Another Look at Defining Haredi Identity (Column 693)

With God’s help

Disclaimer: This post was translated from Hebrew using AI (ChatGPT 5 Thinking), so there may be inaccuracies or nuances lost. If something seems unclear, please refer to the Hebrew original or contact us for clarification.

Many times in the past I have dealt with Haredi society and its (many) shortcomings. I also noted how very hard it is to define it, since it’s difficult to find a substantive principle that could serve as a litmus test for “Haredi-ness”: a question to which a “yes” answer would tell us the respondent is Haredi and a “no” answer would tell us he isn’t. The attitude to Zionism is highly amorphous. The state has been here for about eight decades, and today many Haredim cooperate with it and want it to succeed (what sane person would want the state that sustains him or protects him to collapse or go bankrupt?! That has nothing to do with Zionist convictions). The question whether the state is “the beginning of redemption” (atchalta de-ge’ulah) or “the footsteps of the Messiah” (ikveta de-Meshicha) is ill-defined, and most who use these terms don’t understand them themselves. It doesn’t really say anything, and certainly has no practical implications. So what’s left? The draft? Today there are already quite a few Haredim who enlist or at least support the draft in principle. “Torah protects and saves,” or fear of spiritual deterioration in the army? That, too, exists outside Haredi circles. By the way, the struggle over the draft is in no way connected to attitudes toward Zionism but to separatism. Yet separatism, gender separation, resistance to any new idea, obedience to rabbinic “Da’at Torah” and viewing rabbis as a superior human who is immune to criticism and error (and we haven’t even mentioned kabbalists and other vegetables)—all these also characterize various religious-Zionist circles (Hardalim) and even traditionalists. It’s hard to draw a clear line on these matters.

In my series of columns on Modern Orthodoxy (475 – 480) I tried to sketch a map of different relations to halakhah, and to distinguish within the world committed to halakhah (Orthodox, and perhaps Conservative as well) between different models of halakhic commitment. The main distinction there was between “plain” conservatism and “midrashic” conservatism, but even these distinctions fail to get at the root of Haredi-ness, since as I explained there it’s mainly a distinction between modern religiosity and conservative religiosity, not necessarily Haredi. In a manifesto written a bit later I built on that analysis and explained that the relevant identity line dividing camps in the religious-Haredi world today is not the attitude toward Zionism but the attitude toward modernity; on both sides of that line Haredi groups connect with national-religious groups (see also in column 665). I therefore argued that the identity watershed relevant in our time does not run between Haredim and religious-Zionists but between moderns and conservatives. National-Haredism is Haredi in every respect, and the difference between Hardalim and Haredim is no more essential than the difference between Vizhnitz and Belz or Lithuanian Haredim. Beyond the enthusiastic theological slogans that sound very different, in real life—and especially regarding halakhah and Torah—in the condescension, the ignorance, and the separatism, the resemblance is very great. In column 680 I noted phenomena of duality and stuckness in the Haredi world, but those, too, are social phenomena and failings, not ideological definitions.

So who and what is a Haredi at all? What are we even talking about? To whom is my statement at the start of the column—that Haredi society is full of problems—directed? Is there even a subject to that sentence? Is it really true that there is no definition of Haredi-ness?

It’s not for nothing that people who deal with these issues tend to migrate to sociology: to conclude that Haredi-ness is not an ideology but sociology. And even if there is an ideology there, at most it is a reaction to modernity (and to Zionism?) and not something substantive; what mainly arose was a new type of society—that is, still in the realms of sociology. Rabbi Menachem Navat, in his new book, Haredim el Devaro (I only began reading it, and as expected it’s truly fascinating), objects to presenting Haredi-ness as a new phenomenon and argues that it is not merely sociology. He tries to ground Haredi-ness in a sanctified relation to halakhah and Torah, and in the traditional character of that relation (thus he links Haredi-ness with traditionalism, contrary to common intuitions). I haven’t read the whole book, but such a description strikes me as very puzzling, since such an attitude to halakhah exists also outside Haredi circles. We’re back to questions of degree; in fact, proposals like this make these differentiations (Haredi vs. Hardal, “serious” national-religious vs. even traditionalist) even more rooted in sociological ground rather than ideological. Of course one can simply define all bearers of those traits (including traditionalists?) as Haredim, turning the thesis into a tautology unfalsifiable by definition, but that’s not very interesting.

