Faith and Dilemmas: Gush Etzion Under Siege

On the 5th of Iyar 1948, David Ben-Gurion declared the establishment of the State of Israel from Tel Aviv. Reporters and photographers filled Dizengoff House on Rothschild Boulevard, capturing this historic announcement. Simultaneously, about 70 kilometers southeast of Tel Aviv, 320 members of the religious kibbutzim of Gush Etzion were marched into Jordanian captivity. Bound to each other, exhausted, hungry, and thirsty, they were subjected to humiliation and abuse. In Tel Aviv, Shabbat began for citizens of a newly born state, while for the people of Gush Etzion, it started as prisoners in the 'Mempara' camp in the Jordanian kingdom near the Iraqi border.

On that Shabbat morning, celebrated throughout the country, a different kind of 'celebration' unfolded in Kfar Etzion. A large group of Arab rioters descended on the settlement, looting, destroying, and burning homes, synagogues, and public buildings. This followed the previous day's destruction of the central structure by the Jordanian army, in which 127 Jews were killed. Yitzhak Rabin, who spent that Shabbat at Ma'ale HaChamesha near the Jerusalem corridor, described in his diary the jubilant cries from Jerusalem and the plumes of smoke rising from what was once Gush Etzion.

The Israel Defense Forces, with their limited resources and manpower, couldn't protect all the settlements in the land. Even their few victories during those times seemed like pure miracles, given the stark imbalance in forces. Gush Etzion fell, but the State of Israel was born.

Yet, the story of Gush Etzion is not just a military or national tale but also a narrative of religious resilience. The founders and settlers were devout observers of Jewish law, facing their trials with deep faith. Recently uncovered letters in archives reveal intriguing halachic questions and dilemmas that accompanied these settlers from the establishment to the bitter end.

In 1927, a group of Jews from Mea She'arim, led by Yaakov Rosenblum, purchased land in what would later be known as Gush Etzion. Calling it 'Migdal Eder' due to its elevation, they faced severe challenges, including deep snow, in their first year. The settlement was destroyed in the Arab riots of 1929, only to be rebuilt in 1934. This second attempt was also short-lived, with the 1936 riots once again forcing an evacuation.

In Nissan 1943, during the desperate Warsaw Ghetto Uprising across the sea, Kfar Etzion was reestablished by young Jewish members of religious youth movements, and other religious communities soon joined. On the 25th of Sivan 1947, a joyous ceremony celebrated the planting of 'Neta Revai' from the fruits of the religious agricultural settlements.

In 1947, the Arab siege began, a harsh and brutal blockade during which the famous Lamed Hei convoy perished in their attempt to break it.

Throughout the months of siege, the residents did not only focus on physical defense but also spiritual needs and, in particular, questions of armed conflict. Letters to the chief rabbi queried if Shabbat training was permissible, despite the absence of immediate danger.

As fighting intensified, Sabbath training was reluctantly sanctioned but with the condition that Shabbat holiness be maintained by prohibiting writing and mail deliveries. A secular resident wrote to his wife: 'They force upon me a regime to hold my letters until after Shabbat... I miss you and know nothing of your wellbeing, and yet they impose strictures upon me and prevent me from reading your letter upon its arrival...' Interestingly, Chief Rabbi Herzog permitted the opening of letters on Shabbat, reasoning it could uplift the fighters and defenders through words of encouragement from their families. Yet, they faced a new dilemma: they had cattle for slaughter and a skilled shochet, but no menaker — someone to remove the forbidden sciatic nerve and fats, allowing the meat to be kosher for consumption. Despite blocked roads, a small airfield existed in the Gush. Why not fly a menaker in? They wrote to Jerusalem: 'I can't comprehend why an entire Jewish state can't provide a menaker willing to come and render such a vast amount of meat kosher. People are falling over the matter of supplies! Can't they find a menaker willing to fly in?... We are faced with a dire situation! It's still hard to permit consuming non-kosher food so long as there are alternatives, and yet the meat is on the verge of spoiling.'

In one instance, a large bull was injured by Arab gunfire. The settlers wanted to use its meat, given the limited food supply, by slaughtering it before it died but sought rabbinic assurance that the wounded animal wasn't treif and could be koshered. After pleas that went unanswered due to the chaotic conditions in Jerusalem, Rabbi Tzvi Tilman, a local resident, delved into the halachic texts and offered a ruling allowing this. A proper kosher slaughtering knife was unavailable, so a group member spent all night in the metal workshop crafting a blade as per halachic requirements. By morning, the knife was flawless, and the bull, by the grace of God, was still alive. It was slaughtered, and the community consumed its meat.

These captivating yet chilling questions reflect both the dire circumstances and the community's unwavering devotion at the time. May their memory be blessed.