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Last week’s runoff elections for Jerusalem’s mayor — held two weeks after none of the original five candidates (Moshe Lion, Ofer Berkowitz, Zev Elkin, Yossi Deitsch, and Avi Salman) garnered 40% of the vote — might have had an uninspired 31% voter turnout. But for the yeshivish activists who took to the streets, and for Rav Chaim Kanievsky himself, it was a basic question of kevod Shamayim.
The losers & the winners: A reporter’s notebook, looking from the outside in

Sunday, November 11,
Two days before Jerusalem’s round-two mayoral elections

Last-minute loss
Yitzchak Pindrus is smiling. He smiled when he announced his candidacy and when he saw it challenged and while the Supreme Court deliberated his right to run for mayor of Elad, and then he smiled on the way out of the building after the justices upheld the lower court ruling disqualifying him.
It’s his way. Sitting across from me at an outdoor table in Jerusalem’s Mamilla mall, a short walk from his Old City residence, Pindrus appears to be in good spirits, but he is smoking, something I’ve never seen him do.
Ten years ago he quit, he tells me. He only resumed in the last few weeks. So despite the steady smile, the tension is affecting him after all.
Three months ago, Pindrus was drowning in work he loved. This deputy mayor of Jerusalem, senior advisor at the Haredi Institute, and former mayor of Beitar was making a hands-on difference.
He remembers the day the first phone call came.
It was a hot summer day, and he was in his office at City Hall, in Jerusalem’s Kikar Safra. Degel HaTorah Chairman Rabbi Moshe Gafni was on the line. He wanted Yitzchak Pindrus to run for mayor of Elad.
Elad. An up-and-coming town in central Israel, with tens of thousands of families and institutions — but not that attractive to a resident of the Old City of Jerusalem with a good job a few minutes from home.
But.
The “but” of frum politicians is that their position comes with a price. When you accept the title of “shlucha d’rabbanan,” it means you aren’t the one making the decisions.
Elad had been built along with two other chareidi cities, Modiin Illit (Kiryat Sefer) and Beitar, in the 1990’s. Those two cities are flourishing, while Elad is beset by bureaucratic problems. Degel had an agreement with the present mayor, Yisrael Porush of Agudah, that the mayoral slot would go to a candidate from their party after his five-year term. With Porush’s withdrawal, they would need a “star” candidate to win over the voters. Elad’s majority is Sephardic and Degel sought a candidate who would draw voters based on his experience and capability.
Pindrus was the guy.
Rabbi Pindrus said thanks but no thanks, but a few days later, another call came. Rav Chaim wants to speak with you.
It was a Friday, and the Pindrus family was making an aufruf for their son that Shabbos, not the ideal situation for peaceful, calm contemplation.
The day after the chasunah, Reb Yitzchak Zev Pindrus walked up the famous stairwell on Rechov Rashbam and sat down at the table next to Rav Chaim Kanievsky.
Rabbi Pindrus tried to make his case. His youngest son is ten years old, and still in cheder. His family was entrenched in Jerusalem.
“My wife and children don’t want to leave Yerushalayim,” he said. “The children are doing well in the mosdos there and don’t want to change.”
Rav Chaim didn’t disagree. “You can’t force your family to move. They should stay in Yerushalayim and you should go to Elad. They will join you for Shabbos, and during the week, you’ll go visit them too.”
