Haredi society needs to start pulling its weight as Israel's needs grow - opinion

A few weeks ago, after an especially suffocating period, I boarded a plane with my family for a breath of fresh air. Just months earlier, my nephew was killed in Gaza. Three months later, his father passed away. In the background was a year filled with reserve duty, with everything that entails. During a rare moment when everyone was home between deployments, we took the opportunity to fly.

At the Verona airport, just before boarding our flight home, my son called. “We were just called up for an emergency. I’m on my way to bring our brothers from the north back home,” he said. Ten minutes later, I got another call. My son-in-law had also been called up and was on his way to Lebanon. Before leaving, he asked if someone could bring his pregnant wife—our daughter, now nine months along—home.

I’m opening this column with our personal story for two reasons. First, it’s only natural to start with one’s own experiences and struggles. Second, because our story is plain and simple: we don’t have career soldiers, commanders in special units, or anyone serving in active duty. We’re simply working-class reserve soldiers. We have nephews scattered everywhere the IDF fights—Gaza, Jenin, Lebanon.

In the past, when mapping the place of Religious Zionism in Israel’s spectrum, I thought we were in the middle. Secular Zionism was on one side, and haredi Judaism on the other. One side aligned with us in its support for the IDF, and the other in its commitment to Torah and Jewish identity.

After a year of war, the behavior of the haredi public and its leaders during one of Israel’s darkest times has disrupted that balance. When we’re in distress, bombarded, and our lives threatened, and the secular kibbutznik fights alongside us while the haredi excuses himself for countless reasons—everything becomes clear.

Imagine a burning apartment building where one neighbor brings a fire extinguisher, another runs with a bucket, a third sprays water with a hose, but the neighbor in apartment 13 on the fourth floor just sits and explains why he can’t help. Is that a neighbor anyone would want to have?

One of our nephews fell in battle. Another was flown to the hospital after an anti-tank missile hit his vehicle. Others left wives and children behind, grinding through hundreds of days in reserve duty this year. This year, new sectors emerged in Israel’s society: those who give and those who take; those who sleep peacefully and those who can’t sleep at all.

Last week, within two days, two members of Kibbutz Mishmar HaEmek sacrificed their lives defending the country—Sergeant Ido Ben Tzvi, 21, and First Sergeant (res.) Guy Idan, a father of two, 51. Haredim offer myriad explanations for not being able to help. Yet secular kibbutzniks stand shoulder-to-shoulder with us in battle, while the haredi excuses himself.

I am sharing what goes on in my small family unit, and I am certain our story resembles that of many Israelis. My grandson, born two months before October 7, has seen me more than his father. My granddaughter hasn’t danced with her father on Simchat Torah or heard from him for a week because his phone is in a box with the other soldiers’ phones. Before heading to Lebanon, my son-in-law recorded her good morning, goodnight, and “back from daycare” videos.

This non-stop reality is the reality of countless Israeli families. Even if we sound like we’re complaining, we aren’t. We’re at war. But the idea that there’s a large group who think none of this concerns them and they need not participate in our efforts is maddening.

Not one leader in the haredi community has stood up and called out, “Gentlemen, Israel is in distress, and Jewish blood is being shed like water. We cannot ignore this.” This moral void is deeply troubling.

Two weeks ago, Racheli Malek Buda interviewed three reserve families in Makor Rishon. One wife recalled that her husband wrote his will just hours before entering Gaza. Another wife described how she wakes up in fear, checking the peephole in the middle of the night, unsure if the sounds are the wind or something more ominous.

A nation is tested not only by the resilience of those on the battlefield but by the support of those on the home front. Those who believe they have the luxury of detachment during this time of crisis are failing that test.

The absence of a single haredi leader rising to say, "We cannot remain bystanders" is deeply disheartening. The few voices in Religious Zionism who, like Racheli Malek Buda’s interviewees, see participation in the state’s struggles as a Jewish obligation, are dwarfed by a political leadership that appears willing to tolerate this detachment for the sake of coalition stability.

Commitment to the Jewish state

Religious Zionism has, at its core, a sacred commitment to Israel and the Jewish people—a commitment reflected in the sacrifice of its soldiers who fall defending the state. This war, however, has exposed a rift: on one side are those who answer the state’s call, regardless of personal cost, and on the other are those who refuse, indifferent to the sacrifices being made.

In recent days, a group of ultra-Orthodox politicians convened in Bnei Brak for a prayer rally, ostensibly showing solidarity for fallen soldiers and the return of hostages. For many, the instinctual response was to feel gratitude for this support. But on reflection, the presence of officials who, by and large, have not served in the IDF or made tangible sacrifices, is unsettling. Their “solidarity” in a comfortable auditorium felt detached from the realities faced by families who have borne the brunt of this war.

It’s not enough to offer well-meaning prayers from afar while others bear the burden on the front lines. If you truly want to help, you don’t merely pray—you act. You stand with your fellow citizens not just in spirit but in deeds, as the kibbutzniks, secular Israelis, and Religious Zionists do.

The notion that Torah study alone justifies abstention from national defense is an illusion. Israel’s situation demands real, shared responsibility. When rockets are launched or enemies advance, those who believe in the sanctity of Torah should see that service in the IDF is not only an option but a sacred duty. The ultimate message should be clear: In Israel, everyone contributes, everyone serves, everyone fights for one another. Those who choose to serve should be honored, while those who do not should not be entitled to state benefits.

As former Prime Minister David Ben-Gurion once famously said, “If they give, they shall receive; if they don’t give, they shall receive nothing.” The state of Israel owes it to those who serve, to the families left behind, to ensure that everyone knows the difference between contributing and abstaining. If the haredi community chooses to forgo military service, then it should not expect privileges, benefits, or preferential treatment.

The responsibility of sharing the burden should not fall solely on those willing to serve. Religious Zionism, which holds both Torah and national duty in high regard, needs to assert its principles more forcefully. This isn’t about partisan politics or power struggles. It’s about ensuring that in times of crisis, the people of Israel stand united, shoulder to shoulder, sharing equally in the sacrifices required to keep the nation safe.

For further commentary or inquiries, contact: Kalman Liebskind at kalman.liebskind@maariv.co.il