“This past year has proven how fragile and precious life can be.” Rabbi Moshe Taragin, educator and author, begins his recent article with these words. It is written during the Hebrew month of Elul, which, this year, began in September. He mourns the death of some of his students who died as Israel’s soldiers in the war on Gaza and reminds us that this is “a period of reflection and rejuvenation.” True, yet traditionally this is above all a period dedicated to moral reckoning and self-improvement, repentance and forgiveness.
The month of Elul precedes the two most solemn events in the Jewish year, Rosh Hashanah, the New Year, and Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. At daybreak, observant Jews recite selihot, special prayers asking for forgiveness. The text lists all kinds of crimes and misdemeanors that humans commit against each other: those committed consciously and unconsciously, under duress and with full intent, by acting and by failing to act. Some of them we cannot even imagine, let alone commit. But the tradition holds that even if we personally do not do such things we are indirectly responsible for other Jews doing them.
Elul is about making peace with fellow humans. Only then, on Yom Kippur, can Jews ask for mercy from God. God may erase the guilt only for transgressions that do not harm other humans. We usually refer to these transgressions as ritual, such as violating the Sabbath, eating forbidden food or desecrating God’s name.
Jewish tradition views this latter kind as particularly grievous. This happens when a Jew commits a reprehensible act and thus creates a negative image not only of him- or herself, not only of the Jews as a collectivity, but of Judaism and therefore of God. Some Jewish sources argue that this kind of transgression cannot be erased altogether.
Rabbi Taragin tells us that his yeshiva, like many others whose students serve in the IDF, is “immersed in sorrow.” This is understandable, given the tragic losses of this past year. But Elul is about self-examination and repentance. Does this (and other) yeshivas, look at the year past and examine if there had been anything that the rabbis taught that may have been morally wrong? Do their students who go to fight in Gaza feel they have anything to repent for? After all, most of their victims have been women and children. And since many believe that they fight not only in the name of all Jews but fulfilling a Torah commandment, is there a chance that some of them are desecrating God’s name? The episode of a crowd of Jews, quite a few wearing kippot, trying to free soldiers arrested on suspicion of sexually assaulting a Palestinian detainee has certainly made many people wonder what exactly this kind of Judaism teaches. A midrash reminds us that “a Torah student who does not internalize Torah wisdom”, i.e., when it is not reflected in his acts, “is worse than an animal carcass”.
In preparing for Rosh Hashanah, we must scrutinize our own thoughts, words and deeds. Besides matters of individual conscience, Jews who take their collective morality to heart face very difficult questions. Is the Zionist enterprise that has caused expulsion, dispossession and death of so many Palestinians a moral and a viable one? Is it not the exclusive Zionist nature of the State of Israel that has fueled hatred for decades leading to its tragic eruption last October 7?
Rabbi Taragin belongs to a stream of Judaism known as dati-leumi, or National Judaism. This stream is sometimes referred to as “the Torah of the Land of Israel.” Prominent traditional rabbis opposing Zionism have viewed National Judaism as more dangerous than the original, i.e., the atheistic variety of Zionism, because religious Zionism is more apt to mislead the innocent appearing as continuation of the Jewish tradition. A number of rabbis affiliated with National Judaism argue that their religion must be recognized as something distinct from traditional Judaism that has developed around the world for nearly two millennia and emphasizes humility, moral sensitivity and harmony with others.
National Judaism clearly proffers different values from traditional Judaism, whether Orthodox or liberal. While some Hasidic Jews overtly censure Israel, a number of rabbinical students from liberal Jewish streams voice anti-Zionist positions. They show empathy for both Israeli and Palestinian victims. Yet National Judaism, which thrives in the West Bank, but finds adherents all over Israel and supporters in many other countries, encourages its followers to serve in Israel’s military and to have no qualms about the morality of the Zionist state and its army. It remains surprising that Rabbi Taragin’s article says nothing about possible ethical issues of his students’ acts in Gaza. His are words of self-righteousness rather than calls for self-examination, which traditional Judaism highlights during the month of Elul. Perhaps, National Judaism has become a new religion that should not be confused with traditional Judaism. After all, in its long history, Judaism has seen more than one religion emerge from within it.
