“A Time to Speak”: The Treachery of Our Ideological Vacuum

Last month, on the night of Yom Haatzmaut, a fascinating dialogue took place at a Charedi yeshiva institution between two opposition Knesset members—Religious Zionist MK Simcha Rothman and UTJ MK Yitzchak Pindrus. The discussion revolved around the question of integrating members of Charedi society into the public sector, including such prominent positions as justices on the Supreme Court. Pindrus, clearly not enamored with the vision of Charedi integration, presented a different vision for the future of the court: “You know what my dream is? To bring a bulldozer and total this building. Not to integrate my judges there. That’s my dream.”[1]

The firestorm, as one might expect, was not long in coming, with many in politics and the media, even including Shas MK Moshe Arbel, chiming in to condemn the statement. Elected representatives need to be careful with their words, and Pindrus, clearly, failed in that respect.

Yet, in the midst of the firestorm, it seems that an important point note was somehow missed. I would hazard that Pindrus himself, who refused to apologize but explained he was speaking metaphorically, does not mean what he says. After all, what good could come from the destruction of the Supreme Court, physical or metaphorical? Like all states, the State of Israel needs a justice system, including a supreme court of appeals that also deals (among other matters) with administrative and constitutional issues, and which hands down binding precedents for lower courts. Even if we oppose the court’s approach and aspire for the return of the Sanhedrin, Pindrus’ dream remains a nightmare that would cause absolute chaos.

The reason why Charedi youth are attracted to him, alongside other options, is because of an internal ideological vacuum, and the needed solution is therefore filling the void with content rather than adopting a crude and inciting style. To that end, we need a deep process of creating a Torah vision that relates to the world outside of the traditional study hall.

As such, we should ask ourselves what led an intelligent and generally effective MK like Pindrus, who does not rank among the more extremist and intemperate Charedi MKs, to make such a statement? He might have momentarily forgotten that the days of speaking “off the record” are long gone, but the question remains: Why did he choose such a defiant and blunt statement that does not (I wish to assume) even reflect his own views? It seems the answer is connected to images we have become accustomed to seeing of Charedi youth flocking to MK Itamar Ben Gvir, alongside additional phenomena of Charedi radicalization to the Right, Left, or simply towards anarchism and thuggery. Needing increasingly to compete with Ben Gvir, Pindrus, himself an outspokenly rightwing politician (by contrast with his colleague MK Moshe Gafni), will make similar noises.

However, here I think Pindrus is mistaken. Ben Gvir is far better at right-wing extremism than Pindrus will ever be, and challenging him at his own game will not work. The reason why Charedi youth are attracted to him, alongside other options, is because of an internal ideological vacuum, and the needed solution is therefore filling the void with content rather than adopting a crude and inciting style. To that end, we need a deep process of creating a Torah vision that relates to the world outside of the traditional study hall. As I will argue below, the process of fleshing out the vision must take place specifically within the confines of the Beis Midrash.

 

The Need For a Vision

The Sages teach that the old must not be destroyed until the new is established: “Rav Chisda said: One must not demolish a synagogue until a new one has been built” (Bava Basra 3b). The ruling applies specifically to shuls, but it holds, to some degree, even for other institutions: It is unwise to destroy the old before building the new, it is unwise to dismiss what exists until you have established a worthy alternative. Hence the criticism of Pindrus: Even assuming that the Supreme Court should be demolished, the first thing you need is an alternative; at the very least, you need a theoretical model. But our critique of Pindrus deepens when we place his statement into context.

As noted at the outset, the topic under discussion was the integration of Charedi yeshiva graduates in key positions in the state apparatus, the Supreme Court being one of these. Of course, the very idea of integration involves complex challenges and dilemmas, while specific institutions raise additional issues. Being part of Israel’s Supreme Court is a good case in point, involving a range of complex issues for an observant Jew. Pindrus, of course, lacks the authority to respond to such questions, and he may have felt unworthy of engaging in such a discussion—but he could at least have mentioned the thorny issues requiring resolution, alongside the need for constant consultation with rabbinic figures familiar with the relevant fields.

