Dan Hadani: A Life Documenting Israel

The story of how one man's successful photography company was able to document life in Israel across several decades. Why did he later decide to destroy his life's work? Dan Hadani is celebrating his 100th birthday, and to mark it he told us of his personal journey which led him to granting all of us an invaluable gift of photographic documentation. This was his creation – now it’s our story.

Left: Dan Hadani during a visit to the National Library of Israel, 2024. Right: Dan Hadani taking photos during a visit to Egypt during the peace talks, 1977. Photo by David Peretz, the Dan Hadani Archive, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection at the National Library of Israel

On August 24, 2024, Dan Hadani marked his 100th birthday. He celebrated this joyous event with a party, almost an act of defiance against life itself – against everything he experienced as a child in Poland, against everything the State of Israel has been through, and against the terrible ordeals of the past year – letting everyone know: I’m still here!

He uses a walker and is easily tired, but his mind is clear and sharp and his memory promises to provide us with a fascinating story, spread out over a century, a story which cannot be done justice even with a thousand pictures.

In the hundred years that have passed since his birth, he has managed to reinvent himself a number of times and live multiple lives with the resourcefulness of the proverbial cat. In his most significant incarnation, the one based in Israel, he built one of the most important visual archives collected here with his own two hands, a monumental life project for one man.

In 2016, that project faced destruction – at the hands of its creator. After decades of devotion to photographs and documentation, Hadani decided that the two million negatives, meticulously cataloged and a photographic testament to events in Israel from 1965 to 2000, would be destroyed.

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Dan Hadani was born Dunek Zloczewski in Lodz, Poland.

He began life as a Polish Jew raised by a Zionist family. As a child, he saw his parents take pride in their work and craft, and that striving for professional excellence became a part of him. From his father, he learned the difficulty of living as a Jew in a state that was not his own, dealing with emerging antisemitism, and the importance of mutual aid and charitable works.

He spent his youth trying to survive in the Lodz Ghetto and then in Auschwitz, where he met Dr. Mengele and where he was largely able to avoid the wrath of his Nazi workmasters. He managed to survive and to offer support to others who suffered worse fates. He used everything he had – knowledge of languages, the ability to learn quickly, as well as technical skills – in order to show how necessary he was to the SS men. At the same time, he served as an assistant to the ghetto doctor and tried to do everything he could to help his friends in need.

In 1945, Hadani was freed from Nazi captivity. His parents and his only sister, however, had already been murdered by the Nazis. Although he had other options, Hadani felt it was clear that he would fulfill his parents’ unwritten will, realizing their Zionist dream and making Aliyah to Israel.

A year later, Hadani went to study seamanship in Italy. He passed the course with flying colors and immediately returned to Israel: “I came on Aliya Dalet – 3,000 people with forged passports. I had a Dutchman’s passport, a Jew who lived in Israel.”

A day after he arrived, he was enlisted in the navy of a country that had just been established: “I didn’t know a word in Hebrew; here and there ‘Shalom’ or words like that,” he recalled. “But on the ship the orders were in Hebrew. I often asked ‘What’s that word?” and they translated it for me. That’s how I learned. There were a hundred and twenty soldiers on the ship, the vast majority of them new immigrants and they gave us orders in this way. That’s how I learned Hebrew.”

It wasn’t the first time Hadani was thrown into a situation alone and without basic knowledge. As he had done before, he used his amazing resourcefulness and survival abilities to develop within the navy, from a new immigrant who knew no Hebrew to an officer who served for 15 years.

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David Ben-Gurion, photographed by Dan Hadani on Israel’s 25th Independence Day. May 7, 1973, the Dan Hadani Archive, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection at the National Library of Israel

And then, somewhat surprisingly, his last appointment in the IDF was as a press officer for the IDF Spokesperson’s Unit. The change had a dramatic effect on him: “In the IDF Spokesperson’s Unit I received the shock of my life. I met with reporters at Sokolov House, suddenly I heard all the stories.” Instead of making efforts to hide secret operational activity, Hadani now had to think differently. As a press officer, he was responsible for managing, accompanying, and briefing journalists and photographers from Israel and around the world, helping them cover events related to the IDF. This, he admits, was his apprenticeship in journalism.

When he was released from the IDF a year later, he had a clear idea of what he wanted to do next. He was 41 years old: “The moment I got out of the army, I had an idea what I would do. I wanted to form an association, a group of photographers, and open a company, a cooperative of press photographers. I wanted to be the one organizing it, just like I was during my time in the IDF Spokesperson’s Unit.”

While serving in the unit, Hadani had identified the need for a professional agency for photography and press purposes, which could quickly cover events across the country: “I wanted to establish a large cooperative and see to people’s livelihood. I saw that we lacked a specific body in the country, that we weren’t initiating contact with people from outside of Israel, with the foreign press.” Everyone who heard the idea tried to talk him out of it, saying it was too big a project for him and that he would fail before he even started.

Despite this, he gathered together some photographers he knew to pitch the idea: “Some 10, 12 photographers came, and I told them what I wanted to do. And then one photographer got up in the middle and asked: ‘Tell me, you want us to run out and take pictures while you sit in the office? I’ll be running around and you’ll get money to sit at a desk? You want me to hand over my salary to you?”

