The Power Of The Vote

By: Yochanan Gordon

Election Day in Israel was on Tuesday, October 27, followed exactly one week later by the American midterm elections on November 3. While elections are generally occasions for citizens to register their preferences on matters of public policy, the atmosphere surrounding these two elections suggests that something considerably greater is at stake.

The candidates and their respective political philosophies could hardly be more polarizing. Where not too long-ago elections were largely referendums on competing approaches to taxation, foreign policy, education, and economic development, today the very fabric of American national identity has become a subject of political contention.

America’s relationship with Israel, the place of religion in public life, immigration, national sovereignty, and the ideological direction of the country have all become flashpoints in an increasingly contentious political environment.

There are candidates whose views on Israel and its alliance with America have generated profound concern within the Jewish community. Questions surrounding the influence of religious ideology upon American jurisprudence, including debates over Islamic religious law and the constitutional separation of religion and state, have likewise entered the political conversation.

These are no longer abstract discussions about distant political possibilities. They are questions being debated in the days immediately preceding an election.

The war with Iran, Israel’s multifront confrontation with hostile forces throughout the Middle East, and the implications of these conflicts for global security have further raised the stakes.

The world is experiencing a period of extraordinary instability, and the decisions made by the American electorate will have consequences extending well beyond America’s borders.

In Israel, however, there is an additional concern that transcends the identities of the candidates and the political parties they represent. The greatest danger facing Israeli society may be its inability to remain united despite its differences.

The months leading up to October 7, 2023, were marked by bitter internal divisions. The streets were filled with demonstrations, the political discourse had become increasingly hostile, and the divisions between different segments of Israeli society appeared almost irreconcilable.

Then came October 7. The horrific events of that Simchas Torah demonstrated, in the most painful manner imaginable, the vulnerability of a nation confronting external enemies while struggling with internal discord.

Three years later, as Israel prepares to return to the polls, those divisions remain deeply felt. There are even rabbinic voices discouraging participation in the electoral process, reflecting the profound tensions surrounding religion, military service, and the future direction of the Jewish state.

It is against this backdrop that I am reminded of the position taken by the Lubavitcher Rebbe, who consistently encouraged participation in elections while generally refraining from endorsing individual political candidates.

The Rebbe understood that participation in the affairs of society need not compromise one’s commitment to Torah. On the contrary, there are occasions when exercising one’s civic responsibility becomes an expression of that commitment.

There is, however, a delicate distinction between encouraging participation in the political process and lending the moral authority of Torah leadership to a particular political candidate.

In recent years, endorsements by Chassidic leaders and communal organizations have occasionally raised uncomfortable questions about the relationship between political expediency and religious principle. The pursuit of access, government funding, and favorable treatment for communal institutions is understandable. These are legitimate concerns for leaders entrusted with the welfare of their communities.

But an endorsement carries a significance that extends beyond the immediate political transaction. When a religious leader lends his name to a candidate, the public may reasonably interpret that endorsement as an affirmation of the candidate’s values, not merely an acknowledgment of a mutually beneficial political arrangement.

There is certainly room for political pragmatism. The question is whether the pursuit of short-term communal benefits can sometimes obscure the larger principles those very institutions were established to preserve. After all, there is a difference between maintaining a productive relationship with an elected official and presenting that official as a representative of the values we hold sacred.

The Lubavitcher Rebbe’s approach offers an interesting contrast: encouraging civic participation while preserving the independence of Torah leadership from the shifting allegiances of partisan politics. But it is another election, held more than a century ago, and an extraordinary episode involving Joseph Stalin in 1953, that comes to mind as we find ourselves sandwiched between these two consequential elections.

Following the overthrow of the czarist regime in Russia, elections were held to determine the country’s political future. The fifth Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Sholom DovBer Schneersohn, known as the Rebbe Rashab, instructed his chassidim to participate in the elections.

Among those who received the instruction was a chossid whose entire existence revolved around Torah study, davening, and avodas Hashem. He was so removed from the political developments of the day that he knew virtually nothing about the candidates, the parties, or the issues being contested.

Nevertheless, his Rebbe had instructed him to vote, and that was sufficient reason for him to participate. Before setting out for the polling station, he immersed himself in a mikvah, donned his kapota, and fastened his gartel, preparing himself to fulfill the instruction of his Rebbe with the same seriousness and reverence that he would bring to any other aspect of his Divine service.

Upon arriving at the polling station, he encountered fellow chassidim who guided him through the voting process. Having cast his ballot, he noticed groups of enthusiastic voters celebrating their preferred candidate, shouting the Russian expression “Hoo-ra! Hoo-ra!”

The chossid, unfamiliar with the conventions of political participation, assumed that this declaration was somehow part of the electoral process.

And so he joined in. “Hoo-ra! Hoo-ra! Hoo-ra!”

There was, however, a fascinating linguistic irony in his declaration. In Russian, “hoora” is an expression of celebration, equivalent to the English “hurrah.” But in Hebrew, the same sounds can be understood as two separate words: “hu ra”—he is evil.

While the surrounding voters were celebrating their political candidate, the chossid was expressing something entirely different.

Decades later, this seemingly humorous episode would assume an extraordinary significance. It was Purim 5713, corresponding to March 1953. Joseph Stalin, the ruthless Soviet dictator responsible for the suffering and deaths of millions, had unleashed a particularly frightening campaign against Soviet Jewry.