Instead, Pindrus explained that his aim in his public service is to increase the study of Torah, which influences the state far more than the Supreme Court and other public institutions: “My role as an MK is to enhance the Jewish People by establishing more Torah and not through the Supreme Court.” He even belittled the very idea of public service, arguing that “being an MK is worse than being a plumber.” In this context, he mentioned his dream of demolishing the Supreme Court, as though to say: “Who needs the court? The only thing that truly matters is Torah study.”

Aside from their violent nature, the deeper failing of Pindrus’ statement is the absence of vision. It is reminiscent of the position, broadcast primarily through Shabbos newsletters distributed in Charedi Shuls, per which if the whole nation sat and learned Torah we would have no need of soldiers and wars, nor of an economy and other government systems. Pindrus surely does not deem this to be the case and concedes that we need the entire gamut of state institutions, including the courts. Moreover, it is clear that in accordance with the ever-growing portion of Charedim in Israel, our participation therein will also increase.

The Beis Midrash is not supposed to destroy the world, as Rabbi Shimon and his son Rabbi Elazar did upon departing from their cave, whereupon everything they saw was consumed in flames (Shabbos 34a). Their response was to return to the cave, repairing their own methodology so that their gaze would bring healing and prosperity rather than devastation

As one who bears dual responsibility to the state in general and the Charedi public specifically, Pindrus should be providing Charedi youth with some image of how this participation will look. Instead, he escaped the issue to the comfort of time-worn refrains, alongside his additional desire to burn down the house of justice.

This lack of vision is not limited to the integration of Charedim into state institutions. It also inheres to the perceived role of the Torah study hall. The Beis Midrash is not supposed to destroy the world, as Rabbi Shimon and his son Rabbi Elazar did upon departing from their cave, whereupon everything they saw was consumed in flames (Shabbos 34a). Their response was to return to the cave, repairing their own methodology so that their gaze would bring healing and prosperity rather than devastation. This is the true role of the Beis Midrash: to face the reality of the world, albeit from a distance and without direct involvement, and to generate the Torah principles that will provide it with Divine guidance and elevation.

The Israeli court system is just one among the spheres of our earthly reality, but the questions it raises—questions of administrative, constitutional, criminal, and other fields of law that we have hardly begun to study—are among the most serious fields requiring Torah guidance. A (metaphorical) demolition of the court would not solve the problems but rather escalate them: It would not only deny us a necessary source of judicial ruling—it would even deny us the privilege of creating and formulating legal doctrine based on Torah foundations. The clear need for reform of Israel’s legal system is not a cause for destruction, but for reform; it is our responsibility to provide the Torah vision for that reform.

Absent such a vision, we encounter a fundamental difficulty: “Without vision, the people are undone” (Mishlei 29:18). Unfortunately, this is what we are seeing in our own youth, and no small number of adults, too: They become undone, disheveled, unrestrained.

Absent such a vision, we encounter a fundamental difficulty: “Without vision, the people are undone” (Mishlei 29:18). Unfortunately, this is what we are seeing in our own youth, and no small number of adults, too: They become undone, disheveled, unrestrained.

 

Warning: Vacuum Ahead!

Charedi Jewry has engaged precious little in the philosophical questions regarding the encounter between Torah and life, between religion and modernity. The underlying assumption of this approach is that the two are in deep tension and that any occupation with the ideas and values of the secular world is asking for trouble. These are questions for the Messianic Age. For now, the gap between the two is unbridgeable.

This approach is tenable for a society that knows how to maintain its internal spirit through maximal isolation, creating a tight “vacuum” in which their living space is sterile, free of secular matters. This is how things were, to a great degree, in the second half of the previous century. At a time when most of the Charedi public worked in modest positions within the communal walls, or in their close proximity, it was possible to cultivate the Charedi experience without any need to clash with the outside.

