The cries of ultra-Orthodox leaders echo through Israel's political landscape. Protesters from Jerusalem's "Peleg Yerushalmi" (Jerusalem faction) decry the potential conscription of Haredi youth, even those not engaged in full-time religious study. Yet just over seven decades ago, a markedly different reality prevailed – one that seems almost fantastical by contemporary standards.
This alternate history, brought to light by historian Moshe Ehrenvald, challenges not only the current ultra-Orthodox narrative but also common assumptions held by secular Israelis. Perhaps most surprisingly, it's a history that has been largely erased from the collective memory of the Haredi community itself.
Consider the case of Eliezer Hager, a name that would later become revered in ultra-Orthodox circles as the Admor of the Seret-Vizhnitz Hassidic dynasty. As a young man, Hager enlisted in the Haganah's religious platoon in Haifa. He fought in the brutal battles at Ramat Yohanan during the War of Independence, sustaining a leg wound from enemy fire. Hager even participated in capturing the very hill in Haifa where he would later establish his Hassidic community.
This wasn't a clandestine act of rebellion. Hager's father, Rabbi Baruch Hager – himself the Admor of Seret-Vizhnitz and founder of the Hassidic sect – attended a farewell ceremony for ultra-Orthodox recruits from Haifa, including his own son. This event, held mere weeks before Israel's declaration of independence, was also graced by the presence of Rabbi Avraham Yitzchak Klein, a member of the Agudathh Israel council of Torah sages.
The Hager family's story is far from unique. Rabbi Zelig Heine, grandson of the revered Gur Rebbe, fought to defend Jerusalem. His long beard and sidelocks stood in stark contrast to his military role, a visual representation of worlds colliding. Then there's the tale of Rabbi Yaakov Yeshayah Blau, who served as a soldier despite being the nephew of Amram Blau – a figure renowned for his vehement opposition to both the state and Zionism.
These individual stories reflect broader institutional shifts. At the prestigious Hebron Yeshiva, students staged what amounted to a "rebellion," defying their supervisor's wishes as they sought to join the battle for Jerusalem's defense. Rabbi Meir Chadash, the yeshiva's spiritual guide, ultimately chose to turn a blind eye to the young men volunteering for guard duty. This tacit approval, recounted by Chadash's daughter Shulamit Ezraḥi in a biography of her father, speaks volumes about the complex negotiations between religious duty and national necessity that characterized the period.
The establishment of the yeshiva students battalion, known as "Gdud Tuvia," in May-June 1948 marked a watershed moment. Dozens of ultra-Orthodox youth enlisted, including scions of the community's most respected families. Aaron, son of the aforementioned Chadash, and Yaakov Chaim Sarna, whose father, Yechezkel, headed the Hebron Yeshiva, both joined the ranks. Sarna would later follow in his father's footsteps, becoming the yeshiva's leader. Another recruit, Baruch Ezrahi, would go on to become a prominent rabbi in his own right, heading the Ateret Yisrael Yeshiva and serving on the Degel HaTorah council of Torah sages.
Ehrenvald's meticulously researched book, "Haredim during the Independence War," compiles hundreds of such accounts. Taken together, they paint a picture of a community undergoing a seismic shift. In the span of less than a year, the ultra-Orthodox world moved from near-total rejection of Zionism and the struggle for statehood to active participation in the war effort. While this integration didn't transform the Haredi leadership into ardent Zionists, it represented a profound, if temporary, change in their relationship to the emerging state.
The research also highlights a critical missed opportunity. In its first year of existence, Israel failed to capitalize on this surge of ultra-Orthodox patriotism. The moment passed without establishing a framework for Haredi military service that might have prevented many of the current bitter disputes.
"I too am not exempt"
Perhaps the most striking contrast between past and present emerges in Ehrenvald's recent discovery of wartime writings by Rabbi Ben-Zion Meir Hai Uziel, Israel's first Sephardi chief rabbi. Uziel's stance stands in direct opposition to that of the current Sephardi Chief Rabbi, Yitzhak Yosef.
Where Yosef has declared that yeshiva students – whom he likens to the biblical tribe of Levi – are categorically exempt from military service, Uziel's wartime position was unequivocal. "There is no doubt," Uziel wrote, "that every man in Israel, including priests and Levites, is obligated to enlist... both from the law of God's war which is the inheritance of the land, and from the law of 'do not stand idly by your neighbor's blood.'"