Rav Chaim had ruled. Yitzchak Pindrus fell into line, but first, he consulted three different lawyers: Could a mayor lead the city alone, without his wife and children? Yes, they assured him. It was fine. It had been done many times before.
There was one more box that had to be checked: the backing of the Shas party. Yitzchak Pindrus spent Yom Kippur davening in the yeshivah he founded on Har Zion, called Torah Mizion. It was the last bit of private time he would enjoy for the next few weeks.
The next day — the final date to file the formal change of address necessary for him to run in Elad — he waited for the decision of Chacham Shalom Cohen, the spiritual leader of the Shas party. It came at 7:20 p.m. By the 8 p.m. deadline, the paperwork was done. Yitzhak Pindrus had rented an apartment in Elad and announced his candidacy.
No stranger to elections, Pindrus worked hard. He met local rabbanim and community leaders, studied the demographics and community needs.
“I’m a details person. I was a mayor before. I was excited to deal with this,” he says.
As he circulated at the Elad arba minim shuk and at local Simchas Beis Hashoeiva celebrations, Pindrus — the odds-on favorite to win the election — had no idea he was being followed.
Late on Hoshana Rabbah day, he was on his way back to rejoin his family in Jerusalem for Simchas Torah. He stopped off to buy an electric cooler, first in an appliance store in Modi’in, and then, when they didn’t have it, he tried a similar store in Jerusalem’s Talpiot shopping district.
On Isru Chag, he learned that his candidacy was being challenged on the grounds that Elad wasn’t “the center of his life,” a mandatory condition for a candidate. There had been a private investigator following him — he’d taken a picture of Pindrus shopping in Talpiot. The “evidence” was out there.
Politics is often about ideas, about parties and numbers and data. But suddenly, this story became about a family. About a wife and children. About their private lives.
“That was rough,” Pindrus admits. “My older children had already experienced losing an election in Beitar, and that was one of the reasons I hadn’t wanted to run. Suddenly, there were pictures — released by the private investigator and whoever had hired him — and the election was about my family, about our choices.”
The lower court disqualified Pindrus’s candidacy, and Degel HaTorah took the case to the Supreme Court.
“I was shocked when the judges upheld the ruling. It made no sense. My wife came with me to court. She spoke passionately about what it meant for her to give up Shabbos in the Old City, what she was ready to do for Elad. It was no secret that my family was staying in Yerushalayim — who wouldn’t rather be in the Old City on Succos than in Elad — and here I’d spent the nights of Chol Hamoed in Elad. I’d gone shopping on the way home.”
Pindrus didn’t appreciate the jokes about the fact that upon losing his chance to be mayor of Elad, he’d actually gotten what he wanted. “Once we decided that we were doing this, and once Rav Chaim made his request, there was no question. Then it became important for us to win.”
Now, with the runoff elections just two days away, Pindrus is poised for a rough week. He gave up his spot on the Jerusalem city council to run in Elad, and the campaign of the Degel-backed candidate for mayor, Moshe Lion, seems to have stalled.
He has options, of course. He’s been serving in an advisory capacity at the Haredi Institute, putting his government experience to good use in enhancing the rights of and opportunities for the chareidi community. There is so much he’d like to get done there.
Who knows? In this political climate, anything can happen.

