’s “Emunatenu,” and one could certainly propose alternatives — Tehillim 126 would do beautifully, in my opinion. But for now, the people dwelling in Zion have chosen Hatikvah, a song — remarkably, for a national anthem — that dwells on the 2,000-year hope and yearning for our homeland. It declares that the state we enjoy today rose upon the shoulders of multiple generations that stayed loyal to God, nation, and Torah.
Hativah needs improvements. If God can make an explicit appearance in the US national anthem, He should be no less present in Israel’s, including the Divine providence that guided our great return. Until those amendments are made, we shall continue to follow the common custom and append the elevated words of Ani Ma’amin, reminding us of the holy process we are part of. Yet, Hatikvah remains a song we are proud to sing. It is ours.
To Be a Free People
Inspired by my dear friend Rabbi Yitzchak Bar Chaim, one of the senior rabbis of Netzah Yehudah, when singing Hatikvah at public ceremonies I would alter the phrase “to be a free people” by substituting “to be a holy people”, am kadosh (or “a treasured people”, am segulah).
Of course, during the morning ceremony I follow the original wording, focusing on the positive meaning of freedom: freedom, to the degree possible, from the oppressive yoke of the nations that bore down upon us throughout the exile. Freedom from the dependency on foreign rulers and royal whims. And freedom to establish a Jewish state with a Jewish army and thereby defend all the good that has flourished here in our land.
As we see in many institutions of the state — including the army — there is a dynamic of change within the people dwelling in Zion, and in the end, the people will decide
Is it the ideal phrasing? I think not. As noted above, we might one day propose an addition or amendment. As we see in many institutions of the state — including the army — there is a dynamic of change within the people dwelling in Zion, and in the end, the people will decide. In any case, we — an overwhelming majority of Jews who take pride in Israel while not ignoring its shortcomings — will continue to sing Hatikvah while striving to fulfill the hopes of Israel across the generations.
Indeed, it is a singular privilege to take part in that journey.
R Ahron Soloveitchik ZL advised singing the last verse of Hatikvah as Lihiyos Am Kodesh Zbartzemu