Rav Soloveitchik’s Approach To Zionism

Based on a Speech by

Harav Aharon Lichtenstein

The Question of Hallel on Yom Ha-atzma’ut

Not long ago, a book was published about the teachings of the Rav. A friend in the U.S. sent me a book review entitled, “Remaking Soloveitchik in His Own Image,” whose title succinctly expresses the critic’s view of the book.  Indeed, many today wish to mold the Rav in their own image. On the one hand, this trend testifies to the Rav’s importance, prestige and stature, to the extent that everyone wishes to claim that the Rav belongs to his camp. On the other hand, this also testifies to the leeway for maneuvering facilitated by the complexity and multiple layers of the Rav’s teachings, for those who wish to exploit them. I hope that I shall not find myself suffering from the same deficiency, and I shall try to present things as they are.

There is a second pitfall I wish to avoid. The catalyst that prodded me to select the topic of this address was an e-mail that arrived a few days prior to Yom Ha-atzma’ut, in which the sender tried to prove that the Rav opposed the recitation of Hallel on Yom Ha-atzma’ut. The letter was supported by all kinds of quotes and excerpts from oral conversations that had taken place, supposedly, between the Rav and various people. At the time, I didn’t react, but I thought to myself that if I were to meet the sender, I would tell him: “My dear sir, if the Rav z”l had wished to engage in the ‘holy war’ that you are leading concerning the recitation of Hallel on Yom Ha-atzma’ut, he would have done it himself.” The Rav had more than thirty years to enter this battle, but he refrained from doing so – and this is no coincidence. Moreover, many can testify that Hallel was recited in the Rav’s presence on Yom Ha-atzma’ut, and he raised no objection. What does this mean for the protestors?

I would furthermore tell the sender of the letter that the direction of thought he presented was fundamentally mistaken. We don’t find people sending out e-mails to anyone and everyone about the Rav’s opinion on the blessing to recite over compote, or whether to recite “ha-gomel” after a plane flight. The reason this e-mail was sent is because the writer believes that if the Rav refrained from reciting Hallel on Yom Ha-atzma’ut, this expresses his reservations concerning the Zionist State.

I strongly object to presenting the issue of the recitation of Hallel as the test of the Rav’s attitude towards Zionism and towards the State of Israel. Let me explain this by way of analogy.  Perek Lulav Ha-Gazul discusses the prohibition of bal tosif, not adding to the mitzvot of the Torah. The Ramban (Devarim 4:2) maintains that this prohibition applies not only to adding new components to a certain mitzva (e.g., five parashot in tefillin, or five tzitzit fringes on clothing), but also to the “innovation” of a whole new mitzva – whether this is done, as the Rambam mentions, by a rabbinical court that wishes to add a mitzva by virtue of its legislative status, or whether it is done, as the Ramban discusses, by an individual as his own private initiative. The Ramban (ibid.) states:

In my opinion, even if he invented a new mitzva to perform – such as making up a festival in whatever month he thought up – he has transgressed a negative commandment. And this is what our Sages taught (Megilla 14a) concerning the reading of the Megilla: “One hundred eighty[1] prophets arose in Israel, and they neither diminished nor added even one letter to what was written in the Torah, except for the reading of the Megilla.” ... The Yerushalmi (Megilla 1:7) teaches: "Eighty-five elders, among them several prophets, regretted this matter (i.e., the proposal to establish a new mitzva of reading the Megilla). They said: It is written (Vayikra 27:34), ‘These are the mitzvot that God commanded Moshe.’ That is what Moshe told us, and no future prophet may introduce anything new. Now Mordekhai and Esther want to introduce something new?”

            In the end, the Yerushalmi concludes, the elders found hints regarding the mitzva of reading the Megilla in the Torah, in the Prophets, and in the Writings, and therefore concluded that the practice was legitimate. But let us imagine that they had not found these hints, and would have concluded that “These are the mitzvot” – there is no license to add, and therefore neither the Megilla nor its equivalent, Hallel, should be recited. Would anyone imagine that this ruling reflected anything about their attitude towards the miracle that had taken place? Does their halakhic ruling demonstrate to us that in their eyes the great salvation was insignificant or unimportant?

