Leadership, in Prof. Arie Zaban’s telling, is rarely a matter of grand vision statements. It is a practice shaped by routines: briefing before action, debriefing afterward, learning from what worked and what did not.

Long before he entered academia, those habits were ingrained in him. As a young Israel Air Force pilot, Zaban didn’t flaunt his accomplishments. “I’m not sure how unique my journey is,” he remarks today. 

His modest words hide a career that shifted from combat aviation to electrochemistry, from academic research to entrepreneurship, and finally to heading a university. He explains that this path continues to influence his sense of responsibility, especially during uncertain times.

“In the Air Force, you’re always debriefing,” he says. “Before each flight, there’s a briefing, and after, a debrief. Every day ends with questions. Sometimes they’re simple, sometimes very tough. Maybe you didn’t do what you should have. But it’s never about punishment, it’s about learning.”

Bar-Ilan University President Prof. Arie Zaban
Bar-Ilan University President Prof. Arie Zaban (credit: ANAT KAZULA)

Zaban became president of Bar-Ilan University in 2017, taking over an institution often seen as conservative or marginal within Israel’s academic world. 

Today, eight years later, Bar-Ilan is Israel’s second-largest university and one of its fastest growing. Enrollment has increased by about 30% over that period, a notable rise in a higher-education system generally experiencing slow growth.

“People vote with their feet,” Zaban states. “They wouldn’t choose to come here if the academics weren’t excellent. They wouldn’t come if the research wasn’t solid. But there’s something more.” He suggests that this “something more” is a culture that strives, sometimes imperfectly, to balance ambition with care for individuals.

Achievements to ecosystems 

Zaban’s academic background is in electrochemistry and nanotechnology. During his time as a researcher at Bar-Ilan, he founded the university’s Nano Technology Institute, which started with six faculty members and a few dozen students. Now it has over 70 researchers and more than 600 students.

“That experience shaped how I think about science,” he says, “about how it’s done, and about its limits.” He believes that the biggest societal challenges cannot be solved by isolated researchers. “The big problems don’t belong to one person,” he notes. “Real impact comes from collaboration.”

For Zaban, collaboration must go beyond academic disciplines. “Science can’t exist on its own island,” he states. “It has to be part of the world.” He prefers the idea of “science within an ecosystem” rather than “science as an ecosystem,” where universities, hospitals, industry, and policymakers are interconnected. “Every part has a role. If science stays isolated, it remains theoretical. When connected, it can lead to tangible solutions.”

This view supports HealthTech Valley, Bar-Ilan’s main project connecting university researchers with clinicians, start-ups, and industry players. It combines fields that don’t always overlap: medicine, engineering, computer science, AI, psychology, chemistry, and physics. “But even that isn’t enough,” Zaban adds. “You need clinicians with real problems and data, and industry partners to understand what’s feasible to build. Research is driven by curiosity.” 

As he sees it, a university should nurture multiple research cultures “Pushing too far in one direction can reduce breadth,” he notes. “Some are curiosity-driven, others goal-oriented. Most fall in between. We plan for 15- or 20-year horizons. Some projects succeed, some don’t, and that’s okay.”

Bar-Ilan’s stress tests 

The balance between structure and improvisation was critically tested during the COVID-19 pandemic, which was followed by Oct. 7 and the war. “COVID now seems minor compared to the war,” Zaban remarks, “but back then, it was shocking.”

Within days, Bar-Ilan had to transition all teaching online. “Zoom existed,” he notes, “but it wasn’t widely used.” Exams, research timelines, and administrative systems had to be quickly reconfigured.

“For weeks, the campus was almost empty, with about 10 people managing the university” he recalls. The war posed a different challenge; it was more personal: “This wasn’t just operational. People were affected. Everyone was carrying something.”

Instead of broad symbolic actions, Bar-Ilan prioritized initiatives where it could make a tangible difference, Zaban explains. “We decided to contribute where we had an advantage as a university.” One notable example was from the optometry department, which runs a mobile clinic for training. Soon after the war started, the clinic was sent to hotels housing evacuees. “Many arrived without their glasses,” Zaban says. “Some lost or broke them. Anyone who wears glasses understands that.”

In the first month, the clinic provided 500 pairs of glasses to evacuees. Another effort was the quick setup of a national emotional-support hotline, staffed by psychologists, social workers, and alumni volunteers. “We had the expertise,” Zaban states, “so we used it.”

The most challenging aspect, however, involved the university’s reserve soldiers. “At the peak, more than 5,000 students were in reserve duty,” Zaban states. “That was about a quarter of the campus.” Many served over 100 days in a single year, almost the length of an academic semester.

“It soon became apparent to everyone that this war was going to become a part of our reality for a while, unlike what we thought initially,” which led him to ensure that his students would not be left behind. “You will complete your studies,” he told them during one of his visits to the frontlines.

Achieving this required extensive institutional mobilization. Each reservist was paired with a mentor, and faculty members provided personalized instruction, often late into the night. Recorded lectures, flexible schedules, special exams, and AI-assisted learning tools were introduced. “The main idea was personal responsibility,” Zaban explains. “Someone was accountable for each student.”

The results were surprising. “When we examined dropout rates, reservists actually had lower rates than the general student body.” For this effort, Bar-Ilan received the Defense Minister’s Shield, a prestigious award given to a select few institutions nationwide.

As Bar-Ilan celebrates its 70th anniversary, Zaban remains cautious about overly festive language. “Growth alone doesn’t define success,” he states. “The core question is what kind of institution we become. Technology can make us forget people. Efficiency, scale, AI – these are vital, but they are not the reason we exist.” 

Prof. Zaban in the field.
Prof. Zaban in the field. (credit: Courtesy)

Purpose rooted in service

For Zaban, that purpose is rooted in service – to students, society, and future generations. “We exist for people,” he emphasizes. “To improve life.”

Bar-Ilan is actively expanding its research facilities and strengthening collaborations, with hospitals like Sheba Medical Center; energy projects such as hydrogen research; and regional initiatives targeting chronic diseases like diabetes. “We’re forming partnerships because we’re not afraid of them,” Zaban explains. “We recognize we operate within an ecosystem.”

When asked to describe the university’s future direction, he pauses briefly. “Someone once said we’re writing the next chapter through action,” he reflects. “And that’s exactly right.” He predicts that early-stage projects will, over time, become self-evident. “Five or 10 years from now,” he suggests, “they’ll resemble today’s HealthTech Valley.”

Zaban concludes that three conditions are essential for the university’s survival: “It must be excellent, generate impact, and never forget the people.” ■