The Third Identity (Column 500)

With God’s help

Disclaimer: This post was translated from Hebrew using AI (ChatGPT 5 Thinking), so there may be inaccuracies or nuances lost. If something seems unclear, please refer to the Hebrew original or contact us for clarification.

This coming Shabbat, an essay of mine—based on Lesson 10 in the series “Innovation, Conservatism, and Tradition”—will be distributed in synagogues and online, and will also be included in the Makor Rishon newspaper. Following that lesson, several listeners asked me to publish and circulate a summary because of its importance and timeliness. The festive column before you—the 500th on this site—is a refined summary of that lesson.

The column appears here in the usual site format, but I have also attached a PDF of the designed booklet beforehand, so anyone who wishes can read it there or of course print it.

I would be grateful if each of you would share the essay (as a link and/or as a file) far and wide by any means—Facebook, WhatsApp, and other media. One can agree that this discussion is very important and necessary, regardless of the identity one chooses for oneself and regardless of agreement with my claims.

Naturally, everyone is invited to respond in the comments at the end, as is customary on our site.

Click here to download the booklet

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הורד

The Third Identity

An Ideological–Political Manifesto (but decidedly not partisan) on Identity and Ideology

• Why does the modern-religious identity have no political expression, even though it has quite a few supporters?
• Is this connected to the fact that the line dividing camps in the religious world is drawn precisely on the question of one’s attitude to Zionism?
• Is that line still relevant?

Prologue

Not long ago, an unknown chapter of The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry was found in the Bodleian Library in Oxford. It tells of the Little Prince’s visit to the State of Jacob on the ten-thousandth Independence Day of its founding. “What are you arguing about all the time?” he asked in wonder when he saw groups of gray-haired people arguing on every street corner. On the clothes of half of them was a black emblem, and on the other half—a white one. “We, the black-haired and the white-haired, are divided over whether the State of Jacob should be established,” they answered. “But it has existed for ten thousand years already, and it seems you all relate to it in exactly the same way,” the Prince wondered. The blacks explained to him: “No one is willing to betray the education they received, the foundational values of their group, and the role models on which they were raised. As blacks we are obligated to oppose the whites,” and of course, the whites said the reverse.

Over the years—the Prince discovered—after everyone’s hair, black and white alike, faded and turned gray, hesitant voices of citizens occasionally arose suggesting they define themselves differently. Not as “blacks” or “whites” (since in practice there were no longer such people), but as “greens.” This is no wonder, he told himself, for after the State of Jacob has been established, it is far more important to care for vegetation than for the hair color of its citizens. But this, he learned, greatly frightened the elders of both the black and white communities. Both feared that the new and sensible idea would take root in citizens’ hearts and many would abandon the sacred path of generations. “The Holy One, blessed be He, placed counsel in the heart of each,” and “they all agreed as one” (Megillah 9a): instead of abolishing the futile polemics between blacks and whites, they decided to intensify them even more. That way, every citizen would understand the importance of clinging to their original identity, black or white, and fight for it without betraying their values and their camp. The blacks would adhere even more to their blackness and the whites to their whiteness, and thus the green identity would be cast aside in a corner as an unwanted utensil, with no need to fight it. An external enemy, they all understood, silences every internal quarrel and rebellion.

Immediately, stirring anthems were composed, platforms and ideas were updated, campaign materials were prepared, soldiers were enlisted, and the battle commenced. The blacks explained that the whites were accursed heretics, and the whites declared that the blacks were absolute apikorsim. Both sides founded parties, formed coalitions, shouted in the squares, waved “the teachings of our rabbis in which we were raised,” and so on. Needless to say, the success of the new-old policy was tremendous: the green thoughts that had sprouted here and there in people’s hearts disappeared entirely. Many citizens perhaps remained “green” at home but were black-and-white in public, and the city of Shushan rejoiced and was glad. This of course astonished our little prince, for the more he listened to both sides and their arguments, the more he understood that most of the population on both sides, deep down, actually identified with green thinking—and that there was, in fact, no significant difference between the platforms of the black and white parties (apart from the direction in which the money flowed).

But very soon it was made clear to him that his innocent questions interested no one. Each side continued to explain to him, with deep inner conviction and with a touch of disdain for anyone who “doesn’t grasp the spirit of things,” that the other side (the “other side” – the white, or the black) was betraying the tradition, and that they were not prepared to betray the values in which they had been educated and the role models who bear the torch of faith—black or white—as handed down on Mount Kilimanjaro thousands of years ago. And they certainly would not do so in the name of a modern, fashionable notion with no clear “Kilimanjaro” source: the color green. “What is the color green anyway? It’s nothing but light black or dark transparent. On our film there is only black or white,” they kept telling him.