            The Yerushalmi emphasizes that they “regretted” the matter – in other words, they regretted that they were unable to acquiesce to the wish of Mordekhai and Esther. Did they later regret the “political pressure” that caused them to change their ruling? Heaven forefend! They were elders and prophets, not politicians. It is quite clear: they were distressed because from an existential, psychological and emotional perspective, they were quite able to sense the greatness and power of the miracle. They wished with all their being to recite Hallel, praise and thanksgiving, to the Almighty, because they were well aware of the significance of the event. But there were halakhic limitations concerning the mitzvot, to which they were bound and obligated.

Lest we remain in doubt about this, let us turn to the Bavli for an explanation of why, in they end, they decided that the Megilla should be read:

Rabbi Yehoshua ben Korcha said, “It is a kal va-chomer: if we recite praise over [salvation] from slavery to freedom [on Pesach], how much more so should we recite it [over salvation] from death to life [on Purim]!”

Chazal understood that the elders and prophets of that period recognized the significance of the events, to the extent that the Exodus from Egypt paled in comparison with what they had witnessed  The latter involved “merely” a transition from slavery to freedom, while the latter – the miracle of Purim – involved salvation from a decree of death to life.

Likewise, when speaking of the Rav, it is impossible to evaluate his attitude towards the founding of the State of Israel on the basis of a specific halakhic ruling. Even if the Rav had ruled that, from a halakhic point of view, Hallel should not be recited on Yom Ha-atzma’ut, could we deduce from this that he denied the importance of the birth of the State of Israel? In matters of prayer, the Rav was daring in many areas, but conservative in others. If we wanted to evaluate his direction with regard to the Zionist movement as a whole, the way to go about it would not be by examining his position on the ritual matter of Hallel. It is not by examining this or that detail, nor by trumpeting selected texts, that we can prove the point one way or the other. Such an approach, which focuses entirely on individual details of this sort, can lead to the accumulation of many small truths for the sake of proving one great lie.

Instead of passing a magnifying glass over buds and flowers, fruits and stems, it would be better to get down to the roots and see to what extent the philosophical and existential foundations of the Rav’s worldview fit in with the principles and emphases of classical Zionism in general, and with Religious Zionism in particular. To this end, we shall have to summarize briefly the philosophical and moral foundations upon which Zionism rests, and to evaluate the Rav’s stance towards them.

Human Activism

There is a general point that appears, at first glance, to be very far removed from the subject of Zionism, but which actually serves as the key to everything: the status of man as initiator, as active agent, as one who makes historical processes happen and promotes the achievement of social and historical objectives. This, in fact, is the alpha and omega of all forms of Zionism. Religious Zionism believes that, even under God’s providence, it is within the ability of man and of the nation to free themselves from the passivity that characterized the life of the individual and the community in the Diaspora. Religious Zionism encourages man to lift his head with ambition, and to act accordingly.

The debate over the “three oaths” (Ketubot 111a) – including the oath “not to ascend as a wall,” i.e., not to attempt to hasten the process of redemption, and the discussion of the verse, “They shall be carried to Babylon, and there shall they be, until the day that I remember them, says the Lord” (Yirmiyahu 27:22) – today sounds anachronistic. But in an earlier era, the psychological barrier – perceived at the time as a halakhic barrier – was quite real. While traditional society adopted a more quietisitic and passive stance, Zionism supported – sometimes even glorified – human historical activism in general, and redemptive action in particular. It believed in man’s ability, and this was translated into both a privilege and an obligation. Zionism changed the ratio between free choice and Divine Providence in one’s life, such that, in the overall balance, man’s value rose, while the contribution of the Holy One was diminished.

