The war in Gaza is shifting ties between secular and ultra-Orthodox Israelis
In a Jerusalem neighborhood, ultra-Orthodox Jewish residents cheered a soldier returning from military service. At a religious seminary, similarly pious students gathered to hear an officer talk about his military duties. And at a synagogue attended by some of the country’s most observant Jews, members dedicated a Torah scroll in memory of a soldier killed in Gaza.
The Hamas-led attack on Israel last October has led to flashes of greater solidarity between parts of Israel’s ultra-Orthodox Jewish minority and the secular mainstream, as fear of a shared threat has accelerated the integration of some of Israel’s most insular citizens.
As Israel’s war in Gaza continues and Israeli reservists are called up to serve extended or additional military service, long-simmering divisions over military exemptions for the country’s most religious Jews are once again at the center of a national debate.
But now, in the wake of the deadliest day of attacks on Jews since the Holocaust, parts of Israel’s fast-growing community of ultra-Orthodox Jews, known in Hebrew as Haredim, are reconsidering their role in the fabric of the nation. Opinion polls and military statistics show that unusually high numbers have expressed support for or interest in military service, even as the vast majority of Haredim still hope to retain their exemption.
Since Israel’s founding 76 years ago, the Haredim have had a fraught relationship with their secular neighbors, partly because of the benefits guaranteed to the small ultra-Orthodox community around that time in an agreement between religious and secular leaders.
Unlike most Israelis, for whom military service is mandatory, Haredim are exempt from military service in order to concentrate on religious study. They also receive significant state subsidies to maintain an independent education system that eschews math and science for the study of the Bible.
As the number of ultra-Orthodox Jews has exploded—to more than a million people today, roughly 13 percent of Israel’s population, from about 40,000 in 1948—these privileges and exemptions have fueled resentment among secular Israelis. Many Israelis believe that their own military service and taxes provide both physical protection and financial reward to an underemployed community that gives little in return. Secular efforts to include the ultra-Orthodox in the military and workforce have angered many haredim, who see military service as a threat to their lives of religious devotion.
The military may end up coming for some Haredim whether they like it or not. Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s government faces a looming deadline to extend their exemption or include it in the draft.
The decision, which pits some Haredi lawmakers against secular officials such as Defense Minister Yoav Gallant, who wants to increase Haredi involvement in the military, threatens to topple the governing coalition.
“The security challenges we face prove that everyone must bear the burden, every sector of the population,” Gallant said in a speech on Wednesday.
Opinion polls show that the Israeli mainstream is more eager than ever to force Haredim to sign up, especially as a growing number of soldiers return from fighting in Gaza and question the absence of ultra-Orthodox on the front lines.
But beyond this impasse, some social differences are bridged rather than widened.
All of Israel was shocked by the Hamas-led attack in October, the social and political consequences of which are expected to last for years.
Some of the most striking consequences are taking place in the more outward-looking parts of haredi society, according to pollsters, haredi experts and even some of their harshest secular critics.
Nearly 30 percent of the Haredi public now supports conscription, up 20 points from before the war, according to a poll conducted in December by the Haredi Institute for Public Affairs, a Jerusalem-based research group. Nearly three-quarters of respondents said their sense of shared destiny with other Israelis had increased since the October 7 attacks.
“We are seeing some change within the Haredi community,” said Avigdor Liberman, the leader of a nationalist party that has long campaigned for an end to Haredi privileges. “They understand that it is impossible to continue without participating more in our society.”
Including more haredim, a conservative population, in a modern military comes with its own challenges, such as addressing sensitivities involving men serving alongside women. Yet in the first ten weeks of the war, more than 2,000 Haredim attempted to join the army, a small fraction of the serving army but twice the group’s annual average. More Arab Israelis are joining the military than the ultra-Orthodox.
The few Haredim already in the military have reported feeling more valued in their community, making them feel more confident walking around their neighborhoods in uniform.
“What we have experienced since October 7 will be seen as one of the great triggers for change in the Haredi community over the next thirty years,” said Nechamia Steinberger, 40, a Haredi teacher and rabbi in Jerusalem.
Mr. Steinberger’s own experiences since the attacks epitomize much of what is going on. He belongs to what some experts call the modern haredim – the estimated 10 percent of ultra-Orthodox who are trying to adapt their pious lifestyle to the values of modern Israel.
