Letters – Spring 2025

A Tragic Rift 

As an Israeli Religious Zionist, I very much appreciated Rabbi Moshe Hauer’s praise of the mesirut nefesh of our soldiers in the fall issue of Jewish Action (“Lema’an Achai V’Rei’ai: Pursuing Unity”). However, this praise was undermined by Rabbi Hauer’s statement earlier in the same article that “genuine respect is due to the approaches of others faithful to Orthodox halachah and mesorah.” In a by-gone era, such a statement would be unremarkable and even laudable. But since October 7 everything has changed. The implication of Rabbi Hauer’s statement in the context of his article is that we must also respect those who call on their followers to refuse to serve in the IDF. That is a deeply insensitive and unfair demand to make of those of us among his readership who belong to a community that has sent so many of its children to fight, and in too many cases, to be injured or killed, in the nation’s service.  

It should be clear, this is not about whether serious, full-time yeshivah students should be exempted from the draft. Neither is it about legitimate concerns regarding the religious challenges of serving in the IDF. The mainstream rabbinic leadership of the Israeli Chareidi community has adamantly refused to agree to anyone from their community being drafted, regardless of whether they are learning at all. These rabbis have rejected army service under any conditions, attacking in the most extreme terms those Chareidim who are working with the army to create frameworks that are conducive to Chareidi needs. 

Rabbi Hauer sees this dispute as an ideological one, in which each side needs to relinquish its quest for “victory” for the greater good of the Jewish people. But this is a matter of life and death. We cannot relinquish our objective of victory against those who would destroy the Jewish people. There is a very severe shortage of combat soldiers in Israel. All students in Hesder yeshivot have had their mandatory service extended for up to six months. Many fathers and husbands have done hundreds of days of reserve duty in the past year, some over 300 (!) days, while their wives struggle to keep their families together. The crushing emotional burden of worrying about loved ones at the front and mourning the many friends, children of friends and children’s friends whom we have lost is overwhelming. We cannot go on like this. The days in which we believed that we could get by with a “small and smart” army are gone. We desperately need more soldiers. This is not a dispute about which we can say both sides represent “the words of the living G-d.” Our soldiers need and deserve the complete backing of the entire Jewish people. 

We have reached a pivotal moment in Jewish history when, as Rabbi Hauer wrote, we are called to “put our divisions aside and . . . rush to the aid of . . . Jews anywhere who . . . are in distress.” But there are those who refuse to recognize the demands of the hour. They choose to continue to follow their strategy separating themselves out from the rest of Klal Yisrael while others fight and die on their behalf. The national unity that Rabbi Hauer seeks cannot be achieved until these concerns are acknowledged and addressed by the Chareidi community and its leadership in both Israel and America.  

Moshe Simon-Shoshan 

Professor Shoshan teaches Midrash and Aggadah at Bar-Ilan University. His son, who is currently studying for semichah at a Hesder yeshivah, served in combat in Gaza for eight months following the attacks of October 7 and has already served more than five months beyond his regular obligations. His studies will continue to be interrupted by extensive reserve duty for the foreseeable future.  

Rabbi Moshe Hauer Responds  

I would like to thank Professor Simon-Shoshan for expressing his view on my article and for our subsequent correspondence and conversation. He has helped me gain a deeper understanding of and sensitivity to the current attitude of the Religious Zionist community towards the Chareidi draft, especially in light of the crushing burdens and enormous losses that have been borne by its soldiers and their families during the current conflict. I certainly regret any implication of an expectation that those who have sacrificed so much must respect those who disrespect and fail to appreciate their enormous sacrifice. My intent was solely to acknowledge the same divergent opinions on the core issues of principle and practice that he too acknowledged.  

I and others have heard privately from Chareidi leaders on all levels—including some of their leading roshei yeshivah—who recognize the clear need and moral obligation for the Chareidi community to contribute meaningfully to the ranks of Tzahal in religiously conducive frameworks. Many describe working to create such frameworks for Chareidim who are not serious full-time yeshivah students, yet they are exceedingly cautious and insist that those efforts and their words could not be shared publicly in their names as that could jeopardize their efforts. The resultant lack of public communication of these values and goals and of actual progress has left a profound void that has been filled by rhetoric that represents them and their community as uncaring and ungrateful, leaving many Chareidim confused and causing growing resentment and disrespect from many in the Religious Zionist community who deeply value Torah and crave to feel kinship and connection with the Chareidi community. This growing rift between those deeply faithful to Torah is tragic, frightening and unnecessary. 

More than Doorways 

In the last issue of Jewish Action, Rabbi Dovid Bashevkin argues that in order to reach our unaffiliated brothers and sisters post–October 7, we need to be “building better doorways for engagement” (“Jewish Identity Post–October 7,” winter 2024). I wanted to add my thoughts to this.  

In my twenty-five years of outreach, I’ve seen many successful new programs introduced. The Maimonides ten-week crash course on Judaism, with a $500 stipend, created by the “father of kiruv” Rabbi Avraham Jacobovitz, was so successful that Chabad and Hillel created similar programs. Partners in Torah’s successful one-on-one learning also spawned similar programs by other organizations.  

The Podcast Fellowship, where students get paid $15 to listen to a podcast and then discuss it with a mekarev/es, took off during Covid. It is our most successful program at University of Illinois (U of I), where I serve as the director of a campus outreach program. Our mekareves meets with four or five students, and they go around sharing what they’ve learned. It’s a great way to reinforce their learning.  

jInternship, which sets up internships in Israel in partnership with yeshivahs and seminaries, took off when internships in the US became popular. Birthright, Momentum, the list goes on. New programs and ideas will arise. We are a creative people.  