Prof. Aviezer Ravitzky once quoted an extreme formulation of this mode of thought. The final mishna in Sota (9:15) lists all sorts of negative phenomena that will come about as part of the “footsteps of the Messiah,” and then states, “We have no one upon whom to rely except our Father in Heaven.”  One of the thinkers of Religious Zionism maintained that this conclusion was nothing more than yet another sign of punishment, for in a more blessed era we would not resort only to relying on our Father in Heaven, but rather would roll up our sleeves and see what we could accomplish. Such an interpretation is admittedly far removed from the literal reading, and, needless to say, I do not recommend it. But the direction of thought that it reflects is fairly representative of both general Zionism and Religious Zionism.

This is the key question: to what degree do we believe in our ability, obligation and privilege to be active partners in the act of redemption?

In approaching the subject of the Rav’s relationship towards Zionism, let us consider his position concerning this issue. It is not hard to uncover. In the Rav’s thought and activity, great emphasis was placed on human action. This can be said to reflect the spirit of modernism, which glorifies man’s capacity to mold the world; or perhaps the philosophy of Kant, who speaks of active man as opposed to passive man; or perhaps the thought of Chabad.[2] Yet, first and foremost, his thinking was influenced by his understanding of his family tradition in the realm of Halakha, where we find a strong emphasis on human activity.

This last influence comes to expression even in small details.  Rav Kanotofsky z”l once recounted to me a characteristic comment by the Rav concerning the Rambam’s account of the miracle of the cruse of oil on Chanuka.  The Rambam writes: “They lit from [the cruse] all the lights of the menora for eight days, until they had pressed olives and extracted pure oil” (Hilkhot Chanuka 3:2). The Rav inferred that the oil for the menora really should be produced by human hands; it was only because of their situation that they were forced to make do with the miraculous oil. The moment they were able to extract oil by human effort, the situation would revert to the usual state of affairs. The Rav adopted this approach regarding both small details and larger issues.

To take another example, the Rav spoke extensively about teshuva. What is the central emphasis of this mitzva? For the Rav, the crux of teshuva is not appeasing God, but rather building and creating a new personality, as the Rambam writes (Hilkhot Teshuva 2:4).

I recall, in my youth, how moved I was when I heard the Rav discuss the difference between the sanctity of Jerusalem and the sanctity of Mt. Sinai at one of his teshuva lectures.[3] Chazal discuss the “sanctity of the boundaries” of Mt. Sinai at the time the Torah was given, which required – inter alia – that impure individuals had to be distanced, etc. The Rav insisted that Jerusalem’s sanctity is greater that that of Sinai, for Jerusalem’s holiness was not temporary, but rather lasts for all generations. He explained this as follows: in Jerusalem, man came to meet God, and therefore the place remains holy for all time. At Mt. Sinai, in contrast, God came to meet Israel. Not only has its special status of holiness expired; we don’t even know where it is!

Human Creativity

In Halakhic Man, the motif of man as creator assumes new proportions. In fact, the entire second section of the book is devoted to this theme. For the Rav, halakhic creativity is an outstanding expression of human creativity.

It is true that the Rav also discussed failure and the limits of human initiative.  In The Lonely Man of Faith, alongside the creative Adam the First is the weaker and more passive Adam the Second. Nevertheless, the central theme in the Rav’s writings is the need for activism and creativity. This is true in general, and especially so with reference to our connection with Eretz Yisrael.

The Rav had no patience for philosophies that glorified passivity and reliance on miracles. At the beginning of the 1960’s, a few years after the launch of Sputnik, I had occasion to talk with the Rav about those people who claimed that man should not reach out for the heavens, for “the heavens are the heavens of God,” and only “the earth is given to human beings.” The Rav heaped scorn upon them. One of those present jumped up to protest: “But Rabbi, the Ramban in Bechukotai (Vayikra 27:11) speaks about how a person should have faith in the Holy One, and not to delve into matters that are too wondrous for him.” The Rav replied, “I heard from my father, in the name of my grandfather, that the Ramban never uttered that statement!”

