When the war in Gaza began, hundreds of Israelis volunteered to tie tzitzit for soldiers going into reservists. Apparently, the 50,000 pairs of green dress tzitzit that the army had in storage were not enough to meet the needs of the thousands of reservists who wanted to wear them when they went on duty or into combat.
But if you ask many soldiers who don’t wear kippahs but want to wear tzitzit if they formally identify as “religious,” the answer would be a clear “no.” There are also stories of soldiers who don’t know the Hagomel blessing, recited when rescued from a dangerous situation, asking religious fellow soldiers to recite it with them. Women who don’t formally identify as religious hold challah baking parties to feed and support soldiers, and many prefer to light extra Shabbat candles on Friday nights for hostages in Gaza. Tel Aviv restaurateurs who prided themselves on being non-kosher have converted their restaurants to kosher so they can deliver food to the front lines.
These are just a few examples of a trend since the war began in which a small percentage of Israelis who would not call themselves “religious” are embracing religious practices and mitzvahs (though a December survey found that most do not identify with religion).
On the one hand, this is not surprising, since Israeli society is culturally tied to Judaism: the vast majority of secular Israeli Jews celebrate the Sabbath in some way: 69% have a special meal on Friday night, for example; over 60% fast on Yom Kippur, and over 92% give their sons a brit (a Jewish fast).
Yet the story of “secular” Israelis embracing religious practices stands in sharp contrast to the bitter divisions in society caused by the role of religion, including ongoing legal battles over whether Haredi, or ultra-Orthodox, Israelis should serve in the military (or how to find gentle ways for them to do so).This renaissance did not emerge from rules and guidelines set down by the government through the state rabbi, who oversees many Jewish religious matters, including marriage, divorce, adoption and conversion.
Today, many Israelis feel disconnected from the state’s rabbinic authority, most of whom are ultra-Orthodox Jews who have never served in the military and lack the life experience of the majority of the population.
And rabbinic procedures are often coercive and cumbersome. For example, a young man I know who is in the process of converting recently failed a state rabbinical court hearing because he could not recite the lengthy after-meal blessing (which most Jews read from their prayer books or mobile phones). Meanwhile, the court gave him no credit for the great effort he had made to wear tefillin every day while serving in Gaza since the war began on October 7, simply because it had no context for such experiences. The court told him to come back to court for another hearing in three months.
When I officiate a wedding, Israeli law requires that I ask the bride for a receipt proving that she has visited a mikvah (ritual bath) before the ceremony, as required by halakhic (religious law). Ideally, I wouldn’t need this receipt and could trust the bride’s judgment, but I think it’s enough to talk to the couple before the wedding about the importance of using a mikvah and provide them with contact information for such a facility.
Religious authorities do not always reflect the public
When religious authorities are not thoughtful and do not understand the experiences of the general public, or “amcha,” it affects how we all view religion and how religious institutions serve the people. Too often, rather than understanding and seeing non-Orthodox and informal religious groups as their equals, state rabbis view them as weak links in the chain of Judaism — people who need to be told what to do and how to do it.
The disconnect between the state system and society is the reason for the decline in the proportion of marriages conducted through rabbis and other religious authorities connected to the state.
It is important to remember that there is no legal requirement in Israel for soldiers to wear tzitzit, for families to give brit to their sons, or for Israeli Jews to observe the Sabbath or the Yom Kippur fast. What we should learn from the rise of religious practice in these difficult times is how organic this interest in practice is. It is a realization of the idea quoted in Psalm 4: “You have delivered me from my distress.” This is a spiritual release that follows and accompanies trauma.
All of this is clear evidence that religion functions better in a free marketplace of ideas, free from coercion. At the same time, both secular politicians and Jewish religious leaders have an obligation to create an environment in which Judaism can thrive.
This idea is deeply rooted in our tradition, especially Maimonides’ Mishneh Torah, a 12th century work that attempts to describe all of the laws of Judaism. In “The Laws of Kings and Their Wars,” Maimonides outlines three mitzvahs that Israel was commanded to fulfill upon entering the Promised Land. This includes appointing a king and waging war to eradicate pure evil. In the third commandment for entering the land – building a house of God’s choosing – Maimonides’ choice of words is significant. “Seek God’s presence and go there,” he writes. “Seek” emphasizes that the spiritual or religious life is only effective if it comes from the individual, not from an authority that forces it on people.
This is what we see today: people seeking Jewish practice and spirituality. Hamas’s fight to eliminate the obvious evil is certainly part of the driving force that encourages more people to embrace these practices. But as Maimonides outlined, it is only after they set out to destroy evil that the people of Israel will begin to build God’s chosen home – a spiritual life.
As the threat from Hamas and other forces slowly fades and we hope and plan for a better future, leaders interested in maintaining Israel’s strong Jewish identity need to find ways to allow religious life to flourish without coercion. In practice, this means offering different kinds of Jewish education options, along with more flexible and understanding paths to prayer, proselytism and lifestyle. It also requires working through challenges within religious frameworks.
My goal, and one of the goals of the Modern Orthodox Church that I lead, is to make religion a more accessible and understandable experience for people. That’s why we talk to the younger generation about how they feel about the current system and instill in them values, such as the obligation to respect those who are different from us.
We do not need to compromise our halakhic standards in order to respect others. For example, I have never prayed in an egalitarian prayer area, but I understand why it is important that there is an agreed-upon separate place near the now-official Western Wall Square, the most sacred place we have, where men and women can pray together if they wish.
Maimonides, and countless Jews for millennia, could not have lived in the Land of Israel, established a government, and fought evil in the region, much less built a spiritual center here. Israel’s spiritual center is now even greater than it was in the days of the Second Temple. This spiritual center is essential to our survival and to maintaining a moral compass in the face of the evils of Hamas and our own personal challenges. And it will happen without coercion only if religion is a welcome choice.
The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of JTA or its parent company, 70 Faces Media.
