A map of the coronavirus cases in Israel indicates it’s spreading rapidly in the city of Bnei Brak, an ultra-Orthodox enclave in which, doctors believe, a very high proportion of the population is infected. Data indicate that the synagogue is the most common locus of infection.
On March 26, Israel’s Minister of Health tested positive for the virus. It quickly became clear that the Charedi minister didn’t obey the instructions of his office. He was at a synagogue when the Ministry of Health urged Israelis to refrain from attending services. Every evening, Charedi TV correspondent Yair Sherki is planted on a darkened Jerusalem street to answer a simple question: Have they finally understood what’s at stake? The answer is yes. Finally, they did but it was too late. The pandemic has hit most ultra-Orthodox communities in Israel and the rest of the world hard, including a high rate of deaths among the Diaspora (Antwerp, Belgium; London; Strasbourg, France; Borough Park, N.Y.).
This is a nightmare coming true: an engine of propaganda that echoes the horrifying and well-rooted image in Western consciousness of the Jew as a disease transmitter. In New York and Tel Aviv, some business owners refuse to serve customers wearing certain attire. One must resent the ease with which an entire community is marked but still, one also must wonder about the the community’s role in this distinction.
This is a crisis in Charedi society — a crisis that is shaking the foundations of the entire Charedi society. This is a time when there is no external enemy, social trend or abusive regime harassing the community. The Charedi way of life is the enemy.
This is where the problem begins: The ultra-Orthodox world, in Israel and other countries, is a great success story, not necessarily in the eyes of sometimes critical observers but certainly in the eyes of those who measure it based on its own goals. What were those goals? To erect walls of halachah and social seclusion to prevent assimilation and, indeed, these goals were met. To construct a vibrant world of Torah study and, indeed, such a goal was met and expanded. So much so, that my co-writer Camil Fuchs and I wrote in our latest book:
“The yeshiva world was rehabilitated and is now bigger than ever. Probably even bigger than it was 2,700 years ago during the reign of King Hezekiah, when according to Talmudic legend, ‘they searched … and did not find an ignoramus’ from the Dan region to Beersheba. Everyone was a Talmudic scholar. Of course, not everybody in the State of Israel today is a Talmudic scholar, but the country proved to be a convenient base for rapid demographic growth of the Haredi community, for relative economic security, and for the construction of a vast education system.”
Seventy years ago, with the destruction of ultra-Orthodox communities in Europe, some assumed that the end of ultra-Orthodox Judaism was near. However, it has, through stubbornness and sophistication, established a glorious world of communities. The birth rate is high, as is feeling of cohesion. Its seclusion may have angered other Jews but did the job. The model worked.
Now, it’s no longer working. Now this model for success is the enemy. The ultra-Orthodox community lives in relative poverty, within large families in densely populated areas. It’s a good model because it enhances the sense of togetherness and separateness, but it’s terrible during a pandemic. The ultra-Orthodox are suspicious of the non-ultra-Orthodox establishment. They suspect, with good reason, the “others” wish to change them.
The epidemic forces the ultra-Orthodox to choose, at least for a while, between life and lifestyle.
So the Charedis don’t trust the media or the police — that is, the institutions that disseminate the information about the virus and those who try to enforce edicts (see graph for Charedis’ mistrust of the media and police). When the initial information concerning the need for closures reached the Charedi world, many of the leaders were thinking, “Here they go again, mocking us, marking us, trying to prevent us from studying Torah.” Some went as far as to mention the decrees of Antiochus, which prompted the Hasmonean revolt. First, the ultra-Orthodox make sure others didn’t come to hurt them, and only then they might agree to listen. That is, after it is too late.
The Charedi coronavirus crisis has deep roots. This community is ideologicaly rigid and constantly concerned about setting boundaries. It has many laws and little flexibility. Thus, it is likely that their current crisis will be multilayered.
It will begin with their image. Luckily the election cycle in Israel is over, and there are no campaigns that would present Charedis as public enemies. But even without that, their image has meaning. It’s easier to go after a community that is perceived as posing a risk. It’s easier to incite against those who are perceived as harmful. The slow, hesitant and sometimes defiant response of ultra-Orthodox groups to government edicts will cost the Israeli taxpayer quite a bit. You can already hear what non-Orthodox people are saying: Charedis work at a low rate and pay taxes at a low rate, but will occupy beds in hospitals and use publicly funded respirators at a high rate. Such arguments sound biased but these are the facts.
The image of Charedis is not the most important variable of the current crisis. The ultra-Orthodox are used to getting odd looks and to having a negative image. But they’re not used to their customs being the enemy. Who is that enemy? The rabbi that irresponsibly dismissed the orders of state officials. The tzadik who insisted on having a minyan of 10 at the synagogue. The funny guy who belittled strange laws of distant government men in suits.
The enemy is the iconoclastic streak of a community that doesn’t bend. The enemy is the educational institution that insists on business as usual because education is the most important thing. The enemy is the large family. The enemy is the mitzvah to console a mourner at a shivah. The enemy is the communal joy at a wedding. The enemy is the proximity of the young to the old. Aspects that make ultra-Orthodox society so appealing also make it dangerous for its own members.
Like all humans, they want to live. Unlike other humans, they’re willing to sacrifice a lot to maintain their lifestyle. The epidemic forces them to choose, at least for a while, between life and lifestyle. And it is a choice for which their instinctive response, historically speaking, is a stiff-neck devotion. As if devotion is the answer to all dramatic upheavals that the world throws at their direction.
Alas, a stiff-neck response to a deadly virus is ridiculous. The virus doesn’t care. Ultimately, the leaders of the ultra-Orthodox public realized that but it was much too late, after there was serious damage to the community. A preferred outcome would be for the community to recalibrate its priorities, reshape the structure of its leadership, and reconsider the model that brought it prosperity — until it had become the enemy.
Here is an example of such a recalibration: the internet. Using the internet requires the ultra-Orthodox to go beyond a model of seclusion. The internet is a network that is open to the world. It can be tamed in some ways, but taming it isn’t easy nor foolproof. Ultra-Orthodox Israelis’ use of the internet is on the rise. Not long ago, the share of Charedis connected to the web crossed the 50% mark. Of course, when the epidemic rages outside, the connection becomes urgent.
But more changes will be needed. For one, a recognition that the Jewish state is not the state of Antiochus, who persecuted Jews. That its decrees, even when they cancel Torah study, are not Antiochus’ decrees. That its decisions, even when synagogues are locked down, are not part of historical attempts to make Jews forgo their religion. The ultra-Orthodox public — those who comply with the regulations (a majority) and those who rebel against them (a vocal minority) — ought to find a subtler way of managing the Charedi model. They ought to find a new balance between a desire to prevent the establishment of the state from changing the ultra-Orthodox community, and the need of the community to rely on this very state, obey its leaders, and follow its instructions.
Thanks to my colleagues at the Jewish People Policy Institute, Shlomo Fisher and Dov Maimon, for their input. A version of this article was published in Hebrew by Maariv Daily.
Shmuel Rosner is senior political editor.