This motif, “We shall surely go up and inherit it” (Bamidbar 13:30), originally uttered in relation to Eretz Yisrael, stood at the very heart of Zionism, and the Rav was aware of this. In his Five Addresses, he discusses the Mizrachi movement: “As I understand the history of our movement and its ideology, our essential vision is creation” (p. 69). The capacity for creativity is both the point of departure and the objective. This Zionist approach wore, at times, a secular, rebellious garb, but the Rav nevertheless perceived within it an important principle. Creativity is necessary not only in relation to Torah study, but also in relation to the world around us. Just as Halakhic Man emphasizes creativity in the Jewish sphere, so too it emphasizes the need for creative action in the social sphere.

On the individual level, this idea finds expression in the Rav’s book Family Redeemed. Even in the realm of intimate love, the Rav legitimates and glorifies the human creative capacity. Likewise, his work “U-Vikkashtem Mi-Sham” describes not just man’s quest for God, but also the religious importance of creativity in “this world.”

The Rav’s understanding of the concept of holiness – which is one of the central motifs of his teachings – turns on this axis. The Rav tends to follow the path of the Rambam, but his formulation is far more positive. He sees man’s this-worldly activity in a positive, healthy light; it is not to be quashed, but rather guided and sanctified.

It is true that Halakhic Man displays a certain tension between an almost otherworldly immersion in the sea of Talmud and involvement in the world of action. But even in those chapters where the Rav champions theoretical talmud Torah, asking, “What does it matter whether or not a ben sorer u-moreh or an ir ha-nidachat ever existed,” he does this not to denigrate the world of action, but rather to exalt the idea of “Torah for its own sake.” In fact, the Rav always believed that even “Torah for its own sake” should be realized, applied and carried out in the world of action, and that this, too, was of spiritual and religious importance. He propounded this not only on the abstract, theoretical level, but also as practical guidance. Many individuals can attest that the Rav advised them to engage in yishuvo shel olam, settling and developing the world, and saw this as a value – not only as a concession to reality, but lekhatchila, as a first preference.

The Significance of the State

The Rav recognized that this fundamental principle of his philosophy – namely, the need for involvement in yishuvo shel olam – was also a central motif of Zionism.  Yet a person can believe in human ability, both individual and collective, and can value the involvement in settling the world in its broadest sense, while still remaining far from Zionism. There are many other spheres in which one can act to promote the “settling of the world.” The Rav’s support for Zionism was based not only on his valuation of human activism and creativity, but also on his recognition of the importance of realizing national, historical and political aims – as opposed to personal aims that may, at times, sound more spiritually pure.

How central is Klal Yisrael in the Rav’s philosophy? If we compare the importance the Rav assigned to national considerations with that assigned to them by other Religious Zionist thinkers – certainly those of the Rav Kook school – then the Rav lags behind them, and in several respects. But if we ask ourselves whether the Rav’s thinking was individualistic, viewing man atomistically as being removed from an organic social context, then this is certainly not the case. His essay “The Community” makes this clear, although someone who approaches his works seeking political Zionism in its encompassing and demanding sense will not find it there.

Firstly, in comparison with many whose aim was, first and foremost, the establishment of a State with all its accoutrements – at times glorifying the power that accompanies that construction – the Rav’s view of the communal sphere in general was more spiritual. The same applies to his view of the process of redemption. Some circles like to quote the Gemara in Sanhedrin (98a), according to which the vision of redemption is expressed in terms of making the desert bloom: “‘And you, O mountains of Israel – you shall bear branches and give forth fruits to My nation Israel’ (Yechezkel 36:8) – there is no more revealed [sign of the] end [of days] than this.” The Rav did not advocate this approach. I imagine that if he had been asked, he would have said, “The quote does appear in the Gemara, but the ‘revealed end’ is just a sign; it is not part of the actual redemption itself.” To his mind, the redemption must be, first and foremost, a spiritual, moral and religious redemption.

