Faith Is Not Euphoria

I serve as a member of the Council of the Chief Rabbinate of Israel; these views represent my personal stance.

Reading Rabbi Elchanan Poupko’s essay, “Religious Zionism’s Dangerous Euphoria,” I was struck by how differently the determination of Israelis can appear to someone observing from abroad. Writing from New England in the United States, Rabbi Poupko describes the resolve sustaining millions of Israelis through a devastating war as “engineered euphoria”—a dangerous detachment from reality.

I believe this interpretation gets something fundamental wrong. The determination of Israelis is not evidence that they fail to see reality. It is evidence that, even while confronting its dangers and pain, they refuse to surrender hope. Those who live through a war do not need to be reminded that it is frightening, costly and uncertain. They experience that reality every day.

Israelis watch their sons and daughters leave for the front. They wait anxiously for news, mourn their dead and try to maintain ordinary life under extraordinary pressure. Their resolve does not mean they are blind to the dangers. It means those dangers have not broken their determination to carry on.

Of course, living abroad does not disqualify anyone from criticising Israel, just as living in Israel does not guarantee sound judgement. Distance can sometimes offer a useful perspective, but it can also obscure what people on the ground understand through lived experience. Before describing a society’s confidence as delusion, we must ask whether we have understood what sustains it.

This distinction matters particularly when the criticism is directed at Religious Zionism. Rabbi Poupko raises concerns that deserve serious consideration, but his portrayal risks turning a diverse community into a caricature. Religious Zionism includes Torah scholars, educators, doctors, teachers, public servants, soldiers and families whose commitment to Torah and Eretz Yisrael shapes their daily lives. To portray its members as lawless “cowboys riding Toyota pickups” is not to understand the community; it is to reduce it to a stereotype.
This is not to claim that Religious Zionism is beyond criticism. No community is. Violence and wrongdoing must be condemned, whoever commits them and whatever ideals they claim to represent. But the opposite error is equally serious: taking the behaviour of some and treating it as the defining character of hundreds of thousands of people.

Many Religious Zionists serve in combat units, accept grave personal risks and shoulder responsibilities throughout Israeli society. Their contributions do not excuse wrongdoing by others, but they are part of the same reality and cannot honestly be ignored. A fair assessment must recognise both what needs correction and what deserves recognition. Criticism that acknowledges only the former presents an incomplete picture, however forcefully it is expressed.

The Gemara in Chullin (63b), discussing the bird called ra’ah, describes its exceptional sight with the words ״שרואה ביותר״. It tells us that the bird can stand in Babylonia and see a carcass in Eretz Yisrael: ״עומדת בבבל ורואה נבלה בארץ ישראל״.

The Gemara is discussing the bird’s remarkable vision, not making a statement about modern critics of Israel. Yet its description offers a useful analogy. Seeing a fault from a distance is not the same as understanding the reality in which that fault exists. One may identify a problem accurately and still fail to appreciate the circumstances, the people involved or the wider picture.

This is also relevant to the Jewish obligation of tochachah—rebuke. The purpose of rebuke is not simply to expose another person’s failings or to demonstrate that we are right. It is to help correct what is wrong. That requires accuracy, proportion and a genuine desire to improve matters. When criticism becomes a sweeping condemnation of an entire community, it risks deepening divisions rather than encouraging constructive change.

Public criticism also carries responsibility when it reaches an international audience already exposed to hostility towards Israel. At a time of rising antisemitism, sweeping accusations against a major sector of Israeli society can be detached from their context and used to reinforce existing prejudices. This is no reason to conceal wrongdoing or silence legitimate criticism. It is a reason to ensure that the failings of some do not become an indictment of all.

Beneath this disagreement lies a deeper question: what is the source of the confidence Rabbi Poupko describes as “euphoria”? In many cases, the answer is emunah—faith.

Emunah does not mean ignoring military threats, diplomatic pressures, economic hardship or the dangers Israel faces. It does not mean believing that every decision is correct or that every outcome will be favourable. Faith is not a substitute for judgement, and it must never become an excuse to avoid examining mistakes.

Rather, emunah gives a person the strength to confront painful realities without surrendering to despair. Throughout Jewish history, it has sustained our people when the future seemed uncertain and the forces arrayed against us appeared overwhelming. In Israel today, it is expressed in families supporting those serving at the front, communities rebuilding after terrible loss, people caring for the wounded and bereaved, and citizens continuing their responsibilities despite the burdens they carry. Their faith does not make suffering unreal; it gives them the strength to live through it with purpose.

Israel needs honest criticism. It needs people willing to identify failures, challenge mistaken decisions and demand accountability. But it also needs an ayin tovah—a generous and discerning eye. An ayin tovah does not overlook wrongdoing. It refuses to let wrongdoing obscure everything else. It can condemn an individual’s actions without condemning an entire community, and recognise courage without pretending that mistakes have never been made.

The question for those writing about Israel from abroad is therefore not whether they have the right to criticise; they do. It is whether their criticism adequately understands the people they are judging. To understand Israel, one must look beyond its dangers and political disagreements to the people who continue to serve, mourn, rebuild and hope amid them.

We must never confuse faith with complacency, but neither should we confuse hope with delusion. Israel needs clear eyes, honest criticism and the courage to correct its mistakes. It also needs the humility to recognise that people can see the dangers clearly and still believe that their future is worth fighting for.

What keeps Israel standing today is not euphoria. It is emunah—a faith that does not deny reality, but gives the Jewish people the strength to face it without surrendering hope.