I propose that a crucial key to understanding this debate, as well as the ideological divide between the right and left, lies in their distinct and increasingly confrontational conceptions of masculinity and femininity.
To illustrate this, I turn to one of the foundational texts of Israeli culture: The Seventh Day: Soldiers' Talk about the Six-Day War, originally published in the wake of the Six-Day War (October 1967).
The Yiddish poet and essayist Y.H. Biletsky remarked, "I am not aware of a document in world literature as profoundly human and fascinating as the testimony contained in The Seventh Day." Similarly, The Palmach [the underground army of the Jewish community during the period of the British Mandate for Palestine] veteran and writer Haim Gouri described it as "the most important document to date about this war," noting that the collection records "a series of discussions that may shape the soul of an entire generation." Holocaust survivor and French-American Jewish writer Elie Wiesel also praised the work, calling it "a very, very great book... a tremendous, monumental testimony... The spirit of the Israeli warrior finds in these pages a sublime expression unlike anything seen before."
In its revised and expanded edition (April 2018), The Seventh Day included a canonical text documenting a conversation that took place at the Mercaz HaRav yeshiva – the first higher religious Zionist yeshiva in the Land of Israel, which played a pivotal role in the history of religious Zionism and reached the height of its influence under Rabbi Zvi Yehuda HaCohen Kook. This meeting, conducted in Jerusalem in August 1967, lasted five hours and followed the same format as other discussions in The Seventh Day series, with interviewers intervening only in footnotes. The participants were six yeshiva students, all in their twenties, who later became prominent figures.
One of them, Yoel Bin-Nun – later a founder of the Yeshiva Har Etzion, a scholar of Jewish thought, and a Bible lecturer – stated, "The profound experience of the Six-Day War pushed these two ideological circles in opposite directions." The editor of the conversation, Yuval Shahar, observed that it "laid bare the moment of divergence and the ever-widening gap between the camps." He even argued that "this chasm is impossible and should not be bridged. Rather, it must be continuously exposed to reveal the depth of the crisis and to strive for resolution." I wholeheartedly agree with this assessment.
The writer and intellectual Amos Oz later reflected on the impact of this conversation with the Mercaz HaRav students: "What pained us the most was not the foreign and unfamiliar language they used, but their total indifference to our moral distress... The people of Israel entered the Six-Day War based on a national consensus that it was a war of existential defense – nothing more. But in the war's aftermath, this consensus was shattered, and suddenly the land was filled with new songs, new appetites, and the sound of the shofar. This shocked us, tormented us, and presented us with a moral dilemma... The indifference of the yeshiva students seemed to us – harsh though it may be to say – clumsy, smug, and arrogant... intoxicated with power, consumed by messianic rhetoric, inhuman, ethnocentric, 'redemptive,' apocalyptic, and, in a word – inhuman, and not even Jewish."
Giora Mosinzon of Kibbutz Na'an, who participated in the conversation, reached a similar conclusion: "A fundamental moral disagreement emerged here... I believe that our attitude toward Arabs as human beings must be humane." The spirit of The Seventh Day also resonated in the speech of then-Chief of Staff Yitzhak Rabin at Mount Scopus immediately after the Six-Day War (late June 1967): "We are witnessing... a strange phenomenon among the group of fighters. They cannot rejoice wholeheartedly. A shadow of sorrow and astonishment tempers their celebrations, and some do not celebrate at all. These frontline fighters saw not only the glory of victory but also its price – comrades falling beside them, drenched in their own blood. And I know that the terrible price paid by the enemy deeply moved many of them. Perhaps the Jewish people were never educated or accustomed to feeling the joy of conquest and victory."
Rabin's words contrast starkly with the now-common misinterpretation of Proverbs 11:10 – "When the righteous prosper, the city rejoices; when the wicked perish, there are shouts of joy" – as well as the distortion of Proverbs 24:17, which originally sought to promote virtue and ethical conduct: "Do not rejoice when your enemy falls; when they stumble, do not let your heart rejoice."
