The draft debate doesn’t matter; here’s what does

I’m a mother of a soldier, and I can no longer take the draft debate.

I can’t watch Jews fighting in the streets, which is happening at protests.

I can’t listen to the hatred pouring out of both sides.
I can’t bear the smug certainty, the cruelty, the rage.

I’m scared.

Not just scared for my son — who is G-d knows where right now, doing G-d knows what, with G-d knows how little sleep. I am not just scared because there is only one check-mark next to my WhatsApp messages to him and I race to the phone every time it rings — maybe it’s him.

I’m scared for us — for our people, and what we’re doing to each other.

Shortly, we enter the Nine Days — the most fragile, painful days in the Jewish calendar, commemorating the historic days of destruction before Tisha B’Av — our government collapsed. Not over economics. Not over corruption. But over the same ancient question that has torn us apart for generations:

What’s best for the Jewish people?
Whose values are holier?
Who gets to decide?
Who carries the truth?

We all want what’s best. But we are so certain that we are right, we are willing to cut the very branch we’re sitting on just to prove it.

And we’ve been here before.

Two thousand years ago, Jerusalem fell not because of Roman strength, but because of Jewish division. This is not a metaphor, it’s historic reality. We fought — to the death — over the “right” way to protect the Jewish people.

And now we’re doing it again.

While we scream about who should serve — the yeshiva student or the combat soldier — the soldier is dodging mortars and the yeshiva student is wondering how to pay for daycare while trying to learn Torah.

And somehow, we’ve decided these two are enemies instead of brothers.

Let me be clear: This is absolutely a topic that deserves public discussion.

The draft question is real. It matters. We need solutions.

But if we can’t talk about it with respect — if we can’t debate it without dehumanizing each other, then it’s better we do nothing than destroy each other in the process.

There is no mitzvah so holy that it justifies hatred.

There is no value worth defending if we lose our people defending it.

It. Does. Not. Matter.

On the eve of Simchat Torah two years ago, after the Tel Aviv municipality decided that Torah and Judaism do not belong on the street, I told my kids we’d go to Tel Aviv after the holiday for hakafot shniyot (dancing with music, publicly, to celebrate Simchat Torah) — because the idea of the Torah being banned from public space in the Jewish state was unthinkable to me.

But of course, we never went.

There were no hakafot shniyot and nobody could think about Torah or dancing, because we were all trying to wrap our heads around the fact that 200 Israelis had been murdered in less than a day (of course that number became some 1,200, but it took a week to resolve) and hundreds of hostages were on the other side of the Gaza border.

Everything I thought critical and imperative and earth-shattering on October 6, was completely irrelevant before the sun set on October 7.

But our memories are short and so we’re doing it again.

Acting as though this fight — this angry, relentless, soul-crushing fight — is the hill to die on.

Well, it’s not.

I hold nothing more sacred than Torah and Torah learning. I pray for the day my son returns to the yeshiva and opens his Gemara again. I deeply admire my sons-in-law, who can’t go a day without their sefarim (Torah books).

And I hold nothing more sacred than defending this land and the lives of our children. My son wears the uniform of Am Yisrael, the nation of Israel, and there is no greater honor.

And yes, I believe in fairness. I believe in contribution. I believe every Jew should carry part of the burden.

But none of that matters if we fight about it.

The Talmud teaches that in the days of King David, the soldiers were Torah scholars — and they fell like flies. Why? Because the people weren’t united.

But in the days of King Achav — idol worshipers! — they won.
Why? Because they were united.

Unity isn’t a slogan. It’s survival.

So if you believe the most important thing right now is getting more Haredi boys into the army — think again. If you achieve it through rage and resentment, you are endangering the very soldiers you claim to protect.

And if you believe the most important thing is keeping every Haredi boy in yeshiva — think again. If it comes through scorn and condemnation, you are weakening the very Torah you cherish.

You want to know what protects us?

Not just Torah.
Not just tanks.
Togetherness.

You cannot scream “Torah protects us!” and ignore the mothers who lie awake every night, praying for their sons to come home alive.

You cannot scream “Share the burden!” and spit on men who haven’t missed Shacharit (morning prayers) since they were five.

Because here’s what I’ve learned as a mother of a combat soldier:

One hundred thousand more soldiers won’t save us if G-d isn’t with us.
And G-d doesn’t stick around when we tear each other apart.

All of our sons — those in olive green and those in black and white — are fighting for the Jewish people.

And we will lose them both if we forget we’re on the same side.

This war won’t be won in the Knesset.

It won’t be won on Twitter or in shouting matches on TV.

It will be won the day we remember: we’re not two camps. We’re one people.

We’ve built a country. We’ve survived pogroms. We’ve made it through worse.

But we have never made it through division.

So if you’ve ever whispered “Ve’ten chelkenu beToratecha,” (give us our portion in Your Torah)…
If you’ve ever cried at the sound of HaTikvah…
If you’ve ever felt your soul light up at the word “Zion”…

Then please, please remember: Ahavat Yisrael (love of the Jewish people) isn’t a bumper sticker. It’s a lifeline.

And every word of hatred is a bullet in our enemies’ weapons.

But you know the worst part? I feel totally powerless.

I can write a thousand Facebook posts and another thousand opeds. Talk to a thousand people. But I still don’t know how to make this stop.

Maybe you have a better idea?