Obviously, this state of affairs comes at a serious price. Lacking a significant encounter with the secular world, we lose our opportunity to uplift and sanctify our surrounding reality, which is a central task of Judaism. But drastic times call for drastic measures. Facing the threats of secularization in its variant forms, the approach of Charedi society was that engagement was simply not worth the risk. The intense separation from modernity meant that even the term “modern” became a derogatory adjective for someone who does not adhere to accepted Charedi norms.

The new emphasis on self-fulfillment, the changes in couplehood patterns (and increase in divorce rates), the rise in the standard of living, processes of democratization, the new leisure culture—all these, alongside other phenomena, demonstrate that we no longer live in a vacuum. Once pierced, the void is certain to be filled by something

But with the (welcome) changes Charedi Jewry has undergone, we are now forced to deal with secular matters, and our social situation can no longer be static. Charedi society is now almost the size of a state unto itself, and unlike a modestly small community, a state needs to be in close and direct contact with the wider world. Alongside this, the presence of new media has cracked the walls of the community, to the point that remaining hermetically sealed off has become virtually impossible. Indeed, we can see the influence of this encounter with the secular world in many aspects of young Charedi society. The new emphasis on self-fulfillment, the changes in couplehood patterns (and increase in divorce rates), the rise in the standard of living, processes of democratization, the new leisure culture—all these, alongside other phenomena, demonstrate that we no longer live in a vacuum. Once pierced, the void is certain to be filled by something.

In Charedi Jewry today, that “something” is two things, which can be represented by two archetypes from the Haggadah: One is the simple Jew, the Tam, while the other is he who does not know how to ask.

We thus end up with the strange state of affairs in which Charedi figures internalize the package deal of liberal values, from politics to family life. From the “complete contradiction” approach of old, the Charedi Jew falls into the belief that there is simply no connection between Judaism and real-life: Torah relates to practical Mitzvos alone, while progressivism is responsible for our formative values

The “simple” Jew is aware of the cracking of the ideological vacuum and feels driven to fill the void based on what’s at hand and visible. At the intellectual level, the content most prevalent for us—in the halls of academia, in various media channels, or in Charedi programs run by a range of NGOs—is the progressive-global set of ideas. We thus end up with the strange state of affairs in which Charedi figures internalize the package deal of liberal values, from politics to family life. From the “complete contradiction” approach of old, the Charedi Jew falls into the belief that there is simply no connection between Judaism and real-life:[2] Torah relates to practical Mitzvos alone, while progressivism is responsible for our formative values.

On the other hand, the one who does not know how to ask is unaware of the vacuum and does not actively seek to fill it, yet his soul feels discomfort and he seeks relief. The result is disillusioned youth looking hither and tither to new havens of Charedi hilltop youth and the adulation of Ben Gvir, alongside the searching for miraculous segulos promising salvation and succor in a meaningless world, Charedi-style hedonism (which maintains the outward appearance and tosses the inner essence), and a lack of respect for state authorities to the point of engaging in outright anarchic behavior. Obviously, there are other factors involved in these and other phenomena, and anarchistic types have always been around. But it would seem that the great increase in all of these phenomena can be tied to the vacuum and the gap emerging between the Torah and life itself.

The first archetype is unlikely to last: The contrast between liberal ideas and Charedi Jewry is too strong, and the lion and the lamb cannot long dwell alongside each other in peace. The other archetype, while not actively searching for a new set of ideas to replace the old, still finds various substitutes for Torah life: protests and violence, the cancellation of intellect and logic, or simple cholent and kugel (all respectively). What they all share is the emptying of Torah of its value content, and such Torah will also not last: we did not stand at Mount Sinai to maintain a Torah with nothing in it. The only option for correcting the situation is thorough treatment at the roots – ensuring that we don’t have a vacuum by filling it.

