Within the religious world itself, there are many different approaches to the State of Israel. These views are often grouped together, but in truth they are not the same, and they frequently disagree with one another.
Some believe the State has religious value despite being founded largely by non-observant Jews.
Some believe the land is holy, but the State itself has no religious status.
Some believe that Jewish sovereignty should wait until Mashiach comes.
And some hold positions that are even more extreme.
Not everyone who is Haredi holds the same view, and even those who are skeptical of the State often differ sharply among themselves—on theology, history, and practical consequences.
One concept sometimes invoked in these discussions is “al yedei resha’im resha”—the idea that when something negative occurs, God may bring it about through flawed people. Some have tried to apply this idea to the early Zionist movement, arguing that because many founders were not observant, the State itself must be spiritually problematic. In certain circles, this thinking also influenced opposition to serving in the army, based on the belief that participation would legitimize a religiously invalid project—even though, to many others, that conclusion itself seems deeply troubling.
But this entire framework misses something essential.
Judaism is not a black-and-white system of labeling people as either “righteous” or “evil.” God does not view human beings that way, and the Torah does not describe spiritual life in such simple categories. Human beings live on a spectrum, and different parts of the same person can express very different spiritual realities.
The Jews who came to the land and fought for it did not have to do so. They could have gone to Australia, America, or elsewhere and lived comfortably among the nations. Instead, they chose Jewish peoplehood. They chose Jewish destiny. They wanted Jews to live together as Jews.
Yes—many were not observant. Many did not keep Shabbat. Some openly rejected religion. And yet, most still felt a deep bond to the Jewish people. Many made a Pesach Seder. Many fasted on Yom Kippur. And even those who did none of that still chose Jewish national life over assimilation. That choice did not come from nothing.
A person can be distant from mitzvot and still act מתוך קדושה in a particular area. The aspect of these Jews that rebuilt Jewish life in Eretz Yisrael was an act of mitzvah—of love for Klal Yisrael, and ultimately of connection to Hashem, even if that connection was buried deep within the soul.
At the same time, someone can be meticulous about ritual observance and still act cruelly, dishonestly, or without basic decency. That is not what Torah calls righteousness. There are 613 mitzvot, along with many rabbinic obligations, and they include how we treat one another. Torah observance is not measured by externals alone.
To dismiss the return of Jews to their land as merely “al yedei resha’im” is to misunderstand both people and God. When an act itself restores Jewish life, dignity, and continuity, it does not become impure simply because the people involved were imperfect. Hashem works through angels when He chooses to, and He also works through complex, imperfect human beings in the unfolding of history.
After generations of suffering, confusion, and exile, Hashem can forgive Jews who were broken, distant, or searching—and so should we.
We are all God’s people. If we could learn to see the good in one another instead of focusing only on what we dislike or disapprove of, we would find far more unity, far more honesty, and far more אמת.
Eretz Yisrael is holy not because Jews are perfect—but because Hashem’s covenant with His people is real, enduring, and compassionate.