Monday, November 12,
A Day Before the Runoff

Let's Move Forward
After Shacharis the morning before the runoff, I meet MK Rabbi Yisrael Eichler, a man who never seems flustered or agitated, who always speaks with equanimity. He won’t tell me how he, or the chassidus he represents (Belz), will be voting the next day, but he assures me that this isn’t about machlokes. He indicates the many bnei yeshivah learning in the large Belzer shul and expresses the hope that unlike different disputes between communities, this one won’t filter down to the street. Neighbors meeting in the hallway speak as they always have. Coworkers cooperate and help each other out, regardless of where they daven on Shabbos.
Things will settle down. Someone will win, someone will lose. There will be a bad taste, and things will move forward.
“Litvaks will always be welcome in Belz. Chassidim will always be welcome at Mir. It will be okay.”
notes of
desperation
Rumor: Rav Chaim is on his way. To Jerusalem. To the Kosel.
In certain circles, the theme of the entire election season has been Rav Chaim’s willingness to devote his precious time to political ends. The man of the chovos, the precise schedule and massive daily learning obligations, has traveled to Petach Tikvah and Haifa, and now, once again, there are rumors he’s making a second trip to Jerusalem.
It’s early evening, and outside of the Ohr Hatzafun shul, just off Bar Ilan Street, the post-Maariv crowd reaches a consensus that he isn’t coming. The call for a mass gathering just means Rav Chaim is encouraging others to work. But then a taxi passes by, the roof-mounted megaphone announcing that “Maran Sar HaTorah” will be there.
Suddenly, people start walking toward the Kosel.
A stream of roshei yeshivah and rabbanim arrive first, taking their places at a dais on the far side of the Kosel plaza. The guests of honor arrive, Rav Chaim joined by Chacham Shalom Cohen.
The Israeli journalists on either side of me agree: There is a certain lack of energy here. Maybe it’s because the venue — the holiest site in the Jewish world — isn’t a place for music and jingles and dancing.
But maybe it’s because their candidate, Moshe Lion, seems to be losing. His opponent, Ofer Berkowitz — young, dynamic, unflustered — has done the unthinkable and formed alliances with some chareidi Jews. There is an air of concern.
The worry is audible. In the Tehillim recited alternatively by Rav Binyomin Finkel and Rav Reuven Elbaz, the notes are heavy with desperation.
Chacham Shalom addresses the choice of venue head on, in his blunt fashion. “People say it’s improper to talk politics by the Kosel. This is a political rally? This is a tefillah gathering for that which we hold most dear. There is no site more suitable than the Kosel, where Jews pour out their hearts for life itself.”
Maybe the event has no spirited singing or rousing speeches. Maybe the last-minute gathering hasn’t drawn an immense crowd. But one thing is clear: As Rav Chaim Kanievsky is helped back into his van, thousands of eyes see plainly how personal this is to him.
He cares deeply. Deeply enough that he’s given up that which is most precious to him.

Tuesday, November 13,
Election Day for The New Mayor

Pounding the Pavement
On Tuesday afternoon, I meet a group of teenage bochurim circulating in the hallways of Wolfson Towers in the well-heeled Shaarei Chesed neighborhood. They’ve been dispatched by their yeshivos to canvass for Moshe Lion. Does someone need a ride to the polls? A sticker featuring the candidate’s smiling face? An elevator pitch on why he’s the right candidate?
