This is what Rav Ovadya Yosef really thought about haredim in the IDF 

In the labyrinth of Israel’s ongoing struggle over military service and religious identity, a new chapter has unfolded with the words of Rabbi Yaakov Chikotai, son-in-law of the late Rabbi Ovadia Yosef. Speaking recently, Chikotai offered a glimpse into the private thoughts of one of the most influential rabbinic figures of the 20th century, a man whose shadow still looms over the Sephardic world and the corridors of Israeli power. “He always said, ‘First and foremost, Torah. But whoever isn’t learning should enlist,’” Chikotai recounted, attributing this stance to Rabbi Ovadia, the revered spiritual architect of the Shas party, who died in 2013. What might have been a footnote in a family’s memory has landed instead as a seismic ripple, stirring a debate that has simmered for decades.

The Man Behind the Words

Rabbi Yaakov Chikotai is not a household name. Married to Rivka, one of Ovadia’s daughters, he occupies a quieter corner of the Yosef dynasty, overshadowed by Rav Ovadia’s sons like Rabbi Yitzchak Yosef, the former Sephardic Chief Rabbi, or Rabbi David Yosef, a prominent scholar. Yet his proximity to Rav Ovadia, who reshaped Sephardic Judaism with his halachic rulings and political acumen, lends his words a rare intimacy. Chikotai’s decision to speak now, more than a decade after Rav Ovadia’s passing, arrives at a moment when Israel grapples anew with the question of Haredi conscription—a fault line that has tested the nation since its earliest days.

Ovadia’s Legacy: Torah and the State

Rabbi Ovadia Yosef was a colossus. Born in Baghdad in 1920, he rose from poverty to become Israel’s Sephardic Chief Rabbi (1973-1983) and the guiding light of Shas, a party he founded in 1984 to champion Sephardic interests. His rulings—compiled in works like Yabia Omer—blended rigorous scholarship with a leniency that sought to ease religious practice in a modern state. To his followers, he was a sage who restored Sephardic pride; to politicians, a kingmaker whose endorsements swayed elections. On the Haredi draft, Rav Ovadia’s public voice often echoed the ultra-Orthodox refrain: Torah study is a sacred shield, its practitioners exempt from the military burden borne by others.

Yet Chikotai’s account suggests a more layered perspective. “First and foremost, Torah” aligns with Rav Ovadia’s lifelong credo, famously distilled in Shas’s mantra that learning protects the nation. But the caveat—“whoever isn’t learning should enlist”—introduces a distinction that cuts to the heart of the draft controversy: the divide between full-time Torah scholars and those whose yeshiva enrollment may serve more as a legal loophole than a spiritual calling. It’s a stance that, if true, hints at a pragmatism rarely attributed to Rav Ovadia in the polarized narratives of today.

A Historical Echo

Rav Ovadia’s views on military service were never monolithic. In the 1980s, he endorsed Sephardic students joining Nahal Haredi, a religious IDF unit, suggesting a willingness to integrate some into the army. During the 2013 coalition crisis, when the “Sharing the Burden” law aimed to draft Haredim, Shas resisted quotas but didn’t blanketly oppose service—a subtlety lost in the uproar. A 2012 recording, later downplayed by Shas, captured Rav Ovadia musing, “If they’re not learning Torah, let them go to the army,” a sentiment echoing Chikotai’s claim. These fragments paint a picture of a rabbi who prized Torah above all yet saw room for those outside its orbit to contribute differently.

This nuance may stem from Rav Ovadia’s Sephardic base. Unlike the Ashkenazi Haredi world, with its near-uniform rejection of Zionism and military service, Rav Ovadia’s followers included working-class families, many with sons in uniform. His rulings often reflected this reality, balancing religious purity with the practicalities of a community less insular than its Ashkenazi counterparts.

The Draft Dilemma in 2025

Chikotai’s words arrive at a pivotal juncture. Since the October 7, 2023, Hamas attack thrust Israel into war, the IDF has leaned heavily on reservists—over 300,000 mobilized by mid-2024, per Defense Ministry figures—while the Haredi exemption has grown increasingly contentious. The High Court’s June 2024 ruling, tying yeshiva funding to enlistment, upended decades of precedent, pressuring Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s coalition, where Shas holds 11 Knesset seats alongside United Torah Judaism’s 7. A new draft law, due by late March 2025, remains elusive, with secular parties like Yisrael Beytenu clashing with Haredi allies.

The war has shifted public mood. A 2024 Israel Democracy Institute poll found 70% of Israelis support Haredi enlistment, up from 60% pre-conflict. Recent scenes—Haredi youths scuffling with police in Jerusalem on March 2 over draft notices—underscore the friction. Against this backdrop, Chikotai’s revelation could serve as a clarion call or a lightning rod, depending on who wields it.

A Debate Rekindled

If Rav Ovadia indeed held this view, it offers a foothold for moderates within Shas and beyond. Figures like Rabbi David Leibel, who advocate “Torah and service” models—shorter IDF terms for non-scholars—might find validation in a sage’s pragmatism. It could also widen the rift with Ashkenazi Haredi leaders, whose blanket rejection of service dominates ultra-Orthodox rhetoric. Within Shas, the response remains muted as of March 4; past dismissals of similar claims by Rabbi Yitzchak Yosef suggest skepticism may prevail.

Secular leaders might seize the opening. Avigdor Lieberman, a vocal draft proponent, could point to Rav Ovadia’s words to demand enforcement, while Haredi outlets might frame Chikotai’s account as anecdotal, lacking the weight of Ovadia’s written rulings. The absence of recordings or wider family corroboration leaves room for interpretation—did Rav Ovadia see this as policy, or a private reflection?

The Stakes of Memory

Chikotai’s disclosure is more than a historical footnote—it’s a mirror to Israel’s present. The Haredi population, now 1.3 million (13% of the total), has swelled since Ben-Gurion’s 1948 exemption for 400 yeshiva students. Today, over 60,000 defer annually, per IDF data, a figure dwarfing early quotas. As war tests national unity, Rav Ovadia’s legacy becomes a canvas for competing visions: a state where Torah and tanks coexist, or one where exemptions endure as a sacred line.

For now, the words linger—quietly spoken, yet thunderous in implication. Whether they reshape policy or fade into debate, they remind us that even in death, Rabbi Ovadia Yosef remains a voice Israel cannot ignore.