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An article and photos by Dan Hadani, dedicated to artists Meir and Makvalla Pichhadze. Maariv, February 20, 1976, the Historical Jewish Press Collection at the National Library of Israel
כתבה על משפחה בעוני מעריב 11 באפריל 1969
An article about a poverty-stricken family, photos by Dan Hadani, Maariv, April 11, 1969, the Historical Jewish Press Collection at the National Library of Israel

Nothing came of the meeting, but Hadani wouldn’t give up and decided to go it alone. For many long months, he worked as a freelance photographer, even getting writing opportunities from foreign journalists: “If I needed a photographer, I ordered a photographer for pay – on one condition: that the negatives were mine,” he said. When at one point he couldn’t find a photographer, he bought a camera and began taking his own pictures.

Slowly but surely, Hadani gained success and clients, ultimately realizing the dream he envisioned when he first left the army. He established the Israel Press & Photo Agency, or IPPA. He worked with salaried and freelance photographers, both in Israel and around the world. Over the course of 45 years of activity, the agency covered almost every important event in Israel: if there was a big concert, government meeting, or terror attack – Hadani’s photographers were there. In fact, if you were reading newspaper reports about Israel during this time, you probably saw thousands of his agency’s photographs.

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A photo by Dan Hadani, featured in an article about Israel’s new F-16 fighter jets. Davar, July 3, 1980, the Historical Jewish Press Collection at the National Library of Israel

Hadani took care to properly preserve all the photos he received and all the rights he acquired. With admirable care for detail, he cataloged and maintained the negatives from all the photos which reached the agency, quietly cultivating an archive which documented much of life in the State of Israel at ground level.

Hadani is proud, and rightly so, of his journalistic achievements: The photo of the father of Robert Kennedy’s assassin, Sirhan Sirhan, reading a newspaper with the article on the murder, became world-famous. A photo showing Menachem Begin bending over before Anwar Sadat and Jimmy Carter (he was picking something up) during a peace treaty ceremony was also a hit and a nice change from the generally rigid statesmanship of the time. There was also an article featuring the first photos of legendary Soviet WWII-era spy Leopold Trepper following his arrival in Israel. Trepper immigrated in 1974 and spent the last few years of his life in the country. To this we can add hundreds of thousands of pictures, piles of film documenting major cultural and political events as well as wars and terrorist attacks.

A photo by Dan Hadani, showing Israeli PM Menachem Begin bent over next to Egyptian President Anwar Sadat. US President Jimmy Carter is standing behind Sadat. This photo was taken on March 25, 1979, ahead of the signing of the historic peace treaty between Israel and Egypt. The Dan Hadani Archive, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection at the National Library of Israel

When he decided to close the agency and retire, he didn’t know what would become of the archival treasure trove he had developed over decades: “I created something that doesn’t exist in the country. It was my own little quirk. It’s hard for me today to understand how I even ended up doing it. You cultivate it. You keep perfecting it. And it’s hard. It’s hard to let go…”

He tried to find a place which would take his life’s work in its entirety and understand its incredible inherent value. After a few years of fruitless searches and failed deals, he decided with sadness to destroy the project he had dedicated much of his life to: “I was about to buy two shredders to begin destroying the negatives. I cried. To destroy such a thing? I knew there was a treasure here.”

Fortunately, Hadani discussed his intentions with his daughter-in-law, Batya Calderon, who quickly appealed to Dr. Hezi Amiur, curator of the Israel Collection at the National Library. Amiur immediately understood the value of this archive and succeeded in convincing Hadani to provide the National Library with the entire collection, which could then serve the broader public.

Despite the great difficulty in saying goodbye to the illustrious project he’d cultivated for years, Hadani had finally found a home for his life’s work: “I am happy and I am content,” he said. “I am very proud that it’s in the best hands I could have dreamed of.”

Watch our special interview with Dan Hadani (English subtitles available via Youtube’s auto-translate option)

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Even at 100 years old, Hadani refuses to sit back and take it easy. Last year, he built up a website on the Wix platform which tells the story of his life and his journalistic achievements, as well as other challenges he overcame in life. He still drives a car and takes care to remain curious and incisive, even today: “I expect and am waiting to enjoy the future. And I will rest a little, because I work very hard.”

With the look of a sober, knowledgeable man, keenly aware of the past and looking firmly towards the future, he made a very specific request in honor of his birthday: “I want to see a good future. I want to see the state I built. Today I don’t see it.”

On Plants and Prejudice: Rachel Yanait and Aaron Aaronsohn

Ideological differences and raised eyebrows couldn’t get in the way of the personal and professional relationship between Aaron Aaronsohn and Rachel Yanait. While he was busy spying for the Nili underground network right in front of her, she focused on researching nature and became close with Aaron's sister and fellow spy Sarah. Her life was saved thanks to Avshalom Feinberg's coldness towards her, and she later became the wife of Israel’s second President.

Aaron Aaronsohn and Rachel Yanait Ben-Zvi. These photographs are part of the Archive Network Israel project and are made available thanks to the collaborative efforts of Yad Yitzhak Ben-Zvi, the Ministry of Jerusalem and Heritage, and the National Library of Israel.

In such a turbulent period as we are in the midst of now, it can be interesting to go back in time and observe a surprising personal and professional relationship that spanned an ideological divide during another tumultuous period in our history. This story took place about 110 years ago, when two people with serious ideological differences managed to connect with each other thanks to their shared love of nature.

He was a world-renowned agronomist who was involved in spying for the British against the Ottoman Empire, which was just about to lose its control over the Land of Israel.

She was a young agronomist, a member of HaShomer, a Jewish defense organization, and an activist in the Poale Zion party, who later became the wife of the second President of the State of Israel.