Uziel's wasn't mere rhetoric. Ehrenvald recounts an incident where David Shaltiel, commander of the Haganah's Jerusalem district, caught the chief rabbi carrying heavy stones on Shabbat to fortify the city. When questioned, Uziel's response was simple yet profound, "I have ruled for many that this fortification work in Jerusalem on Shabbat is a matter of saving lives, and I too am not exempt."
The establishment of the yeshiva students battalion, known as "Gdud Tuvia," in May-June 1948 marked a watershed moment. Dozens of ultra-Orthodox youth enlisted, including scions of the community's most respected families. Aaron, son of the aforementioned Rabbi Chadash, and Yaakov Chaim Sarna, whose father headed the Hebron Yeshiva, both joined the ranks. Sarna would later follow in his father's footsteps, becoming the yeshiva's leader. Another recruit, Baruch Ezrachi, would go on to become a prominent rabbi in his own right, heading the Ateret Yisrael Yeshiva and serving on the Degel HaTorah council of Torah sages.
The chasm between the ultra-Orthodox community's wartime participation and the modern resistance to military service is stark. Ehrenvald attributes much of this shift to changes in leadership dynamics. He points to Rabbi Yosef Tzvi Dushinsky, a prominent ultra-Orthodox leader in 1948, whose "clear leadership" commanded widespread respect and faced little internal challenge.
Ehrenvald notes, "Today, the ultra-Orthodox public is enormous, and its political and religious leaders are divided and not necessarily coordinated." This fragmentation, he argues, has led to a situation where "heads of streams and yeshivas care primarily for their own institutions" rather than providing unified guidance for the community as a whole.
Dushinsky's wartime leadership was transformative. He represented ultra-Orthodox interests to the British authorities, met with United Nations mediator Folke Bernadotte, and presented the Haredi perspective to the Peel Commission. Crucially, Dushinsky led his community toward a little-known agreement on partial conscription of yeshiva students.
This landmark accord, signed in Jerusalem in the Hebrew month of Iyar 5708 (May 1948), would later be replicated in Tel Aviv and Haifa. Its signatories read like a who's who of the ultra-Orthodox world: alongside Dushinsky were both of Israel's chief rabbis and a pantheon of respected Haredi leaders. These included Sarna of the Hebron Yeshiva, Rabbi Eliezer Finkel of the Mir Yeshiva, Rabbi Isser Zalman Meltzer, head of the Etz Chaim Yeshiva, halachic scholar Rabbi Yechiel Michel Tikochinsky, Rabbi Yaakov Moshe Charlap of Merkaz Harav Yeshiva, and Rabbi Yaakov Chanoch Sankovitz of the Sefas Emes Yeshiva.
When asked to explain the stark difference between the wartime ultra-Orthodox leadership and today's, Ehrenvald points to the shadow cast by the Holocaust. "The memory of the Holocaust, which some rabbis and their families experienced personally, deepened their awareness of existential danger," he explains. "It also reinforced their understanding that a Jewish state would allow for the rebuilding of the world of Torah that had been destroyed."
By contrast, Ehrenvald sees today's ultra-Orthodox leadership engaging in "casuistry in a way that was never done before." He cites troubling examples: the Sephardi chief rabbi suggesting mass emigration in response to conscription, and Rabbi Moshe Maya of the Shas Council of Torah Sages characterizing military service as a religious transgression. "It's as if they don't see themselves as part of this country," Ehrenvald laments.
When Agudathh Israel denounced evasion
The extent of ultra-Orthodox participation in 1947-48 is nothing short of remarkable. Rabbi Yosef Kahaneman, the esteemed head of the Ponevezh Yeshiva who had rebuilt the institution in Bnei Brak after the Holocaust, attended assemblies of religious and ultra-Orthodox soldiers in Haifa. Hundreds of residents from Bnei Brak, now a bastion of ultra-Orthodox life, joined the ranks of the Haganah.
Perhaps most striking was the participation of Gur Hassidim, members of one of the most insular Hassidic sects. A unit of Gur Hassidim – instantly recognizable in their distinctive attire of long coats, trousers tucked into socks, long sidelocks, and beards – fought alongside secular comrades in the Alexandroni Brigade. Twenty-five of these Hassidic soldiers joined the religious company of the 33rd Battalion, participating in some of the war's fiercest battles.
The price paid by this ultra-Orthodox unit was steep. Most of its members fell on Dec. 28, 1948, in a bloody encounter with Egyptian forces at Iraq al-Manshiyya. By war's end, about 20 of the company's casualties – nearly its entire strength – hailed from Bnei Brak, a toll that would be unimaginable in the current political climate.