Yet the simple truth remains that effective outreach is about quality time spent with individual students. What we really need is more people reaching out. This is what Rabbi Noach Weinberg, the legendary founder of Aish HaTorah, recognized with his “awaken the sleeping giant” idea. [The sleeping giant refers to the frum community, which has tremendous potential to reach out to unaffiliated Jews.] Olami has recently seen enormous success with its mentorship program, pairing up “regular” frum men and women with college students and young professionals as learning partners.  

Just as important—we need more partnerships similar to the way NCSY and Olami are working together through Olami Launch to bring young people to Israel for their gap year. Kiruv organizations in general should be working more closely together with one another. 

Just this past month, I was mesader kiddushin at the wedding of two former students of mine. The mother of the chassan had participated in the Maimonides program fifteen years ago. My wife encouraged her to send her son to Camp Nageela. We stayed in touch over the years. When her son went to U of I, he joined Jewish Education Team (JET), went on jInternship, became shomer Shabbos and met his wife-to-be (also a Camp Nageela camper) on a trip to the Washington rally. Outreach is one neshamah at a time. But no doubt, it could be exponentially increased.  

Rabbi Zev Kahn  

Director, Jewish Education Team (JET)  

Chicago, Illinois 

One Shul Fits All? 

I’m writing in response to your article “Start-Up Shul: How to Build a Welcoming Kehillah,” by Rabbi Binyamin and Avital Goldschmidt (winter 2024). When we talk about making our shuls more welcoming, we often mean creating an inviting atmosphere for observant Jews who aren’t regulars, as Rabbi and Rebbetzin Goldschmidt describe in their article. But what about non-observant Jews—a demographic that comprises the bulk of North American Jewry? For the typical non-observant Jew walking into a typical Orthodox shul on a typical Shabbos, the experience is anything but typical. Even if the congregants and leadership are (hopefully!) warm and friendly, the service can feel foreign. The Hebrew is unfamiliar, the pace is daunting, and the baseline Torah knowledge of the average congregant is beyond their reach. Sadly, for many unaffiliated Jews, an Orthodox davening is not very meaningful.  

On the other hand, if we adapt our minyanim to include more English explanations, slower pacing or more congregational singing to accommodate non-observant Jews, we risk alienating the very people for whom the traditional structure of davening is so meaningful. Understandably, many in the frum world are not looking for what might seem a watered-down or altered davening experience. One size does not fit all. What to do?  

Orthodox shuls need to take a dual-track approach. We need to create programs, services and classes—led by high-caliber, engaging educators—that run concurrently with the traditional davening. Imagine your welcoming and friendly shul offering a class or discussion specifically designed to meet Jews with limited Torah backgrounds where they are. These programs can provide inspiration, meaningful engagement and a connection to Torah in a way that resonates with them. After the regular davening and the outreach class conclude, everyone then joins together for the kiddush—where the magic of community and social connection happens.  

Sure, a warm smile and a heartfelt hello are essential first steps to making our shuls welcoming places. But if we’re serious about engaging non-observant Jews, we need realistic, inclusive approaches that meet them on their level. 

Rabbi Nachum Meth  

Executive Director/Rosh Kollel 

Community Kollel of Greater Las Vegas 

Las Vegas, Nevada 

Moving a Sefer Torah 

In his discussion of relocating a Torah to a private venue (“What’s the Truth about . . . Relocating a Sefer Torah,” winter 2024), Rabbi Dr. Ari Z. Zivotofsky mentions the Beit Yosef’s and the Aruch HaShulchan’s admonitions requiring three readings to allow the practice. He cites many authorities to the effect that this ruling has no source.   

When I was a child, one summer in Far Rockaway, someone asked my father, z”l, a Chassidic rabbi, to help make a minyan for Shabbat Minchah in a shivah house to enable a third Torah reading. My father refused, on the grounds that, as Rabbi Zivotofsky cites, that amounted to public mourning, forbidden on the holy day.   

My father explained to me that in Galicia, shivah minyanim skipped reading the Torah, unless they could take out the scroll three times. The idea seemed to be that doing something three times evinced a form of permanence. 

In fact, when we recite Hatarat Nedarim (“Nullification of Vows”) on erev Rosh Hashanah, we express regret for having observed a minhag three times without having said “bli neder—without a vow.” The three repetitions created a permanent obligation. Similarly, occupying land for three years gives the person permanent title. To bolster this rationale, I cite the ruling of Rabbi Gedaliah Anemer, z”l, of Young Israel Shomrai Emunah of Greater Washington (a student of Rav Moshe) that two readings established permanence, so he allowed removal of the Torah in those circumstances. Having an aron did not figure into this. 

Finally, in my recent shivah, I allowed the Torah into my house only because we had Rosh Chodesh on Sunday and Monday and a regular reading on Thursday. 

Joshua Z. Rokach 

Silver Spring, Maryland 

What about the Matzah? 

One aspect of city eruvin was unfortunately not discussed in the expansive Jewish Action eruv article, “The Eruv Revolution” by Merri Ukraincik (fall 2024). While the walls and strings are what we commonly refer to as the eruv, they are not actually what Chazal refer to as the eruv. Rather, when Chazal use the term “eruv,” they mean a box of matzah generally kept in a community shul or in the rabbi’s house. In order for an eruv to be considered valid for use, a food item—generally a box of matzah—is set aside as belonging to all members of the community. That box of matzah symbolically binds the community together, making it as if all the community members are residing in one location, jointly owned by all Jewish city inhabitants and guests. Walls and strings alone without the food item would not be a valid eruv.  

Rabbi Ezra Sarna 

Director of OU Torah & Halacha Initiatives