For years, Mr. Steinberger has worked to find common ground among different parts of Israeli society. Unlike most haredim, he completed some form of military service three years ago; after October 7, he returned to the Army as a reservist and helped run a command center assisting the Air Force.
When he returned from nearly three months of service in late December, he realized how much had changed.
As Mr. Steinberger walked in his uniform through Beit Vegan, an ultra-Orthodox suburb of Jerusalem, groups of Haredi children ran after him, showering him with gratitude, he said.
“That was something new,” he said. “I felt like a hero.”
In his absence, worshipers at a nearby ultra-Orthodox synagogue had dedicated a Torah to a soldier killed during the invasion of Gaza – something that would have been unthinkable before the war.
On a personal level, Mr. Steinberger also felt changed by the war. Twelve weeks of service alongside secular reservists had been a kind of intellectual boot camp. Night after night, he and his fellow soldiers discussed politics and religion, exposing each other to alternative perspectives.
Mr. Steinberger said he became more sympathetic to heterodox forms of Judaism and more accepting of the secular campaign to legalize civil marriage.
Chana Irom, a charedi community organizer, went through a similar transition after October 7.
For much of her career, Ms. Irom, 44, helped run dormitories for Haredi girls who had left home because of problems with their families. The thought of helping secular Israelis never occurred to her.
Then came the Hamas attacks.
Shocked by the violence against secular communities along the Gaza border, and moved by the thousands of reservists responding to military calls, Ms. Irom reflected on how to bridge the social divide.
Within three days, Ms. Irom said, she had helped set up a network of about 1,000 Haredi women to help the families of reservists who had gone to fight, and Israelis were evacuated from their homes. Some volunteers helped with babysitting, others with shopping and other household chores.
“Before the war, I don’t think I could have convinced anyone, or even myself, to volunteer outside our community,” Ms. Irom said.
However, most of charedi society has opposed such interactions.
In Bnei Brak, a city east of Tel Aviv that is considered Israel’s ultra-Orthodox capital, there are few posters of the Israeli hostages captured on October 7 and whose photos are ubiquitous in secular neighborhoods.
Rabbinical leaders in the city remain unmoved by the call for Haredim to serve in the military. Within charedi communities, many fear that the fabric of their isolated lives would fray if men were forced to skip the full study of the Bible.
“The way to help is to study Torah,” said Meir Zvi Bergman, one of the most respected rabbis in Israel, during a rare audience with journalists from The New York Times. “No one can give up the Torah,” he added.
To show how Rabbi Bergman reflected prevailing Haredi opinion, a Haredi commentator took us to meet boys from a nearby school.
“How are we going to win the war?” asked the commentator, Bezalel Shtauber. “With guns?”
“Not with guns,” one boy replied.
“With what?” Mr. Shtauber asked.
“Only with prayer,” another boy shot back.
“So where are we going to get our soldiers from?” said Mr. Shtauber.
“If all soldiers studied the Torah, we wouldn’t need an army,” the boy replied.
But charedi society is not monolithic, and some leaders have hinted at a change in mindset.
Yitzhak Goldknopf is a minister of the Haredi government and the leader of Israel’s second-largest Haredi political alliance. In his government office, Mr. Goldknopf sat surrounded by images of the hostages, many of whom are young women. It was a striking contradiction in a society where images of women, even in advertisements, are often omitted for fear of offending ultra-conservative sensibilities.
Mr. Goldknopf first violated the rules of the Jewish Sabbath on Oct. 7, he said, when he was summoned from the synagogue for an urgent cabinet meeting. It was also the first time he visited Israel’s military headquarters. As officials viewed the first footage of the massacre, Mr. Goldknopf recalled, a fellow minister burst into tears.
“It changed me a lot,” Mr. Goldknopf said, explaining that it hardened his attitude toward the Palestinians. “I thought the world was falling apart,” he added.
Now Mr. Goldknopf is willing to concede that some Haredim could join the military — those who are unlikely to make it as Torah scholars.
“Those who do not want to study should go,” he said.
“The world relies on three things: Torah, prayer and charity,” he said. But, he added: “The reality is that those who don’t study can go to the military.”
He then interrupted the interview to proudly show a photo of a soldier on his phone.
It was a photo of his cousin.
Adam Sella contributed reporting.