Time to Proudly Declare: Israel Is Ours, Too

Since Simchas Torah, October 7th, we have been living at the heart of a formative chapter in the history of the Jewish People. This is no longer just another military operation; it is a war of rebirth—one that is reshaping the character and future of the State of Israel. In recent weeks, this war has entered a new phase: after Hamas, Hezbollah, and even Syria, the campaign has now reached the beating heart of the forces of darkness that surround us—Iran. And it has been struck hard.

To all who are willing to hear, I say: we have merited to live in a rare and momentous time in our people’s history

To all who are willing to hear, I say: we have merited to live in a rare and momentous time in our people’s history—especially those living here, in our own land. And precisely for this reason, it is vital to emphasize a no less simple truth: this story is our story. The State of Israel, whose history is now unfolding before our eyes, is also our state. And we—Charedi Jewry—are a significant, perhaps even fateful, part of that story. Now, more than ever before, the time has come to take real responsibility for its institutions and the full scope of its affairs.

As I will explain briefly, this shift in consciousness carries with it far-reaching implications. It cannot be taken for granted, and it will not come on its own. It depends on us—on those willing to fight for it, even at a cost.

 

King David’s Army

Steve Rosendale, a cherished Jew and close friend, served for over a decade as Chairman of the Netzach Yehuda organization. In his youth he served in the U.S. Army and was badly wounded in the Vietnam War. Years later, he returned to religious observance, built a vibrant Torah community in Cincinnati, and thrived in his business dealings. But more than anything else, he devoted his heart, energy, and resources to the Haredi soldier. He understood the inner workings of a soldier’s psyche on the one hand, and the stirrings of a religious soul on the other—and saw in their combination a sacred mission.

“You are the army of King David,” he would say to the soldiers, his voice quivering with emotion. “You enter battle with safra ve-saifa—the Torah in one hand and the sword in the other.”

In countless speeches, he would return to a single message: “You are the army of King David,” he would say to the soldiers, his voice quivering with emotion. “You enter battle with safra ve-saifa—the Torah in one hand and the sword in the other.” In his eyes, the future of the nation, the State, and the entire Jewish world rested on their shoulders. And he truly believes it.

I often stood beside him as he spoke and found myself wondering: Do the soldiers truly hear the voice of King David? Does this message resonate with them?

Recently, however, I heard remarks made by Rabbi Moshe Hillel Hirsch that confirmed just how right Steve is. Rabbi Hirsch was asked about Religious Zionist soldiers who combine fear of Heaven with military service, sometimes in combat units. How, the questioner asked, can one claim that “the army corrupts” in the face of such examples?

Rabbi Hirsch’s answer was clear and straightforward: “For them, it’s the army of Yehoshua bin Nun. That’s why they are not corrupted.” A fair response, which only begs a follow-up question: so why not for us, too?

Although not explicitly stated, the answer is clear. So long as it is the army of Ben-Gurion and his successors, it does not feel like ours. It is their army. In contrast, Steve’s clarion call begs us to leave history behind and look our present in the eye: “If you only will it,” he says, “it is our army.”

 

Are We Sitting in the Engine Car?

Recently, Ohad Reifen—a former senior economist and now CEO of the Schusterman Foundation—delivered a lecture on economics to a group of Haredi leaders. As is his custom, toward the end of the talk he shifted from intellect to heart.

“The train of the State of Israel is hurtling full-speed toward a concrete wall,” he pleaded, “and you’re sitting in the passenger cars, enjoying the ride. But the truth is, you’re not in the cars—you’re in the engine. The future of the state depends on you.” Thus, he urged the participants to undergo a shift in consciousness and take responsibility for the train.

“The train of the State of Israel is hurtling full-speed toward a concrete wall,” he pleaded, “and you’re sitting in the passenger cars, enjoying the ride. But the truth is, you’re not in the cars—you’re in the engine

This statement—Reifen has taught regularly at our Iyun Institute seminars—never fails to spark debate. “We don’t want to be part of the growth,” some participants argue. “We prefer a modest lifestyle. Is that forbidden?” And indeed, it is not. I recently came across the astonishing statement, made by Rabbi Yaakov Buchkovsky, that “In the time of redemption, God wants us to be ‘a poor and humble people,’” and therefore, such a life is fitting for us. To my mind, this is a distorted worldview—but if a given community believes this is the ideal, can we declare it illegitimate?

The argument should not be dismissed out of hand. But let us suppose, for a moment, that we were facing a family crisis, or a national Jewish existential challenge. Would we respond in the same way, clinging to a life of ascetic detachment while ignoring the broader distress? Clearly not. We would mobilize for the sake of family, community, or peoplehood, even if it required leaving the comfort zone of modest living.

In fact, this is exactly how many of us behave in practice when a specific family need arises. And who better to serve as a model than Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, who emerged from his cave to repair the city of Tiberias: “And he pitched himself before the city” (Shabbos 33b). So why is it different in our case?

The answer, of course, returns to the same root: This is not our state. The economy is their concern. The army—their responsibility. Although the Haredi representatives supported the push for judicial reform, they are currently blocking the advancement of laws aimed at realizing parts of the reform process. Why? Formally, because they’re upset about the Haredi Draft law, but deeper, because it’s their business. Let them manage it. We will live our humble lives until the coming of the righteous redeemer; they should sort out their mess.

 

Are These Our Miracles?

Elsewhere in his Atzatcha Tancheni weekly sheets, Rabbi Buchkovsky recounts the inner turmoil of a certain Torah student who confided in him his confusion over the successful campaign against Iran. “They are always telling us that everything is thanks to Torah learning, and that the army is meaningless,” he explained. “But when I read the newspaper, I find myself filled with admiration for the army. And when I put it down, I try to convince myself somehow that the army didn’t really do anything. I can’t say I’m succeeding.”

