In the early 13th century, a fire erupted in the Jewish world. Not a literal fire, but a controversy that led to name-calling, attempted excommunications, and the banning of books. The debate revolved around the philosophical bend of the Rambam, Maimonides. Eventually though, the machlokes reached such a pitch that actual book burnings took place in France. Jews, who were opposed to the Rambam, turned to the Christian authorities, claiming his books were heresy, and in 1233, in a public square in Paris, wagonloads of Moreh Nevuchim, the Rambam’s masterful work, were gleefully burned by Dominican monks.
In the late 18th century, a different controversy rocked the Jewish world. An upstart movement, Chassidus, began to sweep across Europe. Many were vehemently opposed to the practices and ideology of this new movement and felt that it was a grave threat to the continuity of Judaism. Once again, name-calling led to excommunications, which led to Jews informing the authorities. At the height of this controversy, opponents of the Chassidim turned to the Russian government, claiming that Rav Shneur Zalman of Liadi, one of the leaders of the Chassidim, was involved in illegal activity and had him thrown in jail on trumped-up charges.
Today, it’s honestly hard to imagine how these movements and ideas were so controversial. The books of the Rambam are found in every Yeshiva. Chassidim and non-Chassidim are best of friends. What happened? How did these groups, who at one point were ready to burn books and throw people in deathly jails, move on and make peace?
There are many factors, and I don’t mean to oversimplify a complex historical process. But there are two people who I’d like to highlight who should receive the lion’s share of credit. The first is Rabbi Moshe ben Nachman, the Ramban. He stood between the breach, lobbied both sides of the Moreh Nevuchim controversy, the rationalists and the mystics, and eventually got everyone to appreciate the concerns of the other side. His diplomacy led to a thaw in the dispute and with time, it faded into the history bin. The second was Rav Shnueur Zalman of Liadi himself. Despite being thrown into jail, he held his followers back from retribution, met with leaders of the other opposition, and within a generation, Chassidim and Misnagdim, were marrying their children to one another.
Today, our Orthodox world is being rocked by a new controversy. It is thankfully not here in the US, but our Orthodox brothers and sisters are fighting bitterly over the question of the Charedi draft. Both sides see the other as an existential threat. Last week, 100,000 Chareidim took to the streets, some of them employing forceful language, and bringing parts of the country to a standstill. The response, much of it from the Daati Leumi community, was fast and heavy. As students of Jewish history, we know how dangerous rhetoric can be.
Who will be our Ramban to negotiate a resolution? Who will be our Rav Shneur Zalman of Liadi to calm his respective side?
Rabbi Moshe Hauer was attempting to bridge that divide. But he is no longer with us.
I can only speak for myself when I say, I have no grand ideas. I can only speak for myself when I say that I struggle mightily to understand the Chareidi position. I can only speak for myself when I say that my heart breaks a thousand times over for the families who have been impacted so devastatingly by the war, and I am filled with infinite gratitude to those who serve. In my humble opinion, every able-bodied individual in Israel should serve in the army or in national service; a wholesale exemption to an entire community is impossible for me to wrap my head around. I also believe the State of Israel must do a better job accommodating the religious needs of the Charedi community – something they have failed to do repeatedly. And I also believe that there must be a group, a limited group, of Torah scholars, made up of Chareidim and non-Chareidim, based on some objective criteria, who are given the opportunity to study Torah undisturbed, because that is a critical component of our Jewish identity.
How do we get there? How do we overcome the entrenched views, fortified by politics and years of mistrust? I don’t have a clue.
But I do know that I have a choice.
I could choose to add fuel to this fire. I could write and post about the flaws of Chareidi society and add hatred to this inferno.
But when I think of the great leaders of our people, the Ramban, Rav Shneur Zalman of Liadi, Rabbi Hauer, I don’t think that’s what I am supposed to be doing.
Instead, not as a resolution, but as a tiny step forward to ensuring the continuity of Am Yisrael, I’d like to share what I admire about Charedi society. This is not in any way an explanation for not serving in the army; not at all. But I hope that if we, especially those of us living outside of Israel who don’t have the same skin in this fight, are able to appreciate the other side just a little more, maybe just maybe by walking in the footsteps of our great leaders, our grandchildren will be able to look back at this time, and as crazy as this may sound, they too will wonder, what was this controversy all about?
