Eli Paley
Playing by the Rules
The relations between the State of Israel and its chareidi population resemble a train wreck
It’s hard to ignore the pervading tensions. At times, it seems that we are watching the dissolution of the complex and fragile relationship between the chareidi community and the authorities. Norms that have survived for 70 years since the State’s establishment are on the verge of implosion.
Furthermore, the instability and tension have strengthened the radical entities — both religious and secular — that stand opposed to the delicate balance between chareidi society and the rest of the Israeli population. Their growing power is manifested by recent violent incidents, as well as an incitement campaign being waged against the mainstream chareidi community from within and without. Secular media figures are unhesitatingly calling for a “secular intifada” and are trying to exploit the situation to destroy any shred of possibility for coexistence with the chareidi population.
If there is one quality that has always characterized the readership and writers of Mishpacha, it is the fact that Mishpacha is not afraid to conduct a brave public accounting when the times call for it. Every healthy community must be open to reflecting and evaluating its progress, successes, and failures. We — as a magazine and as a community — are not afraid to deal with complex or sensitive issues; in fact, we embrace this introspection as part of our mandate. Even when the criticism of our community isn’t fully justified, we take it seriously and are willing to discuss the underlying issues, analyze the fault lines, and try to find a better way forward.
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The moment coronavirus appeared in our lives and threatened to undermine our familiar routine, it also laid bare a disturbing fact: not a single one of the decision-makers in Israel’s government is aware of or understands the uniqueness of the chareidi sector and its various needs.
This is not a new development; long before COVID-19, it was clear that virtually all the government ministries lack the information, understanding, and approach to deal effectively with the demands and needs of the chareidi sector. (The effort to fill that need led to the establishment of the Haredi Center for Policy Research.) When this crisis hit, however, the ramifications of that vast disconnect became enormously significant. The chasm did not spell one more or less chareidi classroom; instead, it touched first and foremost on human life. And so the tension levels spiked correspondingly.
Many of the directives issued throughout this pandemic were unrealistic and impractical to implement in the chareidi sector. The decision-makers exhibited utter disregard for the well-known dictum of Chazal: “One does not issue a decree on a tzibbur unless most of the tzibbur can withstand it.” As of this writing, no one in Israel’s decision-making echelons has sat down seriously with those who understand the chareidi sector and its needs, in an attempt to draft a realistic policy proposal.
It is important to note that when the pandemic first struck, almost all the chareidi poskim concurred with the guidelines. The regulations were so severe as to be almost unbearable, but a majority of shuls closed, Torah institutions moved into emergency mode, and tens of thousands of people davened in outdoor minyanim.
Then came the moment of crisis. At a certain point, the rabbanim learned, to their alarm, that the government’s considerations were not limited to medicine and halachah, but were driven by ethics and politics too. It turned out that although it was forbidden to daven and learn in public, there was one value that superseded pikuach nefesh: demonstrations. That moment when the raucous demonstrators set out for Balfour can be marked as the straw that broke the camel’s back.
One prominent posek told me: “We have a tradition of how we handle questions of medicine, science, and halachah. But we have no tools to rule on questions of political interests, news broadcasts, and journalists’ statements. When we realized that it was not doctors who were making the decisions, but rather the politicians and the media, we gave up.” The unfortunate results speak for themselves.
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Throughout this pandemic, responsible chareidi leaders made efforts to isolate the halachic questions from the political ones. For example, once it became clear that the health ministry’s guidelines were not guided by science alone, a group of chareidi leaders asked scientists and experts at the Weizmann Institute to develop medical guidelines that would allow them to navigate the virus in accordance with halachah’s primacy on medical consensus, while maintaining whatever form of religious practice could be allowed within that framework.
One of the most fraught moments came after Succos, at the beginning of the second wave, when once again, the chadarim were instructed to close their doors. A group of dedicated principals were asked by Rav Chaim Kanievsky to create a framework that would allow children return to cheder safely, in coordination with health experts and medical advisors. Indeed, a plan was crafted to return to school in “capsules:” in small groups, with masks, expanded testing, and adherence to all rules. The plan was approved by all the relevant medical authorities.
But then the principals ran into the brick wall of the Justice Ministry. The ministry informed then that “there is no public and legal way to create an individual education framework for each different sector. Only when all the schools resume studies can we approve the opening of the [chareidi] talmudei Torah.” Again, the effort to responsibly and diplomatically manage the issue with a plan that could restore the kol Torah to the beis medrash was shattered — even though the medical professionals attested that it would not have endangered the health of the public and the students.
