September 1, 2025|ח' אלול ה' אלפים תשפ"ה Fear, Faith, and Responsibility: What the Torah Teaches About War
Print ArticleI generally feel uncomfortable publicly criticizing the Charedi leadership in Israel who insist that their boys should avoid drafting into the IDF. After all, I live in America, I never served in the IDF, and neither did my children – though my son-in-law Daniel did serve for a year. It feels unfair to criticize Charedim for not doing something that I myself have not done.
That being said, I want to share some thoughts on this issue for two reasons.
First, the American Charedi leadership has made this very much an American conversation. A little over a week ago, the Moetzes Gedolei HaTorah of America called for a day of prayer and fasting on Yom Kippur Katan because “terrible decrees have been issued against the world of Torah and the yeshivos in our sacred land… our gedolei Torah have already declared unequivocally that any form of army conscription poses a profound spiritual danger.” Last week, three members of the Moetzes – Rav Ahron Feldman, Rav Elya Brudny, and Rav Malkiel Kotler – met with Israel’s ambassador to the U.S., Yechiel Leiter, to express solidarity with the Charedi community in Israel.
But of course, this was not a neutral meeting. Yechiel Leiter is not only a diplomat; he is a rabbi, a religious Zionist, and the father of Moshe Yedidya, a doctor, a father of six, who fell in Gaza on November 10, 2023. His son died serving the State of Israel at the very moment when 60,000 able-bodied Charedi men were refusing to serve. That meeting, then, carried a painful irony: American rabbinic leaders insisting that Torah study alone and not army service protects Klal Yisrael – while speaking to a father who had already given his son for the protection of Klal Yisrael. If they feel compelled to speak, I feel a responsibility to share what I believe is the Torah’s true perspective on this issue.
Second, this week’s parsha speaks directly about fear in war. The Torah uses five different phrases to describe fear in battle: lo tira – do not fear, al yairach levavchem – do not let your hearts grow faint, al tira’u – do not be afraid, al tachpzu – do not panic, al ta’artzu – do not be terrified. Over and over again, we are told: don’t be afraid, because Hashem is with us.
And yet, I can tell you when I was afraid. About a week before Tisha B’Av, Yael and I received a phone call from our daughter Elisheva and our son-in-law Daniel. After his years in Yeshivat HaKotel, Daniel had served one year in the IDF. Recently, his unit was called up. Though living in the U.S. now and under no obligation, Daniel felt strongly that he should join his friends. After all, his whole unit was going – why should he stay behind? Elisheva and Daniel called us to ask what we thought. He was being asked to serve from Tisha B’Av until right before Rosh Hashana. What could I say? Until recently, every week brought more casualties in the IDF. I wasn’t going to battle, but my son-in-law was talking about leaving my daughter and granddaughter here in America and returning to fight. I was afraid.
It’s fascinating when you read the section in the Torah that talks about fear going into battle. First, the Torah repeats again and again in different formulations: do not be afraid. And then, right afterward, the Torah instructs that when the people are about to go to war, the shotrim – the officers – call out and announce that there are three categories of individuals who shall return home: someone who has built a new house but has not dedicated it, someone who has planted a vineyard but has not yet harvested it, and someone who has betrothed a woman but has not yet married her. These men are sent back. Finally, the Torah adds a fourth category: anyone who is afraid should also go home, so that his fear does not demoralize the other soldiers.
On the one hand, the Torah insists: do not be afraid. On the other hand, it seems to recognize exemptions – three specific categories of people whose minds are elsewhere, and then a general category for anyone who is afraid. Two halachot appear side by side: a prohibition against fear in battle, and a list of exemptions for those whose presence might weaken the army.
The Mishnah in Masechet Sotah clarifies the Torah’s verses, with an important qualification: the exemptions apply only to a milchemet reshut – an “optional war,” initiated by the king for political or economic reasons. In such a war, the Torah requires the strongest possible fighting force, free from distraction or fear. But in a defensive war to protect the Jewish people – no exemptions apply. In such a war, everyone must fight, regardless of personal circumstance.
There is some debate in the Mishnah whether the exemptions listed in the Torah might still exist in a milchemet mitzvah, like the war that God commanded the Bnei Yisrael to conquer Eretz Yisrael. But all agree that when our people are under attack – when the very survival of the nation is at stake – there are no exceptions. Even those who are afraid must fight, and even a chatan mai’chedro, even groom must leave his wedding canopy.