Driving along Israel’s coastal road today, you can see where this story unfolded. Near Atlit, just south of Haifa, you can spot the row of Washingtonia palm trees that led to the agricultural research station where this friendship was forged.

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Aaron Aaronsohn’s agricultural experimental farm in Atlit. This photograph is part of the Archive Network Israel project and is made available thanks to the collaborative efforts of Yad Yitzhak Ben-Zvi, the Ministry of Jerusalem and Heritage, and the National Library of Israel.

This is the story of Aaron Aaronsohn and Rachel Yanait. Their worldviews were radically different, but their shared love of nature and Israel connected them.

This was the period of the First World War. Aaron Aaronsohn, who lived in the little town of Zikhron Ya’akov, was already known around the globe for his discovery in 1906 of wild emmer, believed to be “the mother of wheat”. It was this discovery that led him to establish an agricultural experimentation station in Atlit, with funding from American donors. The station employed Jewish and Arab workers alike, triggering a charged ideological controversy within Zionist circles around what was known then as Kibbush HaAvoda – “the conquest of labor”: Should Arab laborers be hired to work on Zionist farms and factories? Or should the Zionist enterprise rely on Jewish labor only?

And if that wasn’t enough, at that same time, Aaron’s brother Alexander was establishing an organization by the name of HaGidonim, which was in competition with HaShomer. Aaron’s right-hand man in managing the station, the young Avshalom Feinberg, also belonged to HaGidonim.

And then there was Rachel Yanait, who was born in the Russian Empire as Golda Lishansky and adopted a Hebrew name. She was a member of HaShomer and the Poale Zion political party, which were dedicated advocates of Jewish labor. Later in life, she would play a critical role in helping Jews, especially women, immigrate to the Land of Israel from the Arab world.

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Rachel Yanait in 1908, this item is part of the Archive Network Israel project and is made accessible thanks to the collaborative efforts of the Yad Yitzchak Ben-Zvi Archive, the Ministry of Jerusalem and Heritage and the National Library of Israel.

There is no doubt that Yanait and Aaronsohn belonged to opposing camps, separated by a tense and passionate political divide. Was it possible to bridge this gap?

“I’d even go to a remote monastery”

Yanait traveled to Nancy, France to study agronomy. When she returned, she wanted to continue her professional specialization. She quickly discovered that the best place for her to develop her expertise was Aaronsohn’s agricultural experimentation station in Atlit.

But could anyone conceive of Yanait going to work with Aaronsohn, the well-known agronomist from the opposite political camp?

Yanait traveled to Jerusalem to meet with Aaronsohn. She got there just as he was writing a letter to Djemal Pasha, the Ottoman Governor of the region, concerning locusts that were rampant in the land in those days. He handed her the letter. She read it and, to her astonishment, the document revealed that Aaronsohn was a proud nationalist Jew and an experienced farmer. From that moment on, she saw him in a new light, different from everything she had heard about him in her circles, where he was considered “a hater of the working man” and a boycotter of Jewish laborers. As for what Aaronsohn thought about Yanait, we’ll get to that soon.

Because of his reputation, the idea that Yanait would work for Aaronsohn was met with strong opposition from the majority of the Poale Zion movement. “Is it possible that a member of the merkaz [the party’s central committee] would go and work for…the hater of the laborer?” wrote one of the party members. On the other hand, people from HaShomer were quite open to the idea. But Yanait was determined and could not be swayed by what the party thought. She responded: “If the experimentation station were in a remote monastery, I would go there as well to study the nature of the soil and of the crops we cultivate.”  The objections of her fellow party members had no effect. Yanait remained steadfast, convinced that the path she was headed on was the right one.

Yanait arrived in Zikhron Ya’akov and asked Aaronsohn if she could work as an unpaid intern in the laboratory and library, and for one day a week in the nursery and vegetable garden in the experimentation station in Atlit.

At first, Aaronsohn responded coldly, but when he remembered their previous conversation in Jerusalem, he softened and evenexpressed surprise: “Not many people come to me, not to the laboratory or the library. As far as I’m concerned, you can come to Atlit as well.”

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Rachel Yanait in 1915, this item is part of the Archive Network Israel project and is made accessible thanks to the collaborative efforts of the Yad Yitzchak Ben-Zvi Archive, the Ministry of Jerusalem and Heritage and the National Library of Israel.

Yanait visited Aaronsohn’s laboratory and library in Zikhron Ya’akov and was impressed by what she saw. She excitedly described the treasures she discovered there:

“…I look and read from the covers, and I catch my breath at the sight of this rare treasure – books about nature and agriculture in the Land of Israel, in foreign languages and in Hebrew. A devoted and experienced hand selected and collected every book dedicated to knowledge of the natural environment of our land – the living and the inanimate, archeological and historical studies, from everything written about our land, whether written impressions from the field or research papers. Among the books are ancient folios, in illustrated leather-bound volumes that bring to mind my grandfather’s Gemara books and inspire awe and respect. From the adjacent wing comes the gentle scent of the rich herbarium. Here is the rare collection that the agronomist Aaronsohn collected from the wild herbs of the land as well as the collection of wild plants from lands of similar climate to our own…”

That very night, Yanait wrote to her friends in HaShomer: “In Zikhron, I’ve found study materials to my heart’s content. I will stay here as long as I can, and I will not be removed except for urgent matters of HaShomer. All I want is to learn and teach nature and agriculture, and this is the place to do it.”

