Who Are Our Fellows?

Lately, I have found myself delving into the meaning of the word chaver (חבר).

In modern Hebrew usage, chaver means a friend or companion. On this reading, when the Sages teach: “Let your fellow’s property be as dear to you as your own” (Avos 2:12), the intent is that we must care for our friends—our companions, those dear to us—valuing their welfare as our own. Likewise, “Let your fellow’s honor be as dear to you as your own” (ibid., 10).

Yet, in Tanach and rabbinic literature, this translation is not quite accurate. The more precise rendering reflects the root meaning of chibbur (connection, joining), as in chavurah (fellowship), chavruta (study partnership), chever (group or company), chevra (company). A chaver is one bound together with others by a shared connection, a common identity or purpose, uniting them into a single entity, much like a member of a club, community, or political party.

The ultimate chaverut is that of husband and wife: “For Hashem has borne witness between you and the wife of your youth, to whom you have been faithless—though she is your partner (chavertecha) and your covenanted wife” (Malachi 2:14). This is the fellowship of a home, a family into which children and descendants are added. Alongside it are countless other forms of fellowship: membership in groups and organizations gathered around a common cause.

A chaver is one bound together with others by a shared connection, a common identity or purpose, uniting them into a single entity, much like a member of a club, community, or political party

From the days of Chazal until quite recently (in Ashkenazi communities), the title chaver was conferred upon one belonging to a select religious fellowship striving for elevated standards in Torah and halachic observance. In Talmudic times, joining such a “club” required accepting the d’varim shel chavrut (laws of fellowship, including eating non-sacred food in a state of purity). In later periods, it meant demonstrating fear of Heaven and meticulous care for the fundamentals of faith.

Thus, the regulars of the beis midrash are called chaverim, as in the daily prayer: “And let my fellows rejoice in me” (Mishnah, Berachos 4:2). Conversely, one who acts wickedly becomes a “companion to a destroyer”: “He who robs his father and mother and says, ‘It is no transgression,’ is fellow to a destroyer” (Mishlei 28:24)—a verse the Sages apply to one who fails to recite blessings over enjoyment, noting that the “destroyer” here refers to Yerovoam ben Nevat.

A chaver, then, is a “partner in the path,” a partnership that obligates mutual respect. We are enjoined to value our chaver’s honor as our own. This, say the Sages, was the grievous failing of Rabbi Akiva’s disciples, partners in their master’s great path, who failed to show one another such respect. When the Sages speak of commandments bein adam lechavero—“between a person and his chaver”—they mean that the primary application of mitzvot toward “the other” is toward a fellow: a deep partner in a shared way of life.

Who Are Our Fellows?

Why am I revisiting the meaning of chaverut? Because the times we live in demand deep thought about the question: who are our chaverim? Who are we bound to honor and respect, beyond the basic human dignity owed to every person? Who are our partners in the path?

This past Tisha B’Av, as the fast was drawing to a close, I made my way, along with a multitude of fellow Jews, to the Western Wall. And not just there: I prayed Mincha at Sha’ar HaShvatim with one group (“Zilberman” orientation), and Maariv at the Cotton Merchant’s Gate with a large Chassidic minyan. Altogether, I experienced an enormous variety of Jews, a vast mosaic of human diversity: different dress, different views, distinct modes of serving Hashem.

But most of all, I saw what unites. All of them were chaverim, true partners in the path. All were striving to advance the good in the world: the good of Torah values, of holiness, of closeness to Hashem.

Of course, there are partners in the path beyond the Western Wall plaza: Jews loyal to Judaism and its values, seeking to strengthen Israel’s hold on its land and to establish a Jewish society within it, even if they are not fully observant of Torah and mitzvot. They, too, are chaverim.

Brothers who fight against all that is sacred to Israel; who demand surrender to our enemies and call for boycotts and defame Israel among the nations; who trample Judaism’s core values—they remain brothers, but sadly, not chaverim

Not every chaver is necessarily a brother, part of the Jewish People. We must honor our chaverim, both near and far, for the framework of fellowship and shared endeavor between us mandates mutual respect. And conversely, not every brother is necessarily a chaver. We must choose our chaverim carefully.

