In January 1904, six months before his death, Theodor Herzl walked into the Vatican for an unprecedented audience with Pope Pius X. Herzl had come seeking papal support for the Zionist movement, his revolutionary plan to establish a Jewish homeland in Palestine. What happened next defied every diplomatic convention and violated every protocol rule he had been given. Herzl refused to kneel. He refused to kiss the pope’s outstretched hand. He stood before the head of the Catholic Church with his back straight and his head held high, knowing full well that “everyone who visits him kneels down and at least kisses his hand.”
The pope’s response was swift and brutal. “The Jews have not recognized our Lord,” Pius X declared, “therefore we cannot recognize the Jewish people.” He made his position unmistakable: “We cannot give approval to this movement. We cannot prevent the Jews from going to Jerusalem, but we could never sanction it.” Then came the final blow: “Gerusalemme must not get into the hands of the Jews.”
This was not an isolated incident. Chaim Weizmann later wrote that “in his meetings with various heads of states, Herzl adopted a proud attitude that bordered on arrogance and often seemed inappropriate in light of the political insignificance of the movement he represented.”
But here lies a troubling question. The Sages teach us that “one who walks even four cubits standing fully erect is as if they were showing disrespect to the Divine Presence.” Rabbi Levitas instructs us: “Be very, very humble, for the hope of mortal man is worms.” Jewish tradition demands humility, bowed heads, and lowered eyes before both God and man. So why did the founder of modern Zionism brazenly defy these teachings? Why did he stand tall when Jewish wisdom commanded him to bow low?
The answer lies hidden in a single Hebrew word that appears just once in the entire Bible:
“I am the Lord, your God, Who took you out of the land of Egypt from being slaves to them; and I broke the pegs of your yoke and led you upright”
(Leviticus 26:13).
The Hebrew word komemiyut, translated as “upright,” appears nowhere else in Scripture. Rashi explains it simply as “with upright posture, with one’s head high, with dignity.” The Aramaic translator Onkelos renders it even more powerfully: “I led you to freedom.”
This single word unlocks the mystery of Herzl’s apparent arrogance. An individual Jew must walk with humility and humbly lower himself before his Creator. But collectively, the Jewish people must stand upright, for they are God’s chosen people and bear His name in this world.
Rabbi Zadok HaCohen of Lublin, writing in 1890, understood this distinction perfectly, applying its lessons to his own generation, as the people of Israel began to return to the Promised Land: “Erect, standing upright, not like those who travel to the Holy Land today to grovel and be in exile among the peoples that govern it, for this is not a true return to our land and our holiness.” The rabbi grasped what many of his contemporaries missed: groveling in the land of Israel contradicts the very purpose of Jewish return.
Rabbi Shlomo Aviner writes: “Private pride is a bad trait, but national pride is a good trait. What we lack is tremendous national pride, because for many generations we had no state. Worse than this, even the heart has been emptied of national pride, after we were so humiliated, until we forgot what national pride is.”
The Sages themselves make this distinction, poetically teaching that God weeps “because of the pride of Israel that was taken from them and given to foreigners” and “because of the pride of the Kingdom of Heaven” that is “despised and trampled upon.” National Jewish pride represents the honor of Heaven itself. When Jews bow unnecessarily, they diminish God’s glory in the world.
Dr. Georges Yitshak Weisz draws the perfect historical parallel. Herzl’s conduct “undoubtedly recalls an episode from the period of Persian domination, the clash between Haman, the archetypical persecutor of the Jews, and Mordecai.” Like Herzl, Mordecai
“refused to bow to Haman, despite the imperial decree requiring all to do so” (Esther 3:2).
The Midrash reveals Mordecai’s reasoning. When accused of endangering Jewish lives by his defiance, Mordecai responded: “My ancestor Benjamin was in his mother’s womb and did not bow down to Esau. I am the son of his son.” More than two thousand years later, another Benjamin, Herzl (whose Hebrew name was Benjamin Ze’ev), refused to bow to the Catholic Church, which Jewish tradition identifies with Esau.
Both Herzl and Mordecai understood something their critics missed. They stood not as private individuals but as representatives of the Jewish people. Personal humility was not theirs to display because they carried the dignity of an entire nation. When a spokesman of Israel bows unnecessarily, he diminishes not just himself but the people he represents and ultimately the God whose covenant those people bear.
Herzl grasped instinctively what the Vatican feared: that after two millennia of exile and humiliation, the Jews were emerging from the shadows to speak for themselves. His upright posture in the pope’s presence declared that the days of Jewish groveling had ended. His refusal to kiss the papal ring announced that the heirs of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob would no longer seek validation from those who had spent centuries trying to replace them.
The pope understood the threat perfectly. His harsh response revealed the Church’s terror at facing authentic Jewish dignity. For two thousand years, Christianity had claimed to supersede Judaism. Scattered, powerless Jews posed no theological challenge. But Jews returning to their land, standing upright, demanding recognition of their national rights? This threatened the entire supercessionist edifice.
Weizmann was wrong. He failed to understand that when Herzl met with world leaders, he stood not as Theodor Herzl the individual but as the voice of the Jewish people awakening from their long slumber. His “arrogance” was actually komemiyut, the upright posture that God commanded His people to maintain when they walk in freedom.
This distinction remains crucial today. Individual Jews must cultivate personal humility before God. But when representing the Jewish people, when speaking for the State of Israel, when confronting those who would deny Jewish national rights, komemiyut is not optional. It is a divine command. Standing tall in such moments honors both the dignity of our people and the God who broke the pegs of our yoke to lead us upright into freedom.
