Posted on 07/28/25
Religious identity stretches across many features and dimensions. Sometimes, the most dangerous breakdowns occur when one element of religion becomes dominant at the expense of others. Identity becomes lopsided—fixated on a single strand while other vital threads are ignored.
Too Holy to Care
The collapse of the Jewish empire during the Mikdash era was one such example. Our religious experience became excessively ritualized. The Mikdash stood tall, and the overt presence of Hashem was palpable. Within this context, we became addicted to rituals and mitzvot, while the moral spirit of Torah was pushed aside. We hid behind korbanot rites, ignoring the theft, deception, and corruption that hollowed our society.
The Nevi’im censured us not for our mitzvot and korbanot, but for the hypocrisy of excelling in ceremonial piety while neglecting ethical conduct. They didn’t reject ritual—they rejected the illusion that ritual alone could sustain a society rotten at its core.
The Judaism of the First Mikdash became too “holy.” It lived in the Mikdash and in sacred rites, while ignoring the everyday decencies and moral obligations that bind one person to another. It lived in heaven but didn’t make it down to earth.
This hypocrisy led to the destruction of the First Mikdash and our first exile. We never fully recovered from that collapse. The Second Mikdash never gained proper momentum and ultimately collapsed four hundred years later—undone by ideological fracture and social discord. When that second Mikdash fell, we were cast into a long, two-thousand-year galut from which we are only now beginning to emerge. This week on Tisha B’Av, we commemorate those losses.
The downward spiral of Jewish history began when Judaism became too removed—when rituals and korbanot replaced moral spirit. Torah and religion remained suspended in heaven, and we failed to draw them down to earth—to anchor them in daily life and build a society rooted in morality, compassion, and social justice.
Thousands of years later, we face the inverse situation. For many Jews, religion and Jewish identity have been reduced to moral behavior and ethical conduct. Loftier and more eternal values—our Brit with Hashem, the sanctity of Torah and mitzvot, and the transcendent calling of Jewish history—have faded into the background. Unfortunately, this current imbalance has led many Jews to be harshly critical of our current battle for survival.
Battling Darkness Without Letting It In
We are currently entangled in what feels like an unending war to defend our land and our people. This is a morally just war—a war of survival against enemies who openly seek our annihilation. We fight barbarians who have no regard for life—neither ours nor that of the civilians they falsely claim to represent. We have tried—though not always successfully—to spare civilian lives, but given the circumstances and the extent to which Hamas has embedded itself within the civilian population, this has become increasingly difficult.
Despite the immense challenges of urban warfare, great efforts have been made to minimize civilian casualties—resulting in a civilian-to-combatant casualty ratio that, while still tragic, compares favorably to other recent conflicts.
Despite the moral justification of this war, it raises serious moral complications and questions. Many innocents in Gaza are caught in the crossfire, and their death and suffering must weigh heavily on our conscience. October 7th left us with no other option—but that doesn’t erase the suffering and destruction we have indirectly caused.
Despite the moral complexities and sharp divisions, most of Israel remains united that this war was justly launched and fought with moral responsibility. We have made costly mistakes but have never engaged in wanton attacks on innocent civilians.
A Crater Between Brothers
On the broader international scene, though, as the humanitarian situation in Gaza has deteriorated, much of world opinion has swung against us.
Among those voicing harsh criticism of the war are many Jews who believe it has crossed profound moral red lines. Their opposition goes beyond strategic debate or military policy—they mount a fierce challenge to Israel’s very defense. In their view, continuing the war betrays the Jewish mission.
They argue that it provokes global outrage, causes a chilul Hashem, and desecrates the sacred values of Judaism. Worse still, they say it fuels antisemitism and threatens the Jewish future rather than securing it.
This form of criticism—aimed not at tactics but at Israel’s fundamental right to defend herself—has left many Israelis deeply disillusioned. How could they not “get it”? How could they look past the massacre of October 7th and question our basic right to protect our people? This painful moral divide has opened a growing crater between Israel and parts of the Jewish world.
It would be simplistic—and unfair—to dismiss these voices of criticism as un-Jewish. Moral spirit lies at the heart of Jewish identity. Outrage at perceived injustice flows from the legacy of Avraham Avinu, who challenged Divine judgment, and from the Nevi’im who condemned corruption during the First Mikdash era. Many Jews who denounce this war believe they are acting in the finest Jewish tradition: fighting for justice and defending human dignity.
Intellectual honesty demands that we resist the urge to demonize or dismiss them as self-loathing Jews. In their minds they are not outsiders to our tradition. From their perspective they are passionately committed to Jewish values—even if from our perspective their conclusions are misguided.
Conscience and Covenant
But acknowledging their sincerity is not the same as endorsing their understanding of Judaism. Though they speak in Judaism’s name, they reveal only one facet of our vast and intricate identity. Once again, a partial aspect of Judaism has overshadowed the full spectrum of our values. Is Jewish destiny only about building an ethical city of moral spirit? Or is there something greater, something eternal?
We believe in the Biblical prophecies that surround this land and our people. The ethical city we strive for cannot be shaped by human hands alone, nor can it be forged anywhere but Israel. Our mission is twofold yet seamlessly intertwined: to settle the sacred land of Hashem and, through the unfolding of His presence here, to awaken moral spirit across the world. Without Israel, Jewish destiny is hollow. Defending Israel is defending Jewish destiny.
Tragically, the world today lies broken. As we struggle to resettle the land of destiny, we face profound moral complexities. We strive to delicately balance these demands, holding fast to two pillars of Jewish destiny: moral spirit and divine mandate. Jewish destiny is not found solely in humanity’s moral spirit—it is anchored in heaven, woven into the prophecies that surround this land.
War and Prejudice
There is a second, deeper disagreement between those who view Israel’s war as a betrayal of Judaism and those who see it as a defense of Jewish destiny. Many Jewish opponents of the war oppose it so vehemently because, in their eyes, it has provoked a surge of antisemitism. Without the war—and the moral dilemmas it has stirred—they believe that antisemitism would remain dormant or fringe. From their perspective, defending the State of Israel has backfired, fueling hatred and endangering the Jewish people.
But is that true? Did the war create antisemitism? History tells a different story. Antisemitism is as old as time. Those who seek to hate Jews will always find a cause, a crisis, or an ideology to justify their fury. Antisemites didn’t wait for a war; they were marching and raging against us in the hours after the October 7th massacre—before a single tank crossed into Gaza.
The ultimate answer to antisemitism is not a utopian culture of tolerance and mutual understanding, an illusion shattered by Nazi Germany. The real answer is Jewish sovereignty—a homeland where Jews live freely and defend themselves. Protecting that homeland is not what fuels antisemitism. It is what defeats it.
The writer is a rabbi at the Hesder pre-military Yeshivat Har Etzion/Gush, with YU ordination and an MA in English literature. His books include To Be Holy but Human: Reflections Upon My Rebbe, HaRav Yehuda Amital, available at mtaraginbooks.com.