The Seventh Day remains etched in the collective memory of the general public – and particularly within the national-religious community – as a reflection of the archetype of those who "shoot and cry" – the "beautiful souls" tormented by the moral implications of war. But such voices seem to be fading. In their place, we hear the loud and triumphant cheers of "heroes," "victors," and, above all, "avengers and vigilantes."
The secular-humanist left appears to have overlooked a fundamental truth: "Every war is an invitation to masculinity." Christopher Isherwood, the Anglo-American writer, noted in the late 1920s that English writers of his generation felt ashamed for having missed WWI because, for them, war was a test of courage, maturity, and skill – a moment that posed the question: "Are you a real man?"
Masculinity, as a construct, derives its meaning from its perceived opposite: femininity. Men learn what is considered "natural" male behavior by defining themselves in contrast to women – through fantasies, differentiation, and reinforcement of distinctions. In Western mental frameworks, as well as in the language that expresses them, "man" is the reference point, the norm. The "woman," in contrast, is defined in relation to him, often as a deviation from this norm. In this linguistic and cultural paradigm, "woman" is frequently framed in negative terms – as the opposite of man, as the absence of masculine attributes, as something lacking. This dynamic, and the way it manifests in the ideological conflict shaping Israeli society today, remains a central and unresolved tension in our national discourse.
More precisely, we are confronted with two distinct forms of masculinity: the "masculine man" versus the "feminine man" – or, in other words, "hegemonic masculinity" versus an "alternative masculinity," which has seemingly undergone a process of "feminization." As a result, two contrasting sets of images – "masculinity" on one side and "femininity" on the other – have emerged, serving as tools in cultural discourse to define, characterize, and, at times, criticize different perspectives.
"Masculinity" has also been closely tied to the concept of "heroism." Without "masculinity," heroism is presumed to be absent – particularly in the battlefield, where it is considered essential. In the national era, "heroism" became synonymous with "virility" and violence. As the French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu articulated, "the condition of man in the sense of ‘masculine’ (vir) requires ‘heroism’ (virtus)." However, this courage is frequently associated with an underlying fear – "fear of the feminine, and above all within oneself"; "fear of disgrace in the eyes of society and of being relegated to the typically feminine category of the 'weak,' the 'faint-hearted,' the 'indulgent,' the 'homosexual,' and so forth." Heroic masculinity becomes an imperative for men, one that is often enforced – sometimes violently – by both men and women. Consequently, men are expected to endure the harsh realities of war without complaint, without "wailing like women."
The opposing perspectives on masculinity and femininity can be symbolically represented by punctuation marks: an exclamation mark ("masculine" – !) and a question mark ("feminine" – ?). The religious-nationalist right frequently attributes to the secular-humanist left an excess of "feminine" and "degrading" question marks. This alleged phenomenon manifests in "spiritual emptiness," "embarrassment," "searching," "doubt," and "wonder," which stand in opposition to resolute, monist beliefs.
A subsequent conversation between the two ideological circles, held in 1975 – seven years after the first – highlighted this dichotomy even further. In this discussion, "the members of Gush Emunim presented themselves as confident leadership with a cohesive worldview and decisive action, whereas their counterparts from the [secular-humanist left] continued to wrestle with defining their own direction."
At its core, this divide reflects the dominance of one Jewish ideological stream and the concurrent decline of what has been termed "The Spirit of the IDF" (in the broad, not solely institutional, sense). The prevailing national ideology that developed in modern Europe maintained that "the man is active, and the woman is passive, and these roles should not be confused." Many European thinkers and cultural figures at the turn of the twentieth century perceived the Jewish diaspora man as feminine, thereby linking Jewish identity with femininity. Over the past centuries, influenced by European nationalist movements that sought to revive Hellenistic ideals of the body, Zionist leaders aimed to shape a new generation of Jews – modern and secular – with muscular and athletic physiques. This vision sharply contrasted with the traditional religious consciousness and the perceived weak, feminine body of the diaspora Jew. Alongside this new body came a shift toward assertive masculine behavior, which was expressed in various arenas, including politics and the military.