One could also claim we’re dealing with a bundle of traits, none of which is a clear, unequivocal litmus test, since for complex phenomena the very hope of such a test is simplistic and naïve. In many cases we find, in diagnosing bodily and/or mental illness, that several features out of a given set must be present to determine that you are this or that (see the general discussion of definitions in my series on poetry, 107 – 113), and perhaps that’s also the definition we should expect here. But such a characterization again assumes sociology more than ideology. Therefore, as noted, it is commonly thought that there really are no essential traits of Haredi-ness.

In recent days more thoughts on this awakened in me. Until now I too was convinced that Haredi-ness is sociology rather than ideology, but following my first read in Rabbi Navat’s book and following classes I’m now giving in the “Dogmatics” series, I thought of another trait that may be more essential to Haredi-ness as opposed to all other religious conceptions and groups, and that’s what I wanted to present in this column. Perhaps I have found here a kind of litmus test. After I describe it I’ll try to use it to explain the sociological features as well.

Let me add two necessary caveats. First, I am mostly describing here, not judging. Even if there are aspects I write about critically, that is not the main point. My goal here is mainly diagnostic: to try to understand what a Haredi is and what Haredi-ness is. I’ll present my personal stance at the end. Second, don’t expect the descriptions to fit every Haredi or national-religious person. As in any such discussion, these are generalizations, but I think they capture the gist of the difference between the groups. When describing large groups there will always be exceptions, but the description should be examined by how well it fits the group’s principled conceptions as they appear in the group’s collective conduct. Incidentally, with exceptions too it is usually worth examining what their exception is based on (a substantive difference or a side influence—or perhaps just confusion and lack of awareness). What reasons do they give for their divergence? Sometimes the exceptions and their reasons actually express the central stream’s conception even more sharply.

Prepare for the Coming of the Messiah and for Life in the World to Come

In the recent classes of the Dogmatics series (classes 18–20) we reached the Rambam’s last three principles among his Thirteen Principles (yesodot): reward and punishment (mainly in the World to Come), the coming of the Messiah, and the resurrection of the dead. In discussing them, a penny dropped for me regarding the difference between Haredi religiosity and non-Haredi religiosity.

Already many years ago I thought about the fact that the World to Come is simply absent from the non-Haredi religious discourse (even on its conservative wing). Think when was the last time you heard a non-Haredi rabbi—or person—speak about the World to Come? About heaven and hell? Or about reward and punishment generally? I don’t recall ever hearing this. Some attribute this to weak faith in such abstract matters, but in my view the focus is entirely different. Haredim view this world as a corridor to the next world. It is a necessary stage not to be disparaged, but in the end we’re here to get there. Our goals are there, and our utopias are all there. By contrast, religious-Zionists (and perhaps non-Haredi religious people generally) mainly speak about repairing this world, and are not much interested in the next world. It’s not necessarily because they don’t believe in it, but because it isn’t the focus of the work as they see it. In the World to Come there will be some kind of recompense, but we act in this world and for this world. Our task is to repair it; if we do (or try to), perhaps we’ll receive reward in the next world.

I think that among Haredim, ignoring reward and insisting on serving God “for its own sake” requires great effort; among religious-Zionists it’s natural and hardly discussed. The default there is serving for its own sake: simply because that’s how a person should live and that’s how this world will be made better. Our role is to repair it—by means of commandments and in general—whereas among Haredim our role is to observe commandments, and in the best case, when Haredim do speak of “repairing the world,” they mean performing the commandments. The commandments are not a means to repair the world; they are the repair itself. “Tikkun olam” talk is utterly foreign to the Haredi person. It sounds to them like the ways of the gentiles or Reformism. And the Mizrochnikim? Well, it’s known they’re half gentile and half Reform.