There isn’t much interest in their spiel in this building, where older retirees — many of them from abroad — are more concerned with how this group got into the building in the first place. Who buzzed them in?
But this isn’t about making the sale, it’s about sharing the sales pitch. They have been told to close their Gemaras and get out. I don’t know these boys — no doubt some of them closed the Gemaras harder than others — but it’s clear that they all share the passion.
An older gentleman is washing the floors on this Tuesday afternoon, and the boys politely apologize for disturbing him as they head back to the elevator. “Let’s go to Katamon now,” I hear one say to his friends, “there are lots of mesorati Jews there, they should hear what Berkowitz plans to do.”
They pause by a doorway. The brass knob is holding a waving Berkowitz banner. One of the boys reaches out to remove the small placard, but his friend grabs his hand. “No, that’s not how we’ll win. We have to just tell them. We have to talk.”
backroom deals
The city buses that rumble by are plastered with huge signs that read, “Where were you when Jerusalem fell?” It’s an ad for Berkowitz. Lion winning would mean that the city has fallen. To whom? To the chareidim.
The ad expresses a common sentiment among the upper-class circles here. It’s hard to remember a qualified candidate who was so disdained as Moshe Lion. The capable, bright accountant has been a member of the Jerusalem City Council since 2013, was a one-time director-general of the Prime-Ministers office, chairman of Israel Railways and the Jerusalem Development Authority.
But in this stormy election, he was being backed by a partnership that effectively delegitimized him: Aryeh Deri and Moshe Gafni, chairmen of Shas and Degel HaTorah respectively.
Radio host and newspaper columnist Yedidya Meir tells me that for a significant Jerusalem demographic, it’s considered unacceptable to back Moshe Lion, even in some religious circles.
“The narrative goes like this,” he explains. “Ofer Berkowitz is the ‘good guy’, the forward thinking change agent running a clean campaign, with good ideas and a vision for the city, while Lion is just a puppet of the ultra-Orthodox. That was the storyline the media was running with. It’s true that Berkowitz seems to be a fine person, but he made his career by challenging chareidi rights, by fighting to give the city a more secular tone. He sued the city this year because a Shas-hosted Selichos during Aseres Yemei Teshuvah didn’t feature any female paytanim. Berkowitz makes a nice impression, but what can we do if the ‘good things’ he’s accomplished while on the city council are what we refer to as chillul Shabbos?”
Most confounding to Meir is that people seem unreceptive to this closer look at Berkowitz’s record. “People don’t want to hear it. I wrote a column last week saying Lion was a more experienced candidate, and I took unusual heat for it. He’s been delegitimized.”
Now, on Election Day, the first crack in the polished Berkowitz façade appears, and it’s rather ironic. A reported deal with certain chareidi groups is revealed, creating the sense that Berkowitz too — youthful, authentic, bright Berkowitz, with his Obama-like appeal — is also just a politician, cutting deals. Say it ain’t so, Ofer! his liberal, anti-backroom-deal crowd wails.
“They’re both the same,” a disgruntled older man, a professor, tells me in the Rechavia park. He holds a folded-up copy of Yediot in one hand, a leash in the other. “Why bother voting? I have better things to do.”
But still, that doesn’t seem to be enough to save Lion’s hopes.

