The Chief Rabbi of Tel Aviv proposed to our holy Rabbi, the Hazon Ish, to allow marriages on the 5th of Iyyar (notwithstanding the customary Sefiras Ha’Omer prohibition against marriages). Since he feared revealing the true reason for his proposal, he argued that this is when soldiers are on leave and can get married. Our holy Rabbi said: If so, I tend to permit this from the beginning of the month of Iyyar until Lag Ba’Omer. Tel Aviv’s Chief Rabbi claimed that this seems to be excessively lenient. Our holy Rabbi asked: Why am I being lenient while you are being stringent? Finally, the Chief Rabbi was forced to concede that his true reason was a desire to lift the customary mourning practices of the Sefira in honor of the Israel Day of “Independence.” Our holy Rabbi responded sharply: Surely it would have been worthy of making it a fast day! (Notes of Rabbi Moshe Sheinfeld)
Since the 1950s, especially from the 1970s until today, this quote has characterized the public rhetoric common in Charedi society regarding “Zionist Independence Day.” Every year, Yated Ne’eman’s mockery of the “holiday” of independence (scare quotes in the original), including expressions of contempt and dismissal of the state and its achievements, reminds us of the lingering tension between the rival Jewish camps in Israel.
Alongside marking the “celebrations of heresy” of the State and its reliance on “my strength and the power of my hand” (Devarim 8:17), the Charedi editor will often draw attention to some recent scandal, material or spiritual, as though to say: “Celebrations of independence contain not only heresy but also a healthy dose of foolishness—what is there to celebrate?” In its editorial section on the eve of Yom Haatzmaut 2017, Yated Ne’eman published a piece on the “disaster” of Israeli independence and its dire ramifications for the Jewish people.
The sharpness of expressions used against the public holiday varies by sub-sector. The approach noted above is moderate by comparison with the sledgehammers of Edah Charedis publications, where we are told that any Jew who celebrates Independence Day is a “devout heretic.” On the other hand, the attitude among Shas (Sephardi) followers is quite different. Even if Independence Day is not quite celebrated (many do), it is undoubtedly recognized, and an attempt is made to transform it into a “Torah day.” This follows the tradition initiated by Shas leader Rabbi Ovadiah Yosef.
The more working Charedim there are, the more celebrate Independence Day. Though they are unlikely to say Hallel during the morning prayer, they will tend to enjoy the free day, to take pride in the state’s impressive accomplishments, and if invited will also light a torch for the glory of the Zionist state.
However, rhetoric must not be confused with reality on the ground. The truth is that a Charedi individual working for a living and getting a day off for Independence Day will tend to enjoy it like any other Israeli. The more “working Charedim” (families in which both husband and wife get a vacation on the day) there are, the more we will see Charedi families celebrate Independence Day, whether at a traditional barbeque or through other forms of leisure. Though they are unlikely to say Hallel during the morning prayer, they will tend to enjoy the free day, take pride (like the overwhelming majority of Charedim in the country) in the state’s impressive accomplishments, and feel a sense of national belonging. In the unlikely event of being honored by invitation, they will also light a torch for the glory of the Zionist state at the televised ceremony.
Two years ago, MK Israel Eichler declared that it is impossible to celebrate Independence Day “while a government of heresy has occupied the nation of those who believe in God.” According to Eichler, the Shavu’os festival warrants the exclusive title of the “Jewish day of independence” (though Pesach, surely, would be more fitting). Concerning the first part of the statement, thousands of Charedim clearly disagree. But what about the second part? Does the debate hinge on the technical matter of taking a vacation day, or is there a deeper dispute here?
The Nationalist Component
The variety of Independence Day customs among Charedi society presents us with a portal into a question that often occupies the Charedi space and which stands at the heart of the recent internal strife that has shorn asunder the Lithuanian community—a split, constituted by the formation of the Jerusalem Faction, the like of which has not been seen for many a year. The core issue is the attitude of Charedi society toward the State of Israel and its key institutions. This complex issue may not be new, but it has morphed and changed form over the years and now stands at the center of a crossroads at which Charedi society stands.
The public debate can be summarized as a struggle between well-established ancient that have received new expression in recent decades. One is Jewish nationalism; the other is isolationism.