The mobilization extended beyond the ultra-Orthodox heartland. Members of Poalei Agudath Israel living in frontier settlements answered the call to arms. Recruits from the religious kibbutz of Chofetz Chaim bolstered the defenses of nearby Nitzanim. In May 1948, they participated in operations to capture Arab villages in the south and provided crucial support to embattled Kibbutz Negba.
Even ultra-Orthodox youth still in the diaspora were seen as potential recruits. In June 1948, the European center of Poalei Agudath Israel in Paris issued a clarion call to Jewish youth across the continent: "Come to the land, take up the rifle and help drive the enemy from the soil of Israel! Enlist as our brothers do – the youth in the Yishuv."
This martial spirit extended to the most unlikely of places – the internment camps of Cyprus, where thousands of Jewish refugees were detained by the British. There, Agudath Israel members – comprising about 6% of the camp population – participated in clandestine military training conducted by Haganah and Palmach operatives. These devout Jews declared themselves fighters for the nascent state, even if they didn't yet see in it the fulfillment of messianic prophecy.
The transition wasn't without its tensions. Ultra-Orthodox leaders engaged in negotiations with military authorities over issues of religious accommodation – kashrut, modesty standards, and conditions that would allow their young men to serve without compromising their religious principles. Yet unlike now, these discussions didn't lead to wholesale rejection of military service. Instead, even as they pressed for specific conditions, ultra-Orthodox organizations began mobilizing their members.
In January 1948, PAI leaders Binyamin Mintz and Rabbi Kalman Kahana met with Haganah commander Yosef Yizraeli, and later with David Ben-Gurion himself, to demand a mechanism ensuring appropriate service conditions for their constituents. But they didn't wait for full compliance before acting. Haredi organizations began their own recruitment efforts, even as negotiations continued. Kahana himself lodged a complaint with Yisrael Galili shortly before the state's establishment, arguing that ultra-Orthodox recruits were being limited to rear-echelon positions in Petah Tikva and Bnei Brak.
The grassroots enthusiasm for participation was palpable. As early as December 1947, the Tel Aviv branch of Agudath Israel published a proclamation calling on members "to recognize the responsibility of the hour" and present themselves for the military census, "to ensure the conditions that will allow our full participation in security service." A public notice from the party that same month declared that "the entire Yishuv" must be "alert for extensive preparation and defense against rioters and attackers. May God strengthen the hands of Israel's defenders standing in battle."
In early January, after consulting with leading rabbis, Agudath Israel's central committee took the extraordinary step of declaring a religious obligation for those aged 17-25 to report for national service, and for those aged 26-46 to join civil defense units. The organization didn't mince words, denouncing "any kind of evasion" in the strongest terms. Their proclamation called on youth to "integrate into the Yishuv's defense system and maintain the purity of action and the sanctity of the camp, as instructed by the great Torah scholars."
The justification for this mobilization was stark: "The hand of murderers threatens anyone who bears the name of Israel. Therefore, no man of Israel shall be exempt from defending life and property." In a sign of the times, rabbis delivered sermons in dozens of Jerusalem synagogues, emphasizing the religious duty to enlist.
The first wave of organized ultra-Orthodox recruitment unfolded with a fervor that's hard to imagine nowadays. HaYoman, Agudath Israel's Jerusalem bulletin, captured the moment in near-messianic terms: "Today, the first organized groups of hundreds of Jerusalem's young men, faithful to God's word, are going out to duty within special brigades... Our goal is not only to care for kashrut issues, but for a higher purpose: to restore to our people the original and ancient version we once had in our war with our enemies. These young men, with their courage and actions, will sanctify the name of Heaven. Through them, the tradition of the Hasmoneans who fought in the name of God and in the name of His Torah will be renewed."
The enthusiasm was so great that it sometimes outpaced official policy. Boys younger than 17 presented themselves for enlistment, defying their parents' wishes and the official age requirements. Moshe Schoenfeld, a leader of Agudath Israel's youth movement, penned an impassioned article in May 1948 titled "Recruitment for Zion." He exhorted Agudath Israel youth worldwide to make aliyah and enlist, challenging them: "Will your brothers go out to war while you sit here?"
