Parashat Korah: Misreading intentions

At this point, we spiraled into a full-blown rebellion against Moses’ authority. Korah and his band of insurgents whipped the nation into a frenzy, accusing Moses of egotism, nepotism, and deception.

The debacle of the spies reflected a lack of faith in Jewish destiny and in the Land of Israel. It was a moment of public panic that overwhelmed reason and led the nation to question both the land and God’s promise.

The rebellion of Korah was different. It was not driven by fear but by anger and resentment. Korah, a gifted demagogue, manipulated the people into joining a campaign rooted in his own personal ambitions.

Ultimately, the rebellion against Moses led to a complete breakdown of communication. Repeatedly, Moses attempted to engage the rebels. They refused to listen. They embraced Korah’s accusations and never paused to consider Moses’ perspective.

Once communication collapsed, the two sides no longer understood each other’s intentions. Perhaps some of the rebels’ concerns deserved discussion. Earlier, when the burden of leadership became too heavy, God appointed 70 elders to assist Moses. Perhaps there were other ways to broaden leadership responsibilities. But the claim that Moses was driven by ego, nepotism, or a hunger for power was absurd. Time and again, he had defended the people and saved them from divine punishment. The refusal to listen allowed Korah’s camp to completely misread Moses’ intentions.

Once communication ceases and intentions are misunderstood, compromise becomes nearly impossible. False narratives take hold, distrust deepens, and every action is viewed through a lens of suspicion. The rebellion of Korah illustrates the destructive consequences of a society trapped within competing narratives.

Unfortunately, the lack of communication and interaction has created a widening gap in narratives. Many within the haredi community are misreading the intentions of the broader public in advocating military service.

Most Israelis are simply hurting. As the war drags on and fathers of families report for yet another round of extended reserve duty, the parents ask themselves: “Don’t they understand what we are carrying? Don’t they see how this is affecting our families?” Their plea is not to dismantle the haredi world but to share the burden of this long war more broadly.

Many would argue that military service would significantly affect haredi identity and lifestyle. That is a legitimate argument, whether one agrees with it or not. Opposition to conscription on those grounds is understandable and coherent. But the call for broader haredi participation is not rooted in a sinister desire to weaken Torah study or undermine religious commitment.

We are facing a tragedy of miscommunication.

Part of the challenge stems from the inherent nature of haredi culture. Much of its strength lies in its commitment to continuity. Other segments of religious Judaism respond to modernity through adaptation; haredi society responds more cautiously. It places a premium on preserving inherited norms and maintaining cultural boundaries.

This instinct has served the haredi community well. It has helped preserve a robust Torah world through periods of rapid social upheaval. However, it can also create a tendency to view contemporary challenges through the lens of earlier historical struggles. New situations are sometimes interpreted as versions of old battles, even when the circumstances are very different.

Whether this was the primary reason for the closure remains debated. Nevertheless, the story became part of the haredi collective memory.

As a result, whenever governments seek to introduce a core secular curriculum into religious schools, the story of Volozhin is often invoked.

Yet the comparison is not apt. Governments such as Israel and the United States are not tsarist Russia. They are not motivated by antisemitism or by a desire to uproot religious study. Rather, they generally view core subjects as necessary tools for economic participation and employment. One may oppose those policies, but the circumstances are fundamentally different from the struggle faced by the Volozhin Yeshiva, which confronted an antisemitic regime intent on restricting religious life and undermining traditional Jewish education.

We are witnessing a similar misreading today. Calling for haredi military service is not, for most Israelis, an attempt to destroy Torah study. It is a sincere plea to share the burden of a long and exhausting war. One can oppose conscription on the grounds that it will diminish Torah study or weaken haredi identity. Those are legitimate concerns. But the lack of communication has created a complete divergence of narratives, causing many people to hear motives that were never intended.

This misunderstanding is not solely the result of haredi hyper self-preservation. Reactions from the broader public can sometimes become so sharp and sweeping that they reinforce haredi suspicions.

I have heard people respond to haredi behavior by declaring, “This is not my Judaism.” That is deeply charged language. One may believe that a particular policy or attitude is morally flawed. But no single flaw, however central or painful, renders an entire religious community or lifestyle illegitimate. Every community has shortcomings that require criticism and correction.

To find consensus, we must get on the same page. We must also be careful about the language and rhetoric we use.

Words that wound

Last week, a busload of haredi protesters attacked the home of my neighbor, a Supreme Court justice whom they viewed as an enemy of Torah study because of his role in rulings surrounding this controversy.

I know him well and can attest that this is a complete misunderstanding of his intentions. One can argue that his rulings will inadvertently harm the haredi community. But to portray him as someone motivated by hostility to Torah is a profound misreading.

The protest itself turned violent. The protesters shouted at the judge and at our neighbors, repeatedly calling them Nazis. One of my neighbors, a child of Holocaust survivors, was called Hitler.

It should be self-evident that any Jew who labels another Jew a Nazi has lost all historical perspective. The grandparents of both groups may well have shared the same ghettos and concentration camps. In a society of divided narratives, in which even the role of the State of Israel is not a matter of consensus, the last shared historical narrative we possess is our recovery from the Holocaust.

To begin to heal our fractures, we must properly read intentions and be careful about the historically toxic language we employ. We must repair communication.