Accordingly, within Jewish national consciousness, Galut (Exile) was often associated with passivity (femininity), whereas "revival" was equated with activism (masculinity).
In contrast to the ideological positions of early Zionist thinkers and the national-religious right, the secular-humanist left is frequently portrayed as embodying feminine passivity, whereas the national-religious right is seen as exemplifying masculine activism. This discourse largely echoes the ideological divide of the 1930s, when the secular-humanist left advocated for havlaga (restraint) while the national-religious right championed tguva (reaction). The restraint approach was rooted in universalism, pacifism, non-activism, and individualism, whereas the reactionary stance emphasized particularism, militarism, activism, and collectivism.
Berl Katznelson, one of the key intellectuals of the Zionist labor movement, provided perhaps the most famous defense of restraint: "It means keeping our weapons pure. We learn the ways of war, we carry arms, we stand against those who rise against us. But we do not wish for our weapons to be stained with innocent blood. Restraint is both a political and moral principle, drawn from our history and our reality, from our character and the conditions of our struggle. Had we abandoned this principle and taken a different path, we would have lost the struggle long ago. If we had engaged in counterfeit heroism under the guise of true heroism, we would have disgraced ourselves and paid a dire price."
In contrast to the restraint embraced by the secular-humanist left, the right-wing camp adhered to a vastly different perspective, positioning itself as the proponent of bold, militant activism.
The national-religious movement often tended to react or break the principle of restraint. Ze'ev Jabotinsky, in a speech in Warsaw (1938), declared: "In the Land of Israel, breaking the restraint is a necessity. Necessary!"
Rabbi Zvi Yehuda HaCohen Kook, in my understanding, served as a crucial link between the proponents of "reaction" at that time and the religious-national leadership that followed, which openly advocated this approach. He encouraged his students, individually, to participate in active initiatives driven by their deep love for the people and the land. His associations with Lehi [The Fighters for the Freedom of Israel – a Zionist paramilitary organization aimed to evict the British authorities from Palestine ny use of violence, allowing the formation of a Jewish state] members, his identification with the Etzel [The Irgum – National Military Organization in the Land of Israel – operating at the same period], and his active support for its operations further underscore his role in this ideological shift.
In the last decade, the approach of "restraint" has been identified with the broader concepts of "deterrence" or "containment," and leaders – both secular and religious – from the right-wing camp have publicly opposed it. The ideological divergence between the religious-nationalist right and the secular-humanist left became evident in the controversy surrounding the non-appointment of Brigadier General Ofer Winter to a senior position in the IDF's combat division.
Winter became widely known for a "combat page" he issued during Operation Protective Edge (July 9, 2014). In this document, Colonel Winter wrote: "History has chosen us to be at the forefront of the battle against the terrorist enemy in Gaza, who insults, slanders, and blasphemes the God of Israel's armies." Addressing his soldiers, he expressed his trust in their ability to "act in the spirit of Israeli warriors who lead from the front." He further invoked divine guidance, stating: "I lift my eyes to heaven and cry out with you: 'Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God is one Lord.' May the Lord, the God of Israel, guide us to success as we march and stand in defense of your people Israel against those who desecrate your name. In the name of IDF fighters, and particularly the brigade's soldiers and commanders, may the divine promise be fulfilled: 'For the Lord your God is the one who goes with you to fight for you against your enemy to give you victory,' and we say, Amen." Winter concluded with the phrase: "Together, and only together, will we prevail" – a statement that has since been widely embraced as a slogan by the Israeli right (both religious and national) in contemporary times.
From the perspective of the religious-nationalist right, contemporary Israeli society is called to transition from what is perceived as "diasporic femininity" (exemplified by "the old Jew," who restrains) to "Israeli masculinity" (embodied by "the new Jew," who reacts) – a man defined as a "hero" with traditionally masculine attributes. Conversely, the secular-humanist left advocates for a shift in the opposite direction, embracing the figure of an "anti-hero" characterized by feminine traits. While the national-religious right seeks to promote the "masculinization" or at least the "de-feminization" of Israeli society, the secular-humanist left encourages its "feminization."