This creates a striking tension in the text. The Torah seems to say: don’t be afraid, and if you are afraid, go home. Yet the Mishnah says: in a defensive war, you cannot go home. Even if you are afraid, you must fight. The Rabbis are reading between the lines: the Torah cannot possibly mean that when the enemy threatens our lives, we may excuse ourselves by saying, “I am afraid.” The text itself does not provide a verse to prove this distinction, but Chazal insist that it is obvious. There is no explicit source – because the source is reality. When the nation is in danger, no one is exempt.
What emerges is a profound teaching. The Torah acknowledges that fear is normal in war, and that in an optional war, we send home those who might sap the army’s strength. But in a defensive war, when our very survival is at stake, fear is no excuse. The Torah does not romanticize war. It is messy, frightening, and it tests us not only physically but morally. Next week’s parsha speaks about the eishet yefat to’ar – the non-Jewish woman taken captive by a Jewish soldier in war – and Chazal explain that this law exists only because dibra Torah k’neged yetzer hara, the Torah spoke to human weakness. War can cloud judgment and compromise spiritual strength. It is brutally difficult. And yet, in a defensive war, the Torah declares: everyone must go out. No one is exempt. As the Mishnah in Sotah puts it starkly, afilu chatan mei’chupato – even a groom must leave his wedding canopy and join the battle.
This teaching also raises a question for us here in America. If the Torah’s vision is that everyone must serve in a defensive war, what does that mean for us? Are we meant to send our children from America to fight? Should we ourselves be prepared to go? These are not simple questions, and practically speaking, such an approach may not be realistic given the challenges of distance, citizenship, and family responsibilities. Yet the Torah still demands that we not look away. We are part of Am Yisrael, bound up in its destiny, and Klal Yisrael’s survival must matter to us as if it were our own.
On the very day of the Iran strike, a fighter pilot – a graduate of the Hesder Yeshiva in Sderot – stood beneath his Chuppah. The celebration was joyful, yet tinged with absence: sixty of his fellow soldiers, his squadron brothers, could not attend. That night, after escorting his bride to her parents’ home, he packed his gear and drove to base. Beforehand, he had asked his commander one stark question: “Should I get married – or should I fly?” The answer was firm, almost tender: “Get married. Then call us.” Later he wrote: “Tonight we take part in a sacred mission – a groom from his chamber, a bride from her canopy. This is how our home begins: with strength, courage, and holiness for our people. I take my wife to her parents – and then I go to the squadron.” Afilu chatan mei’chupato.
So what did I tell Elisheva and Daniel? I told them that I was deeply proud of Daniel, that I was nervous, and that ultimately, the decision was his and Elisheva’s to make—and I would support them. Elisheva, with courage, told him he could go, though she was of course nervous. Daniel, who is an assistant Rabbi at Lincoln Square Synagogue and a Judaic studies teacher at SAR, sought permission from his senior Rabbi at Lincoln Square Synagogue and from his principal at SAR. He received their blessing, secured time off from his work, packed his bags, and was ready to fly. And then, two days before he was supposed to leave, his commanding officer called and told him he would not be needed after all. The relief I felt was immense – but so was the pride.
There is much more to say about IDF enlistment, about the responsibility of every citizen, including the Charedim. Since a segment of the Torah community has spoken so forcefully on this issue, I felt it was important to share the Torah’s true voice as I hear it. When it comes to an optional war, there may be space for exemptions, for those who are distracted or afraid or have other considerations. But when it comes to a defensive war, Chazal are unequivocal: there are no exemptions. Everyone goes. Everyone shares the burden. And that is not just a military truth – it is a spiritual truth. The survival of Am Yisrael depends on the willingness of every Jew to stand up when our people are in danger.
This is the Torah’s vision of Jewish responsibility: that in our most frightening moments, we do not turn inward, we do not make excuses – we rise together. Even when war is messy, even when fear is real, even when the cost is heavy. Because when our people are under attack, Klal Yisrael stands as one. And that is what ultimately sustains us – not just the courage of individuals, but the shared conviction that every single Jew has a role to play in defending our people and our future.