From a Professional Relationship to True Friendship

At first, the relationship was quite formal, but their shared love of nature, landscapes, and the flora of the Land of Israel brought them closer.

Aaronsohn’s assistants accompanied Yanait on field excursions and taught her to work with plants. Not long after, Aaronsohn opened his library and home to her and even introduced her to his family.

Yanait informed her friends that she was going to stay there as long as possible, not only to learn but also because tending to the plants gave her peace of mind. The longer they worked together, the closer they got despite their arguments. Aaronsohn let her read an article he wrote about forestation in Israel, and Yanait shared with him her dream of seeing forestation of the land’s mountainous regions.

She also showed him a paper she wrote during her agricultural studies, and Aaronsohn told her, “…If you seek knowledge, put down the books, walk the length and breadth of the land, observe nature…”

One of their biggest debates was over the subject of Jewish labor. Yanait wrote the following about this: “Apparently, he never considered the question of what the future of our land will be if labor remains in foreign hands. I was sorry for this because Aaronsohn was an outstanding man of nature.”

For his part, Aaronsohn revealed how disappointed and insulted he was that hardly anyone from the local Jewish community acknowledged his achievements. “’Out there in the world, I am recognized,’ and he gritted his teeth, ‘and only here, in my land -,’ and here, he stopped speaking and his hands trembled in anger.”

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Aaron Aaronsohn, this item is part of the Archive Network Israel project and is made accessible thanks to the collaborative efforts of the Yad Yitzchak Ben-Zvi Archive, the Ministry of Jerusalem and Heritage and the National Library of Israel.

Their arguments continued, but they also continued to grow closer. The debates didn’t take away from their appreciation for one another. To the contrary, time and again Yanait was made aware of his positive opinion of her. Aaronsohn held no grudges over political differences, and Yanait enjoyed her time in Atlit. “Ever since I began my agricultural studies, I never had an agricultural experience like I had in Atlit.”

Many people from her own political camp in Zikhron didn’t approve of Yanait working at the experimentation station. She regretted that, and sadly stated: “What a great blessing it could have been for all of us, had we known how to forge direct ties with him, and what harm this feud between his people and ours has caused us all.”

Rachel Yanait agonized over the idea of sitting in a library and enjoying her time in the experimentation station while her friends in HaShomer faced various trials and tribulations. And yet, she kept returning to the station and immersing herself in the wonderful world of nature.

Rachel became friends with Aaron’s sister Sarah Aaronsohn, who had just returned home in 1915 after her failed marriage to a Jewish merchant who lived in Turkey. Aaron thought the two young women might realize they had a lot in common, and so he introduced them.

And that was further proof for Yanait that Aaronsohn thought well of her.

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Sarah Aaronsohn, 1910-1912, this item is part of the Archive Network Israel project and is made accessible thanks to the collaborative efforts of the Yad Yitzchak Ben-Zvi Archive, the Ministry of Jerusalem and Heritage and the National Library of Israe

Indeed, the two forged a great friendship, so great in fact that Rachel was invited on the siblings’ tours of the Carmel region. Rachel offered an amusing description of their search for particular plant specimens during one of these trips: “A few days passed, and Sarah came to the laboratory. She found me bent over the microscope and asked if I wanted to come with her on a tour of the mountain range on horseback…” Rachel rented a horse and joined. “…Suddenly, Aaronsohn commented that among the rocks he noticed a rare and special plant. He suggested I try – if I was indeed so passionate about plants – to find it without his help…” Rachel wandered about, pointing at various specimens, and Aaronsohn merely shook his head, angry that she couldn’t find what he had easily spotted. She was offended but continued searching until her eyes suddenly grew wide: “The queen of the wild plants was there right before my eyes – the rare wild orchid appeared in all its glory! I forgot the affront and exhaustion and took it in both hands as if I was holding a great deal of treasure, and Aaronsohn laughed.”

Sarah came back again to speak with her, sharing details about her terrible time in Constantinople with her husband, about her childhood and about her dear friend Avshalom Feinberg. It was as if Sarah had been seeking someone she could pour her heart out to. Rachel learned that Avshalom was the star of every field trip and party, and that there wasn’t a spot on the mountain range he was unfamiliar with. “And his eyes,” Sarah added, “shine brighter than every precious stone – that’s Avshalom!”

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Sarah Aaronsohn and Avshalom Feinberg in Damascus in 1916, this item is part of the Archive Network Israel project and is made accessible thanks to the collaborative efforts of the Yad Yitzchak Ben-Zvi Archive, the Ministry of Jerusalem and Heritage and the National Library of Israel.

Rachel thought to herself that Sarah was the same way. “Full of passion to do something even if there was nothing in return, no glory, and no boasting! And above all – Sarah is a country girl, a daughter of Zikhron Ya’akov, this is her home and her birthplace, she will never be taken away from this place ever again.”

A Final Conversation With Sarah and a Tragic Farewell

As is well documented, Avshalom, Aaron, and Sarah were the leaders of the Nili underground organization that spied on behalf of the British during World War I. The tragic developments that were to come heavily impacted the close relationships among this circle.

The rift began on the day that Avshalom Feinberg was released from prison, after the Ottomans caught and imprisoned him for a short period. He soon returned to the station in Atlit.