In the end, the Prince understood he had nothing to look for on this strange star, and he flew off in his shattered plane toward more reasonable planets: that of the drunkard, of the old king, or of the lamplighter…

The Watershed Line

And now to the moral.

The watershed line that has divided the religious community in Israel for over a hundred years is the Zionist vs. anti-Zionist line. The ideological and sociological divisions within the religious community occur around this line: parties, ideas, arguments, budgets, communities, educational institutions, yeshivot, marriages, newspapers, literature, and more are all split between the tags “religious-Zionist” and “Haredi.” Around this line disputes rage, parties are built, and fundamental religious identities are defined.

But it is not hard to see that this line has little practical meaning today. There is currently no significant difference between religious-Zionists and Haredim in their attitude toward the state, apart from reciting Hallel on Independence Day and the color of one’s kippah. Everyone wants the state to succeed (perhaps for different reasons), and everyone participates fully in its governance. Certainly none of the mainstream Haredi stream longs for its destruction or failure. Even clear differences such as military conscription or attitudes toward the judicial system have been narrowing in recent years, with Haredim already enlisting and participating themselves in the legal system. And in general, it is worth reminding ourselves every so often of the happy fact that the state has existed for some time, and therefore the debate that divided the religious community roughly a century ago—whether to establish it or not—or even whether to support or oppose it, is anachronistic. Today it has almost no practical implications.

If we try to detach from the surrounding noise and think for a moment about what truly occupies us—and what should occupy us—these days, we quickly reach the conclusion that the main questions under public discussion in the religious community, the principal disputes that cut across us, are not about Zionism, but about issues of religious liberalism, the place of religion in the public sphere, and modernity. The questions currently debated in public and political arenas concern women’s equality, the Western Wall framework, conditions of marriage, the Chief Rabbinate (its monopoly over conversion, marriage, and kashrut), religious coercion, the policies of the rabbinical courts, attitudes toward LGBTQ people, individual rights, the attitude toward the foreigner and toward other Jewish streams, and the like.

Thus, the difference between the two communities—Haredi and religious-Zionist—in their attitude to Zionism has lost most of its significance. The differences between them today are mainly vis-à-vis modernity, not Zionism. And yet, paradoxically, the identity watershed that still divides the religious community is precisely the line between religious-Zionists and Haredim, not the question of modernity. This situation leads to an even more absurd result. As noted, with respect to modernity there are broad, deep public disagreements, and it seems as though these are waged between Haredim and religious-Zionism. But on the ground you will hardly find any difference between the conduct of Haredi parties and that of religious-Zionist representatives. To see this, I suggest a thought experiment: think of an issue that came before the Knesset in recent years where there was a difference between how the Religious-Zionism party (by its current name) voted and how a Haredi party voted. Even if you find such a random example, I suspect you will find no fewer examples distinguishing Degel HaTorah from Agudat Yisrael or Shas, or Belz from Gur. No wonder, then, that proposals occasionally surface for the Religious-Zionism party to fully join the Haredim.

So where and how does the public debate in the religious community about liberalism and modernity find political expression? It turns out that modern-religious positions currently have no political expression.[1] All the existing religious parties act in a Haredi manner. Needless to say, this is absurd. Not only is the existing identity watershed (Zionism) irrelevant; the relevant identity line (modernity) doesn’t exist—at least not politically. Has the time not come to wake up and update the dividing lines between religious identities in our day?

Definitions

To understand the root absurdity, we must step back and begin with the concepts. Under the label “Haredi” shelter two distinct ideas: opposition to Zionism and opposition to modernity. Therefore, at least conceptually, non-Haredi religiosity ought to be divided into two subgroups: religious-Zionist and modern-Orthodox. Although modern-religious Jews are usually Zionists, it is important to understand that, at least conceptually, these are two different ideas. Modern-religious identity can be non-Zionist, and religious-Zionism can be conservative (i.e., non-modern).