Despite various attempts at denial in the modern period, it is clear that Judaism includes a central national component. Judaism is not just a religious community. Even in our private religious experiences, we combine a distinct national element.
Despite various attempts at denial in the modern period, it is clear that Judaism includes a central national component. Throughout their years of exile, Jews prayed and continue to pray for national redemption, a Return to Zion, and the establishment of a Jewish kingdom in the Land of Israel. Indeed, the covenant struck between Hashem and Avraham Avinu did not include a religious promise but rather a territorial one: “To your offspring, I shall give this land.” Judaism, clearly, is not just a religious community; a distinct national element pervades even our private religious experiences. The prayer of Hannah, on which the Talmud bases many laws of our everyday prayer, begins with personal salvation but ends with a national aspiration: “God will judge the ends of the earth and give strength to His king and raise the horn of His anointed” (I Samuel 2:10).
In this spirit, the People of Israel received the Torah at Sinai as a nation striving for national sovereignty in the Land of Israel, where the Torah was destined to receive its full expression. The verses of Devarim repeat this principle time and again: “And these are the commandments, the laws and the ordinances that the Lord, your God, has commanded to teach you, to perform in the land which you are going over to inherit” (Devarim 6:1). In this context, we can note the famous words of Rashi (on Devarim 11:18) and the Ramban (Vaikra 18:25), which emphasize the added value (almost the exclusive value) of mitzvah performance in the Land of Israel over their upkeep outside the Holy Land. Certainly, the national element of Judaism is integral to the tradition.
Zionism took the value of Jewish nationalism as its founding principle. But to Charedi eyes, this Jewish nationalism exacted a heavy cost. The cost is not secularism itself, which preceded Zionism, a consequence of the European Enlightenment. The deep cost of Zionism was the transformation of Judaism by means of a national ethos that demanded exclusivity. Instead of a framework for a relationship with Hashem, as seen through the lens of tradition, nationalism became the be-all and end-all. Instead of a means for establishing the Kingdom of Heaven overflowing with Torah and spiritual content, nationalism became a purpose in itself. Indeed, it became the cornerstone of a new Jewish identity, detached from the traditional self-understanding that had maintained Jewish life for thousands of years.
The form of Jewish nationalism changed accordingly, becoming European and modern, seeking to mold the new Israel in the familiar form of all nations. Peretz Smolenskin, among the founders of Jewish national thought, sharply criticized Moshe Mendelssohn both for his anti-national views and because of his adherence to the traditional ways of Judaism. According to Smolenskin, “The man who loves his nation, and desires to do good with his people, will not spare and will not pity even those elements that are fundamental to his religion. […] Every person who loves his nation will do this in noble spirit and with a giving heart” (“A Time to Plant,” Hashahar [Hebrew] 1874). Since nationalism is key, and religion is in its service, the parts of religion that do not contribute to nationalism must be abolished.
The deep cost of Zionism was the transformation of Judaism by means of a national ethos that demanded exclusivity. Instead of a framework for religious and Torah content, nationalism became the be-all and end-all.
For most (though, of course, not all) Zionists who actively built the State, this formula left precious little room for religion; Zionism did not invent secularism, but it was undoubtedly a secularizing influence. And the apple of the State of Israel fell close to the tree of its Zionist parent. This is evident in the words of Education Minister Aharon Yadlin, who sadly noted (in 1977) the enormous gap between the Zionist worldview and Jewish consciousness, imploring that “the sabras should see themselves not merely as Israelis, not just as the citizens of Israel, but as Jews!”
Even Religious Zionism fully accepted the modern and essentially secular form of Israel’s nationalism, infusing the national framework with religious value. If Sa’adiyah Ga’on knew that “our nation is not a nation except in its Torah,” prominent religious-Zionist leader Rabbi Yehuda Leib Maimon stated that “we are one nation and a united people not only by force of religion but by force of natural inheritance, by force of heritage from father to son, by force of the homeland, race, and science.” The very title “national-religious” was heresy for the Charedi leader R. Abraham Yeshayahu Karelitz (the Hazon Ish), “As though religion and Israeli nationalism are two separate things, God forbid, which need to be brought together.”