Rachel wouldn’t see Sarah again, except for one last time when Sarah came to visit her. Rachel would not forget their final conversation for the rest of her life. Sarah was surprised to see a book by Rabbi Nachman of Breslov on Rachel’s desk, which she had borrowed from Aaron’s library and hadn’t yet managed to read. Rachel told Sarah a legend about Rabbi Nachman of Breslov, and then Sarah asked her, “What do Hasidic legends have to do with nature research?” Rachel responded that “Rabbi Nachman, like the other great Hasidim, must have loved nature and understood the secrets of creation, and as far as I’m concerned, there is a connection between Hasidism and the nature of our land.” Afterwards, they spoke about suggesting to the newly formed Hebrew Language Committee that the title geveret (“missus”), which neither of them liked, be replaced with a more suitable title like adona for a married woman and adonit for an unmarried girl (feminine versions of the masculine Hebrew term for “master”). That was the last time they spoke.

Rachel worked at the experimentation station while the Aaronsohns were relaying reports to the British, as part of their work with Nili. She often came upon espionage material, but unlike the majority of the local Jewish community at the time, she apparently didn’t object to the idea of spying on the Ottomans, and in any case she truly loved working at the station and the people she met there.

Despite how much she enjoyed it, her work there came to a bitter end as soon as Aaron left for Europe, on his way to meet with the British. Aaron was replaced by his right-hand man and Sarah’s close friend Avshalom Feinberg. Despite his close friendship with Sarah, he managed the station with a firm hand and kicked Rachel out.

Rachel wrote about how he treated her: “The man who Sarah often described as chivalrous and benevolent seemed hostile and narrow-minded. It was clear that all he wanted was for me to disappear.”

Rachel left in distress and never set foot in Atlit again. It was only once the spy ring was discovered that Rachel understood the reasons for Feinberg’s behavior, but at the time, she felt badly hurt.

In January 1917, Avshalom was killed in the desert on his way to make contact with British forces and his body was only found decades later, following the Six-Day War. In October 1917, the Ottomans uncovered Nili. They arrested Sarah and subjected her to cruel torture. She eventually took her own life so as not to betray her friends.

After the spy ring was revealed and the station in Atlit was looted, Rachel’s sister thanked Avshalom, noting that his harsh treatment of Rachel had probably saved her life. In 1918, towards the end of the war, Rachel married Yitzhak Ben-Zvi, who was later elected the second President of the State of Israel.

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Rachel Yanait Ben-Zvi later in life, photo: Nadav Mann, Bitmuna. From the Edgar Hirschbein collection. Collection source: Tamar Levy. The Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

After the war, Rachel met Aaron at a meeting of the Zionist Commission, attended by Chaim Weizmann. Aaron turned to both Rachel and Weizmann at the same time and laughed, “I have never met as innocent a farmer as you. You were strange to the people of Atlit. Nothing mattered to you other than the plants and the field experiments. You didn’t understand a thing, you didn’t pay attention to anything other than the plants and fossils.”

He told Weizmann how he used to write Nili codes on the doorframe right in front of her and she’d buy his excuse that these markings were for meteorological purposes. Rachel admitted that nothing had interested her other than the plants in the station.

It’s interesting to imagine how their personal and professional friendship might have developed had Aaron Aaronsohn not died in 1919 in a mysterious plane crash on his way to the Paris Peace Conference.

The quotes in this article and a significant portion of the information were taken from Rachel Yanait Ben-Zvi’s book Coming Home (published in Hebrew originally as Anu Olim – “We Ascend”), Massadah, 1963.

A Rare Document: When Haredim Proposed That Religious Zionists Join Their Draft Exemption

A fascinating piece of correspondence found in the archive of Rabbi Moshe Tzvi Neria tells the story of the beginnings of the historic debate between Haredim and religious Zionists regarding enlistment in the IDF.

Photo: Rabbi Moshe Tzvi Neria, courtesy of the family. Background: Letter from Rabbi Meir Karelitz to Rabbi Neria, the Moshe Tzvi Neria Archive at the National Library of Israel. This record was made available thanks to the generosity of the Morris and Beverly Baker Foundation.

It was the beginning of 1948, just over a month since the fateful UN vote on partitioning the Holy Land into Jewish and Arab states. The Jewish public in the Land of Israel was busy preparing to establish the state, preparations which were taking place while the early battles of the War of Independence were already underway. It was in this historic moment that Agudat Israel and Poalei Agudat Israel – the two most prominent Haredi political movements – called for enlisting Haredi and religious youth in the national army (the IDF) that was just coming into existence. Except, that is, for women and yeshivah students.

Both within the Haredi community itself and between the Haredim and the religious Zionist community, the main debate revolved around the following issues: Would women be exempt from mandatory enlistment or from any sort of enlistment whatsoever? Would yeshivah students be exempted or be forced to serve part-time? Would yeshivah students be sent into combat? Or perhaps only receive training with service limited to auxiliary forces? And who would be considered a yeshivah student?

A fascinating document from the archive of Rabbi Moshe Tzvi Neria kept at the National Library of Israel provides a glimpse into the beginnings of the historic debate between Haredim and religious Zionists regarding service in the Israeli army – a debate which continues to this day.

The Protagonists

Rabbi Moshe Tzvi Neria was born in Lodz, then part of the Russian Empire, in 1913. He studied in his youth in yeshivahs in the cities of Shklov and Minsk, in an era when yeshivah studies were considered subversive in the formally atheist Soviet Union. He made Aliyah to the Land of Israel before his 18th birthday with the aid of Rabbi Abraham Isaac Hacohen Kook, and began studying at Yeshivat Merkaz Harav. At the same time, he was also one of the leaders of the religious Zionist Bnei Akiva youth movement.