 

From Noah’s Ark to Lighthouse

At the end of the day, Pindrus should not be held responsible for the lack of a vision. He is a man of practice (and one of the better ones), not a thinker or a dweller of the Beis Midrash, and in the face of complex questions, the decisive political consideration leans in favor of fleeing to the convenient spaces of support for Torah study and the dismissal of everything else.

I remember a fascinating lecture that MK Pindrus himself gave a few years ago at a Tzarich Iyun conference on managing Charedi local governments. Pindrus argued that hitherto, when the Charedi public was dependent on secular authorities, the policy of Charedi local council members was clear: to get as many resources as possible for the communities they represented. But given that we now have Charedi municipalities with a diverse range of Charedi groups and communities—Pindrus served as Mayor of Beitar Ilit (a Charedi city) between 2008 and 2013—the question of distribution of resources arises with full force. How should we prioritize projects, initiatives, and projects of different Charedi communities, in the knowledge that supporting any one of these necessarily comes at the expense of another? He spoke of a feeling of helplessness in the face of weighty questions and requested that a Torah council be established to deal with the matter of Charedi local government (to my knowledge, this was never done). Pindrus’ words at the Yom Haatzmaut gathering echo the same sense of helplessness, albeit in a less pleasant style.

The ideological vacuum will not be filled by the people in the field, operators, and politicians: These cannot be the address for the necessary soul-searching about what to do vis-à-vis action in the real world. Such an effort can only come from individuals engaged in thought and contemplation who are planted deep within the world of Torah. What we need is a Torah vision that knows how to breathe new life into the sails of the Charedi ship, which now seeks to maintain an even keel in the stormy sea of the world we live in—and a Torah vision of real weight can only be constructed from within a significant study hall. This is precisely what our Sages referred to by the term “Yeshiva.”

[A]longside a focus on the practical matters of life, our fathers spent time in Yeshiva—a haven aside from the noise of the material world, providing the quiet detachment that allows for the clarification of the Divine word. The name Yeshiva itself means a place where one can be seated, characterizing the emotional state of calm detachment that empowers profound study

The great idea of the “Yeshiva”—not as a specific reference to the modern version housing unmarried students, but to a hall of deep Torah study—is a place where Torah instruction for everyday life is crystallized. It is for this reason that the Sages stress that the institution of a Yeshiva has always been present among the Jewish People: “As Rabbi Hama said in the name of Rabbi Hanina: From the days of our fathers, Yeshiva never left them” (Yoma 28b). In other words, alongside a focus on the practical matters of life, our fathers spent time in Yeshiva—a haven aside from the noise of the material world, providing the quiet detachment that allows for the clarification of the Divine word. The name Yeshiva itself means a place where one can be seated, characterizing the emotional state of calm detachment that empowers profound study. Concluding a discussion of which is the greater, study or action, the Sages state that “Study is great, for it leads to action” (Kiddushin 40b)—meaning that the ultimate goal is action, but this can only be done through a form of study somewhat removed from action. Study in Yeshiva.

Three years ago, an article appeared on Tzarich Iyun entitled “The Kollel: Noah’s Ark or Torah Lighthouse?”[3] In it, author Rabbi Aryeh Meir bemoaned the state of Kollel institutions today, which he claims was negatively influenced by their role as “Noah’s Arks” protecting against the spiritual flood raging outside:

In the past, while the goal of Torah study was that the Kollel or Yeshiva student climb the rungs of Torah and service of God, the content of the study was the student’s principal focus. But since the study of Torah has become a tool fulfilling a new social purpose, this purpose now deeply affects its character. The daily Torah study of the Kollel student has oftentimes become secondary to the very fact of his presence in the Kollel. Being in Kollel has become a tool for preserving the young man’s status as a Jew faithful to Torah and halacha and keeping him off the street and away from the influence of outside culture. This goal can be achieved even without his studying anything significant; what matters is that he opens the Gemara and stays indoors.