Tuesday Night

The Downfall
Evening sets in with a sense of inevitability. Berkowitz is leading by more than ten percent. With three-quarters of the polls in, he has a comfortable lead. His supporters are gathering to watch the results come in.
Late in the evening, Rabbi Moshe Gafni goes on the air on Radio Kol-Chai and near-concedes. In a voice laced with disappointment, Gafni says, “It appears that we won’t win this election, but over the years, we’ve learned how to win and also how to lose.”
Journalists are calling the election for Berkowitz, as Degel and Shas activists turn off their phones to mourn in peace.
There are two people who aren’t impressed.
Chacham Shalom Cohen had heard the reports and brushes them off. At the simchah of a close talmid in Bnei Brak, he assures concerned askanim that they will win.
And not far away, on Rechov Rashbam, a similar conversation is taking place.
At 11:30 p.m., one of Rav Chaim Kanievsky’s grandsons, desperate for a ray of hope, tiptoes toward the shtender. “It doesn’t look good in Yerushalayim,” he says.
Rav Chaim raises his eyes, says, “Buh’a,” (an acronym for brachah v’hatzlacha) and returns to his learning.
A short while later, Rav Yitzchak Shaul Kanievsky timidly approaches his father. “Abba, there is still no change.”
Rav Chaim looks up for a second time. “I already said it will be with hatzlachah.”
The next report comes in well after midnight, when Rav Chaim is already up for the next day. His grandson, Rav Yaakov Kanievsky, comes into to the room along with Rabbi Moshe Gafni — the same Gafni who entered the room on Rechov Ra’avad 30 years ago to inform Rav Shach that their embryonic Degel HaTorah party had won two seats. In an astounding last-minute turnaround, Lion has won the election.
Rav Chaim hears the news and says, “In that case, we have to make a l’chayim.”
The silver becher and a bottle of wine are brought out. Perhaps for the first time, Rav Chaim Kanievsky makes a l’chayim at two a.m. Then he opens his Gemara, lifts the postcard he uses as a place-holder, and starts to learn.
There has been a paper on Rav Chaim’s Gemara throughout the long day, a written hope that Moshe Lion win and that Ofer Berkowitz experience a “mapalah.” It seems a strange term — a candidate either wins or loses. What place does a “downfall” have?
In those wee hours of Wednesday morning, it becomes clear. A mapalah means that a candidate is winning all day and evening, victory assured. It means the celebrations have already started when his opponent pulls ahead and in a stunning reversal, becomes the winner.
we’re all brothers
At two a.m. in Jerusalem, all roads lead to Talpiot. The streets are near-deserted, but in Talpiot, it feels like midday. My car is filled with hitching yeshivah bochurim, and as we park, we join a procession of hundreds of white-shirted, bright-eyed young men headed in to Moshe Lion’s victory party.
The room is jam-packed. There are chilonim and dati-leumi and yeshivah bochurim, Sephardim and Ashkenazim: It’s another kind of energy.
I’ve been at political victory parties before. I was even in the room when the current president of the United States pulled off the most astonishing upset in modern history. But this is different. This isn’t about a political win, but about Rav Chaim’s hopes being realized, his assurances bearing fruit, his concern for the holiness of Jerusalem being honored.
The atmosphere is helped along by emcee Menachem Toker bouncing up and down on stage as if at a Chol Hamoed concert. The event celebrating a spectacularly unexciting candidate is an explosion of pent-up relief.
Toker is chanting and cheering and exulting. At one point, some of the younger bochurim start up a cheer that sounds like gloating, mocking those who lost, and the radio host quickly turns stern classroom teacher. “No, this is about achdus, not divisiveness, we’re all brothers, now we move forward,” he admonishes and shuts them down.
The candidate himself comes out. He’s traveled a long road. A failed campaign five years ago, and an intense, two-round challenge now. Moshe Lion had been despised and scorned and attacked, but he’s persevered.
He begins by saying Shehecheyanu, thanking Hashem for his victory.
I find myself wondering how many people would be there, absent the yeshivah bochurim. Less than 50, I conclude. Maybe half of that.
The sweet yeshivish vibe, the strange partnership between the kippah-serugah-wearing mayor-elect and the army of bochurim — over 5,000 of whom spent the day canvassing and helping him get elected — comes to the fore as Lion thanks his wife, Stavit.
He pauses, overcome with emotion, and an overtired bochur starts to sing Ohad’s “Eishes Chayil”. The bochurim join in, swaying in an impromptu kumzitz. “Batach bah lev baalah.”
I am looking for someone to whom I can roll my eyes, but the new mayor’s wife isn’t as cynical. She begins to weep, deeply touched by the tribute. It’s a victory party mixed with a color-war grand sing.
It’s nearly 3 a.m. People are still pouring in. I see Yitzchak Pindrus enter, and a moment later the crowd notices him and hoists him up on someone’s shoulders. “Pindrus, Pindrus!” the crowd cheers, as if he’s hit a bases-loaded home-run in the bottom of the ninth.
Good, I think. The man gave up everything for a campaign he never even got to run. He was an early casualty, but now, his future is brighter than ever. He listened, and didn’t lose out. His party is coming into a new municipal administration stronger than it’s ever been.