If we move to the next principle—talk of the Messiah—it is certainly more present in the religious-Zionist world. But there it is present only at the level of the actions we must do to bring him. In the end this is about our tasks here and now. The faith is that the Messiah will be brought by us, not descend upon us. It is not just a reward for our deeds but a life mission. The purpose of creation is to bring it to a more rectified state, not a chapter in the doctrine of reward. After we acted rightly, the result is that the Messiah arrives (not the prize)—but that is not the essence. No wonder that as “Isaiah the Third” (Yeshayahu Leibowitz) put it, in his characteristic moderation: “The Messiah will always be coming. Any Messiah who has arrived is a false Messiah.” Among Haredim, the Messiah is a hope for a rosy, more tranquil future. He will comfort us from the grief of our hands and from the messed-up world we live in now. That’s how we’ll escape this world. Of course, this does not require us to act here and now—besides keeping commandments and avoiding sins. For them, bringing the Messiah is a matter of passive expectation (“Did you await salvation?”), not a way of action. The days of the Messiah and the expectation of them are, in their view, a substitute for this world, a way to depart from it and rise above it. By contrast, for religious-Zionists the Messiah is a mission and a roadmap for the present. One must live as engaged and rightly as possible in this world in order to repair it—and that will bring the Messiah. Whether he actually arrives at the end or not is less important. The main thing is that we lived rightly, tried to bring him, and repaired the world.

Moreover, there’s also a difference in the utopia meant to reign when the Messiah comes. What will be when he arrives? Religious-Zionists will tell you the world will be more rectified: there will be peace, service of God, morality, and wisdom and knowledge (and perhaps also science, art, and democracy). For Haredim, the Messiah will bring us to more tranquil lives and optimal observance of commandments and Torah study (not necessarily to a “rectified world”—or perhaps that itself is the rectification). For them, it’s the light at the end of the dark tunnel we’ve been in since Adam’s sin. There we can finally rest (a bummer, for religious-Zionists: lives without the need for repair missions—what’s the point?).

Here we reach the third principle: resurrection of the dead. For Haredim this is practically an apocalypse. After the utopia in the next world—return to this world again?! A truly terrifying vision. Well, one can take comfort in the fact that the world then will be different, more tranquil. We will meet our loved ones again, and especially our rabbis and saints (though we already met them in the next world), so the specter isn’t so awful. Thus one can indeed yearn for the resurrection. By contrast, for religious-Zionists returning to this world is the desire of the soul, a longed-for vision. It gives us a second chance to live here and repair this world that awaits us. For them, our basic mission is here, and the episode of the next world is an incomprehensible necessity. No wonder the next world is absent from religious-Zionist discourse. People tend to repress nightmares.

The World and Life as a “Ringo” Course

The IDF tank commanders’ course includes several tracks each trainee must pass. A “course” is a variety of challenges a tank commander faces, where he must choose the correct course of action for each (grenade, machine gun, cannon, retreat, run-over, call for help, etc.). The last course is a “solo” course, where the trainee faces these challenges alone (without the “gardener” who accompanies him). The next-to-last course is called “Ringo.” Unlike all the others where the trainee knows in advance what awaits him at each stage, in the Ringo course unexpected incidents and challenges pop up and the trainee must respond in real time (I think the name is after the famous quick-draw shooter from the pulp Westerns “Ringo” series).