As the conflict intensified, long-standing social barriers began to crumble. A report from Jerusalem's Mea Shearim neighborhood – long a bastion of anti-Zionist sentiment – painted a surreal picture: "These days... the barriers separating the neighborhood's various residents are almost disappearing. Everyone is taking part in guarding and defense, including Agudath Israel members. Only Neturei Karta adherents abstain from defense activities, and they even interfere... The number of those with long sidelocks and beards among the defense participants is large... Even the old women, who until a few months ago saw Zionism as 'treif,' now accompany the young men going out to fulfill their duty with heartfelt blessings."
A vivid account published in Davar Yerushalayim in August 1948 crystallized this transformation. It described an ultra-Orthodox soldier manning a machine gun position on a Friday night, his religious garb a stark contrast to his military role. As bullets whistled overhead, the young man calmly adjusted his ritual attire and quipped to his comrades, "Let's sing them Shabbat tunes, but tunes until their ears ring." The article concluded with his secular commander's admiration.
This widespread participation wasn't limited to party-affiliated recruitment. Many ultra-Orthodox Jews in Jerusalem enlisted independently. In the religious neighborhoods of Kiryat Shmuel and Sha'arei Hesed, a unit of about 40 Haredi men fought under the command of Yehoshua Vereker. Yosef Salzberg-Ami, the sector commander, marveled at their bravery, noting that they fought in their distinctive kapotes (long coats). Salzberg-Ami particularly praised Vereker's courage and revealed that the rabbi had given his men permission to eat and fight even on Yom Kippur – with rabbinic approval, of course.
The contrast with the current situation is stark. Where now the prospect of arresting ultra-Orthodox draft evaders raises fears of riots, in 1948 such measures were met with widespread approval – even enthusiasm – within the Haredi community itself. Ehrenvald cites a public notice from Agudath Israel's bulletin on March 8, 1948, issuing a stern warning to those who had yet to report for duty: they must do so by March 11, or face "severe measures."
This sentiment is further corroborated by a remarkable contemporary source. The diary of Rabbi Moshe Yekutiel Halpert, who served as the mukhtar (community leader) of Jerusalem's Beit Yisrael neighborhood, offers a vivid snapshot of the era's mood. Halpert recounts an incident on May 11, 1948:
"At 6:30 AM, a curfew was declared in the Beit Yisrael neighborhood. A military vehicle from the 'Haganah,' with soldiers and a loudspeaker, announced a house-to-house search... to look for army evaders. The entire crowd received the announcement with enormous joy and applause... The curfew ended at 9:30 AM. The Jewish soldiers behaved very politely, as befitting Hebrew soldiers."
Halpert's account goes on to reveal a telling detail. Speaking with one of the commanders, he learned that the soldiers had been given explicit orders: they were not to enter synagogues, religious schools, or yeshivas to remove potential recruits. This nuanced approach, balancing military necessity with respect for religious institutions, stands in marked contrast to the blanket exemptions demanded by some ultra-Orthodox leaders now.
Ehrenvald argues that rekindling this spirit of participation will require significant changes on both sides of the secular-religious divide. He points to recent controversies as examples of how trust has eroded. One particularly contentious issue was the delay in adding the traditional Hebrew acronym for השם יקום דמו ("May God avenge his blood") to the tombstone of Captain Yisrael Yudkin, a Chabad Hassidic soldier who fell in the Gaza Strip.
"What message does this send to an ultra-Orthodox young man who wants to enlist?" Ehrenvald asks rhetorically. "Why should he serve in an army that opposes inscribing such a fundamentally Jewish sentiment, one that's widely accepted in traditional communities?"
He's equally critical of some actions by secular groups, such as demonstrations near ultra-Orthodox yeshivas. "Young Haredim who witness such events ask themselves – will these be my commanders in the army?" Ehrenvald notes. "It's counterproductive and only reinforces their hesitation to serve."
The historian advocates for a more accommodating approach. "For a significant number of ultra-Orthodox recruits to join the IDF, we need to fundamentally change our approach," he argues. "This means creating separate units for them, with a different organizational culture, no female soldiers, and robust provisions for prayer, religious study, and strict adherence to Jewish dietary laws. It's not an insurmountable challenge."
Ehrenvald is optimistic that with the right approach, the ultra-Orthodox community could once again become a wellspring of motivated recruits. "If we can rebuild trust," he posits, "I believe we'll see a significant increase in the number of Haredi enlistees. And based on historical precedent, I'm confident they'll prove to be excellent soldiers – just as they were in the War of Independence, and as the small contingent serving today continues to demonstrate."
