Between Private and Public: The Obligation to Seek Shelter in Wartime

On one of day of Chol HaMoed, a certain rosh yeshiva delivered a shiur in a neighborhood synagogue. As usual. The subject, however, was less usual: Are we obligated to go down to shelters during a missile attack? In other words, are we required to follow the directives of Israel’s Home Front Command?

Unfortunately, I did not know of the event in advance and so was not present. But the substance of his remarks was conveyed to me by several participants. First, and most importantly for our purposes, the rosh yeshiva made clear that there is no obligation to follow the Home Front Command’s instructions and go down to a shelter. Statistically, he argued, this is not an event that rises to the level of “danger” such that the obligation of “you shall greatly guard your lives” would require one to seek shelter.

Alongside this, the main part of the shiur focused on whether a person who nonetheless chooses to enter a shelter during a missile attack may desecrate Shabbat for that purpose. True, there is no obligation to go down, but perhaps there is a heter—an act permitted under the principle of va-chai bahem (“and live by them”), even at the cost of violating Shabbat. He added that if a person violated Shabbat to go down to a shelter, but in the end no missile fell, the violation could hold him accountable in the punishments of Gehinnom.

These remarks are puzzling. If going down to a shelter is an act for which one may violate Shabbat, can one really say that there is no obligation to do so? If the act is important enough to override the grave prohibition of desecrating Shabbat, how can it carry no binding force? And if it is a desirable act—one that Hashem desires—how could a person be punished for it?

In this essay, however, I will focus on the first and primary point: the claim that there is no obligation to go to a shelter during a missile attack when a siren sounds. That claim, clearly, deserves some consideration.

 

Brisker Disciples

To begin with, it is important to note that leading Charedi rabbis have instructed, declared, and signed public statements affirming the obligation to go down to shelters. From Rav Dov Lando to Rav Masoud Ben Shimon, from Rav Sariel Rosenberg to Rav Asher Weiss, all have called in firm and unequivocal language for strict obedience to the instructions of the Home Front Command. “One must be very careful to follow the instructions,” Rabbi Dov Lando ruled. “There must be no leniency in this. It is a Torah obligation of ‘you shall greatly guard your lives.’”

And yet, rabbinic declarations are one thing, and common practice another. In practice, many behave in accordance with the above-mentioned rosh yeshiva: they do not go down to shelters. In large synagogues, there are no shelters or reinforced safe rooms capable of holding the masses gathered for prayer, study, lectures, shopping, and the like. When the siren sounds—even when a shelter is available—most simply remain in their place. With a few exceptions, the flow of life continues uninterrupted. A friend from Bnei Brak explained it to me in simple terms: there is no place safer than the beit midrash.

Inside the home, the situation is somewhat different. Some are careful to go down, certainly after strikes that have exacted tragic costs, while others do not. A home, of course, is not the same as a synagogue—both because of the merit of Torah and prayer and because the presence of women and children changes the calculus. Yet even in private homes, there are those who refrain from entering protected spaces, especially when doing so involves considerable inconvenience—a point I will return to later

There are also many sayings and stories that seemingly support this approach. One of the best known concerns the Brisker Rav. During the War of Independence, many tried to persuade him to enter a shelter, but to no avail. Finally, during an especially heavy barrage, he relented and went down. At that very moment, a Jordanian shell struck the bed on which he had been sitting.

When the family came upstairs and marveled at the miracle, the Brisker Rav replied that the opposite was true: “You owe me compensation for the bed! Had I not gone downstairs, the shell would not have fallen there.” Along similar lines, someone told me that he recently saw a “Brisker” running to a shelter when the siren sounded. Surprised by such un-Brisk-like behavior, he asked him at once, “Are you on your way to a shelter?” The man replied: “I am not afraid for myself. I am afraid that a missile might fall on my house. I am rushing home to make sure it does not fall there.”

Rav Yitzchak Kolodetzky, son-in-law of Rabbi Chaim Kanievsky zt”l, is cited as making the following statement: “It is better to remain at home with the children and not go down to a shelter. The trauma to the children is an immediate and visible harm. Better that they sleep well through the night.” And in the name of Rabbi Avraham Yeshayah Greineman, it has been said that a person willing to pay a thousand shekels to reach a shelter may—and perhaps even must—interrupt his Torah study and go down. The implication, of course, is that if he would not pay such a sum, he need not.