It is crucial to note that, in traditional discourse, feminization is often equated with a decline in legitimacy, status, and value. A common social tactic employed by men is to delegitimize their opponents by portraying them as "feminine," under the assumption that de-masculinization inevitably results in diminished status, esteem, and influence within a patriarchal society.
From a right-wing religious-nationalist perspective, Theodor Herzl's aspiration to "cure the mental afflictions of the melancholic and effeminate Jewish man" has not resonated well with certain sectors of the Jewish-Israeli population. As the American-Israeli Jewish philosopher and historian Daniel Boyarin observed, the secular-humanist Jewish man remains emblematic of eydlkayt (a Yiddish term denoting gentleness). Unlike the honor and power-oriented values of non-Jewish cultures, the Jewish diaspora fostered a model of masculinity grounded in spiritual and moral superiority. Within the context of the modern Israeli state, however, the rabbinic distinction of "we are still the strong ones" has taken hold – allowing for both intellectual humility in scholarly study and unwavering resolve in military service.
The national-religious right has arguably preserved the Zionist notion of "muscle Judaism," a concept first articulated by Zionist thinker and movement founder Max Nordau. Ironically, this same movement has actively challenged the exclusive focus on the image of the "wise scholar." Religion and state journalist Yair Sheleg has succinctly captured this ethos, stating: "The national-religious man is the last in Israeli society who still aspires to realize the classical masculine ideal."
It is important to recognize that participation in armed defense has long been a defining characteristic of the national-religious right, dating back to the Yishuv period. Their involvement in WWII, underground resistance movements, and later service in the IDF were all seen as integral aspects of their identity. This emphasis on strength and power became a key element in shaping the new man of the national-religious right.
Rabbi Abraham Isaac HaCohen Kook, whose teachings continue to influence the Mercaz HaRav yeshiva, strongly advocated for activism and the cultivation of physical heroism. Through his concept of the "revealed end," he integrated the ethos of action into his broader religious framework. He called upon the Jewish people to abandon the passivity of exile and to embrace proactive engagement across various spheres of life. In his view, such activism was not merely desirable but essential, forming an inseparable part of Israel’s religious-messianic destiny.
In his book Orot, published after his return to the Land of Israel following WWI, he wrote: "Due to the great need for the strengthening of holiness in these latter days by the Assembly of Israel, physical heroism must also rise with great force. And it is incumbent upon true worshippers of God to refine the inner essence of heroism, sanctifying it with spiritual valor."
The Jewish-American moral psychologist and philosopher Carol Gilligan identified two primary perspectives shaping moral discourse: "justice" and "care." In her early research, she posited a gender-based distinction between these approaches: "Men typically focus on justice, grounding their moral arguments in abstract principles within a universal, objective, rational, and logically structured legal system. In contrast, women often prioritize specific, concrete moral concerns, emphasizing contextual nuances and emotional responsiveness. They exhibit a desire to avoid harm, even at the cost of self-sacrifice."
From this vantage point, it is clear that the secular-humanist left tends to embody a "feminine morality" centered on care and empathy, whereas the national-religious right manifests a "masculine morality" grounded in principles of justice and duty.
Amram Ysrael (Givat Haim), who facilitated the discussion with the students of Mercaz HaRav, remarked: "There is something in religion and in the religious person's sensibilities that makes it easier for him to identify with the national mission... The sacrifice and commitment of the individual for the sake of the collective and its mission seem unequivocal to them. Thus, even an enemy is perceived by them in a much simpler way. For them, the enemy belongs to another group that their emotions do not engage with. The general mission demands that the enemy be placed beyond the realm of mercy during the phase of combat."