One verse, combining the spiritual and political aspects, captures the essence of the Rav’s view: “Ashur shall not save us, we shall not ride on horses, nor shall we any longer call the work of our hands, ‘God’” (Hoshea 14:4). The Rav recognized that there is a need for “horses,” but heaven forefend that the individual and the nation should place all their faith in “horses” or airplanes.

Here we find the other side of the coin regarding human ability. Yes, we recognize and appreciate man’s ability to impact on the world, but we certainly do not glorify or deify this ability. We dare not turn the work of man’s and society’s hands into a god. “Nor shall we any longer call the work of our hands, ‘God!’” We must know our limits and refrain from being carried away by human achievements, impressive as they may be, in building an economy, a political system, etc.

Part of the Rav’s spiritual emphasis came to expression in his reservations concerning the use of force. At times, he stretched this idea quite far. On one occasion, the Rav spoke about the ability and the right of a State to legislate laws, but later he erased this section from the written version of his article. I asked him how his approach fits in with the Rambam’s delineation of the king’s power of coercion (in Hilkhot Melakhim). The Rav favored limiting reliance on coercion and the exercise of authority, and preferred instead the power of teaching and spiritual influence.

This perception undoubtedly constricts our connection to the State as a broad political entity. At times, it must be remembered, the Rav speaks about “the community” not necessarily in the sense of the State, but rather as a “community” of two people![4] While in English the term “community” can be a unit consisting of two people, in Hebrew the term “kehilla” usually refers to a much larger group. But a perusal of the Rav’s writings shows that “kehilla” can also denote the reshut ha-yachid and not necessarily the reshut ha-rabim.

Zionism as More Than a State

The Rav recognized the importance of the State, both in terms of itself and in terms of its capabilities. He was also very attached to Eretz Yisrael, and attentive to what was happening in it. Yet in his view, Zionism was not merely equivalent to the State. He saw the building of the State as part of a greater project.

In the Rav’s essay “Ma Dodekh Mi-Dod,” a eulogy for his uncle Rav Yitzchak Zev (Velvel) Soloveitchik, he explains that what was generally understood as R. Velvel’s anti-Zionism was not so much opposition to Zionism, as an inability to place it within a halakhic category.  He contrasts his uncle’s view with that of “some who say,” and the latter position seems to represent the Rav’s own.  Note that the Rav does not present a political doctrine to oppose his uncle’s position; rather, he presents a different view of the relationship of the Halakha to the world:

Indeed, there are some who say that the Halakha – which is all-inclusive and all-encompassing and all-penetrating, which is concerned with every detail of existence… – does not remove itself from the [concrete] event, and even rebels against it. Halakha is courageous and full of strength. It knows nothing of disappointment, nor does it accept the mastery of the event. It storms it time and again, and will not cease until it succeeds in establishing the superiority of the Divine ideal over it… Even if the kingdom of secularity is iron-hard and of awesome strength, Halakha does not tremble or despair, but rather besieges it with a mighty flow of volcanic spirit, alive and giving life, until it is subdued…

My uncle, too, was aware of all of this, but he was of a different spirit. He feared that the constant conflict with the secular State would lead to concessions and bringing the ideal order into conformity with reality.[5]

As opposed to Rav Velvel’s “anti-Zionism,” the Rav believes not merely in a different political position; rather, he presents a doctrine necessitating the total storming of existence, putting the stamp of Halakha upon the entire world, upon all the complexities of life and all realms of society. The Halakha has something to say, and a rule to be obeyed, in every area of life, from the bedroom to the political forum. This broad spiritual perception lies a great distance from the glorification of the State and sovereignty that appears in the writings of those philosophers who regarded themselves as Zionists. Yet it also gives lie to the position that the Rav’s philosophy is completely removed from the political sphere.