In late 1939, Rabbi Neria established the yeshivah in Kfar Haroeh, the first such yeshivah in the Bnei Akiva educational network. In the early years, the sole focus at Kfar Haroeh was on religious studies, just like Haredi yeshivot. Rabbi Neria’s views on education at the yeshivah were famously summed up in his quip: “Hairs will grow on the palm of my hand before secular studies are taught at the yeshivah.” However, by the end of the decade, pressure from parents of students who joined forces with Rabbi Avraham Zuckerman, another member of the yeshivah’s leadership, led to secular studies such as math and English being taught as well.

The yeshivah at Kfar Haroeh was run like a typical and traditional yeshivah, but it was also part of the Bnei Akiva movement and followed its principles and ideals: In addition to religious study, yeshivah students also worked in agriculture. The yeshivah even sent one of its rabbis, Rabbi Mordechai Breuer, to the British detention camps in Cyprus, where Jews caught while attempting to immigrate covertly were detained, to establish an extension of the yeshivah there. The yeshivah’s internal atmosphere was much the same: Students enjoyed broad autonomy, which included the right to receive new students. They frequently conducted meetings and assemblies, and the student council was partner to administrative decisions.

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Yeshivah students working in gardening at the Bnei Akiva yeshivah at Kfar Haroeh. This item is part of Archive Network Israel, and is made available that to the collaborative efforts of Yad Yitzhak Ben Zvi, the Ministry of Jerusalem and Heritage, and the National Library of Israel

Rabbi Meir Karelitz was born in 1875 in Kosava in Belarus. He studied in Lithuanian yeshivahs, married the daughter of the elder Rabbi of Vilna and served as a Rabbi in the town of Lechovitch.

He was the brother of the Chazon Ish, had close ties with the leading Haredi rabbis of Europe in the period leading up to WWII, and was among the founders of the Vaad Yeshivot (yeshivah committee) of Poland.

Just before the war broke out, he made Aliyah to the Land of Israel with his entire family, where he continued to be very active in leading the Haredi public and establishing its main institutions – the independent education stream, the Moetzet Gedolei Hatorah (council of leading Torah scholars), and the most important institution for our story – the local Vaad Yeshivot in what would soon be the State of Israel.

“We have come to an agreement with the institutions”

On January 1, 1948, Rabbi Meir Karelitz sent a letter to the head of the yeshivah at Kfar Haroeh, Rabbi Moshe Tzvi Neria. In his letter, Rabbi Karelitz spoke of a temporary arrangement formed with the Zionist national institutions regarding the draft of yeshivah students, an arrangement which was valid for 1948. At the end of the letter, Rabbi Karelitz suggested Rabbi Neria send him – if he was interested – a list of his yeshivah students, so that they could be included among those exempted from the draft.

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Rabbi Meir Karelitz

Rabbi Meir Karelitz

7 Shevat 5708

My friend the Rabbi R. M.Tz. Neria, may he live a good long life, amen

[…] I wish to inform [you] that we have come to an agreement with the institutions, regarding the draft of the yeshivah students according to the following formula: The yeshivah students appearing in the lists approved by the three leaders of the yeshivot, are exempt from service in the army (in full or partial drafts).

b. The management of the yeshivot must provide capable students with training in self-defense, according to the orders and instructions of the high command.

c. This arrangement will be considered a temporary arrangement for the [Hebrew] year of 5708 and will come for renewed discussion at the beginning of the year of 5709. It may not be cancelled but by a new agreement.

At the assembly of the yeshivot leaders last Thursday it was decided: A yeshivah student is anyone that is a regular student at the yeshivah and whose Torah is his craft, as it has always been in the yeshivot, and who studies and observes all the orders of the yeshivah.

The leaders of the yeshivot from Petah Tikvah, Ponevezh and Slonim were chosen to the committee of the three yeshivot leaders. The yeshivot must provide notification if any student leaves the yeshivot – to the aforementioned committee of yeshivot leaders. If the management of Yeshivat Kfar Haroeh has in mind to join the aforementioned, may forgive me … and immediately send a list of students of draft age to that committee to the address: Tel Aviv, Montefiore 39, Poalei Agudat Israel, for … the committee.

His friend, respectfully,

Meir Karelitz

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Letter from Rabbi Meir Karelitz to Rabbi Neria regarding the draft of yeshivah students, the Moshe Tzvi Neria Archive, the National Library of Israel. This record was made available thanks to the generosity of the Morris and Beverly Baker Foundation.

“We are interested in including them in the campaigns of the armies of Israel”

In many cases, archives only contain the letters received by the owner of the archive and not their own response, but in this case Rabbi Neria wrote the draft of his response on the back of the original letter, preserving it for posterity.

In his response, Rabbi Neria rejected Rabbi Karelitz’s proposal politely but firmly. Rabbi Neria did agree that yeshivah students needed to be exempt from a full draft, but when it came to part-time drafts, his view was the opposite:

For

The Gaon Muvhak [the outstanding genius]

My teacher and mentor Meir Karelitz, may he live a good long life, amen

Blessings and greetings to you,

[…] forgive me for the lateness of my response to his letter. Illness and distractions delayed me until now.

As to the actual matter, while we indeed agree that yeshivah students should be exempted from a complete draft, regarding a partial draft it seems that we ourselves should to be interested in including them. Both for internal spiritual reasons and also for the sake of raising the honor of Torah and sanctifying the name of Heaven in public.