For the Haredi person and Haredi society, the world is a Ringo course. God leads us through the world, each time throwing up a new challenge. Our goal is to overcome the challenges, respond correctly, and survive intact until the World to Come. There, and only there, can we receive reward for our toil and rest (“among the dead—free”; “Jacob sought to dwell in tranquility; the rage of Esau leapt upon him,” and the like). It’s a world that is wholly good and long, etc.—the light at the end of the tunnel or the banquet hall at the end of the corridor. Note that although these concepts are rooted in the Talmud and the Torah literature generally, they sound utterly foreign to the non-Haredi ear. They’re not used and not thought that way. Haredim worry about finishing the world’s obstacle course with a perfect score—that is their entire business here. In their view, fear of Heaven is measured by exiting the world’s Ringo course with maximal marks.

This can be illustrated by the familiar joke about the kollel fellow who wanted to give gifts to the poor on Purim but couldn’t find a worthy pauper. He turned to the town’s gang leader and asked him to kindly rob some good Jew as early in the day as possible so there would be a proper poor person for the mitzvah. Sounds like a joke, but I think it accurately reflects the Haredi conception. Were robbery not prohibited, I’m not sure they wouldn’t actually do it. After all, I earn a mitzvah and he doesn’t lose anything. “This one benefits and that one suffers no loss” (though “mitzvot were not given for enjoyment”). For the Haredi fellow, charity is a test he must pass successfully in order to reach the next world in the most desired, perfect fashion. He doesn’t see the poor person and his needs but the commandment. He may chase charity day and night with great devotion, but his aim is not to repair the world and improve the poor man’s situation but to improve his own spiritual state. And if he sees the poor person at all, it’s only because that is a more meticulous fulfillment of the commandment (like the man who observes commandments “for their own sake” because you get more reward for that).

Is This “Not for Its Own Sake”?

An important clarification is needed. I’m not talking here about egocentrism in the simple sense, and certainly not about serving “not for its own sake.” I’m not claiming that the fellow necessarily gives charity to merit reward in the next world. He can serve “for its own sake” and not for reward, but his aim is to perform the commandment because it is God’s will, not to improve the poor person’s condition. My claim is that for him the poor person is a “silhouette target” on the Ringo course of life, and he must complete the course with a maximal, complete score, for that is the essence of serving God in his eyes. One who serves for reward serves “not for its own sake,” but here I’m drawing a distinction between two models of serving “for its own sake.” I clarified this further in column 236, where I defined the notion of “spiritual solipsism.”

Solipsism is a position that denies the existence of an external world. Serving God of the sort I described is spiritual solipsism, since in my perspective only I exist opposite God; all others don’t truly exist here. They are all “silhouette targets” on my course: challenges I must pass successfully. To sharpen this I brought there the Talmudic passage in Bava Batra on defining the mitzvah of charity (is it for the poor person or for the giver), and the Rambam’s words on this, especially the practical halakhic difference for gifts to the poor from a non-walled city to a walled one or vice versa: if the gift is for the poor person one should give according to his Purim, but if the aim is the giver perhaps one should give on the giver’s Purim (one can of course hair-split this). Note that both ways can count as serving for its own sake (i.e., not for reward). The difference is between a view that puts the recipient at the center and one that puts the giver at the center. Even if the giver is central, one can speak of repairing the giver’s soul or simply pleasing God through obedience—not necessarily of reward he will receive. So this is not necessarily service “not for its own sake.” There is a conception in which he is at the center and the world and others are just silhouette targets; but he acts for the sake of Heaven. He perfects himself because it is God’s will. In short: if the trainee’s goal on the course is to perfect himself, that is service “for its own sake”; if his goal is to get reward, that is service “not for its own sake.” And if his goal is to repair the world? Ah—then he simply isn’t Haredi.