One can hardly deny the connection between Zionism and modern influences (the Spring of Nations, the right and aspiration to sovereignty and national expression, and perhaps also democratic values). Yet the idea and ideology of religious-Zionism, at least as expressed today, are usually grounded in internal Torah considerations: collective responsibility of Israel, the mitzvah to settle and conquer the Land, bringing the Messiah (atchalta de-ge’ulah), and so forth. There is almost no central religious-Zionist rabbi or thinker who argues against Haredi anti-Zionism in the name of modern values (How can you deny modern values like nationhood, democracy, etc.?!), and almost no one—certainly among today’s rabbinic and political leadership of religious-Zionism—bases his own commitment to Zionism on modern values. Therefore, religious-Zionism does not necessarily presuppose modernity. Conversely—and this may surprise you—modern-religious identity need not be Zionist. There are (mainly abroad, but also in Israel) observant Jews who oppose Zionism (more precisely: oppose a secular state) yet hold modern, liberal views. Conceptually, then, these are independent ideas.

On this simple analysis we would expect non-Haredi religiosity to comprise two groups: (1) religious-Zionists, who support Zionism on a religious (not modern) basis. These can of course be conservative in their approach to halakhah and tradition. (2) modern-religious Jews,[2] who advocate liberal and modern values and a significantly greater adaptation of halakhah to changing reality. Commitment to these values does not require a Zionist position, and it is not necessarily grounded exclusively in halakhic and Torah-based arguments. We saw that the religious-Zionist (with the hyphen) supports Zionism on religious grounds, and in that sense is not necessarily modern, since his Zionist values are not based on external (modern) values but on Torah considerations. Likewise, we saw that the modern-religious person is willing to act also outside that framework, and therefore even if he is a Zionist it is not necessarily on Torah grounds. He could also be both at once: think there is a halakhic obligation to settle and conquer the Land, and that cooperation with the secular is not at odds with halakhah and its spirit. He need not deny those Torah values. But as modern, he can adopt Zionism independently of them. In such a case, his Zionism and his religiosity are independent (he drops the hyphen between Zionism and religiosity). Unlike the conservative religious-Zionist, the religious Zionist (without a hyphen) is both religious and Zionist, but his Zionism is not necessarily religious.

It is interesting to see a reflection of this approach precisely in a common Haredi witticism attributed to the Ponevezher Rav. He explained to his students that he does not say Hallel or Tachanun on Independence Day—exactly like Ben-Gurion (who also did not say Hallel or Tachanun on Independence Day). People take this as a joke, but to me it was a serious statement: he was not opposed to Zionism; he was a “secular” Zionist like Ben-Gurion (and like me). He is not a religious-Zionist, but he is both religious and Zionist. From this we may infer that such a stance is open even to Haredim (i.e., those who oppose religious-Zionism—with the hyphen).

The modern-religious person, whether Zionist or not, is primarily defined by a commitment to modern values, some of which were listed above. Despite being religious, he can oppose coercion and support freedom of religion and freedom from religion, civil marriage for all citizens, and so on. For the modern-religious, a general moral and human foundation suffices to validate values and obligate adherence to them. In his view one need not find a Torah source for every value. Modern religiosity is also more willing to take reality’s constraints and contemporary conceptions into account when shaping its life and beliefs—and at times even halakhah. Needless to say, such positions must be shown not to contradict religious conceptions. Sometimes that is hard to see, and the various shades of conservatism play skillfully on this religious sentiment, causing us to conflate liberalism with “lightness.” But this is incorrect. A Jew faithful to halakhah and Torah can at the same time uphold modern values—and even be a secular Zionist. This is not trivial, but on conceptual and halakhic analysis it can be shown. Because of the complexity, this is not the place to elaborate (I have done so elsewhere).

What Happens in Practice?

In contrast to other parts of world Jewry (especially in the U.S.), in Israel the idea of modern Orthodoxy has not truly taken root. All non-Haredi Judaism here defines itself under the heading “religious-Zionism” or “national-religious,” and modern-religious identity is not placed on the table as a third alternative. Modern religiosity is considered a faction within the national-religious stream, but defining non-Haredi religiosity as “religious-Zionism” is partial—and thus mistaken and misleading. Under what we call “religious-Zionism” are concealed the two ideological currents we encountered: religious-Zionism (which in principle can be conservative in its religious and halakhic approach) and modern religiosity (which in principle can be non-Zionist, or at least Zionist without the hyphen). This partiality leads to serious errors and distorts the entire political and identity map of the religious community.