Rabbi Meir mentions additional phenomena related to the state of Kollel institutions today, but I would like to focus on the imagery of the headline: Noah’s Ark on the one hand and a lighthouse on the other. The difference between them is not the degree of their involvement with the secular world—both Noah’s Ark and the lighthouse are protected from the raging sea—but rather the spiritual disposition they represent. The disposition of Noah’s Ark is withdrawal, complete separation from a world that represents a mortal threat, flight from the malicious waters rising and forcing the righteous to huddle and maintain a life of spirituality and elevation. By contrast, the spiritual disposition of the lighthouse is one of providing radiance and goodness to the world outside, the distance between the two only serving to supply much-needed guidance and instruction. Noah’s Ark has small windows alone, whose sole purpose is for letting in light; a lighthouse has huge windows allowing those inside to look with concern at the world outside and shed light on every corner it can reach. The difference is enormous.

We need this sort of Yeshiva—Batei Midrash that are not enmeshed within the practical world, but which turn toward it with the aim of formulating Torah teachings for the great secular vacuum awaiting a Torah redemption

I do not, God forbid, dismiss the importance of Noah’s Arks. Right now, however, we are in desperate need of lighthouses. We need this sort of Yeshiva—Batei Midrash that are not enmeshed within the practical world, but which turn toward it with the aim of formulating Torah teachings for the great secular vacuum awaiting a Torah redemption. The more we do so, those Charedi youth (and adults) will no longer be tempted to take whatever they can from elsewhere. And the more we manage to create those words of Torah we so need, the less Pindrus and his colleagues will need to dodge the great questions of Charedi integration. We must heed his call.

***

A few years ago, Rabbi Meir Tzvi Bergman beseeched his audience that Charedi Jews should have nothing to do with ideology and political ideas:

A Charedi Jew, who follows the path of Torah and whose ways are entirely guided by Torah and Daas Torah, needs to know that he is not Right and not Left. The Charedi Jew has the Shulchan Aruch and the Jewish Sages who have Daas Torah, and they guide him in how to act and how to address each and every issue. It is implausible that a person calls himself Charedi based on Daas Torah yet says of himself that he is Right or Left.[4]

This approach, notwithstanding attendant costs, is possible and legitimate; yet, it has become a dead letter, and instead of “neither Right nor Left” today’s Charedim are turning to the radicalism of Ben Gvir or wholesale adoption of progressivism. Neither of these typecasts is “wicked”; they are rather “simple” or those “who do not know how to ask.” They suffer the consequences of the distance between Torah and life and lacking Torah content that addresses their everyday experience they fill the vacuum from whatever is available. Of this, the Sages stated that if a pit is empty of water, we can assume it contains snakes and scorpions.

There is no doubt that sometimes silence is to be preferred to speech: “A word for a Sela, silence for two” (Megillah 18a). Today, it seems that when it comes to politics and ideology, the situation is reversed. We need speech—words restoring knowledge of Torah and its wisdom—and Batei Midrash that will create them. Thus, we shall merit to enjoy the last words of the aforementioned Pasuk: “Without vision, the people are undone, but one who keeps the Torah is praiseworthy.”

 

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[1] See the report by Gil Hoffman, “United Torah Judaism MK says he wants to blow up Supreme Court,” Jerusalem Post (9.5.22); https://www.jpost.com/israel-news/politics-and-diplomacy/article-706211.

[2] This approach is often attributed to Prof. Yeshayahu Leibowitz, who narrowed the scope of Torah to compliance with Divine instruction, while drawing values and ideologies from the Western philosophical traditions.

[3] Aryeh Meir, “The Kollel: Noah’s Ark or Torah Lighthouse?”‎ Tzarich Iyun (Tamuz 5779); https://iyun.org.il/article/avreichim/torah-as-lighthouse/.

‎ ‎[4] The words were stated at a Chanukah gathering for disciples; see  https://www.kikar.co.il/159539.html.

 

Photo by Matt Botsford on Unsplash