The Difference Between Types of Activity in the World

From this distinction one can understand the two groups’ attitude to Zionism. Zionism arose to change something in the world. Religious-Zionism joined and colored it in religious hues, but still the combination is natural. The goal is to fix something and bring change in the world. Haredim, for their part, think we must simply make it through the world intact. Cooperate with secular people? Take responsibility? Out of the question. After all, we might stumble into transgressions or “become corrupted,” Heaven forfend. For them, the value of arriving whole to the next world outweighs everything. This world is of no interest, for it is only a corridor whose value is at most instrumental. The concern for “corruption” as the be-all and end-all also underlies opposition to the draft; and again one can see the essential difference between the groups. On both sides there is fear of corruption, but the religious-Zionists believe one cannot freeze and leave the world broken and dangerous, even if that entails spiritual risks. Repairing the world takes precedence. Haredim leave repairing the world to others and set as their goal to arrive safely and whole to the next world (“I lived with Laban and kept 613 commandments”; sound in body and wealth, etc.).

You will notice that despite Haredi influences on Hardalim, in this picture the Hardalim are entirely on the religious-Zionist side, not the Haredi side. They definitely act to repair the world. They too do not talk about the next world, and the Messiah is a goal that guides present action toward repairing the world—not a coveted destination and an utopia of tranquility on a farm. Hence my sense is that this distinction indeed captures the difference between the groups authentically, since all shades on both sides join here to the “correct” wing. The sociology truly reflects the essence.

Note also the kinds of voluntary activity undertaken in the two groups. Haredim engage in charity and kindness, free-loan societies (gmachs), organizations for observing mitzvot (redeeming a firstborn donkey, separating challah, baking matzot, letting the land lie fallow in the sabbatical year), or caring for “our crowd” (anshei shelomeinu) and for their interests and power positions so they can continue living in a greenhouse and survive. By contrast, on the religious-Zionist side the activity is primarily to repair society and the world (according to their path and values, of course): changing the general education system of the state, the religious components in the state, the whole Land of Israel and settlement (from the right), or peace, social care for the weak, and human rights (from the left), the Chief Rabbinate, and the like. All these are actions whose goal is not sectoral—even if colored with that society’s ideology. The character of the repair is set by their values, but the action is done to repair the world.

Look at the sabbatical year (shemittah), which is ostensibly a clear religious-halakhic goal. In religious-Zionism they advance the “heter mechirah,” which tries to offer a state-level solution for the seventh year and takes into account the general public and all farmers. In the Haredi world there is “mehadrin shemittah,” i.e., personal solutions that are not particularly concerned with the state and its farmers. They import Palestinian produce so as not to stumble, God forbid, in the severe prohibition of shemittah or in “lo tehonem” (not selling land to a gentile); to that end they help hand over all lands in Israel to gentiles by harming Israeli agriculture and encouraging Palestinian agriculture. And of course they take care of a training fund for farmers who let their fields lie fallow—at the expense of society as a whole—and let the rest burn (see in column 691). This is an excellent example of focusing on the individual and his spiritual level over addressing the general situation.

The closest activity to “repairing the world” in Haredi society is outreach to bring people back to observance (kiruv)—and that certainly exists. But even that is hard to define as straightforward world-repair, for several reasons. First, it is mainly meant to strengthen your own camp, not to effect general social repair. It is sectoral. In its nature it operates on individuals, not on the structure of society (“come to us and improve your standing in the next world”). Moreover, such actions themselves are mitzvot (“do not stand idly by your neighbor’s blood”; “rebuke, you shall rebuke”), and thus it need not be altruism for the other but can be for yourself (as the mashgiach at the “Netivot Olam” yeshiva—for ba’alei teshuvah—said when I was there: in connection with your family, don’t constantly try to make them religious; you mainly do this to bolster your own confidence in the step you took, not for Heaven’s sake). And since this is about improving the other person’s next-world situation, it’s not really repairing the state of this world, certainly not directly. One indication is the caution in Haredi society about getting close to ba’alei teshuvah (and marrying them). Their difficulties integrating into the surrounding Haredi society express that here too the fear of “corruption,” or really of a drop in my social status, outweighs the desire to repair or contribute to the other. None of this is to say such activity is wrong—absolutely not. I am entirely in favor of outreach. Likewise gmachs and charity and kindness. But this list helps clarify my claim that even positive activities there are not done to “repair the world” in the usual sense.