Israelis are often considered "merciful, compassionate people," yet this trait appears to characterize Jews from the secular-humanist left more than those from the national-religious right. Recently, there has been a growing perception that when this phrase is used by the national-religious right, it often signals an attempt to overcome what is seen as an oppressive and overly soft characteristic.
Rabbi Shlomo Aviner (head of Ateret Yerushalayim, formerly Ateret Cohanim, Yeshiva and a prominent student of Rabbi Kook the son) articulated a distinction between men and women regarding their intellectual and emotional capacities: "For the most part, intellectual talent is greater in men, while emotional talent is greater in women." He elaborated that "the intellect [which characterizes the 'man' who 'gives'] conquers and acts, whereas emotion [which characterizes the 'woman' who 'receives'] reacts and is impressionable. Intellect charts its course in this world, proving, educating, and constructing new realities. Emotion, on the other hand, experiences the world, marveling, surrendering, and absorbing its profound impressions. This is a fundamental difference. Intellect is the eye with which we act upon the world, whereas emotion processes and responds to external stimuli."
This worldview delineates activity, intellect, spirit, and soul as belonging to the "masculine" domain, whereas passivity, emotionality, matter, and body are classified as "feminine." Such distinctions also inform attitudes toward hostages held by Hamas and other terrorist organizations – including the elderly, women, and children – who one might expect to be spared from harm.
My argument is that the ideological narratives of the right and the left reflect different understandings of masculinity – or, in the terms of sociologist Raewyn Connell, different "masculinities." This concept recognizes that masculinity is not singular but is instead constructed through intersections of gender, class, and race. Moreover, both masculinity and femininity are fluid categories that assume various forms – without necessitating the "conversion surgeries" that some view as alarming.
The more "feminine" and "emotional" discourse has historically characterized the secular-humanist left. For example, Shmuel Gordon (kibbutz Mishmar HaEmek) reflected in collection: "I took this war in a deeply emotional way." In contrast, Yoel Bin-Nun stated: "During the war… during the battles – I felt impermeability… I said: kill… everyone you see – kill." The representatives of Mercaz HaRav
Students of Mercaz HaRav who effectively embodied the national-religious right, exhibited what Amos Oz described as a masculinity that was "clumsy, smug, and arrogant, drunk on power."
As Pierre Bourdieu noted, "the masculine morality of honor manifests in an upright posture, a direct gaze, and assertive action" – aligning more with an exclamation mark (!) than a question mark (?). The national-religious right has long feared that the State of Israel is veering away from "masculine morality" and becoming "soft," "lax," and "feminine" – in essence, a "Sissy Land."
The word Komemiyut (sovereignty) appears only once in the Bible: "I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, so that you would no longer be slaves to the Egyptians; I broke the bars of your yoke and enable you to walk with heads held right [Komemiyut]" (Leviticus 26:13). Rashi interprets this as "walking with an upright stature, unafraid of any mortal." It was explained: "This is a generation whose exile forced it to bow its head. This is a generation that was blessed with statehood, and this establishment lifted its head – not in a historical context, but in its own immediate experience. Exile had pressed it down, while freedom exalted it."
Thus, "sovereign-less" interpreted as "impotence." "Uprising" signifies "honor" as opposed to "humiliation." The massacre of October 7 was perceived as the antithesis of heroic Israeli masculinity, symbolizing national disgrace and humiliation. From the right-wing perspective, this "failure" (widely referred to on the right as "the conception") signified a process of "de-masculinization" or "feminization" of the once-dominant Israeli elite – the pioneering settlers and kibbutzim, many of whom perished in the Gaza envelope in a tragic and perhaps divinely orchestrated event.
Unlike the Six-Day War, the Yom Kippur War – and, similarly, Swords of Iron War, which also began with a devastating surprise attack – did not align neatly with the ideological framework of right-wing religious nationalism. Among national-religious rabbis, a fervent desire emerged to restore national sovereignty – masculine, unyielding, and impenetrable – which had been trampled upon in that war, just as it was shattered on Simchat Torah [a Jewish holiday that celebrates and marks the conclusion of the annual cycle of public Torah readings] by an unspeakably brutal and humiliating massacre.