After clearing away the many peripheral claims, this is the main argument of Charedi Jewry against Zionism. Rabbi Dr. Isaac Breuer, one of the more successful formulators of the Charedi approach, argued passionately that Jewish nationalism can only exist by force of the Torah, and any national concept that does not derive its nature from the Torah is a foreign implant. Under the inspiration of Rabbi Elchanan Wasserman (“If nationalism is idolatry, then religious nationalism is service of both God and idolatry”), he defined Zionism as “a national home for idolatry with a small room for God.” Rabbi Uriel Zimmer, also a significant formulator of Charedi thought, stated in this spirit that the definition of Judaism itself had changed:
The new idea implemented by Zionism consisted of a change in the definition of Judaism. Its definition from Mount Sinai until Zionism had been TORAH: henceforth, it become national affiliation. It is obvious that this view, which is the real essence of Zionism, is diametrically opposed to the view of the Torah, regardless of whether or not Zionism happens to be ‘religious.’
Then as now, Charedi leadership fears a foreign nationalism that might empty Judaism of all religious content. They view Zionism as doing just this: placing modern nationalism at the core and stripping Judaism of its true content. In a trope that repeats itself every so often in Yated Ne’eman, we learn that the only thing there is to say of “secular nationalism” among the Jewish people is that “there is no such thing.” Countering the attempt at “normalization” made by Zionism and the State of Israel, the Charedim argued (and still do) that the Jewish nation simply cannot be “normal.”
Separation from the Other
One thing is indisputable: Zionism succeeded. Big time. Against all odds, and in stinging contrast to the prophecies of doom that Charedi leaders voiced before and in the immediate aftermath of the establishment of the state, the Zionist movement brought hundreds of thousands (and, later, several million) of Jews to Israel, founded the state, repelled Arab armies, became a regional economic and military powerhouse, and continues to reach dramatic achievements in a wide array of fields.
Moreover, the State brought about the renewal of the Hebrew language as a spoken, modern tongue. When even charity collectors from closed communities in the heart of Meah She’arim give their synagogue speeches in fluent Hebrew and without a foreign accent, it becomes crystal clear that Zionism has won a decisive victory in the struggle over language. To a large degree, and as I will explain below, the same is true even in terms of our core identity.
The principle of isolation is the driving force behind separate Charedi education, the avoidance of military and national service, residence in exclusively Charedi neighborhoods, the fear of academic studies and the entry into the general labor market.
The Charedi response to Zionist success was not long in coming. Its main focus was deepening the isolationist model already established in Europe. The Torah, and especially the Talmudic Sages, established the principle of isolating the Jewish People from their non-Jewish neighbors in general and from idolaters in particular. Yet, Charedi society gave this value a renewed and invigorated expression, investing great energies to separate itself from the non-Charedi Jewish world for fear of the latter negatively influencing the former. The principle of isolation is the driving force behind the separate Charedi education system, the avoidance of military and national service, residence in exclusively Charedi neighborhoods, the fear of academic studies, the choice to refrain from entering the general labor market, the development of an alternative “Charedi culture” (literature, music, cinema), and more. But we should not think that separation is just a matter of distancing oneself and one’s group from secularism; far beyond this, it involves the founding of a Charedi identity.
When a proposal arose in 1996 for a “united religious front” in the coming elections, the response of Yated Ne’eman (by editor Tzvi Friedman) was that the principle of separation must be preserved, as “It is the only way to prevent the transfer of infected bacteria into the Torah camp.” Due to this ideal, the creation of a common front must be avoided, for “Forming a covenant with the Mafdal [the religious-Zionist party] will lead to the blurring of the unique identity of the Charedi world and may lead—God forbid—to the destruction of the remnant of Israel.” The only cure for the bacteria of Israeli nationalism, in all its forms, is isolation. The alternative is no less than extinction.
Both sides of the fence have thus espoused contrary values—Israeli nationalism versus Charedi isolation. But with time, it seems that the sharpness of the contrast is beginning to dull.
A Shrinking Distance
Close to the state’s founding, Martin Buber declared that the separation between the nation and religion was a founding “rift” in the character of the State of Israel: “A barrier has been erected between Israel and its foundational essence.” Buber wondered about the possibility of a Jewish culture developing in Israel since “Where and when has a true culture emerged, without it adhering to such a foundational principle and employing it to light the way!” Yet, at the end of the day, nationalism is only a framework; like a vacuum, it will ultimately draw in some form of content. By contrast with the Buber era—a time of socialism, militant secularism, and a boiling melting pot for the “new Israeli Jew”—it seems that recent years have seen that content becoming increasingly Jewish.