This is easy to see via the “Hardal” phenomenon—ultra-Orthodox-nationalism. Hardalim are religious-Zionists with a conservative—indeed Haredi—attitude to Torah and halakhah. Their attitude to modern values is generally hostile, and therefore at least on that plane you will see virtually no practical difference between them and Haredim. I am not speaking of the declarative and theoretical plane, usually grounded in Rav Kook’s writings on modernity. There one finds marvelous, innovative declarations calling for renewal, yet their practice is entirely Haredi. Their approach to questions like the status of women, the place of religion in Israeli public life, attitudes toward foreigners and LGBTQ people, the Western Wall framework, and every other public issue is identical to the Haredi stance on these matters. The same goes for their practical attitude to the arts, higher education, and engagement in external fields in general (topics that have been changing in recent years even among Haredim). In all these they are very similar to Haredim. In both groups there is the same fear of the outside, of the new—and in particular of the infiltration of Western culture—to the point of paranoia. The slogan “innovation is forbidden by the Torah” exists among Hardalim no less (perhaps more) than among Haredim. Paradoxically, Rav Kook’s fundamental dictum—“the old shall be renewed and the new shall be sanctified”—has become among them a dead letter, a law for the Messianic era.

Thus, at least on the practical plane there is identity between Haredim and Hardalim regarding modernity and liberalism. The practical difference between the two groups lies only in their attitude to Zionism—for example, in the sanctity they ascribe in principle to the state and its institutions, in reciting Hallel on Independence Day and Jerusalem Day, and in their attitude toward Greater Israel. But today all this has almost no practical consequences. Where would this be reflected in the Knesset (the test of voting), for instance? There is also some difference in their attitude to the settlements and the political issue in general, but beyond that, the difference is not striking (Beitar Illit and Modi’in Illit—the Haredi cities—are two of the largest “settlements”). Not for nothing is the Haredi leadership very concerned about young Haredim moving to the parties of Smotrich and Ben-Gvir, and cooperates with right-wing parties in all their endeavors. Moreover, these differences have little practical meaning in these years (there is no peace process on the agenda, and everyone implements “freezes” in more or less similar fashion). This is a “secular” political matter (secular Israelis also hold such positions), and it is hard to accept it as the fundamental basis of a religious identity. Note that what is called today in political jargon “the right camp,” or “the national camp,” includes the Haredim together with the secular right and religious-Zionism. Likud keeps repeating that it will not join parties that oppose Zionism, yet it has no problem routinely sitting in a coalition with Haredi parties that have enshrined opposition to Zionism on their banners. The reason is that both Zionism and opposition to it have no real practical meaning today.

Given a situation in which mainstream Haredim (those represented in the Knesset) are Zionists de facto and Hardalim are anti-modern de facto, the remaining difference between these two groups is erased. All have turned from black-and-white to gray. This means that today Hardal is, in every respect, a branch of Haredi-ism, and there is no connection between them and modern-religious Jews. The difference between them and Haredim, in my view, is no greater than the difference between Belz and Gur and the Litvaks. Black and white have become gray, and the identity struggle over them has lost relevance. It is unclear how, despite everything I have described, religious identity is still divided around attitudes to Zionism, and Hardal is considered part of the non-Haredi religiosity (what is mistakenly called “religious-Zionism”).

So far I have dealt with Hardal, which is a small minority within the non-Haredi religious community. But it is easy to miss the fact that this description goes far beyond what we label Hardal. If we return to the voting “experiment” I described earlier, it shows that these characteristics describe the public policy of the entire religious-Zionist camp. The votes show that its representatives act in the Knesset as Hardalim—that is, as Haredim. The current identity-political situation is that of one large gray bloc, divided into two “Hasidic courts”: the Zionist one (the knitted kippot, the gray that used to be white) and the Haredi one (the black kippot, the gray that used to be black). This entire bloc behaves in a Zionist manner (at least de facto) and conservatively in its policy regarding issues of religion, modernity, and liberalism. Therefore, at least practically, it is one bloc. Those outside this bloc are the modern-religious (the Green), who disagree with the entire gray bloc on issues of modernity and liberalism (though they may resemble it with respect to attitudes to Zionism and nationalism).

I would therefore expect religious identity today to be divided between modern-liberals and conservatives (national or not), without any connection to the question of Zionism. The watershed line, i.e., the identities embodied by religious parties, should be laid out on both sides of the modernity line (and not the Zionism line). But, as noted, that is not what happens. To better understand this, consider the calls that have recently arisen to grant proper representation within the Religious-Zionism party to ostensibly liberal groups. These calls fit my analysis, since they recognize that the principal party representing non-Haredi religiosity behaves conservatively (i.e., Haredi-like). But another look reveals that these calls reflect the same error. From my analysis it follows that there is no reason to enable liberal representation within the Religious-Zionism party—no more than within Agudat Yisrael. These are two different conceptions, and there is no justification for their sharing a single party.