Procuring a list of our students at draft age is therefore unnecessary since as noted we are interested in including them in the campaigns of the armies of Israel, and in their war [against] the hand of an enemy poised against them.

Many thanks [for your] appeal and interest.

With great respect and honor

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Draft of Rabbi Neria’s response to Rabbi Karelitz regarding the draft of yeshivah students, the Moshe Tzvi Neria Archive, the National Library of Israel. This record was made available thanks to the generosity of the Morris and Beverly Baker Foundation

Rabbi Neria’s archive contains no sign of any continued correspondence between the two, and we don’t know if they continued to discuss the draft issue. We do, however, know that with the escalation of the War of Independence, many members of the religious Zionist community enlisted in the army – some in separate religious units and others in regular IDF units.

Rabbi Neria’s yeshivah at Kfar Haroeh sent most of its graduates to serve in the army. Rabbi Neria accompanied them and supported them, even writing the anthem of the 7th Brigade in which the students served.

76 years have passed since that correspondence, but the worldviews reflected therein have hardly changed.

Feldenkrais: The Man Who Stood Ben-Gurion on His Head

He was an engineer and physicist who struggled with chronic physical pain, when he developed a unique theory of movement which attracted masses of practitioners and trainers around the world. One of these was Israel’s first Prime Minister, David Ben-Gurion, who succeeded in doing a headstand for the first time in his life, at the age of 70. This is the story of Moshe Feldenkrais.

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Dr. Moshe Feldenkrais (photo courtesy of the Association of Licensed Feldenkrais Method Trainers in Israel) and David Ben-Gurion standing on his head at Herzliya Beach, 1957 (Photo: Paul Goldman courtesy of the Photohouse).

There was one man who was able to tell David Ben-Gurion what to do. He even told him to stand on his head, and Ben-Gurion obeyed. His name was Moshe Feldenkrais, a gifted teacher of movement who accumulated many students and patients, one of which was Israel’s first Prime Minister. When asked how often Ben-Gurion practiced with him, he responded: “Every day.” When asked “what hours,” he responded: “It depends. When I have free time.”

הארץ 1 בנובמבר 1957
Article about Moshe Feldenkrais in Haaretz, November 1, 1957. From the Historical Jewish Press Collection, the National Library of Israel

The first connection formed between Moshe Feldenkrais and David Ben-Gurion was a little odd:

In the early 1950s, Ben-Gurion suffered from lumbago, meaning he had severe lower back pain problems. After reports were published in the press about the Prime Minister’s physical discomfort, Ben-Gurion received a letter from a citizen who claimed he could cure him. The Prime Minister’s doctors, who saw the letter from a man named Moshe Feldenkrais lacking any professional medical training, dismissed him as a con artist. It was only on the eve of the Sinai Campaign in 1956, when Ben-Gurion once again suffered from back spasms, that he was visited by Professor Aharon Katzir, one of Israel’s top scientists, who advised he meet with his colleague – a physicist and judo expert. The man was not a doctor but he did have some original ideas in the field of orthopedics. This time, Ben-Gurion did not refuse the strange proposal.

Feldenkrais arrived at Ben-Gurion’s home where the Prime Minister was overseeing the Sinai Campaign from his bed, and gave him a thorough physical examination. Once it was completed, he announced: “You will need seventy lessons.” He added that “If you have not already committed yourself to attending the last class, you’d better not start with the first.” Ben-Gurion agreed to the strict conditions laid down by Feldenkrais, and the daily treatment of the Prime Minister began.

Where did Moshe Feldenkrais get the gall and the confidence to personally attend to the health of one of the most important people in the country?

Moshe Feldenkrais was born in 1904. Already at the age of 13, as a bar mitzvah gift, he made a special request of his parents – to allow him make Aliyah from Ukraine to the Land of Israel. With a simple satchel on his back, he set out on his way. Once there, he first worked in construction, and at this stage in his life there was little to hint of what was to come. With great effort, Feldenkrais completed his high school matriculation exams, after which he travelled to the Sorbonne in Paris to study engineering and physics. There, he completed a doctorate in physics cum laude, and afterwards worked as an engineer and physicist in military industry.

מארכיון הוגו ברגמן
Signed copy of the French version of Feldenkrais’ 1935 book on jiu-jitsu, dedicated to philosopher Samuel Hugo Bergman, who served as Director of the National Library of Israel. From the Samuel Hugo Bergman Archive, the National Library of Israel

In his youth, he took an interest in self-defense and read a book by Kanō Jigorō about the teaching of jiu-jitsu (Feldenkrais would later write the first book on the subject in Hebrew in 1930). As a youth growing up in Tel Aviv, he loved playing ball games with his friends, but in the last year of his studies in high school, he suffered a knee injury, causing him severe pains which kept him bedridden and limited his movement. Doctors at the time had no solution for him, and the only thing they could offer was a risky operation whose odds of recovery were only partial. Feldenkrais refused, and was determined to find another solution.

During his studies in France, he met Kanō, the author of the book he had read, who was impressed with this diligent and curious individual. Though he was an expert in jiu-jitsu as well, Kanō is famous today for having founded the martial art of judo, and Feldenkrais took advantage of his time in Paris to learn from him when he could. Feldenkrais would also later write the first Hebrew-language book on judo. In a letter from 1935 kept at the National Library of Israel, Feldenkrais tells of how Kanō was very impressed with his first book: “This is the best book written on this subject in a language which is not Japanese.” Kanō agreed to write an introduction to Feldenkrais’ book and even saw to it that the book be translated into Japanese.