By contrast with the Buber era—a time of socialism, militant secularism and a boiling melting pot for the “new Israeli Jew”—it seems that recent years have seen that content becoming increasingly Jewish
Chaim Potok placed the following words into the mouth of Reb Saunders, a virulently anti-Zionist Hassidic leader in pre-state New York:
Who are these people? Who are these people? Apokorsim! Goyim! Ben Gurion and his goyim will build Eretz Yisroel? They will build for us a Jewish land? They will bring Torah into this land? Goyishkeit they will bring into the land, not Torah. God will build the land, not Ben Gurion and his goyim. When the Messiah comes, we will have Eretz Yisroel, a Holy Land, not a land contaminated by Jewish goyim!
Yet despite prophecies of doom, the same Israel of Ben Gurion has become the global center of Torah, with the state playing a central role as the greatest supporter of Torah study in history (albeit with the aid of political pressure applied by Charedim). Moreover, it has become a significant factor in preventing assimilation and supporting Jewish demographic growth; just witness the difference in birth rates between the growing Israeli Jewish population and the demographic disaster of Diasporic Jewry. The last point demonstrates the specific value of Jewish nationalism, even in its modern and secular form, in providing nonobservant Jews with Jewish identity. Even across the sea, Zionism helps a secular Jew identify as such, and his chances of marrying a Jewish partner increase dramatically. Moreover, while there remains much work (especially in the educational field), many secular Israelis have returned, in varying degrees, to Jewish tradition, the study of Jewish texts, and the observance of a wide variety of Jewish customs. In all its variety, the impressive Teshuva movement is a distinctly Israeli phenomenon.
In short: Israeli nationalism has indeed remained secular, and the state is not free of a measure “goyishkeit.” Yet, the distance between it and traditional Judaism—between nation and religion—has certainly dwindled. In hindsight, we can say that the Torah-religious achievements of the State are immense.
Charedi isolationism has also undergone significant change. Indeed, it is hard to speak of an isolated community when the person in charge of Israel’s nationalized healthcare system, Health Minister Litzman, is himself Charedi. The walls of separation have been eroded by thousands of Charedim flocking to college campuses, their graduates energetically entering the Israeli workforce, and by the opening of frameworks for general studies for younger ages. The formation of the Netzach Yehudah battalion for Charedi soldiers (an especially delicate issue in the Charedi space, over which the Jerusalem Faction rift flared) is also not without significance.
More generally, it is hard to conceive of hermetically sealed barriers in an age of open information. The exposure to Internet has created social and cultural changes that cannot be denied nor overstated. The popularity of the television series Shtisel among Charedim is but one example of the cultural and social influences the new age of communications has had on the Charedi community.
These phenomena point to a change in the character of Charedi isolationism—no longer a total separation allowing no contact with the outside world, but rather one that keeps its distance from secular society (which threatens the core of “Charediism”) while avoiding the kind of segregation that unnecessarily rejects civic obligations. Charedi society justifiably wishes to live in the modern era without blindly accepting the entire package of modern values, including Israeli nationalism. But alongside the healthy distance it maintains, Charedi society has begun to take a significant and active role in filling the national framework with content, whether in political struggles that were once left to the religious-Zionist Mafdal (such as those over Shabbos in the public domain), organizations that have become nationally influential, or an increased public involvement at both municipal and national levels. There is far more to do, no doubt. Nonetheless, the situation today is distant from how it was two decades ago.
Various reasons underlie these changes, one of them being nationalism itself. Ahead of its consideration as a value and ideal, nationalism is a natural human disposition deriving from organic connections between people who share a language, territory, race, history, culture, and fate. The average Charedi individual largely shares this list with his non-Charedi counterpart. We should, therefore, not be surprised at the trend of “Israelization” of Charedi society: it would take a great deal of ideological energy to prevent the trend, and, of course, there is an inverse relationship between the degree of Israeliness and the degree of separation from Israeli society.
