At first glance, the scene looks like the feverish activity found in any of the many Charedi yeshivot in Israel. Young men, dressed in black suits and white shirts, pore over Talmudic texts, arguing over the finer points of Jewish law, much as study partners have dissected Jewish texts for the past 1,000 years.
But as late afternoon approaches, these students do something that is nothing short of revolutionary in Israel. They leave the yeshivah study hall and head to a nearby building, where they will spend the next six hours in a university setting. Over the next three to four years, they will earn degrees in fields of technology, including bachelor’s degrees in computer science, electrical engineering, electro-optics, or physics.
Yet the innovation does not end there. This yeshivah not only combines academic study with Torah learning; perhaps even more remarkably in the Charedi world, it is also a Hesder yeshivah, meaning that its students combine intensive Torah study with full military service in the Israel Defence Forces.
Welcome to Beit Midrash Derech Chaim, Israel’s first and largest Charedi Hesder yeshivah.
Opened 12 years ago with just eight students, Derech Chaim has grown to more than 400 students and has helped spark a growing movement of similar programmes, which now encompasses well in excess of 1,000 student-soldiers. As Israel struggles with the difficult challenge of integrating Charedi youth into the IDF, the Charedi Hesder movement has quietly provided what may be the only successful model for addressing this volatile and deeply divisive issue.
The above may shock many readers, both religious and secular. For years, many have been told that large-scale enlistment of Charedim into the IDF was little more than an illusion – that the chasm separating the strictly Orthodox from Israeli society was simply too wide to bridge. The Charedi Hesder movement, spearheaded by Beit Midrash Derech Chaim, has demonstrated otherwise.
In truth, when I contemplated opening a Charedi Hesder programme 15 years ago, I was told that there was simply no chance of success. The religious divide was considered too profound to permit either compromise or meaningful change. I disagreed. The remarkable growth of the movement over the past decade has proven that my scepticism about that conventional wisdom was justified.
I disagreed because I believed the problem had never been correctly diagnosed. While many viewed the challenge as primarily religious in nature, I believed the underlying issue was something very different.
This more precise diagnosis initially gave me reason to despair of finding a solution. In the end, however, it gave me hope that integrating Charedim into the army – and, more broadly, into Israeli society – was indeed possible.
I began with a simple question: How can it be that Charedim do not feel a moral obligation to join the army? How can they watch other young Israelis bear the burden of military service while they themselves benefit from the protection provided by those who serve?
It is true that many Charedim justify their position by pointing to their fear of the non-religious – or even, as they sometimes claim, the anti-religious – character of the army. But I believe this is largely a smokescreen, obscuring the deeper reason for their reluctance.
The evidence is compelling. Even when the army creates Charedi-adapted environments, such as the Hasmonean Brigade, the needle of interest moves very little. Even when Charedim see thousands of Dati Leumi (National Religious) soldiers complete their military service while remaining firmly committed to their religious values, they still do not enlist.
On the most basic moral level, how can this seemingly contradictory behaviour be justified? As Moses said to the tribes that wished to remain on the eastern side of the Jordan: “Shall your brothers go to war while you remain here?”
Yet what appears to be a serious moral failing is, in fact, something very different. Consider the following example. Imagine a staunchly Zionist family living in the US. They send their children to Zionist schools, recite Hallel on Yom Ha’atzmaut, give generously to Zionist causes, and, when visiting Israel, make a point of bringing food to soldiers. They grieve deeply for every Israeli casualty.
But when their son reaches the age of 18, do they immediately sign him up for the IDF?
The vast majority do not. Are their professed Zionist values therefore a lie? Is their love and concern for the Jewish state merely lip service? Of course not.
The obvious reason they do not rush to the nearest IDF enlistment centre is simple: although they deeply love the State of Israel, at the end of the day, they are not Israeli. Fighting for a country – and being willing to die for it – is contingent upon feeling that one is genuinely part of that country. Loving a country and caring deeply about its welfare do not necessarily create the willingness to lay down one’s life for it.
This, I believe, explains much of the Charedi attitude towards military service. Charedim may care deeply about their fellow Israelis, but many do not see themselves as Israelis. Even though they live in the country and directly benefit from the sacrifices of others, they have traditionally viewed themselves as culturally distinct from the modern State of Israel. They may see themselves first and foremost as members of Brisk, Satmar, Belz, or another Charedi community who happen to reside in Israel.
Most have not traditionally viewed the modern State of Israel as a realisation of the prophetic promise of the return to Zion. Consequently, religious values have often served as the justification for what would otherwise appear to be an abdication of their moral responsibility to share the burden of military service.
While this analysis might appear to point to an intractable problem, I believe the opposite is true.
For while it may appear that the Charedi world has firmly entrenched itself behind the walls of a theological ghetto, I came to realise that such walls cannot effectively shut out the pervasive power of culture.
A wise man once observed that the problem with building walls today is that the bricks are made of glass. Not only do they break easily; more importantly, they are transparent.
What I realised many years ago was that a significant shift was already taking place within the Charedi world. While many continued to cling to – and even romanticise – the life of the “shtetl Jew”, increasing numbers were beginning to see themselves as part of Israeli society.
The power of mass media, to which the majority of Charedim are exposed in one form or another, has seeped through the walls of this theological ghetto and shattered any pretence of complete cultural isolation. Most Charedim today, for example, will mark Israel’s Independence Day in some fashion. Increasing numbers also see the establishment of the State as, at least in some sense, a realisation of the prophetic vision of the return to Zion.
Precisely because of these developments – and certainly in the wake of the tragic events of October 7 – there is growing interest among Charedim in serving in the IDF. I believe that over the next few years, the number of Charedim enlisting in appropriate sections of the army will increase tenfold. And as those numbers grow, something remarkable will happen. The extraordinary Torah values that lie at the very core of Charedi identity will begin to influence Israeli society as a whole.
Instead of fearing that we will be influenced by Israeli society, we will become the influencers.
I have already witnessed this phenomenon among many of our Derech Chaim students serving in the army. Their commitment to Torah does not disappear when they put on a uniform. On the contrary, they bring that commitment with them into the military, where it can have a profound effect on the people around them.
I look forward to the day when this movement becomes a powerful force for Torah-based education and values, whose impact will be felt throughout the golden Medinah that Hashem has gifted to us.
Rabbi Karmi Gross is the Rosh Yeshivat of Derech Chaim
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