An Upside-Down World

By: Yochanan Gordon

A rosh yeshiva from Bnei Brak was in my office last week, on the day of the million-man protest against the proposed draft bill in Israel. While he was there, initial reports began circulating of a yeshiva bochur who had fallen to his death from a building near the protest. What was first thought to be a tragic accident was later revealed to have been an act of suicide.

It’s a deeply painful and sensitive story. The young man, it seems, had been under tremendous pressure, driven beyond his limits. My thoughts here are not directed at him, but rather at the painful symbolism of his death occurring amid a demonstration meant to defend the dignity of Torah.

Despite my limited Hebrew, I asked the rosh yeshiva what he thought about the juxtaposition of these two events. He told me it reminded him of the Gemara in Sukkah, which compares rain on Sukkos—forcing people out of the sukkah—to a servant who pours water for the king, only to have the very cup of water thrown back in his face.

He felt the protest was necessary. He condemned the government’s effort to conscript yeshiva students, yet he was torn: the tragedy had marred what should have been a great display of unity and kavod Shamayim.

I don’t live in Israel, and I’m certainly not privy to the realities of military service there. But I know people who have served in recent years and have watched the profound spiritual transformations many underwent during captivity in Gaza—the darkest place on earth becoming, for some, a crucible of faith.

There’s the story of Agam Berger, who emerged declaring, “B’derech emunah bacharti u’v’derech emunah shavti”—“In the path of faith I chose, and in that path I returned.”

There’s Omer Shem Tov, who since his release nearly a year ago has spoken openly about his relationship with Hashem while in captivity. He described how his tefillos began not with requests but with concern for the Divine: “How are You, Hashem? What can I do for You?” Only afterward would he daven for his own survival and reunion with his family.

And there’s Bar Kuperstein, whose mother received a chilling call from one of the terrorists, demanding she condemn Israel’s government if she ever wanted to see her son again. Her answer was simple: “My son is not in your hands; he is in the hands of the Borei Olam. And you,” she added, “are also in His hands.” There was silence—and then the terrorist responded, “Kol hakavod, giveret.” All the honor to you, ma’am.

At the very hour the million-man protest took place in Bnei Brak, there was a gathering in Tel Aviv’s Freedom Square, where Bar and his father publicly donned tefillin amidst music, joy, and gratitude for his freedom.

The contrast for me between the gathering in Bnei Brak and that of Freedom Square was staggering. We had just merited a miracle—the return of twenty live hostages who had emerged heroically whole from that depraved place. Imagine if a million chareidim had packed Freedom Square singing Mizmor L’Sodah over the great kindness of Hashem in returning these captives home alive. Imagine if they had held an asifah for the coming of Moshiach. Do we realize the power of a million Jews coming together?

There’s a Gemara in Pesachim that tells of Reb Yosef, the son of Reb Yehoshua ben Levi, who once took ill and had a near-death experience. When he returned, his father asked what he had seen. “I saw an upside-down world,” he said. “Those who are above were below, and those who were below were above.” His father replied, “My son, you saw a clear world—not an upside-down one.”

I can’t help but think of that when I watch the divide between the Olam HaTorah and the broader nation. Many in the Torah world are responding to the draft issue as though we were living in Czarist Russia, during the era of the Cantonists—when Jewish children were taken by force and kept in the army for twenty-five years.

But this is the modern State of Israel—one that, despite all its flaws, has long supported Torah study and granted exemptions for those immersed in yeshiva. The IDF of today is not the same as it was decades ago. There are more observant soldiers now than ever before, and a growing number of young men who manage to serve with their yiras Shamayim and ahavas Torah intact.

In fact, as we’ve seen, the horrors of captivity have kindled faith in those who never imagined they would daven, keep Shabbos, or lay tefillin. In the tunnels of Gaza, souls were awakened. Segev Kalfon attested that their Lecha Dodi on Friday nights shook the tunnels themselves. Where do they find this strength and moral clarity? This is what we’re protesting against?

It seems like an upside-down world indeed.

Or perhaps, as Reb Yehoshua ben Levi told his son, we’re finally beginning to see things clearly. 

Yochanan Gordon can be reached at [email protected]. Read more of Yochanan’s articles at 5TJT.com.