This avrech was struggling to reconcile the stunning military victory achieved by Israel with the claim that Torah learning alone drives history. Is it truly the case that the only operative force in the world is Torah? Or is there perhaps another force at work—the military?

If such a miracle had taken place in some other country, say an anti-Jewish decree by the European Union was thwarted by local governments, no theological problem would arise

Rabbi Buchkovsky responded that there is no contradiction here. If such a miracle had taken place in some other country, say an anti-Jewish decree by the European Union was thwarted by local governments, no theological problem would arise. God operates through worldly channels. But here, since the miracle was brought about by the IDF, Jewish soldiers, we find it challenging to recognize it. The solution, he argues, is simple: we must acknowledge the miracle and give thanks for it, no matter the vehicle. “The success we witnessed over the past two weeks was divine, unnatural. It came into the world through human action, and there’s no reason to ignore those actions.”

Yet, this response misses the deeper issue. Suppose this had been a Charedi state, with a Charedi government and Charedi fighter pilots. Would the avrech have posed the same question? Of course not. He and his fellow avreichim would have broken out in song and jubilant dance in celebration of the great salvation. The question of the Torah’s spiritual power versus the army’s physical might would not have even arisen.

The real issue, therefore, lies elsewhere: the state is not “ours,” and the army is not “us.” That’s why this avrech was disturbed by the fact that the army—they—were saving the broader public—us. It was an event he could not absorb. And the answer to his discomfort is not to compare the IDF to some foreign army, as Rabbi Buchkovsky suggested, but rather to recognize the deeper misconception.

The mindset of struggle and factionalism demands that every phenomenon be classified: are you with us, or against us?

The truth is that the army is ours. The State of Israel is ours. The miracles are ours, in every sense of the word. This distortion begins when the Jewish People are split into two, Haredim and non-Haredim, and reality in its entirety is viewed through the lens of conflict. From that vantage point, the avrech asked his honest yet absurd question: Whose miracle was this—“ours” or “theirs”?

These thoughts reminded me of a moment years ago, walking with a fellow kollel student near a large excavation site which would later become the Ramot Mall. I was taken aback: “Great, a new mall is going to be built here!” But my friend was unimpressed: “All I see is secular Jews making money. What’s beautiful about that?” All my attempts to explain, even invoking the mitzvah of settling the Land of Israel, fell flat. In his view, the event was at best meaningless. Why? Because the mindset of struggle and factionalism requires the classification of each phenomenon: with us, or against us? A new mall, like the army, judicial reform, or the economy, belongs to “them”. There is nothing to celebrate.

 

“Today, if you will hear His voice”

“Do not be stubborn as at Meribah” (Tehillim 95:8), the Pasuk instructs. As commentaries such as Ibn Ezra explain, the context (“For forty years I was provoked by that generation… Concerning whom I swore in My anger: They shall not come to My resting-place”) indicates that the reference is to the sin of the spies. The verse calls upon us not to harden our hearts as they did on that day of strife, when they tested Hashem and even witnessed the harsh results.

In contrast to that generation, which “did not know My ways” (95:10), we are commanded to look clearly at reality and recognize His ways.

The Jewish state has become the recognized (albeit unofficially) representative of the West in the battle of good against evil, of liberty against tyranny, of the values of Torah against the values of darkness

At this unique moment, Hashem is revealing His ways once again. We have risen from the devastation of October 7th to strike back at our enemies on every front: Hamas, Hezbollah, Syria, Yemen—and now, at the very heart of evil, Iran. The Jewish state has become the recognized (albeit unofficially) representative of the West in the battle of good against evil, of liberty against tyranny, of Torah values against those of darkness. We have shifted into a new gear in fulfilling the historic mission of the Jewish People in their land.

Just as the “ways” of the wilderness generation led the Children of Israel toward the Land of Israel, so too, in our time, we are witnessing His ways—this time leading the Jewish state to the forefront of the global stage, to the frontlines of the struggle between good and evil. Even the response of the state’s leadership has been surprisingly elevated. When news broke of the U.S. strike on the Fordow facility, the Prime Minister and Minister Ron Dermer recited Shehecheyanu. And the next day, concluding a press conference, Prime Minister Netanyahu added that “the most important faction in the Israeli Knesset is Si’yata diShmaya (Heavenly assistance).” He ended by giving thanks, first and foremost, to Hashem for His providence.

Will we go on insisting that this is not “us”? That the state is “theirs,” and that we sit in the Knesset, the cabinet, and the government only to procure funding and resources for our own communities?

The point, of course, is not that Bibi has suddenly become religiously devout. The point is that our ongoing insistence that this is not “us”, that the state is “theirs,” and that we sit in the Knesset and government only to procure resources for our internal communities has become untenable. Shall we claim that Hashem performed a miracle for them, as one rabbi astonishingly said, just as we were once saved by the wicked Jeroboam son of Joash (Jeroboam II)?

At this fateful hour, we must acknowledge what is plainly before us: this great story is our story. We are full participants in Israel and must act accordingly, with a sense of faith and responsibility. This may involve a shift in consciousness, which doesn’t come easily. But in truth, many of us have already undergone that shift, even if we have never spoken it out loud. Today, it is time to proudly declare: Israel is our state, too. We share its blessings and its responsibilities.

“Today,” says the verse in the same chapter of Tehillim, “if you will hear His voice” (Tehillim 95:7). The choice is ours.