The conclusion that follows is that the ideological division should have been between liberals and conservatives, with conservative religious-Zionism (Hardal) and its affiliates and Haredi-ism as two factions within the conservatives. This is in contrast to the existing absurdity in which modern religiosity and Hardal are considered two factions sharing one political and religious identity (religious-Zionism). I emphasize again that I am not addressing parties here but identities. I am not at all sure there is a need for a modern-religious party. My claim concerns our religious identity, which needs updating and adaptation to reality. Questions of forming, dissolving, or merging parties are other matters. On the level of identity, the whole picture is completely illogical, anachronistic, and detached from contemporary reality.

Case Study: The Elections for the Chief Rabbinate

In 2013, elections were held for Israel’s Chief Rabbis. In the media discussion around the elections, the terms “Haredi” versus “religious-Zionist” were used constantly. Most of Israel’s public is not Haredi, and it turns out that even in the electoral body there was no such majority. Nevertheless, in this contest the candidates deemed Haredi won. Of the seven candidates only two were considered Haredi (Rabbi Boaron was seen as a middle figure), and the results, as is known, were the election of Rabbis David Lau and Yitzhak Yosef—i.e., the two considered Haredi. The punditry cried out and lamented that the Haredim had won again. Many claimed that religious-Zionism had once more shot itself in the foot by failing to unite around agreed candidates and thus lost. It is worth recalling that prior to the elections, conferences were held by the group known as “senior rabbis of religious-Zionism,” who opposed the candidacy of Rabbi David Stav (president of the Tzohar organization), seen as more liberal, in order to devise a plan to prevent his election. No wonder that afterwards many accused them of succeeding—that is, of having themselves brought about the election of Haredi rabbis.

But the entire discussion suffers from a perceptual distortion. Why is it important to us that the Chief Rabbi be religious-Zionist? Is reciting Hallel on Independence Day the essence of his role? What, exactly, is affected by whether the Chief Rabbi is Haredi or religious-Zionist? The Chief Rabbi’s functions and spheres of influence concern mainly the questions described above, most of which relate to modernity and liberalism, not to Zionism. In these elections, the substantive confrontation was between liberals and conservatives, not between religious-Zionists and Haredim. When one understands that this is the relevant watershed, and not the Zionist line, no one should be surprised by the results. The conservative majority (some religious-Zionist and some Haredi) won—and rightly so: they were the majority. The liberal minority (Rabbi Stav) lost—and rightly so: he was the minority. So why the lamentations? Why the surprise?

Ask yourselves why, in these elections, conservative and liberal religious-Zionists were supposed to unite against the Haredim at all. What do these two groups share regarding the issues on the agenda? Was anyone concerned that the elected Chief Rabbis would abolish saying Hallel on Independence Day? By the way, as far as I know, Rabbi David Lau and his father—those deemed Haredi, let me remind you—do say Hallel on Independence Day; and Rabbi Yitzhak Yosef and his father at least support saying Hallel on Independence Day. So why did their election disappoint the non-Haredi public? Obviously because of their conservative approach to halakhah. But if that is the discussion, then we are talking about modernity, not Zionism.

Note that along the liberal-conservative line, the division among the candidates was not 4:3 in favor of religious-Zionism but 6:1 for the conservatives. Why, then, is their election a failure of religious-Zionism? On the contrary: religious-Zionism, led by Haredi rabbis and activists (who say Hallel), succeeded in its mission: it prevented the appointment of a liberal rabbi. Alternatively, consider why the election of Rabbi Stav would have been considered a success for religious-Zionism. For the conservative faction, that would have been a far greater failure than the election of Rabbis Lau and Yosef. He was not elected because religious-Zionism (led by conservatives, remember) did not want him.

Moreover, the identity between Haredi dayanim and rabbis and conservatism is not exact. There are quite a few Haredi judges and rabbis who are more open and liberal than some of their religious-Zionist counterparts. In the public, there is indeed a significant slice with modern conceptions, but among its representatives in the electoral body and its rabbinic leadership, there are almost none. The lamentations stem from the fact that modernity suffered a defeat—but when one looks at the representatives and rabbis, there is no surprise. Modernity exists, but it lacks significant rabbinic and political representation. The lamentations and the surprise they express are a textbook example of the fallacy I am discussing here—namely, a mistake in understanding the true watershed. People lament because they live under a false consciousness according to which they are modern religious-Zionists, whereas they—and in fact their leaders—are conservative Zionists, that is, Haredi in every sense.

