How do you measure “traditionally” or “religiosity”? By rituals, by belief, by how central they are to everyday life? Each measure captures a different piece of identity, which makes it hard to say simply whether a society is becoming more or less religious.
Israel is a good example of this difficulty. For most Jewish Israelis, “Jewish” is not only a religion. It is family, peoplehood, history. Many say religion plays a small role in their lives and still conduct a Passover Seder, dress up on Purim, make Kiddush on Friday night. Jewish practice spills into culture and politics and sits at the heart of fierce arguments over public space, education, military service and the courts.
On top of that came two turbulent years of political crisis and war. One obvious question has been what this does to Israelis’ relationship with tradition. The anecdotes pointed in one direction: soldiers praying before battle, unit badges with messianic slogans, high-school students putting on tefillin, pop songs full of faith dominating the playlists. Some saw in this a spiritual awakening. Others saw a worrying religious wave. Neither camp had much to lean on beyond impressions.
So this month, the Jewish People Policy Institute tried to supply data. We conducted a broad survey of Israelis – Jews and Arabs – and, in a separate sample, young Jews up to age 25, and asked what happened to their faith, practice and attachment to Jewish tradition since the war began.
One headline is easy to state and easy to misuse. Did Israeli society become more traditional during the war? Probably yes. Did all of Israeli society become more traditional? Probably no. The main finding is not a uniform rise in tradition, but a deepening of the divide around it. Roughly speaking, the secular third of Jewish society became less traditional; almost everyone else – Jews and Arabs – became more traditional.
Take belief in God. A majority of Israelis, 57%, say the war didn’t change their belief. But almost four in 10 say it did. For around 8%, belief weakened. For about 30%, it strengthened. That is a noticeable rise in the share who say they are now “more believing.” But most of that rise comes from people who were believers already and are now “more so.” This is not an army of atheists discovering God. It is mainly religious and traditional Israelis whose existing faith became more intense.
The more intriguing story lies with the “non-religious.” In Jewish Israel they come in two main groups. One calls itself “secular” (hiloni). The other calls itself “traditional but not religious” (masorti lo dati). Between them runs the line that divides the Israel that is growing closer to tradition from the Israel that is drifting away from it.
If we look at all Jews, the group of roughly 40% became, on average, less traditional after the war and the group of about 60% became more traditional. But if we focus only on Jews who are not already in the “religious” camps, the picture reverses: about two-thirds became less traditional and about a third more traditional. The same war that strengthened attachment to tradition in large parts of society pushed many secular Israelis half a step further away from it.
This can be seen not only in beliefs and practices but also in how people react to the new wartime religious culture. Consider the song some have called the unofficial anthem of the war: “Hashem Yitbarach Tamid Ohev Oti” – “God, blessed be He, always loves me.” About a quarter of Israelis say the song captures exactly how they feel these days. Another 17% say it expresses how they would like to feel. But almost a quarter say they feel alienated from it or even irritated by it. Among secular Jews, more than a third say the song does not reflect their feelings or that it annoys them. Only a tiny minority – around one in 20 – say it truly speaks for them.
Why does this matter? Because Israeli society is not moving in one clear direction. A country that becomes more homogeneous is a country with fewer internal tensions. Israel, instead, is moving in two opposing directions at once: for many Israelis the war deepened faith and practice; for some secular Israelis it deepened distance and suspicion. That is a warning sign for more friction.
Secular Israelis will increasingly feel that the public space around them – the songs, the symbols, the vocabulary – is becoming more traditional, and their discomfort is likely to grow. Others will feel that the country is becoming more traditional and will see this as a mandate to anchor that shift in law and policy, from school culture to something as symbolic as a “mezuzah law” (if it passes, all state supported institutions will be forced to have one). My own conclusion is one of caution: be wary of triumphant talk about a great religious revival, and be wary of apocalyptic talk about a theocratic takeover. The process is just beginning, it has not swept the secular public, and it may not transform Israel’s character. Even those who hope for a more traditional Israel should recognize the trade-off: a more traditional Israel could also be a more tense, more polarized Israel.
Something I wrote in Hebrew
Before the Security Council vote on the Trump plan, I wrote this:
Do the Arabs Really Want the Gaza Rehabilitation Plan? Let’s look at the question. Nothing that is happening now at the U.N. is surprising. A decision by the Russians or the Chinese or both countries jointly to create difficulties for an ambitious international plan by the U.S., is the familiar routine of the U.N., an expected and predictable event. Anyone familiar with this arena could see the obstacles from a kilometer away … in simple words: when the Arabs pressed Trump to get Security Council approval for his plan, they knew in advance what would happen.
A week’s numbers
See article above.
A reader’s response
Jonathan Gurevitz says: “I just read your new book, and I’m not sure if I should let my children read it. I worry that it could convince them to become less traditionally Jewish.” My response: I’m not an admirer of stifled discussion, but I know that for some communities it does work as measure of retention. So, no pressure.
Shmuel Rosner is senior political editor. For more analysis of Israeli and international politics, visit Rosner’s Domain at jewishjournal.com/rosnersdomain.