When Rav Kolodetzky was asked about the Beit Shemesh tragedy in which several lost their lives, he answered that the odds were “one in a million.” One need not be concerned with such a possibility.

One Chassidic Rebbe explained that there is no obligation to enter a shelter, since the matter is analogous to traffic accidents: just as driving is not forbidden because of the possibility of accidents, so too there is no obligation to go down to a shelter. True, disasters have occurred, and the promise that no missiles would fall on Bnei Brak has already lost its force, yet this does not alter the basic ruling. When Rabbi Kolodetzky was asked about the Beit Shemesh tragedy in which several lost their lives, he answered that the odds were “one in a million.” One need not be concerned with such a possibility.

I do not believe the Charedim are especially exceptional in this regard. The numbers may be higher, but it is clear that in every Israeli sector, some go down to shelters, and some do not. The dead and wounded in missile attacks—nearly all of whom were struck outside protected spaces—prove as much. Yet within the Charedi public, the question of going down to shelters naturally takes on a Torah-halachic character.

And it is to that question that I wish to add a few words.

 

Between the Individual and the Collective

When the question is a private one, there is certainly room to reflect and debate the halakhic obligation to go down to shelters. Statistically—thanks to Iron Dome and the other miracles with which the State of Israel has been graced in the current war—it may well be that many of us engage in activities more dangerous than remaining at home or in a beit midrash during a missile attack. Without claiming precision, the likelihood of being injured on a ski vacation may perhaps be greater than that of being struck by a missile attack.

How statistical thresholds affect halachic decision-making generally, and the obligation of va-chai bahem in particular—as well as the other scriptural sources obligating the preservation of life, such as “you shall greatly guard your lives,” “take heed and guard yourself well,” and others—is a matter already discussed by many halakhic authorities, who have reached differing conclusions.

In my humble opinion, the main point here is not the statistical analysis but the feeling of fear and the way human beings perceive reality. Something that arouses fear in our hearts, and that people relate to as dangerous, is considered a sakana—a danger—both with regard to the obligation to avoid it and with regard to other halachic matters, such as the blessing of HaGomel in appropriate cases. The definitions on which halacha depends are not mathematical but human: so it is regarding the blessings recited upon seeing certain phenomena, so it is regarding the laws of Borer on Shabbat, and so it is for matters of danger as well.

One may therefore argue that although the statistical likelihood is not high, there is still an obligation to avoid the danger, since one-ton missiles from Iran are dangerous things that strike fear into our hearts. At the same time, the particular circumstances of families—consider a large Charedi family living in an old building with a distant shelter, awakened for the third or fourth time in a single night—cannot be discounted. There is ample room for halachic discussion of such matters.

But I wish to raise a different point: the distinction between a private question and a public one. A ski vacation is a private matter: each person weighs his own considerations and acts according to his own judgment. War, by contrast, is a public matter—and that makes all the difference. In this context, I wish to make two central points.

From the perspective of Bnei Brak’s rabbinic leadership in the 1950s, the Charedi public could conduct itself according to the rules of the individual: the regulations governing the State of Israel were one thing, those governing the Charedim another.

The first is that if the citizens of the State of Israel were to collectively refrain from going down to shelters, remaining outside protected spaces during missile attacks, it is entirely obvious that there would be many dead and wounded. It thus follows that when we are speaking of a public directive—one that concerns the entire population—there is no doubt that there is an absolute obligation to go down to shelters, for without entering protected spaces we know with certainty that there will be casualties.

In the past, it was commonly assumed within the Charedi space that Bnei Brak was exempt from this public instruction. The logic would run as follows. In the early decades of the state, Charedi Jewry was a small and distinct minority. The chance of a missile strike in Charedi areas was very low, and as a marginal and self-contained minority, Charedi leadership had no real influence over the conduct of large population centers in the State of Israel. From the perspective of Bnei Brak’s rabbinic leadership in the 1950s, the Charedi public could conduct itself according to the rules of the individual: the regulations governing the State of Israel were one thing, those governing the Charedim another.

Today, it is obvious that this is no longer the case. The Charedi public is large, significant, and influential within the State of Israel. If Charedim as a whole did not go down to shelters, it is clear that there would be casualties, God forbid, and the significant number of impacts in the Bnei Brak area proves the point. In addition, the instructions of Charedi rabbis are circulated far beyond the borders of Charedi neighborhoods and affect the broader public as well. In other words, even if one grants that this distinction may once have had some basis, today Charedim no longer have the privilege of conducting themselves as though they were isolated individuals. Whether we wish it or not, we are all part of the larger public—we are all partners in this war.