False Consciousness

We have seen that today religious identities are divided along the Zionism-Haredi axis, and modern religiosity has no place on the map. At most it is seen as a small faction within the religious-Zionist identity. One might think that even if conceptually this is distorted, there is here a political and statistical justice: history seemingly teaches that modern religiosity has no “troops.” The representations that arose for modern religiosity (Meimad in the more distant past, and perhaps Bennett until recently) do not manage to survive, and apparently they have no significant electorate. If this is the case, then even if the analysis above is accurate, in practice such a watershed does not truly exist.

I reject this claim on two levels. First, even if electorally there is no such slice, the identity exists. At most there is no justification to form a party to represent it, but a person still needs to be aware that his fundamental religious identity should not be based on Zionism or Haredi-ism, but on conservatism versus liberalism. We should not be divided between religious-Zionists and Haredim, but between conservatives and liberals. Second, in my impression, the number of those who hold modern conceptions is larger than what appears on the party map and larger than is reflected in its rabbinic and political leadership. To explain this, I must analyze the phenomenon known as “false consciousness.”

In my estimation, a significant portion of the religious-Zionist public—and also of the Haredi public—deep in their hearts favors modern religiosity, contrary to the slogans under which they were raised and by which they swear. If you ask people in a private conversation about religious coercion, human rights, the Chief Rabbinate, and so forth, many will give you modern-liberal answers. Yet it seems that many feel that the identity reflected by those answers is not a legitimate religious identity. So they were educated; so their political leaders and rabbis still preach to them. Therefore, in the eyes of the simple person, a modern-religious outlook is at best a weakness one must overcome in the name of loyalty to Torah. It is a temptation to follow Western populist fashions, stemming from weakness in religious commitment (this is the essence of the term “light”).

I understand the success of this biased, misleading propaganda as having two causes: sometimes we are indeed speaking of people with weak religious commitment who merely follow fashions (the “light” phenomenon). But clearly the sweeping identification of liberalism with “lightness” is wrong; not everyone is like that. The success of this false propaganda stems from the fact that the third identity, despite being well founded in sources and reason, lacks leadership and a coherent platform. In such a situation it is very easy for the conservative leadership (Zionist and non-Zionist alike) to present these conceptions as “lightness” that is unfaithful to halakhah and even contradicts it. As a result of this biased propaganda, people take for granted that modernity (green) in essence is “lightness” (light black or dark transparent).[3] This propaganda perpetuates the anachronistic black-and-white watershed and denies green the ability to present itself before the public as a legitimate third identity. Welcome to the State of Jacob.

There are actors for whom it is important (for reasons I will enumerate shortly) to perpetuate the false consciousness of “black-and-white” and not let the “green” ideas sprout in the social and political field. There is a fixed group known as the “senior rabbis of religious-Zionism” that sets the political tone in the Religious-Zionism party. The party largely follows their directives, and its strategic decisions are typically made in one of their offices—despite the fact that the vast majority of the non-Haredi public it ostensibly represents is not particularly interested in the teachings of these rabbis. How many in the public identify with those rabbis’ statements on the status of women, attitudes toward LGBTQ people, issues of personal status, and the necessity of religious coercion? Very few. And yet this cluster of conservative rabbis—who, at least in their conceptions and public conduct, are Haredi in every essential sense (even if not all would be labeled Hardali in common parlance)—is defined as “the senior rabbis of religious-Zionism” and largely dictates its conduct. I could perhaps agree that these rabbis are the leaders of religious-Zionism, but they are certainly not leaders of modern religiosity. They do not express the view of a significant portion of the public who, due to the fallacy described above, is labeled “religious-Zionist.” As noted, at least practically their conduct is almost entirely Haredi. Yet because of conceptual murkiness and confusion about the watershed line, the public perceives them as the rabbis of the non-Haredi religiosity (including modern religiosity), because that is what we call “religious-Zionism.” And so we all—educated on religious-Zionist values—are left with the imagined identity of religious-Zionists and feel that these are our leaders.

No one notices that the entire discussion assumes an anachronism: that our identity must be defined around our Zionism rather than around modernity–liberalism. The fact that these individuals make decisions for all of us seems somehow self-evident, and no one says the emperor has no clothes. Whoever dares to say it is accused of fomenting division (an accusation that presupposes the misguided assumption that we are talking about a split within one stream). Incidentally, the fact that over the years the political conduct of the Religious-Zionism party is guided by rabbis is itself a clear Haredi characteristic.