Gershon Shafat (a student of the Mercaz HaRav who participated in the dialogue at the time, and later a public figure, one of the leaders of Gush Emunim and the founders of Kibbutz Ein Tzurim, and a member of the Knesset on behalf of the Tehya Party, headed by Yuval Ne'eman) testified that we emerged from this war "beaten and humiliated." He emphasized the importance of "national honor," asserting that "in the face of the war, this honor was lost." Consequently, there arose an urgent need to restore, at least symbolically if not actually, the potency of national identity.
In the framework of a book about the fighters from the yeshiva schools (1986), Rabbi Shimon Gershon Rosenberg – known as HaRav Shagar, Rosh Yeshiva Siach Yitzchak in Jerusalem, and a thinker with neo-Hasidic and post-modern characteristics, then from the Yeshiva of the Western Wal – stated: "I think there is a profound question mark on this entire issue, and people have not examined it deeply, have not contemplated it, have not grasped the answers to that shadow of faith. That is to say, on the part of faith – faith does not weaken. On the contrary, it grows much stronger, precisely by the power of its shadow." At the end of Shagar's words, there is a clear phallic element, echoing the words of the Italian philosopher and semiotician Umberto Eco: "Since a life of constant war and heroism is difficult, the fascist directs his desire for power into sexual spheres. Since sexuality is also a complex game, he tends to play with weapons as a substitute for the phallus." Rabbi Shagar referenced an idea from Rabbi Nachman of Breslov: "He who goes out with a weapons [sexual instrument] in his hand, he who goes out with a lulav [a closed frond if the date palm tree, and one of the four species used during the Jewish holiday of Sukkot, in addition to hadass (myrtle), aravah (willow) and etrog (citron)] in his hand, this is the sign that he has won in the law. Rabbi Nachman asks: He who wins the war, lays down his weapons – why does he need to continue carrying his weapon, his spear? What purpose does it serve?" And he answers [for the attention of Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu]: "The complete victory over Amalek is impossible... We will always be at war. Our victory lies in not surrendering, in continuing to hold the weapon. Continuing to hold the lulav and etrog and not breaking in the middle."
These words align with the slogan displayed on the Eastern Wall of the Hebron Yeshiva: "May the praised of God be in their mouths and a double-edge sword in their hands." Similarly, the opening of Rabbi Yehuda Amital's book Hama'alot Mima'amakim [Out of the Depths] includes the passage: "They are all sword-wielding, learned in war, from whom they learned – from the Holy One, blessed be He, as it is said, 'The Lord is a man of war.'"
A striking example is the iconic (phallic) victory image of Yossi Ben Hanan, the operations officer of the 7th Brigade, standing in the waters of the Suez Canal after the Six-Day War. Published on the cover of Life Magazine (June 23, 1967), the image of the rifle – specifically, the legendary Kalashnikov – has often been perceived as an erotic object, symbolizing masculine dominance and power. Soldiers often see it as an extension of their own masculinity.
An additional and perhaps even more crucial point is highlighted in the film Sins of War (1989), which echoes a famous scene from Full Metal Jacket (1987). The film contains the following monologue: "this is my rifle [points at the weapon], this is my gun [grabs the penis]. This [the rifle] is for fighting, and this [the penis] is for fun." To support this ideological construct – standing firm without breaking or yielding – the national-religious right mobilized its strength and influence. Especially after the perceived "weaknesses" of the Yom Kippur War, there was a notable increase in national-religious individuals enlisting in the IDF's regular combat units. To encourage this trend and reinforce the identity of those enlisting for full-time service, "Torah-based pre-military preparatory schools" were established.
As a result of these and other measures, the proportion of national-religious soldiers in the IDF's combat units rose significantly. Military service became an even more defining element in the spiritual and social identity of religious-Zionist youth. The wearers of knitted kippahs became an increasingly visible part of the IDF's command structure, with a growing presence in elite units and officer positions. Thus, the phenomenon known as the "exchange of elites" gradually emerged, in which knitted-kippah wearers replaced members of kibbutzim and working settlements in their traditional role as "pioneers before the camp."