Another reason is religion. As time goes by, the religious significance of the State of Israel becomes harder to ignore. The fact of Jewish sovereignty over the Land of Israel; the settlement and the blooming of the Holy Land, as prophecized by Scripture; the miraculous rebirth of Israel’s Torah centers and its religious vibrancy—these, and much besides, are credited to a large degree to the Jewish State. Charedi attempts to explain that these have been achieved despite rather than because of the State are unconvincing, notwithstanding painful episodes such as the Yemenite Children Affair. The moral responsibility that comes with demographic growth joins this religious sentiment in forging an ever-closening connection with Israel.
Fate has determined that these two trends, one the Judaization of Israeli nationalism and the other the weakening of Charedi isolationism, have met at a single inn—the inn of the 21st century. Precisely when Israeli nationalism becomes more Jewish, “Charedi-ism” becomes less isolated.
The change taking place within Charedi society has not been welcomed by all parts of the Charedi world; some hark back to the “good old days” of a militant Charedi society that shares no commonality with broader Israeli society. Unruly demonstrations of the “Jerusalem Faction,” primarily aimed internally at other Charedim rather than externally at the army or government, are an apt demonstration of internal opposition to change. Whether their actions sanctify or desecrate God’s name—this depends upon whom you ask—there is no doubt that the deep divide within the Lithuanian community points to deep processes with inevitably powerful reactions.
Fate has determined that these two trends, one the Judaization of Israeli nationalism and the other the weakening of Charedi isolationism, have met at a single inn: the inn of the 21st century. It stands to reason, moreover, that one trend fortifies the other. Precisely when Israeli nationalism becomes more Jewish, “Charedi-ism” becomes less isolated. The combination of these trends allows the Charedi public a more manageable and less threatening entry into the national field.
It may be that this will lead to the creation of a new “Charedi-national” society (unrelated to the national-religious version bearing the same name), one that will necessarily subsist in a complex and complicated relationship with the original version. The more radical, Left-leaning branches of Charedi society are moving in this direction; observing some Charedi Facebook groups, one is led to think that this social group already exists, at least in virtual reality. But we can also speak of the same old Charedi group, a natural continuation of the authentic model, preserving its core values even as it enters the playing field of Israeli nationalism. It seems that such a group already exists, too.
Both options will require a significant educational effort to enable the preservation of Charedi identity, with its cultural uniqueness, despite the changes in question. We should hope—as many do, Charedi or otherwise—that one of the fruits of change will be a Charedi society that takes an active role in the Israeli public sphere, in the discussions and important decisions of all those who reside in Zion, and in infusing Jewish content into the Israeli national framework of which we are all a part—like it or not.
Last year (2017), I was invited to a Charedi ceremony to mark Israel Memorial Day. Alongside testimonies of bereavement and grief (from a Charedi perspective), the ceremony contained Torah content and musical accompaniment appropriate for Charedi events. The event left a powerful impression. More than anything, the feeling was one of national belonging. We, even those who did not serve in the IDF, felt an integral part of the national story. Deeper, we felt the burden of responsibility of writing the next chapter.
This sentiment inevitably leads to the conclusion of publicly expressing the moral obligation of gratitude to IDF soldiers who paid the ultimate price for our protection. The isolationist strategy can no longer justify the moral cost of silence. On the other hand, I have yet to be invited to a Charedi ceremony celebrating Independence Day. Even changing trends have their limits. Perhaps they should.
In sum, it is tempting to compare the situation of Charedi society and the processes that religious Zionism underwent for many years. I wish to avoid this comparison. Charedi society has unique religious, cultural, and ideological characteristics. Its starting positions are fundamentally different from those of religious Zionism.
Religious Zionism was always a part of Zionism. This provided it with a great deal of influence but also exacted heavy costs. In contrast, some believe that the next significant Aliyah will be the “Charedi Aliyah,” an internal Aliyah rather than one from the outside. Precisely because of this, it will be fascinating to see how these processes will affect Charedi society on the one hand and Israeli society on the other. It will be more fascinating still to take an active role in their unfolding over time.
 Uriel Zimmer, Torah Judaism and the State of Israel (New York, 1972), p. 24.
 “Judaism and Culture,” The Crisis of Spirit, 1953.
 Chaim Potok, The Chosen (1970), p. 196.