“Anyone who is not a Torah student must serve in the army!”
The rabbinic leadership of previous generations—from Rav Yechezkel Abramsky to Rav Aharon Leib Steinman—made this statement unequivocally. Granting deferrals to boys who were not full-time Torah students, they warned, undermines the status of true yeshivah students.
This, of course, is precisely the case today. Allowing thousands of non-yeshivah boys to enter the IDF would relieve the intense pressure on those genuinely dedicated to full-time Torah study. Moreover, it would temper the deep resentment Israelis feel toward the Haredi community, which refuses to serve despite the army’s manpower crisis. And it would grant Haredi leadership valuable leverage in shaping the legislation on which the survival of the current government depends.
So why is the statement not being made by the Haredi establishment?
The answer, I believe, lies in one word: responsibility. And this, more than anything, is the area that requires a dramatic transformation.
Some years ago, I was struck by a radio interview with then-Health Minister Yaakov Litzman, a Gerrer Chassid representing Agudat Yisrael.
“Imagine that in the next elections, the Haredi parties win a majority in the Knesset,” the interviewer opened. “What do you do?” Litzman refused to entertain the premise. “We will always be a minority,” he said flatly. But the interviewer pressed: “Just imagine it happened—what then?” Litzman, however, held the line: “It won’t happen. It can’t happen. We will always be a minority.”
He was not dissembling. On the contrary, he was expressing a profound (and troubling) truth.
What Litzman was really being asked was: What do you want? Suppose the keys to the State of Israel were handed over to the Haredim—what then? What would you do with the country? And Litzman’s answer was clear: We do not want the keys. We cannot be the majority. Because being the majority implies something we cannot assume: full responsibility for the Jewish state.
And once Haredim accept responsibility for Israel as a whole, they cease, by definition, to be Haredim as we know them.
Haredi society was born in retreat: retreat from modernity, secularism, and the Zionist state. With the blessing of Israel’s founding father and first prime minister, David Ben-Gurion, it focused its energies on a single monumental project—rebuilding the decimated Torah world. Yeshivot, Chassidic courts, communal infrastructure and religious services all took shape within a carefully guarded internal sphere.
And what about Israel? Well, that was someone else’s concern.
The Haredi project succeeded beyond anyone’s expectations. The Torah world today is larger, more established, and more influential than ever before. But its scope of responsibility never expanded. It remained bounded by the Haredi space itself, tracing a parallel line with the State of Israel.
In the early years, this approach was almost obvious. Our mission is to perpetuate the Judaism of thousands of years. Time would tell whether Israel becomes part of this Jewish history. In the meantime, there was urgent work to do.
Down the line, as Israel became the accepted political representative of the Jewish people, the argument for exclusive internal focus weakened. Yet to assume national responsibility would have meant stepping outside the isolationist framework that, until now, has served as both protection and identity.
Which brings us to our current crisis.
Haredi representatives and politicians cannot say that non-learning boys should enlist, because doing so would represent a fundamental shift in orientation. It would signal a new kind of responsibility: not just for our yeshivot, not just for Haredi housing or budgets, but for Israel. For the IDF, the most central institution in the Israeli collective experience.
With responsibility comes belonging, and with belonging, identity. A person might still be Haredi, but a broader Jewish and Israeli identity transforms the way one sees the world. It fosters concern for wider society, a sense of solidarity with non-Haredi Jews, and a willingness to weigh political decisions beyond the narrow calculus of sectoral gain.
Which is exactly what Haredi politicians fear most.
Those of us who are Jewish before we are Haredi, who recognize the gravity of this moment and the moral summons it entails, must say clearly and unequivocally: This cannot go on.
With success comes responsibility. And the extraordinary success of the Haredi enterprise renders the continued refusal to share in the burdens of statehood, especially amid a devastating war, ethically and spiritually indefensible.
And behold, a remarkable twist: Amid the debate, U.S. Ambassador to Israel Mike Huckabee turns to Haredi representatives and activists, urging them not to bring down the government. The Iranian issue is at the forefront, he explains, and elections at this time would make it difficult for Washington to stand behind Israel. Anybody for responsibility?
Our politics must reflect both deep Jewish-Israeli responsibility and the enduring values that the Haredi world holds dear. It is an existential matter, both for Israel and for the continued thriving of Haredi society. If today’s political leadership cannot rise to this challenge, the only path forward is to build an alternative.