We must understand that if I am right—that a significant portion of the Haredi public and of the non-Haredi religious public tends in their hearts toward modern conceptions, at least if this were presented to them as a legitimate religious identity (and not labeled “light”)—then forming an ideological slice, a party, or a movement that acts along modern-religious lines would leave the current leadership naked and exposed. A significant portion of the public would move into this new slice, and the two poles would remain with a certain share of conservative Zionists or anti-Zionists who obey the conservative rabbis on both sides. A large share of the public would be outside this anachronistic black-and-white game, and green would become a dominant color—perhaps even the dominant color.

You can now understand why, for the conservative leadership on both sides—rabbinic and political—self-definition of the modern-religious group is an ideological cataclysm. Such a redefinition could obliterate religious-Zionism and Haredi-ism—the movements on which we were educated and raised. The fact that both sides insist, with great intensity, on maintaining the irrelevant watershed of Zionism vs. Haredi-ism (black-and-white) attests to a shared fear on both sides of that ideological cataclysm, a fear born of mental automatism and long habit. No wonder they constantly engage in propaganda against the “greens,” alleging they are “light,” neo-Reform, gentiles in disguise, and so on. They use their rabbinic-Torah authority to claim that such a stance has no halakhic legitimacy. I do not mean to say this stems from lust for power or malicious plotting. I am convinced these are good people who truly believe in their path; they are simply mistaken—and their authority sows confusion among the broader public. Their conservatism, as well as the power of long habit, causes all of us to cling to these anachronistic ideas and fight yesterday’s fervent battle. No prince, however small, will divert us from it.

The general public is not equipped with overly complex tools of thought, and therefore struggles to rebel against its leadership and the values in which it was raised. Are the rabbis who served as our role models fools—or wicked? Are these great men conducting propaganda and creating false consciousness? For one raised in religious-Zionist education it is very hard to accept such a thesis. Nor do I think so, as I’ve said. But I do think they are mistaken and misleading—even if innocently.

It is no wonder that many with a modern-religious identity attribute their intellectual and practical deviations from “pure truth”—Haredi in essence—to their weaknesses. Such a person says to himself: I may be weak (“light”), but I am certainly not modern-religious, heaven forbid (after all, our great Torah leaders say those are neo-Reform). In my personal life I may not conduct myself in a conservative way, but that is only out of weakness. Such a person typically takes care to maintain—at least outwardly—the conservative religious-Zionist identity to which he is accustomed, hoping his son will be stronger. The synagogue he does not go to is only the conservative religious-Zionist synagogue. The rabbis he chooses not to listen to are only the Haredi-nationalist rabbis who make political decisions in our name. Therefore, in his eyes, a partnership-style synagogue (like “Shira Hadasha”) is intended for neo-Reform who are not committed to halakhah (unlike him—he merely cuts corners). Thus is formed the false consciousness that leads to the political split I described—creating the misleading impression that there is no significant modern-religious public.

I estimate that once the third alternative—modern religiosity—is conceptualized and placed on the table as a legitimate religious identity consistent with full halakhic commitment, many on both sides of the current divide will identify with it and abandon the false consciousness imposed upon them. They will recognize that they are actually “green,” and that this is entirely legitimate. The anachronistic black-and-white will shrink—and in fact become a gray pole facing the green pole on the two sides of the updated watershed. I do not know how many will stand on each side, but I suppose we will discover quite a few “closeted greens.” In any case, at least it will be clear what we are talking about, who is against whom, and where I stand in all this.

It is important to understand that even rabbis and public leaders who clearly incline toward modern religiosity feel themselves on the defensive. Sometimes even they fail to free themselves from the conservative religious-Zionist discourse and to conceptualize and articulate an explicit third identity outside today’s dichotomy. Beyond that, when one of them does so, he is immediately accused of fomenting division (“harming the religious-Zionist camp,” which conservatives are very comfortable defining as one unified camp—though, as we have seen, there is no justification for this). I get the impression that many of them do not even notice the fallacy I have described. In my view, these rabbis need to awaken and craft such a conceptualization in order to clarify the difference between modern religiosity and Reform or “lightness,” thereby neutralizing the demagogic criticisms hurled at it from conservative flanks. But as long as even they do not do this, what will the citizens and politicians—the moss of the wall—say?

Current Political Implications

Although my concern here is ideological identity and not political parties, I want to connect the discussion to current events, if only to sharpen its meaning. As stated, voting patterns serve here only to illustrate the identity-ideological claim. Many view Naftali Bennett’s fall as evidence of liberalism’s failure and the lack of a real electorate for those directions. In the end, we are told, deep down even the “light” are good Jews; they know what is truly right and what their weaknesses are, and they do not turn these into ideology.