The Land of Israel

When we ascribe value to the human capacity to engage in yishuvo shel olam and to attain historical goals, another question arises: perhaps involvement in the political sphere is indeed desirable, but who says that it has to be applied specifically in Eretz Yisrael?

In several different contexts, the Rav spoke about the importance and uniqueness of Eretz Yisrael. Here, too, if we measure against Rav Kook, the Rav falls short. But he never aspired to be his equal. The Rav does not place such a strong emphasis on the metaphysical aspect of the land. Once he even expressed a criticism, saying that people who speak in that way are talking not in metaphysical but rather in mythological terms.

At the same time, the Rav had a special feeling for both Eretz Yisrael and her inhabitants. In “Ma Dodekh Mi-Dod” and Five Addresses, he explains how he found his way to Religious Zionism, despite the fact that his father and grandfather were no great supporters of Mizrachi. In the beginning, the Rav was a member of Agudat Yisrael, and later he moved to Mizrachi. On many different occasions, the Rav would emphasize and highlight his deep connection to Eretz Yisrael, its holiness and significance.

Relating to Non-Observant Jews

I believe that an additional foundation stone of Religious Zionism merits discussion, namely, the attitude towards those who are not religiously observant, and the readiness to cooperate with them. Some people maintain that the very fact that the Zionist movement was led by secular people shows that this movement was not the fruit of Divine Providence. Could it possibly be that the Holy One would relegate the reins of leadership – in the most dramatic change in the history of the Jewish nation – to the hands of such people? Moreover, such opponents wish to keep their own hands “clean,” and are not prepared to join forces with the secular community.

In this matter, the Rav’s opinion was clear, although his natural proclivities were in a different direction altogether. On the one hand, when necessary he was strict in protecting what is holy to the nation – especially anything pertaining to Torah, Halakha and Jewish belief. More than once, he fought like a lion for these. On the other hand, he was able, within the framework of Zionism as a whole, to appreciate even those who were far from Jewish belief, and to cooperate with them. In the Rav’s address to Mizrachi in 1954, he discussed this issue, and applied the following verses to the Prime Ministers of Israel:

In the fifteenth year of Amatziahu, son of Yoash, king of Yehuda, Yerav’am son of Yoash became king of Israel in the Shomron, [and reigned] for forty-one years. And he did evil in the eyes of God, and did not turn away from all the sins of Yerav’am son of Nevat, who had led Israel astray.

[However,] he restored the border of Israel from Levo Chamat to the sea of Arava, as the Lord, God of Israel, had spoken by the hand of His servant Yona son of Amitai, the prophet from Gat-Chefer. For God had seen the very severe affliction of Israel, for there was none shut up nor any set free, and no one to help Israel. But God had not decreed to wipe out Israel from under the heavens, and so He saved them by the hand of Yerav’am son of Yoash. (II Melakhim 14:23)

Yerav’am son of Yoash “did not turn away from all the sins of Yerav’am son of Nevat, who had led Israel astray.” Nevertheless, the Rav banged loudly on the table and continued, he “restored the border of Israel from Levo Chamat to the sea of Arava, as the Lord, God of Israel, had spoken by the hand of his servant, Yona son of Amitai, the prophet from Gat-Chefer!” He concluded that indeed “God had seen the affliction of Israel.”

This expressed not the passive appreciation of a bystander, but rather the Rav’s readiness to cooperate with the general community, proceeding from a sense of joint fate and – up to a certain level – even joint destiny. The Rav repeats this idea in Five Addresses. He never blurred the differences and contrasts between religious and secular Zionism, but was also able to point out what elements were common to both. Without this readiness to take into consideration facts on the ground, Religious Zionism would be untenable.

Aliya

Thus far, I have attempted to sketch the essentials of Zionism in general, and Religious Zionism in particular, and to examine how the Rav related to them, even where he was not explicitly dealing with “Zionist” subjects.  There are, however, two final points that demand our attention.