Wednesday, November 14

All About Tefillah
Sleep comes only after k’vasikin. On the radio, one of the most respected religious political strategists is being interviewed, a sharp, insightful, experienced political macher with successful campaigns to his credit.
“This victory,” says the man with all the answers, “has no justification, no rational explanation. It’s a story about Rav Chaim Kanivesky and Rav Gershon Edelstein, about Chacham Shalom Cohen, about tefillah. That’s the only lesson.”
Yet there is one question still unresolved, one nagging detail that threatens to destroy the good mood. Degel may have triumphed, but ultimately no one wants machlokes. No one wants a split.
What will be the fate of Yahadus HaTorah, the alliance formed between Rav Shach and the Pnei Menachem of Ger after that first bitter battle between the two parties in 1988? In the first round of municipal elections just a week before, their candidate, deputy mayor Yossi Deitsch, was trounced when Degel HaTorah and Shas refused to back him, favoring instead an alliance with Lion, who has close ties to Interior Minister Aryeh Deri and Defense Minister Avigdor Lieberman.
It’s a question that takes me to the Knesset, where the leaders of the various religious parties are grappling with the same thing.
“Look, it’s on the table,” MK Rabbi Yaakov Asher tells me. “I met Rabbi Mozes this morning, (Agudah’s MK Rabbi Menachem Eliezer Mozes) and we chatted. We agreed that has to be the direction.”
There are never slow days in politics, and Rabbi Asher has only had a few hours to savor Degel’s victory. Just a few feet away, Defense Minister Avigdor Lieberman — who was a close ally of Lion — is in middle of announcing his resignation. He will leave the government, likely topple the coalition and with it, the bill protecting yeshivah bochurim from forced conscription. Now, everything is in jeopardy.
National elections seem imminent.
“There will be many tough decisions ahead,” Rabbi Asher comments, “but the hope is that we can continue to run together. Clearly, this election shows us that the 60/40 breakdown [the presumed demographics of the chassidic/Litvish communities within the greater chareidi umbrella] needs to be reevaluated. Our numbers aren’t less than those in the chassidic community. But we can work it out and move forward.
“You know,” he continues, “our best days in terms of achdus, the time all three parties — Shas, Agudah, and Degel — did our best work, was when we were in opposition to Yair Lapid, being attacked day in and day out. That’s scary. Can we only show achdus when things are rough? Wouldn’t it be better to show it in strength?”
A chassidic parliamentary aide from Agudah concurs. “Look, this isn’t easy for us, but there’s no reason for it to be a machlokes.” He makes a strong point. “Let’s be clear about one thing — no rebbe came out and said to vote for Berkowitz. For whatever reason, the Moetzes of Agudah didn’t rule to vote for Lion — they left it open — but it’s obvious that had they said to vote Berkowitz, he would be the new mayor. So you can argue that they, too, made Lion mayor.”
So those who are comparing this inter-chareidi divide to 1988, when Agudah and Degel ran against each other, are mistaken.
It’s a different world. Voters can’t be classified anymore by where they daven or even where they send their children. In yesterday’s elections, no small number of chassidim voted Lion, and there were chareidim who voted Berkowitz. Interestingly, Moshe Lion won by only 3,765 votes. It might well be that the Chabad community, with its 3,000 Lion votes in Jerusalem, pushed him over the threshold.
“There’s no question we need to make a cheshbon hanefesh,” says Yossi Deitsch, the original chassidic candidate for mayor. Like other casualties of this election cycle, including defeated Tzfas candidate Nachman Gelbach and even Ofer Berkowitz, he won in the sense that he ran a clean, impressive campaign and made himself part of the conversation going forward.
Even in defeat, Deitsch speaks with the elegance and dignity that marked him on the campaign trail. “But that cheshbon hanefesh shouldn’t be for others, where they went wrong, what they should have done,” he says. “It should be each man for himself, looking inward. If we lost, it means we made mistakes. Let’s be honest. Let’s address them. I have many regrets. Now we swallow, pick up the pieces, and daven for peace.”
If Agudas Yisrael has to accept the reality of defeat, Degel HaTorah has to be honest in victory too, says Yossi Elituv, editor of the Hebrew-language Mishpacha. “The 60/40 assumption may have been challenged, but the breakdown of six city council seats to three in Degel’s favor is also not an accurate mirror of the population. It will take real commitment on both ends to heal these wounds before the upcoming national elections.”
Elituv tells the story of a meshulach who knocks at the door of a wealthy philanthropist. The host’s son opens the door, sees the unkempt visitor, and says, “Sorry, my father isn’t home.”
“Oh,” says the plucky meshulach, “I’m not here for tzedakah, we’re supposed to discuss a real estate deal he was interested in.”
The young man lets him in, and moments later, the meshulach is seated in the wealthy man’s study.
He looks at his host, and tells him about his kollel, the avreichim who haven’t been paid, their hungry children.
“I thought you came to discuss a deal — you lied! There’s no deal, you’re just a collector,” the host erupts.
“Yes,” said the meshulach soothingly, “and your son said you weren’t home. Listen Reb Yankel, we both said things we shouldn’t have said, so I’ll make you a deal: I’ll forget his lie, you’ll forget mine, and now let’s start the conversation with a clean slate.”

(Originally Featured in Mishpacha Issue 736)