So here are a few things I admire:
- I admire their family size. Bringing children into this world is one of the most mind-blowing gifts that G-d gave humankind. While Halacha allows for birth control, Charedi society places a premium on large families. They choose to bring children, a lot of Jewish children, into this world. While those blessed with the ability to bear children in the rest of the Orthodox world weigh considerations like finances and other priorities before having more children, this society is willing to live in two-bedroom apartments, with limited means, so they could bring more life into this world. That’s a choice they make, and it’s a noble one.
- I admire their modesty standards. Two weeks ago, Hindy and I were in Israel, walking on Shabbos from one side of Jerusalem to the other. Invariably we got lost. Many times. Much of our walk took us through Charedi communities. When we stopped a man for directions, he addressed himself to me. When we stopped a woman for directions, she addressed herself to Hindy. That is not my approach to modesty, it is not demanded according to the Shulchan Aruch, and yes, there is an underbelly to some of these practices. But there is certainly what to admire in a group of people who recognize that the sexual mores in the rest of the Orthodox world are far from ideal and who instead strive for greater modesty.
- I admire their aversion to the outside world. I would not be able to handle it. But if I was being honest with myself, I really have to wonder, who is better off, the cultured, news-immersed, me, or the individual, yearning for purity, who refuses to get a smartphone?
- Lastly, I not only admire, but I am envious of their attrition rates. According to some studies, 94% of those raised Charedi identify as being Orthodox whereas 54% of those raised Daati Leumi, Religious Zionist, remain Orthodox. For all the flaws, and there are many, they are doing something right.
There is a puzzling section in our parsha. Lot, Avraham’s nephew, the man who rejected Avraham’s way of life, is saved from the city of Sedom. He is instructed by angels to run to the mountains where he will be safe. Lot refuses. לֹא אוּכַל לְהִמָּלֵט הָהָרָה. I can’t do it. Why not? His life is on the line. Why can’t he make it to the mountain?
The Medrash Rabbah shares a frightening psychological insight. When the angels encouraged Lot to run to the mountain, it wasn’t just any mountain. They were directing him to return to Avraham who lived on that mountain. And of course, Lot could have made it to the mountain. But Lot said to himself: “As long as I live away from Avraham, I could feel good about myself. I am a good person compared to those who live around me. But with Avraham, the great and righteous Avraham, I feel small. I am reminded of all the areas that I am failing in.”
“I know that my life is on the line, but living with Avraham, seeing that commitment to G-d that I don’t live by, I can’t do that. I rather take my chances.”
I have what I’d like to believe to be rational and objective issues with the Charedi lifestyle. But is it possible that part of what fuels my feelings towards this society a little bit of Lot’s discomfort? Is it that I feel judged, not by them, but by myself, because when I see them, it reminds me that I could do more, and I’m not?
I do not plan on changing my lifestyle drastically. I firmly believe in our way of life. It is guided by the Torah and guided by a firm tradition in Jewish thought, and we should not be ashamed of the way we live; we should be proud. But I have room to grow, I have things to learn from Charedim, and I think I, and the world would be better off, if instead of highlighting all the flaws, my Shabbos table and conversations with friends, instead focus on the things we admire.
Rav Yaakov Kaminetsky was one of the leading American Torah scholars of the last generation. Towards the end of his life, he visited Israel. He was quite old and very frail. He was invited to speak in many institutions, but he turned them all down. But there was one place he wanted to speak in, a small, unimportant yeshiva by the name of Kol Yaakov. I never heard of this place, I only know of its existence because Rabbi Frand once shared this story. Apparently, Kol Yaakov was the first yeshiva in Israel to allow both Ashkenazim and Sefardim to study together in a way that respected both of their traditions.
When he got up to speak, he shared the following message:
“My entire life I wanted to greet Moshiach. I now feel that I won’t have this merit; I don’t feel that I’ll live much longer. But if I cannot greet Moshiach, at least I want to be among a group of people that I know for sure, will be among those who greet Moshiach. I know that this Yeshiva will be among those that will greet him.”
We may not greet Mashiach, we may not live to see peace between the different segments of Jews living in Israel, something which I hope our children or grandchildren will merit to see. But if we cannot greet Mashiach, let’s at least be among the group of people who helped pave the way.