The ongoing debate over whether Haredi men must serve in the IDF is often framed as a conflict of fairness, economics, or national security. However, after examining the religious and social nuances of this crisis, I believe the fundamental error lies not with the Haredi lifestyle, but our own insistence on questioning it. While the secular world demands a uniform standard of contribution, this demand overlooks the Haredi community’s way of life, a path that is no less valid for being different. Those who insist on the Haredi draft argue that Israeli society is witnessing a failure of religious pluralism; however, the failure is actually in this insistence on claiming the right to judge another’s way of life.

This is not a popular sentiment generally, especially within our Solomon Fellowship cohort. In one of our Great Ideas seminars, we discussed a podcast between Tikvah’s own Jonathan Silver and Rabbi Yehoshua Pfeffer on the subject of Haredi military service in the IDF. Many of my fellow participants felt it was fundamentally unfair that one part of the country is fighting for their lives while others are learning in Yeshiva without bearing the same risk.

While the charge of unfairness is understandable, those who voice it do not make attempts to understand how Haredi society views the issue.

For one, while some Haredi Jews may oppose being governed by a secular state or refrain from singing Hatikvah, there is nonetheless a widespread sense of care and responsibility among Jews for one another. Regardless of their stance on the State, they care for their brothers and sisters across the secular-Orthodox spectrum—praying for them, volunteering for them, and in some cases, sacrificing their sons for them.

Secondly, to most Haredim, the army is not an agenda-less institution. When they see the IDF, they see an organization whose goal is to integrate them into secular society. Their resistance is therefore not necessarily rooted in opposition to military service itself; halakha recognizes the principle of pikuach nefesh, and Haredim are not hesitant to break Shabbat to save lives. Like all Jews, Haredim have often faced situations where tradition and survival seemed mutually exclusive, and have consistently chosen preservation of life.

These tensions are reflected not solely in attitudes toward military service, but also in the economic structure of Haredi life. Regarding welfare, some families rely on government assistance while the father learns Torah full-time; this is a deliberate lifestyle choice. Similarly, many Haredi families in Israel work and raise large families; even with jobs, many in these communities struggle to support such large families without aid. The Haredi education system makes it difficult to enter college, and without army service, many career paths remain closed. A secretary’s or teacher’s salary simply cannot cover the needs of a very large family, which means many would require welfare regardless of their employment status.

Critics often point out that there are Haredi men who are not learning in Yeshiva full-time, but are still living on welfare. I believe this may be true, but generally, when men are no longer learning in Yeshiva, they seek employment. This may not be comparable to higher-paying positions in secular Israeli society, and it may not cover their family’s basic expenses. Thus, they must still rely on state welfare; indeed, welfare systems are designed to provide exactly this kind of support. Even with welfare, though, most Haredi families do not live lives of luxury, often raising many children in small apartments. But these are the sacrifices they choose to make to live in the Land of Israel according to their interpretation of halakha.

Even if one accepts the internal Haredi perspective, ensuring adequate manpower remains a national predicament in Israel. For the army to function, more soldiers are needed. The Haredim make up about 13% of Israel’s population, and that share is growing due to their large families. But this raises a more practical question: Does the army actually want Haredim who do not wish to be there? In secular Israeli society, if someone wants to avoid the army badly enough, it is easy enough to do so, and that is no accident. Running an army with people who have no desire to be there is antithetical to military culture and will negatively impact military performance.

Some critics point out that many Haredim who claim to study fulltime also hold jobs and pay taxes (around 22% of those under 26, according to The Times of Israel), drawing a salary while avoiding army service. Yet this criticism reveals a contradiction: the same voices that condemn Haredim for being a drain on national resources are upset when these men join the workforce and improve their financial standing. If working Haredim are still resented, the issue seems less about fairness or economics than about discomfort with their way of life—raising the question of what kind of reform is actually feasible.

In my opinion, the best option would be the government cracking down to ensure Haredim are actually learning as they claim. Creating accommodations in the IDF for Haredim who do not want to serve is difficult and has shown uneven success, but enforcing standards within the Yeshiva system is something Haredi leaders would be hard-pressed to resist. These rabbis would, in effect, have to admit they are comfortable with young men who misrepresent themselves (lie), and with those who do not truly learn as they claim.

Beyond policy, this debate raises a deeper question about religious pluralism and judgment. As an observant Jew, I value Torah and believe prayer is vital. While I might not choose a life where full-time learning is the only option for men—aligning more, perhaps, with figures such as Rabbi Pfeffer, who maintain a strict halakhic life while participating in academic and political worlds—I respect the principle of “Shivim Panim L’Torah” (there are seventy faces to the Torah). I do not believe I have the right to judge how other communities choose to live a life of Torah.

I encountered one model of this approach in an unexpected place. When applying to seminaries, I looked at both Religious Zionist and more open-minded Haredi institutions. I was deeply impressed by the dean of a Religious Zionist seminary; when we discussed Israeli army service, she explained her view but noted that they also employ a Haredi woman whose husband does not serve. They include her in school panels to ensure her perspective is heard. The dean emphasized that while they may not agree, those views are valid and worthy of respect. Ultimately, that is what I find most valuable: the ability to disagree deeply without losing respect for one another.

Perhaps the Haredim are not wrong. Maybe we are the ones asking a naive question.