A hint of this ideological transformation can be seen in the words of Gad Ofaz (kibbutz Ayelet HaShahar), quoted in the collection: "The military kibbutznik type is not the Spartan type. He is not one for whom the army and war are a way of life. But he is someone who proves himself in fields where his capabilities shine. Instead of channeling energy into political, spiritual, or artistic pursuits, nearly all energy has been directed toward practical fields. And there is no small danger in this... If those sitting here truly realize, as a result of the war and other developments, that the time has come to cultivate a different character, to strive toward other ideals and missions – then there is an important achievement in that. Just as the kibbutz member has proven himself in military and economic fields, there is no doubt he can prove himself in other areas as well."
The new "Spartans" – like their ancient predecessors, renowned for their disciplined warrior lifestyle – are, in contemporary times, represented by members of the national-religious right. These individuals have increasingly entrenched themselves in militant positions and militaristic ideologies, which cultivate military values in both civilian and military spheres. In matters of war, territorial occupation, and national sovereignty, the ideological chasm between the national-religious right and its counterparts appears immense.
The national-religious right has embedded the militaristic ethos into the image of the "new man" that it has sought to construct. Physical strength and military prowess have become defining traits of the new religious Zionist identity.
Rabbi Abraham Isaac HaCohen Kook exhorted every soldier to recognize "his vital belonging to the army of the King of the Worlds, his historical and ideal role in the supreme leadership mission of the Book of Our Generations." In his view, Israeli militarism is "divine militarism." In the chapter "War" of his seminal work Orot, which became a canonical text shaping the religious-nationalist perception of warfare, the Rabbi articulated a vision in which war deepens the intrinsic value of each people, allowing their national essence to manifest fully. He wrote: "When there is a great war in the world, the power of the Mashiach awakens." War, in his interpretation, advances history toward its ultimate divine purpose: "And afterwards, with the cessation of war, the world is refreshed with a new spirit, and the footsteps of the Messiah become even more apparent." War is welcomed, especially when it's purpose for the Jewish people is to bring the light of God into the world."
Rabbi Zvi Yehuda HaCohen Kook extended his analysis beyond contemporary conflicts, applying it retroactively to wars throughout Jewish history. A scholar in Jewish thought has noted that "the Rabbi's statements about the sanctity of the army and weapons, the admiration of military power, and the deification of Israeli militarism have aroused much criticism, prompting attempts by his students to refine his views." The Rabbi saw Israel's wars as integral steps in the redemptive process, framing them as Milḥemet mitzvah (religious war or war of obligation). This position is based on the Ramban [Moses ben Nachman], who enumerated the biblical commandment to settle the Land of Israel, and the Rambam [Moses ben Maimon], who classified three types of obligatory wars: the war against the Seven Nations [that, according to the Bible, lived in the Land of Canaan prior to the arrival of the Israelites, the war against Amalek [the enemy nation of the Israelites, and wars fought in defense of Israel].
The echoes of quasi-fascist undertones in the worldview of Rabbi Zvi Yehuda HaCohen Kook are hard to ignore. After Israe's wars, the Rabbi framed them as divine acts of "breaking the yoke of the Gentiles from our necks." The Six-Day War, in particular, led him to view military engagement as not only a sign of national revival and redemption but also as evidence of divine intervention in historical processes. He saw the return of the people of Israel to military strength as an expression of the redemption taking shape in contemporary times.
One of the foundational principles of this worldview is the belief that historical events reflect divine providence, requiring active interpretation and response. In this framework, the Rabbi's redemptive lens serves as a means to assimilate nationalist resurgence, grounding it within a theological and historical context that justifies state actions through a spiritual rationale.