The infamous Doctors’ Plot, in which predominantly Jewish physicians were accused of conspiring against Soviet leaders, had created an atmosphere of terror. Many Jews feared that the accusations were a prelude to an even more devastating campaign of persecution.

Thousands of miles away, at 770 Eastern Parkway in Brooklyn, the Lubavitcher Rebbe was conducting his Purim farbrengen. The farbrengen continued late into the night, with the Rebbe delivering sichos and a maamar of Chassidus.

At one point, the elderly chossid Rabbi Shmuel Levitin approached the Rebbe and requested a blessing for the welfare of the Jews suffering under Soviet rule. It was then that something unusual occurred. The Rebbe began recounting the story of the chossid who had participated in the Russian elections at the instruction of the Rebbe Rashab.

He described the chossid’s complete detachment from political affairs, his preparations for voting, and his innocent participation in the cries of “Hoo–ra!” Then the Rebbe himself began declaring: “Hoo–ra! Hoo–ra! Hoo–ra!”

But this was no celebration of a political candidate. The Rebbe repeated the declaration, gesturing with his hands, as the assembled chassidim joined in. What had originally been an amusing story about a politically uninformed chossid had suddenly become an extraordinary moment of spiritual intensity. The words were no longer being understood as the Russian expression of celebration. They were being understood in their Hebrew meaning. Hu ra—he is evil.

The chassidim present sensed that something momentous was taking place, although they could not have known precisely what it meant. Shortly afterward, news emerged from Moscow that Stalin had suffered a catastrophic stroke. On March 5, 1953, the Soviet dictator died.

The timing of these events gave rise to a remarkable tradition among Chassidim, who understood the Rebbe’s declarations during that Purim farbrengen as a spiritual intervention against the Soviet tyrant.

The Rebbe had not announced Stalin’s impending death, nor had he publicly explained the significance of his unusual conduct. Nevertheless, to the chassidim who witnessed the farbrengen, the connection between the Rebbe’s words and the developments in Moscow was unmistakable. The man who had terrorized millions, and whose latest campaign threatened the future of Soviet Jewry, was suddenly gone. And with his death, the Doctors’ Plot collapsed, and the immediate threat hanging over Soviet Jewry began to recede.

There is something particularly striking about the fact that the Rebbe chose to introduce this extraordinary episode through a story about voting. After all, the original chossid knew virtually nothing about politics. He had no carefully developed position on the candidates. He had not spent weeks analyzing the issues or studying the platforms of the competing parties. He participated because his Rebbe instructed him to participate.

And yet, decades later, his seemingly insignificant involvement in a Russian election became the centerpiece of a farbrengen that chassidim would forever associate with the downfall of one of history’s most brutal dictators.

Perhaps the deeper message is that the significance of our actions cannot always be measured by their immediate political consequences. There is the visible world of elections, governments, coalitions, military alliances, and geopolitical calculations. And there is the less visible dimension of human history, in which the spiritual consequences of an action may extend far beyond anything its participants could have imagined.

The chossid thought he was simply casting a ballot. He could not have imagined that his innocent cry of “Hoo–ra” would be repeated by the Rebbe decades later under circumstances that would become part of chassidic history.

We are accustomed to thinking about elections in terms of winners and losers. Who will form the next government? Which party will control Congress? What policies will be enacted, and which will be abandoned? These are important questions, and their consequences are very real.

But the story of that Russian election reminds us that political developments do not exhaust the meaning of history. A Jew can participate fully in the affairs of the world while recognizing that the world itself is governed by a reality infinitely greater than the political forces that appear to control it. And perhaps that is the perspective most urgently needed during these turbulent times.

We can disagree about candidates, parties, policies, and political philosophies without forgetting that our ultimate security does not originate in any particular government. Nor should our political disagreements be allowed to undermine the unity upon which our collective future depends.

The same Rebbe who encouraged participation in elections also taught generations of Jews to recognize the hand of Divine Providence operating through the seemingly ordinary events of daily life.

In 1953, a story about an election became intertwined with the downfall of a dictator. In 2026, as Israel and America have their respective elections, we cannot know what the coming days will bring. But we can remember that the ballot box, consequential as it may be, is not the ultimate arbiter of history.

Kings and governments rise and fall. Political movements emerge and disappear. But the destiny of the Jewish people has never been confined to the calculations of political power. The chossid went to vote with his gartel on. Perhaps that detail contains the most enduring lesson of all.

He entered the political arena without ever leaving the presence of Hashem. n

P.S. I wrote this article on Monday evening, ahead of the Israeli election, before I had even begun looking for a suitable front-page photograph.

Yesterday, amid the seemingly endless stream of news stories and alerts filtering through the far too many WhatsApp groups to which I belong, I came across this photograph of the Machnovka Rebbe casting his vote, surrounded by his Chassidim, who looked on as though they were attending a Chassidic farbrengen.

The image struck me as the perfect illustration of the point I had made the previous evening. There is no contradiction between fulfilling one’s civic responsibilities and maintaining the highest standards of religious commitment. To the contrary, this photograph of a Rebbe and his Chassidim demonstrates that participation in civic life need not be a departure from Chassidic life, but can be part and parcel of it.

The Chossid in the story went to vote wearing his kapota and gartel. More than a century later, here was a Rebbe casting his ballot surrounded by his Chassidim.

Sometimes, the perfect illustration of an idea arrives only after the words have already been written.

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