Brothers who fight against all that is sacred to Israel; who demand surrender to our enemies and call for boycotts and defame Israel among the nations; who trample Judaism’s core values—they remain brothers, but sadly, not chaverim. “Chaver,” in the traditional sense, is a title to be earned. Such brothers may share a bond of kinship, but not of fellowship.

Acquire a Fellow

In our day, fellowship is a sacred necessity. This is true at all times, but all the more so now, when the Jewish people face immense challenges alongside rare opportunities. We must strengthen the bonds of fellowship. No issue—whether the conscription debate or any other point of contention—should be allowed to sever the ties between chaverim.

How is this done? The Sages give the answer: k’neh lecha chaver, “Acquire for yourself a fellow” (Avos 1:6). We will not achieve great aims alone. We must recruit partners, and the way to do so is through kinyan, an acquisition. In other words, by paying a price. Fellowship, in every institution, organization, club, or party, always demands a price.

Fellowship demands the maturity to hear other voices and the resilience to stand alongside them. Not everyone is willing to pay this price

One price we pay is the very presence of differing voices, where every individual and group must grant the other respect and legitimacy. Fellowship demands the maturity to hear other voices and the resilience to stand alongside them. Not everyone is willing to pay this price.

A second price is the need for compromise. The only way to achieve a shared goal within the same “club” is through compromise. This, too, is a fundamental cost of fellowship. And we must be willing to pay it.

Are We Headed for War?

In a conversation aired on Channel 13, the Chairman of Vaad Hayeshivot, Rabbi Chaim Aharon Kaufman, said that the presence in yeshivot of students from “modern” communities, “immigrants, and all kinds of things,” is a “problem.” Such students, he argued, might bring in a “cooling” influence, and perhaps “it is forbidden to accept a boy where such a concern exists.”

But the problem is not with students from abroad. Think of how many Torah giants and yeshiva heads we would have lost had our yeshivot closed their doors to the “modern,” to “immigrants,” and the like. The problem is an approach unwilling to pay any price for fellowship. True, opinions may not be identical. But is that a reason not to admit outstanding students? A reason to split the community?

The same applies to the “war” against Israel declared by Yated Ne’eman and the rest of the Charedi press (13 Av / August 7). Yated Ne’eman thundered: “Those who have declared war on the world of Torah must take into account the consequences at home and in the international arena.” But is this war necessary? Is it truly compelled by reality? Don’t we have a real, actual war to fight against common enemies?

So-called “Yeshivot for dropouts” are full of young men whose Torah study is far from their principal pursuit; Haredi education ensures that no young man even considers enlisting. Can we be surprised at the “persecution” of yeshiva students?

The great leaders of past generations—the Steipler, Rabbi Yechezkel Abramsky, Rabbi Shach, Rabbi Steinman, and others—declared time and again that “those registered in yeshiva whose Torah study is not their true occupation are absolute pursuers (rodef).” They, the leaders said, cause “the drafting of boys who are fully dedicated to learning.” Which is exactly what is happening today. So-called “Yeshivot for dropouts” are full of young men whose Torah study is far from their principal pursuit; Haredi education ensures that no young man even considers enlisting. Can we be surprised at the “persecution” of yeshiva students?

I am not blaming one side alone. Every crisis has two sides. But what is certainly lacking is fellowship. The vast majority of the Jewish People dwelling in Zion should be our chaverim. We ought to be uniting ranks and working together for the welfare and flourishing of the Jewish settlement in the Promised Land—namely, the State of Israel—in both material and spiritual terms. This is not happening because we have not internalized the need for chaverim, nor the price worth paying for them.

If We Desire Life

“If we desire life,” said Reuven Rivlin in his famous “Four Tribes” speech, then we must seek “a common civic language, a shared ethos,” and “a shared moral denominator capable of connecting all these sectors together.” In other words, to drain the content from the idea of a Jewish state.

But we do not merely “desire life.” We desire a particular kind of life: a Jewish life, for the sake of which the State of Israel exists. If we desire that kind of life, we must cleave to the words of the Sages and acquire for ourselves chaverim, until the time when we can declare “Chaverim kol Yisrael,” “All Israel are fellows” (or at least, almost all).

We need to acquire them, though it exacts a price.