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It’s important to remember that with all due respect to coronavirus, it is not the first crisis that the chareidi sector has encountered in its relationship with the State of Israel. The complexity of the chareidi-State relations preceded the establishment of the state itself. Even before independence was declared, rabbanim met and discussed how to handle matters of chareidi society within the nascent state, and two schools of thought emerged among gedolei Yisrael.
It turned out that although it was forbidden to daven and learn in public, there was one value for which even pikuach nefesh was disregarded: demonstrations
On the one hand were those who felt that there is no way for Torah-observant Jews to work with a secular government. The conclusion of those gedolei Torah was clear: “Their laws have no bearing on our reality.” The followers of these gedolim would not be players in the game; they sent no representatives to the Knesset, requested no funding, and exhibited no desire to cooperate in principle.
On the other side were the majority of gedolei Torah from across the spectrum of chareidi Jewry — Ashkenazi, Sephardic, chassidic and litvish — who made a decision that was in no way simple: They chose to take a full part in the political and public management of the State. They decided to appoint representatives who would bring the voice of gedolei Torah to the Knesset, and to advocate for the values and needs of the chareidi sector using the rules of the parliamentary game. This included involvement in Knesset committees and legislative procedures, and even appointments to cabinet positions.
Both of these groups have always acknowledged the huge gap that exists between us and the secular public. And both agree about the importance of preserving chareidi autonomy. However, the differing approaches meant that each group would handle challenges differently. Those who chose to participate in the general system also chose a commitment to utilize official channels to handle any frictions that might arise. Our gedolim have guided us as to how this dynamic should look, and how our representatives must remain deliberate and responsible as they made our voices heard in the legislative body.
From the very start, the gedolei Yisrael guiding the second group were aware of the disconnect between the decision-makers and their chareidi constituents. They knew it would be difficult to bridge the gaps. Nevertheless, they decided to avoid whenever possible unilateral moves, large demonstrations, vandalism, and destructive acts, and instead to sound their voices within the accepted governmental channels.
For the majority of Israel’s chareidim, that approach remains our mandate today. Even when the rules of the game are not convenient for us — and they are never ideal — our sense of responsibility and our commitment to our gedolim’s directives mean that we must try to continue playing on this field and work legally and civilly within the system. Certainly this is the case when so many oppose our very existence as G-d-fearing Jews and would be thrilled at the opportunity to be rid of us. Certainly it is the case when we hope to wield a positive influence on our environment — from the institutions of marriage and conversion, to preserving the sanctity of Shabbos.
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Yet in order for us to function within the system, it is essential that both sides play this game together. One of the takeaway messages from this coronavirus crisis is that there is no way for Israel’s government to manage any public policy, in any area — housing, education, finance, and health — without recognizing the unique needs of the chareidi sector.
It is inconceivable that the decision-makers in the State of Israel continue to ignore the fact that there is an entire sector here with its own unique qualities, needs, and worldview, and is then caught by surprise when their policies fail. It is unacceptable that the law-enforcement body of that same state reacts to the ensuing unrest by losing all restraint and going wild — as the police did in Bnei Brak last week.
It is inconceivable that the chareidi public remain completely excluded from the middle and senior ranks of the country’s professional clerical positions, and that the latter continue to advance plans completely disconnected from — or that directly collide with — this sector’s needs and values.
It is inconceivable that senior economists should complain day and night about the difficulties of integrating the chareidi sector into the labor market, while simultaneously piling obstacles to employment in this sector’s path.
But we must face this disturbing reality with the same resources we have always relied on. Violent protests and destruction are not our way. We must return to the carefully weighed policy decisions of our gedolim and to our historic commitment of working within the system — hostile as it may seem — because that is the direction we received from our leaders when this state was first inaugurated.
The situation now certainly looks catastrophic, but if we find the wisdom to deal with it, we may discover that the crisis contains countless opportunities. There is one fundamental question here: Will the bridge-burners on both sides prevail, or will we be able to manage our challenges with cooperation, mutual respect, productive dialogue, and agreement to abide by the rules of the game?
That is the challenge we face today, and it is the challenge we have dealt with in the past. Will we be able to overcome it in the future as well?
