MASTERS OF ADAPTABILITY

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“Go to the ant, idler; consider her ways and be wise” (Prov. 6:6). This vivid call to action from Hebrew Scripture elevates a tiny, industrious insect as a timeless model of diligence and foresight.

But what is it about ants that the Bible considers so critical for us to emulate? Across rabbinic literature, numerous interpretations and insights shed light on the deeper meaning of this ancient directive.

What makes ants genuinely remarkable, as Proverbs reminds us in the very next verse, is that they don’t have bosses, managers, or rulers telling them what to do. They simply get on with it—tirelessly, effectively, and without hesitation—doing what is best for themselves and their colonies.

Ants’ success lies in their adaptability, collective organization, and ability to balance individual roles with the greater good of the colony—qualities that Edward O. Wilson, a leading biologist and expert on ants, described as making them ‘arguably the most successful life forms on Earth.’

The Talmud asserts that the real brilliance of ants lies in their adaptability—a quality as crucial for humans as it is for ants. Proverbs describes the ant as a model of provident industry: it prepares its food in summer to ensure survival through the winter.

Ralbag highlights both the ant’s resourcefulness and humility. Despite its small size, it accomplishes great things by never allowing a challenge to stand in its way.

Rabbi Isaac Arama, in Akeidat Yitzchak, goes a step further by explaining that no creature can rely on divine providence alone. While God ultimately determines everything, diligent effort—like that of the ant—is essential. Adaptation and planning are not signs of weakness or lack of faith but acts of partnership with God in shaping our destiny.

During my recent visit to Israel, I reflected on these lessons, particularly in the context of the neverending debate over the contentious issue of Haredi enlistment in the IDF. Just last month, a Knesset bill—ostensibly about daycare but in reality aimed at addressing social welfare support for Haredi families whose members don’t serve—was derailed at the last minute.

Likud MK Dan Illouz, a freshman lawmaker who is fully Orthodox and observant, publicly opposed the bill. Speaking afterward, Illouz made it clear that he opposed the bill because it undermined efforts to expand the conscription base in Israel, a goal he considers vital to the country’s future. “Reality dictates that there must be a ‘tectonic’ shift in the Haredi draft to the IDF,” he said.

I met with Illouz in his Knesset office, where he explained that although he was the only one to speak out before the vote, many of his Likud colleagues felt the same way. “The need for Haredi involvement in the broader national effort, particularly in the IDF, is too important for it to be sidelined just to preserve the coalition,” he told me emphatically.

Meanwhile, the rhetoric from Haredi leadership remains as strident as ever. Already short by over $100 million in institutional stipend and social welfare handouts for 2024—and facing the looming threat of a $400 million shortfall in 2025—one might have expected a push for meaningful solutions. Instead, their responses seem anything but constructive.

The ant, “which, having no chief, overseer, or ruler, provides her bread in the summer and gathers her food in the harvest,” sets a clear example. Unfortunately, the chiefs, overseers, and rulers of Israel’s Haredi community have struggled to meet the ant’s example—showing no humility, no adaptability, and offering no meaningful solutions for the challenges their community faces.

But there is a solution—the path set for us by our forebear Jacob, which has shaped Jewish survival throughout history. Jacob’s journey in Parshat Vayeitzei marks a turning point. He transforms from the “simple man, dwelling in tents” of Parshat Toldot into a resourceful and adaptable personality who succeeds at every turn.

Arriving in Haran penniless, without resources or allies, Jacob could have relied solely on God’s promise to protect him. But he understood that divine promises are no substitute for personal effort.

Like the ants, Jacob didn’t wait for external guidance to act. He took the initiative, balancing faith in God’s promises with his own resourcefulness and determination. Far from home and the support of his parents, Jacob recognized that something had to change—and change it did.

Without compromising an iota of his principles—Rashi famously teaches that Jacob never abandoned any of the 613 commandments—he became a skilled and successful animal farmer, outshining even his wily father-in-law, Laban, who had been in the business his entire life.

This narrative of Jacob’s transformation has echoed throughout Jewish history. Each era has brought new challenges to our spiritual identity as Jews of faith, demanding steadfast devotion to our heritage alongside a dynamic flexibility that allowed us to adapt to new circumstances.

While IDF exemptions for yeshiva students were a necessary strategy to rebuild Torah scholarship after the Holocaust, the thriving Torah world today, coupled with the explosive growth of the Haredi demographic, has created a new reality that requires a reassessment.

Today, there is more Torah study and knowledge than at any time in Jewish history, and this flourishing has expanded well beyond the Haredi world. The Religious Zionist community boasts scholars and scholarship that rival their Haredi counterparts, ensuring that Torah remains vibrant and central to Jewish life in ways unimaginable during the dark days of the 1940s.

More significantly, even the most learned scholars of the Religious Zionist world are part of Israel’s national effort, with many of them serving in IDF combat units.

For much of recent history, the Haredi world has viewed itself as under siege, building walls—both literal and metaphorical—to protect its values. This strategy allowed the community to survive and even thrive against overwhelming odds. But today, the greatest threat to the Haredi world isn’t secular society—it’s internal resistance to change.

I proudly come from that world and would not be who I am without it, but I have watched this phenomenon develop over my lifetime with great sadness and, more recently, with deep concern. In the past, refusing to adapt may have been necessary. Today, it poses the most significant risk to Haredim in Israel and is severely straining the relationship between Haredim in Israel and Haredim in the Diaspora.

Rabbi Shimon ben Chalafta’s experiment with ants, recounted in the Talmud (Chullin 57b), offers a profound lesson. Observing an anthill, he tested whether ants truly function without a ruler, as described in Proverbs. During the heat of summer, he shaded an ant hole with his cloak, knowing that ants avoid intense sunlight.

One ant emerged and noticed the shade. Rabbi Shimon marked the ant, and it then returned to the colony to communicate the news, prompting the others to emerge and begin working. Then, Rabbi Shimon removed the cloak, allowing the sun to shine directly on the ants.

The colony immediately turned on the marked ant, attacking it until it died. Reflecting on this, Rabbi Shimon concluded that ants have no king, for “if they had a king, would they not need the king’s edict to execute their fellow ant?”

The Israeli Haredi world, like those ants, cannot rely solely on the existing leadership to solve its challenges. Instead, individuals must draw on their instincts and take initiative—just as Jacob did in Parshat Vayeitzei.

By embracing their shared purpose and actively contributing to Israeli society and the wider Jewish world—without compromising core ideals—Haredim in Israel can show that tradition and modernity are not opposites but partners, ensuring the survival of what matters most—not just for their community but for all of Klal Yisrael.