But such analyses ignore Bennett’s prior successes—particularly against the backdrop of the steady decline of religious-Zionist political representation over years. In my view, Bennett’s earlier impressive successes stemmed from riding the suppressed modern sentiment. Those bearing the silenced third identity felt there was finally some expression of their views, and that was new to them. When this expression arrives with a right-wing worldview, it offers a double innovation (compared to Meimad). It allows the voter to separate political desires (right) from religious conceptions (modern religiosity)—which is not possible in the Religious-Zionism party. Bennett’s success indicates that there is a broad modern public. Bennett’s fall stems, among other things (beyond his own failures, of course), from the fact that the war against this stream intensifies the more it gains political expression—and from the false consciousness that this war succeeds in creating.

Without entering into Bennett’s decisions, promises, and statements (I certainly share some of the criticisms), one cannot deny that the intensity of the war against Bennett and his colleagues was utterly hysterical. The war against them escalated to extreme levels. Bennett and his cohort became the greatest corruptors and traitors to the Jewish people since Dathan and Abiram—and the greatest enemies since Balaam, Pharaoh, and Esau. I’ll just note there was a rabbi who refused to give Minister Matan Kahana a glass of water. Bennett, as prime minister, was not invited to Yeshivat Merkaz HaRav on Jerusalem Day (almost heresy in their view—especially if one remembers who was invited). Unceasing demonstrations—replete with lies and malicious, tendentious slander—were conducted against them and their families, as well as ostracism in synagogue and community. They were likened to the worst of humanity, presented as leftists who hate Israel and have joined terrorists, and more. The violent and disproportionate criticism of Bennett and his cohort—joined by Haredim and religious-Zionists (together, again)—indicates an understanding, not necessarily conscious, among conservative adherents that the threat posed by him to them is not merely a local political one, but an existential ideological threat. As part of the same tactic, the conservative leadership (on both sides) stoked the public, which turned wholly against the new threat.

Politicians of Bennett’s type are not equipped with the Torah and philosophical capacity to contend with the criticism and the frenzied war waged against them. Remember that Bennett and his colleagues themselves are faithful products of religious-Zionist education and society, and therefore they find it hard to stand up to rabbinic figures by whose light they were themselves educated. No wonder that Bennett and Shaked—who themselves are far from religious conservatism—acted, until the last term, in decidedly conservative religious directions and led a Haredi line in every religious matter on the agenda of the Knesset. They understood that this is their role as representatives of the religious-Zionist public, and they submitted themselves to its leading figures—namely, the conservative rabbis who lead it. Bennett and Shaked are not truly positioned to determine whether these are indeed “great rabbis,” and whether their stances necessarily reflect halakhic interpretation. Therefore they assumed that such is the case. They adopted the insulting, yet common, view that the religious public—like an Arab village or a development town—has “notables” whom one must approach in order to move things and make decisions. Thus, politicians who themselves do not espouse conservative religious positions fell victim to the very identity fallacy I describe here.

This booklet hardly claims anything on the principled plane. It deals mainly with description—that is, presenting a fuller identity map with a more directed, updated coordinate system, from which naturally sprouts an option that is somehow silenced in our public discourse. Now each person can—and should—choose precisely where he situates himself on this map. Thinkers and rabbis must shake off the misleading, agenda-driven discourse that imprisons us all, and build a platform, infrastructure, and support that will dispel the mistaken consciousness and give the public the possibility to develop a third religious identity. At that stage arguments are of course required. This small booklet cannot lay that groundwork. It contains an initial direction for renewed thinking and for gathering the social and rabbinic forces that identify with the identity pulled out of the fog and placed here on the table. Those who support it can come from religious-Zionism with or without a hyphen—and even from circles that do not define themselves as Zionist. The time has come to free ourselves from the conservative straightjacket repeatedly forced upon us. Ultimately, I believe we can add a magic “anti-eraser” and color the world green instead of the anachronistic, exasperating black-and-white that ties our hands and our thoughts for roughly three generations. This process will not necessarily lead to the victory of modernity. But as a result of it, at least every Jewish mother will know that if she sends her son to war, it will be a worthy war and he will know what he is fighting for.

[1] The “Yamina” party is not a religious party but a right-wing party, and it indeed gave some expression to the modern-religious public. However, it has now disappeared; below I will touch on the significance of this.

[2] In light of the earlier distinction, the hyphen requires explanation, but I will not go into that here.

[3] In my view, a significant part of the “light” phenomenon stems from the very labeling that assumes identity between religious commitment and conservatism. The “light” have internalized this baseless conflation and therefore see themselves as weak. Once that conflation is removed, some may discover that they are not “light” but modern-religious.