The newborn State of Israel was fighting for its life, but inside its young army another battle was unfolding: Could religious and secular Jews serve together without asking either side to give up who they were?
“We Don’t Create Two Armies!”
During Israel’s War of Independence, the newly formed Israeli army included a company of religious soldiers. Toward the end of 1948, in the middle of Shabbat, the cooks of that company were ordered to prepare food for the soldiers before they went out to battle.
The cooks were two religious young men from Bnei Brak. They refused to violate Shabbat and would not agree to cook, despite threats from their commander. Eventually, the commander brought in cooks from another battalion to prepare the food instead.
But then came another surprise: the soldiers of that company, who were all religious, refused to eat food that had been cooked for them on Shabbat.
The two religious cooks were brought before a military court. They were sentenced to a week in prison, and, to humiliate them, their heads were shaved. This was a harsh practice inherited from the British military system: soldiers sent to prison would have their heads shaved.
The cooks appealed to the brigade court, but instead of reducing the sentence, the court made it worse and sentenced them to three months in prison. In response, the religious soldiers of the company launched a general hunger strike to protest the imprisonment of their friends.
The story leaked to the public and created a major uproar, eventually reaching the government itself. The Minister of Religious Affairs protested strongly, arguing that in a Jewish state, and in a Jewish army, soldiers should not be punished for wanting to observe Shabbat. He even threatened to resign from the government.
To his surprise, it was actually the representatives of the political left who supported him and criticized Defense Minister David Ben-Gurion. Their argument was simple: just as they demanded freedom of conscience for themselves, they also demanded freedom of conscience for the religious soldier who wished to keep Shabbat.
Ben-Gurion backed down and promised to order the release of the religious soldiers from prison.
Soon afterward, a ministerial committee met to define the religious standards of the army. Representatives of all the parties in the government took part, from the most religious factions to the left-wing and communist representatives.
The religious representatives argued that from then on, every religious soldier should be assigned to a religious unit, and those units should be given everything they needed to live religiously. They argued that if a religious soldier were placed in a regular unit, he would be influenced by his surroundings and might abandon religious observance.
The left-wing representatives supported the idea, though from the opposite direction. Their attitude was: Take the religious soldiers and let them do whatever they want. Let them pray all day, study Torah all day, eat cholent all week—just let them leave the rest of us alone and allow the other soldiers to live however they choose, without imposing religion on them.
But others argued that creating separate religious units would be a mistake. If the army made special units only for religious soldiers, that would effectively mean giving up on the Jewish character of the rest of the army.
How could it be, they argued, that in a Jewish army, most soldiers would not eat kosher food or observe Shabbat? By protecting the religious soldiers, we would be abandoning everyone else. Instead, they said, the army must ensure that every soldier, in every unit, has the ability to maintain Jewish observance if he chooses.
After all sides had spoken, Prime Minister and Defense Minister David Ben-Gurion summarized the discussion.
The army, he said, is the army of the entire people. We will not split it into separate armies for religious and non-religious soldiers. We will not create a ghetto inside the army.
A religious soldier cannot eat non-kosher food, while a non-religious soldier can eat kosher food. Therefore, the whole army will eat only kosher food.
A religious soldier cannot violate Shabbat, while a non-religious soldier can also rest on Shabbat. Therefore, the whole army will observe Shabbat, except in clear cases of military necessity.
And from that point on, the Israeli army had kosher supervisors and military rabbis—not only to care for the needs of religious soldiers, but to help ensure that the entire army would carry a Jewish character.
The Solution: Separation
In truth, this is an old debate: What is the better approach? Should we build high walls, with each group living according to its own values and lifestyle? Or should everyone learn to live together?
At first glance, one could argue that the Torah supports the first approach: separate—and let each group take care of its own needs.
In Parshat Lech Lecha, we read about the first Jew, Abraham, and the conflict he had with his nephew Lot. The Torah says, “There was a quarrel between the shepherds of Abraham’s cattle and the shepherds of Lot’s cattle.” Rashi explains that Lot’s shepherds were behaving immorally: they would let their animals graze in other people’s fields, and Abraham’s shepherds would rebuke them for stealing (Rashi on Genesis 13:7).
