Let them serve with dignity: Inside Eli Beer’s plan to welcome haredim into national life

He’s referring to the deeply divisive question of haredi military enlistment. Tensions over the draft exemption law – originally granted to a few hundred yeshiva students in 1948, now affecting tens of thousands of eligible men every year– have reached a boiling point in the wake of Israel’s longest war.

As the IDF strains under the weight of the prolonged conflict of the Israel-Hamas War, the national conversation is turning toward shared burden. Haredim argue that their Torah study is what truly protects the State of Israel. Secular and National Religious Israelis increasingly disagree.

That solution, Beer believes, lies in civil service: a national framework in which young haredi men can serve their country while honoring their values, their rabbis, and their way of life.

Years before this conversation reached fever pitch, United Hatzalah was already running two service programs that aligned with haredi life. “We didn’t invent these for the sector,” Beer says. “We had them in place."

“But we saw the opportunity to open them to haredi volunteers – and it worked beautifully.”

Ten Kavod (“give honor”) began as a compassionate outreach initiative for Holocaust survivors and the elderly across Israel. “Too many of them were suffering in silence,” Beer explains. “No one checking on them. No one visiting.”

The program trains volunteers – now including many from the haredi community – to regularly visit the elderly, monitor vital signs like blood pressure and pulse, and offer companionship. Volunteers are matched with specific elderly residents and develop ongoing relationships.

“It’s not just medical,” Beer emphasizes. “It’s human. A young man with payot [sidelocks] and a black hat sits beside a [Holocaust] survivor, asks about their life, and makes sure they’re okay. That’s holy work.”

Today, Ten Kavod has adopted more than 650 survivors and the elderly across Israel. Beer’s vision? Every elderly person who needs it has someone who visits him or her weekly – not as charity but as national service.

The second initiative, launched with support from the Ted Arison Family Foundation, places volunteers in Israel’s hospitals. Their job: assist overworked staff with basic but essential tasks like drawing blood, recording vital signs, and managing ER flow.

“These are young men who want to serve,” Beer says. “They’re not training to be doctors, but they’re taking pressure off the system and learning how to care for others.”

For haredim, it’s a fitting environment. “We don’t ask them to change their clothes or their values,” Beer notes. “We ask them to show up – with kindness and skill.”

The program already has hundreds of volunteers and room to scale. “I think we could place 5,000 young haredi men a year,” Beer says. “And they’ll go home every day knowing they helped someone in crisis.”

If the first two programs were successful pilots, the third is the revolution.

United Hatzalah now offers a structured civil service track whereby young haredi men sign up for two to three years of full-time shifts in ambucars, ambulances, and dispatch. They are trained, uniformed, and fully integrated into Israel’s leading emergency response network. What makes it different is how the program is powered: not just by volunteers but by artificial intelligence.

“Our dispatch AI can predict where emergencies are likely to happen – based on years of real data,” Beer explains.

“It tells us: ‘Send someone here.’ ‘Position an ambucar there.’ And that’s exactly what we do.”

The result? Faster response times, even before a call comes in.

“Picture it,” Beer says. “A haredi volunteer is sitting in an ambucar, parked one block from a busy intersection. Suddenly, a call comes in – a man collapsed. Our medic is there in 90 seconds. That’s the power of combining Torah values with modern tools.”

This isn’t hypothetical. Dozens of haredi volunteers are already on shift each week. Others take dispatch roles. The model is working – saving lives while bridging worlds.

“They learn in yeshiva. They go to kollel. But many of them want to help – if they can do it in a way that doesn’t compromise their beliefs,” Beer says. “That’s why this suite of civil service programs matters. It offers choice."

“But they all have one thing in common,” Beer says. “They’re doing something. They’re saving lives. And they’re still keeping Shabbat, staying in their communities, honoring their rabbis.”

“If the haredi, secular, and National Religious worlds can agree that civil service is a valid alternative to army service,” Beer contends, “we unlock tens of thousands of new contributors. People who can eventually earn a living, build careers, and be proud citizens – all while staying true to their values.”

Simply put, “it’s a kiddush Hashem [sanctification of God’s name],” he says.

The numbers back him up. Haredim are the fastest-growing demographic in Israel, expected to reach 16% of the population by 2030. Poverty remains high. Integration is limited. But these civil service tracks provide a path forward – one that doesn’t begin with confrontation.

Beer has met with haredi rabbis and MKs. Most, he says, support the initiative – privately. “They’re afraid of backlash,” he admits. “But they know this is the way.”

And they trust United Hatzalah. The organization has 8,000 active medics, 1,000 ambucycles, and a reputation for saving lives without asking who you are or what you believe.

“United Hatzalah started in the haredi world,” Beer says. “But today we have Muslims, Christians, secular Jews – you name it. We’re united in one thing: saving lives.”

Beer’s long-term goal: grow the program to 10,000 haredi volunteers in civil service roles. But building a scalable civil service framework requires resources. After a government subsidy, United Hatzalah is still left with about NIS 2,500 per month per volunteer to cover on its own. Beer hopes the government will assume the full cost.

To meet the initial costs of the program, Beer approached Mimi Douer of Brazil, her son, Sony, and his wife, Tatiana, longtime United Hatzalah supporters. “Sony loved the idea,” Beer recalls. “He said he would help sponsor the initial costs of the program. He sees it as a sanctification of God’s name because we’re heading into a really bad situation if we don’t find solutions.”

Beer is also working with government agencies to secure full support in the future and hopes the entry age – currently 21 – can be lowered to 18.

“For 75 years, army exemption was the norm,” he says. “That won’t change overnight. But what we’re building now – these programs – they’re the first step.”