Why I Joined the IDF

Most Israelis never need to ask themselves the question, “Why did I enlist?” They enlist because they have to.

In the Charedi space, however, the story is very different. The beating heart of Charedi society that sets its calendar and rhythm is not the army but the yeshiva. Wearing a uniform is not a given; it is the exception that proves the rule.

By way of illustration, the first time I heard the canonical song “Winter of 73” was at the first Yom HaZikaron ceremony I ever attended — a little more than a decade ago during my clerkship at the Supreme Court. Army parlance, so prevalent in Israeli society, is foreign to the Haredi ear.

For us Charedim, then, the question “Why did I join the army?” is both relevant and legitimate, and its answer is anything but self-evident. Today, as I go through day after day of pretty grueling training — I am writing these lines on the eve of our “Field Week” — I certainly feel the need to articulate an answer. Moreover, as a Charedi rabbinic figure, I am something of an odd bird even in my Charedi company.

So why, indeed, did I enlist?

On second thought, perhaps it’s worth beginning with the opposite question: Why didn’t I enlist until now? As a young man, I studied in Charedi yeshivot as a British tourist, exempt from the draft. After I formally made Aliyah (already with two children), the army sent me a letter informing me that it wasn’t interested in my service. But behind the technicalities stood a deeper truth: I did not enlist because I was part of the Charedi world. As a young man, the notion of enlistment never crossed my mind.

Over the years, I internalized the importance of deep Charedi participation in the State of Israel — for the sake of the state, but also for the sake of the Charedi community itself. I began working toward realizing this vision by establishing the Iyun Institute, which advances Charedi responsibility toward the state, by serving on the board of the Nahal Haredi Foundation (Netzach Yehudah), and by close involvement in many additional projects.

And yet, enlistment itself was not the top item on the agenda; like Israel’s Finance Ministry (which called for wholesale exemption for Charedim in favor of economic integration), I assumed that economic issues came first. And then came the hard reboot of October 7 and turned everything upside down.

For me, dozens of terrible yet profoundly inspiring visits to Mount Herzl — including funerals of fallen soldiers from Netzach Yehudah and other Charedi tracks — taught me just how right Ben-Gurion was. Not in his oppressive “melting pot” policy, but in his insight that the army is the primary place where Jewish–Israeli society is formed.

This did not lead me to adopt the common rhetoric of “equality” — the demand for “equal sharing of the burden.” I do not believe absolute equality is achievable, nor do I think it is desirable. I did, however, embrace the language of partnership. The State of Israel needs the partnership of Charedi Jewry, and that partnership begins with the army. Not everyone, not all at once, and not before the IDF — which has finally grasped its acute need for Haredim — provides an honest and adapted service framework. But we must begin from somewhere.

I want to convey a simple message: despite legitimate criticism and the need for improvement, the IDF is our army — and there is no sufficient reason why anyone who is not a full-time yeshiva student should not contribute his part. Myself included

This insight turned me into something of an obsessive on the issue of enlistment. I wrote dozens of columns and essays on the subject (some complained I write about nothing else!). My shiurim on Charedi civic responsibility centered on enlistment. I encouraged members of my community — a beautiful community of Anglos, many of whom made Aliyah recently — to enlist in the “Stage B” program (some continued into long and meaningful reserve service). My work within the Netzah Yehudah organization shifted into higher gear: not only supporting those who enlist, but standing at the forefront of one of the great issues of our collective present and future.

Over time, a piercing thought began to surface: And what about me?

Others — rabbinic figures and public servants no less involved than I — said hineni and gave everything. Was I, despite everything, still trapped in a mindset of “them and us” — that what is fitting for “them” is somehow not fitting for me, simply because I am Charedi?

The prosecutor within me began working overtime. If this is a milchemet mitzvah, obligating everyone, am I exempt? If the integration of Charedim into the IDF can elevate the army and sanctify Hashem’s name, should I not participate, too? If military service is such a great and noble privilege — as I have argued — is it not fitting that I, too, take part? If I am na’eh doresh, must I not also be na’eh mekayem? I have long ceased to be a full-time yeshiva student; the complex issue of drafting yeshiva students does not apply to me.

So what exactly was holding me back?

In the end, thought became action. Military bureaucracy delayed the process for a year, but eventually it happened — just in time for me to join a new “Stage B” (03) training program: a month-long intensive track that qualifies us as low-end combat soldiers.

I feel fortunate — despite the ticking biological clock — to have joined the army, and I am confident that, God willing, I will become part of meaningful reserve service. I am proud to set a personal example at a time of national tension, a time of trench-digging that desperately needs public healing and inter-sector bridges. I want to convey a simple message: despite legitimate criticism and the need for improvement, the IDF is our army — and there is no sufficient reason why those who are dedicated full-time yeshiva students should not contribute their part. Myself included.

There is sacrifice in stepping away from life for a month — for myself, my wife, and my family. But this sacrifice is nothing compared with the extraordinary mesirut nefesh shown by our soldiers and their families over the past two years — for our people and for the cities of our God.

It is a great privilege and a great mission to follow, even in small measure, in their footsteps.

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