Rabbis from the same school of thought similarly derived their ideological positions from concrete conflicts between Israel and its neighbors. For instance, Rabbi Shlomo Aviner reiterated the Rabbi's view, asserting: "Every war is a stage in the redemption of Israel. Redemption unfolds in stages – war after war. Every war that has befallen us, whether before the state's establishment or after, whether before the conquest of Jerusalem or after, is a step in Israel's redemption."
Rabbi Oded Walensky of the Yeshivat Har HaMor, a disciple of Rabbi Zvi Ysrael Tau, expanded on this theme: "With the onset of the 'revealed end' in recent generations, as the nation gradually awakens from its diasporic slumber and reclaims its place in the Land of Israel, these forgotten and lost foundations are slowly returning. They are being reestablished, growing, and perfected. For it is the Lord our God who gives us the power to do good, and this power continues to increase through divine intervention. The miracle of salvation manifests in strengthening our wisdom and military might, propelling us toward ultimate victory over the forces that seek to undermine our existence. The recent wars and battles, as part of His divine plan, represent the progressive realization of our collective redemption. We come, in a way that astonishes the heart of every thinker, to 'direct, clear, and open contact with the 'spirit of heroism and the will to fight' that appears to us, both in great and small difficulties, and conquers us with its melodies.'
In contrast, it appears that the secular-humanist left is advocating for the "demilitarization" of Israeli society – a gradual process in which societal structures and values become less dependent on military ideals and the validation of influence through martial approval.
War, which demands "unity," has recently blurred the distinctions between different ideological circles. However, rhetoric about unity is one thing, and faith is another. Avraham Shapira, who organized the "Fighters' Dialogue," firmly articulated the profound gap in worldviews between the two camps: "There is an abyss here... that cannot be bridged at all." Rabbi Aviner was even more explicit: "We are much more connected to the state and far more loyal than those who are devoid of Torah, because we belong to this country through its divine holiness... The entire Zionist awakening began with the power of the Holy Torah, and only later did this movement expand and spread to the entire Israeli nation, including those devoid of Torah... This means that we do not join the secularists in the act of holy faith; rather, we come from within, from the core of Judaism and sacred belief, to construct the edifice of the House of Israel and establish the Land of Life. And although our brothers, who have strayed and become corrupt in their opinions and actions, have accomplished much and built much, the grand work of establishing the ideal state according to Torah and illuminating the inner light of God's Torah in the process of building the land remains an enormous task."
Rabbi Yigal Ariel (former rabbi of Nob in the Golan Heights, head of the Golan Seminary, and founder of the Hispin yeshiva high school, formerly a student at the Mercaz HaRav yeshiva) wrote unequivocally that "[during the Six-Day War] the beginning of the psychological rift between these two parts of the public was marked – a rift that deepened and turned into an abyss after the Yom Kippur War... [the secular-humanist left] adopted for itself the vision of peace and morality; [the religious-national right] – the land and its redemption. This rift has been threatening the unity of the people for a generation. The two camps neutralize each other and risk causing us to lose both the land and our hopes for peace."
His observation appears just as relevant today, if not more so. The divide reached its peak with the establishment of the thirty-seventh government – a "full-fledged right-wing government" – led by Benjamin Netanyahu, which later became known as the "Netanyahu-Ben-Gvir" government. The stark and polarizing differences in views and opinions that characterize contemporary discourse in Israel seem to converge on a singular, symbolic issue: the "national phallus."
In broad circles of Israeli society, an urgent need has emerged – especially in the aftermath of the "Black Sabbath" of October 7, 2023 – to restore, at least symbolically if not tangibly, the potency of the national phallus. This restoration necessitates attributes such as "firm standing," "uprightness," "rigidity," and "potency" – all of which are embodied in prominent phallic symbols. The concept of the "phallus" has long been employed in broader cultural contexts, particularly within nationalist movements, which often perceive aspirations for harmony among nations and the pursuit of peace as expressions of feminine softness or weakness. Instead, they frame the phallus as a symbol of life's continuity, an active force of creation, and the conduit of cosmic energy. One is left to wonder: Are we, in our time, on the verge of witnessing a full-blown and resolute erection?