First, we must note that the Rav differs from Rav Kook in terms of the balance between the individual and the collective in his thought. Several of the Rav’s most central works focus on the individual: The Lonely Man of Faith, Halakhic Man and, to a large extent, “U-vikkashtem Mi-sham.”

Second, if we ask ourselves what is the ultimate test of someone who wishes to define himself as a Zionist, it is aliya.  In 1935, when the Rav was affiliated with Agudath Israel and not with Mizrachi, he attempted to make aliya. He stood for the position of Chief Rabbi of Tel Aviv, wishing to build his home and his future there.

Now, I am not so naive as to think that everyone who lives in Israel can be defined as a Zionist; some people who live in Israel – including some who are Torah-observant – cannot be included in this category. But in considering everything that I have presented thus far, aliya certainly has weight and significance, and not only on the biographical level.

I would therefore like to add a few points in this context. Around the time of the Six Day War, my brother-in-law, R. Haym Soloveitchik, came to Israel for a short while. The Rav was concerned for his safety, but did not hesitate for a moment to permit him to stay, and with what pride he spoke about it! With what pride he spoke of his grandchildren who served in the I.D.F. within the framework of yeshivot hesder! When he was awarded a prize worth a considerable sum, he took not a penny for himself, but rather contributed it all to the “Organization of Yeshivot Hesder.” Does all of this dissolve into insignificance in light of the question of whether or not he recited Hallel on Yom Ha-atzma’ut?

Loneliness and Aloneness

I wish to conclude with an excerpt pertaining directly to Yom Ha-atzma’ut.  It is taken from a speech delivered by the Rav on Yom Ha-atzma’ut 1956, later published as “Kol Dodi Dofek.” Towards the end, the Rav focuses on the differences between the secular and the religious visions of the return to Zion. In the Rav’s terminology, “aloneness” means social isolation, while loneliness testifies to “the greatness that is contained within [one’s] private domain and the sanctity that permeates the inner recesses of [one’s] unique consciousness.”

The Jewish community is obliged to utilize its free will in all areas of life in general, but in particular on behalf of the welfare of the State of Israel. If secular Zionism should finally realize that the State of Israel cannot terminate the paradoxical fate of Jewish aloneness – that, to the contrary, the incomprehensible aloneness of “And I will take you to Me for a people” (Exodus 6:7) has become even more pronounced in the international arena – then it must put to itself the ancient query: “What is thine occupation? And whence comest thou? And of what people art thou?” (Jonah 1:8). This question will be asked of us one way or another. If we do not ask it of ourselves, then the non-Jew will put it to us; and we must answer proudly, “I fear the Lord, the God of Heaven” (Jonah 1:9). Our historic obligation, today, is to raise ourselves from a people to a holy nation, from the covenant of Egypt to the covenant at Sinai, from an existence of necessity to an authentic way of life suffused with eternal ethical and religious values, from a camp to a congregation. The task confronting the religious shivat ziyyon movement is to achieve that great union of the two covenants – Egypt and Sinai, fate and destiny, aloneness and loneliness. This task embraces utilizing our afflictions to improve ourselves, and it involves spinning a web of chesed that will bind together all the parts of the people and blend them into one congregation, “one nation in the land”; and the readiness to pray for one’s fellow, and empathy with his joy and grief. As the end result of this self-improvement we will achieve the holiness conferred by an existence of destiny and will ascend the mountain of the Lord. One great goal unites us all, one exalted vision sets all our hearts aflame. One Torah – the Written Torah and the Oral Torah – directs all of us toward one unified end: the realization of the vision of loneliness, the vision of a camp-people that has ascended to the rank of a holy congregation–nation, bound together its fate with its destiny, and proclaims to the entire world, in the words of our ancient father, Abraham: “And I and the lad will go yonder, and we will worship and we will return to you” (Genesis 22:5).[6]

This, in essence, expresses the Rav’s approach to Zionism, with its personal and national elements, and the uniqueness of a religious, Zionist teaching that includes a political ingredient, but which at heart is a spiritual doctrine.