The second point, no less important, concerns the consequences of injury.

A person injured on a ski vacation or in a car accident does not generally affect any public matter. There may, of course, be broader effects once many such cases accumulate, but in principle the risk he assumed and the injury he suffers, if he does, remain private matters.

This is not the case for injury or death in wartime. During wartime, every casualty, and certainly every death, affects the war effort as a whole. I once stood in the presence of my Rebbi, Rav Asher Weiss, when he ruled, in a sensitive question related to military activity, that damage to public morale in wartime constitutes a matter of pikuach nefesh—for victory and defeat depend, among other things, on the morale of the public.

Even if there were no obligation to go down to a shelter on the basis of “you shall greatly guard your lives,” such an obligation would arise by virtue of the responsibility resting upon us toward the collective and toward the war effort.

The fear of missile strikes is therefore not a private matter but a public one, and the degree of caution required is necessarily different: not caution against private danger alone, but caution against danger to the public as a whole—indeed, to the entire war effort that can be undermined by multiple casualties. Even if there were no obligation to go down to a shelter on the basis of “you shall greatly guard your lives,” such an obligation would arise by virtue of the responsibility resting upon us toward the collective and toward the war effort.

War is the ultimate case of pikuach nefesh de-rabbim—the preservation of life on behalf of the many—a halachic category with laws distinct from ordinary cases of life-saving for the individual. Unlike normal circumstances, in war one violates Shabbat even in situations where there is no immediate threat to life: “until it is subdued—even on Shabbat” (Shabbat 19a). And in a border town, one violates Shabbat in wartime even when the enemy lays siege merely over matters of property, “lest they capture it, and from there the land will be easy to conquer before them” (Eruvin 45a and Rashi ad loc.).

So too in our case: the question of going down to shelters is not confined to the preservation of individual life, but touches on the preservation of the many—and above all on the war effort. From that perspective, the obligation to seek shelter seems clear and absolute. This does not mean that there are no complex cases—large families, old buildings, distant shelters. Critics of Charedi society often neglect to take such matters, which make a huge difference on a practical level, into account. It does mean that we need to internalize the magnitude of our public responsibility at this time.

 

The Street Posters of Bnei Brak

What do the street posters of Bnei Brak—pashkevilim, as we call them—concern themselves with these days? The prohibition against wearing sheitels. Opposition to the tzeva ha-shmad, “army of spiritual destruction.” Advertisements for private businesses: clothing, courses, and the like. But what of the rabbis’ instructions to comply with guidelines and go down to shelters when a siren sounds? Those, for some reason, are absent from the city streets.

The fact that these rabbinic instructions are not publicly posted contributes to the widespread impression that they are meant for “the general public” but not for private individuals. As is sometimes the case in the Charedi world, there is one rule for the public and another for the individual: “the public” must go down to shelters; private persons—including large crowds gathered for various purposes—are exempt.

What I have sought to emphasize here is that when it comes to entering protected spaces, it is difficult to sustain the familiar distinction between the individual and the collective. This point is especially fitting for the festival of Pesach we continue to celebrate. On the night of Pesach, each family ate the Korban Pesach in its own private home, yet did so within a national consciousness of a people coming into being—a formation that occurred precisely within those homes of Israel.

We do not enter a shelter for our personal safety alone; we remain there, even in difficult times, for the sake of the safety of the nation as a whole and for the sake of victory in the war against our enemies.

The night thus became a “night of guarding”: “That was for a night of vigil for Hashem, to bring them out of the land of Egypt; that same night is Hashem’s, one of vigil for all the children of Israel throughout the ages.”

When we remain in shelters, we experience something similar. We do not enter a shelter for our personal safety alone; we remain there, even in difficult times, for the sake of the safety of the nation as a whole and for the sake of victory in the war against our enemies. Like the homes in Egypt, the protected spaces bind us together as one people, graced with the rare protection of Hashem in a time at once wondrous and turbulent.

May it be Hashem’s will that through our fidelity to Him and to His people, we merit to see fulfilled the verse: “As in the days of your coming out of the land of Egypt, I shall show him wonders” (Michah 7:15).