In other words, this was not just a business dispute. It was a religious and moral conflict between two groups that could not get along. So Abraham turned to Lot and said, “Please, let there not be a quarrel between me and you, and between my shepherds and your shepherds, for we are brothers… Please separate from me.” For the sake of peace, Abraham suggested that they part ways.
But what came of it? Lot chose to move to Sodom—the infamous city of Sodom and Gomorrah.
In the next generation, we read about Ishmael and Isaac. Sarah saw that Ishmael was having a negative influence on Isaac, and she immediately told Abraham, “Drive out this maidservant and her son.” Abraham was deeply troubled by the idea, but G-d told him to listen to Sarah. And so, Isaac and Ishmael went their separate ways. But what became of Ishmael? Rashi says that he settled in the desert and became a bandit who attacked travelers (Rashi on Genesis 21:20).
In the following generation, we see something similar with Jacob and Esau. After twenty-two years of hostility, Jacob and Esau finally met again. They embraced, and Esau said to Jacob, “Let us travel together, and I will go alongside you.” Rashi explains that Esau was offering to slow down and travel at Jacob’s pace, as an act of kindness (Rashi on Genesis 33:12).
Esau was essentially saying: Let us live together again, like brothers. But Jacob politely declined the offer.
We find the same pattern at the Exodus from Egypt. There were Jews who did not want to leave Egypt; life there suited them just fine. Moses did not stand there debating with them. He simply left without them. Rashi explains that there were Jews in that generation who were spiritually corrupt and did not want to leave Egypt (Rashi on Exodus 10:22). That is why, according to one interpretation cited by Rashi, only “one out of five” actually left Egypt (Rashi on Exodus 13:18).
So at first glance, a consistent pattern seems to emerge: If someone is not willing to align with the path Judaism demands, the solution is simple—separate from them and move on.
Together, Despite the Disagreements
But here is the important point: all of those examples took place before the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai.
After Mount Sinai, we no longer find that approach.
During the years in the desert, the Jewish people complained against Moses many times. Some even said openly that life had been better back in Egypt. Yet Moses never responded by saying, “Fine, then go back to Egypt.” He never gave up on them. He kept trying to bring them closer, calm the conflict, and restore peace.
Even during the rebellion of Korach, when the opposition to Moses became fierce and personal, Moses still went to Datan and Aviram and tried to make peace with them.
So what changed?
The Rebbe explains that Mount Sinai introduced a completely new way of looking at the Jewish people. The Torah was not given only to the religiously committed, or only to those who voluntarily chose to attend. G-d revealed Himself at Mount Sinai to the entire nation: men, women, and children. Everyone was there. Not one Jew was left out of that defining experience.
And G-d spoke to every person there in the singular: “I am the L-rd your G-d.” Not “your G-d” in the plural, as a message to the crowd, but “your G-d” in the singular—as a personal message to every individual Jew.
From that moment on, the Jewish people became responsible for one another.
No more “Please separate from me,” as Abraham said to Lot. No more sending the difficult child away, as happened with Ishmael. No more moving forward while leaving eighty percent of the people behind, as happened at the Exodus.
After Mount Sinai, we are bound up with each other. We depend on one another. We are responsible for one another.
We do not have the luxury of giving up on Jews who do not yet want to observe mitzvot. We cannot afford to lose even one Jew. We have to care about everyone.
That means we do not build walls simply to avoid arguments. Better for the Jewish people to live together—even with tension, even with disagreement—than to create a peaceful-looking arrangement that quietly writes off most of the nation.
We have to find a way to live together, because ever since Shavuot, more than three thousand years ago, every Jew carries responsibility for every other Jew.
Source: Based on the Rebbe’s explanation in Likkutei Sichot, vol. 1, p. 252, and vol. 11, p. 2.
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