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Cover of Judo – The Art of Defense and Attack [Hebrew], by Moshe Feldenkrais, the National Library of Israel collections
קטע מהמכתב מארכיון הוגו ברמן
Letter from Feldenkrais to Hugo Bergman about the jiu-jitsu book he wrote: “Here we see the first Hebrew book on physical culture which merited to be the first and only to be translated into the Japanese language in which the method was created”. From the Samuel Hugo Bergman Archive, the National Library of Israel

But that was just the beginning. Feldenkrais would later use all the knowledge he accumulated from his Japanese mentor, as well as his studies in engineering and physics, to invent a new theory of movement.

“I decided to see what action I took which led to my knee being strained,” he said an interview in 1957. When he began observing his body as a whole unit, he understood that he was not using it properly and that bad habits which he had accrued were causing him harm. Alongside his work as a physicist in military industry, Feldenkrais continued to develop his own unique theory in the field of movement, aimed at preventing pain and increasing acquaintance with the body. He devoted his scientific skills to try and understand his own physical condition: Why are there days where the knee hurts more than others? Does psychological stress affect it? He studied and investigated the matter but did not arrive at any new insights.

פלדנקרייז בצעירותו מתוך הספר ג'ו ג'יטסו והגנה עצמית 1931
A young Moshe Feldenkrais. Picture from his first book Jiu-Jitsu and Self Defense (Hebrew), which came out in 1930, when he was just 26

One day, while hopping on his good leg, he slipped and injured it. Despairing and in pain, he lay in bed and fell into a deep sleep. When he awoke, he discovered that his “bad leg” had suddenly improved tremendously, and he was able to easily stand on it. He tried to understand what had happened, leading him to a revolutionary conclusion: in response to his second injury, his brain created new neural circuits, reorganizing his body’s response as a whole.

In the wake of these insights, Feldenkrais developed the ability to carefully observe physical phenomena and became highly sensitive to even the subtlest changes in his body. He created a series of sensory-kinetic experiments which usually took place when lying down on a mattress and which illuminated how the brain, body, and psyche all work together as a single unit. Following Feldenkrais’ discoveries, he adhered to self-healing, slowly improving his functioning to the point that he no longer needed surgery. He even taught himself to walk in a new and graceful manner, which served as the basis for the exercise method he developed, which is named after him – the Feldenkrais Method. His principles were found to be effective not only in solving common physical problems but also in helping those who suffered from developmental and neurological problems.

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Personal Power – A Guide to Spontaneity [Hebrew] by Moshe Feldenkrais

The use of non-invasive methods to improve the nervous system and individual awareness on how to properly use the body were among the principles of the new method, which quickly became popular in Israel.

Back to Feldenkrais’ most important patient. At Ben-Gurion’s request, his therapy sessions with Feldenkrais were kept secret, but at one of their meetings, the Prime Minister let slip that he had never been able to stand on his head, even as a child. Feldenkrais, who saw an indelible link between body and soul, understood that despite their daily sessions, Ben-Gurion still had the “body image of a nebech” (Yiddish for “weak/helpless/unfortunate person”).

Feldenkrais had his own definition of what health meant: “My first definition of a healthy person is someone who can realize their undeclared dreams.” If these dreams are abandoned or repressed, he explained, they will continue to immiserate their dreamers.

He could not ignore Ben-Gurion’s passing comment and went about formulating a plan, at the end of which the unthinkable would happen (as far as Ben-Gurion was concerned), and “the Old Man”, as he was affectionately known, would indeed stand on his head. For the next month, the two worked on strengthening the body of the 70-year-old Ben-Gurion, and learning the movements to prepare for the headstand became the focus of their work. The results became apparent during Ben-Gurion’s trip to Herzliya Beach, made immortal by Paul Goodman’s camera in 1957. That famous frame of the Prime Minister in a bathing suit, nonchalantly and proudly standing on his head, would become iconic.

בן גוריון בחוף הרצליה 1957, הצלמניה
Ben-Gurion, Prime Minister of Israel, in his 70s, with his bodyguard David Bashari. Herzliya Beach, 1957. Photo: Paul Goldman, courtesy of the Photohouse

It wasn’t just Ben-Gurion who came to Feldenkrais for help. So did the famous violinist Yehudi Menuhin, Nachum Goldman (president of the Zionist Congress), Meyer Weisgal (president of the Weizmann Institute), Levi Eshkol (Israel’s Finance Minister and later Prime Minister), Pinchas Sapir (Minister of Commerce and Industry), Moshe Dayan (Chief of Staff and later Defense Minister), and many more.

He also wrote eight books which were translated into different languages. His students teach his method around the world to this day.

Feldenkrais passed away 40 years ago. This fascinating man who devoted his whole life to improving the quality of life of others, left behind a glorious legacy of students who continue to make the world a better place.

***

In the preparation of this article, we made use of a Hebrew report from Maariv from September 20, 1957 (“B.G.’s Teacher”) and a Hebrew report from Haaretz from November 1, 1957 (“Moshe Feldenkrais and the Culture of the Body”), both of which can be found in the National Library’s Historical Jewish Press Collection. We also made use of Moshe Cohen-Gil’s book The Israelis Who Sought to Cure the World – Feldenkrais/Paula/Nezah/Hooppe [Hebrew].