Internal Social Repair Within the Haredi Sector

Activity to repair society—even Haredi society—is simply not undertaken in the Haredi world. Beyond the general feature I described, this likely stems also from the conception that Haredi society is perfect—so what is there to repair?! Individuals may be flawed here and there, but “repairing society” is practically heresy in a principle (it assumes the Haredi principles aren’t perfect).

True, in recent years such actions are beginning to be taken, but they have two features that preserve the Haredi spirit: (1) they are done against Haredi society and on its margins; (2) they always focus on changes inside Haredi society, not in the general society. I refer to actions against sexual harassment, promoting women’s status, study and employment, army enlistment, and the like. These actions are usually carried out by modern Haredim, and so they are perceived as non-Haredi and meet with fierce resistance from the society and its leadership. And of course they are undertaken entirely to repair Haredi society, not to improve the general situation in the state (even enlistment is usually aimed at improving the Haredi situation, not contributing to the army—see where they direct the recruits). Thus the Haredi character is certainly preserved even there.

I experience this up close in “The Third Path,” which seeks to connect Haredim with religious-Zionists. Time and again it becomes clear that the Haredi side does not speak the language of general social repair. At most it’s about repairing Haredi society, and mainly about advancing personal interests (like education and livelihood). Very few there speak the language of contribution to society, or broader repair, or even repair of Judaism. Until now I attributed this to Maslow’s hierarchy of needs: the more a person is in hardship, the less he engages in repairing the world. He is preoccupied with his interests and personal life, and has no mental bandwidth to engage the wider world. It is well-known that repairing the world is a luxury reserved for those whose lives are decent or better. Haredim face severe hardships, so it’s no wonder they don’t engage in repair. That’s true, of course, but I think it’s not the whole picture. In the background stands the Haredi trait I described here: the Haredi focus is not on society and the world but on the private and the personal—on interests, not ideals.

Many times I’ve written that Haredim are a highly non-ideological group. They don’t act according to articulated values, and their pragmatic flexibility can be astonishing. Principles of faith can in a moment turn to nonsense (“orva parach”)—I have given examples like participating in government and coalition, women on religious councils, and the like. By the way, this gives hope also regarding the draft: if there are sanctions and a need arises, permits and ways will quickly be found to bypass the absolute principles we received from “our rock-solid sages.” If you compare this with religious-Zionism, there you find a highly ideological and inflexible society. Its Hardal avant-garde gauges every step and statement through very strict ideological lenses. The gravest offense, in their eyes, is compromise or surrender of principles. The halakhic compromises that exist in wide parts of it exist less in its ideology and social conduct. For the record: I must add that pragmatism, in my view, is not a flaw. It certainly has positive sides, and just so, lack of flexibility is not necessarily a virtue. Here I am only describing, not judging.

Social Characteristics

Above I presented several traits of Haredi society, but I claimed they cannot define Haredi-ness, since this is not ideology but social features. Now I’d like to explain them in light of the ideological description I have given so far. If it succeeds in explaining the social traits, then sociology can attest to essence.

I’ll start with Haredi conservatism. Conservatism is preserving the status quo and not striving for change and improvement. Again, this can be taken as blind faith in the superiority of existing Haredi principles and ideals (as noted, attempting to change principles is “heresy in a principle”). But in my opinion there’s something more: such change is “repairing the world,” and we don’t engage in repairing the world but in optimal survival so as to reach the light at the end. A society that does not engage in repairing the world will be a conservative society. Repairing society is by nature change. Avant-gardes who repair the world make revolutions and act against conservatism. Modernity usually comes with revolutionism. I’ll say more: Haredim can repair the world (or individuals in it) in the sense of correcting deviations from principles and returning to a more perfect state—that is, one that conforms to the principles. This is erasing deviations and restoring the previous state. They will never repair the principles themselves. In other words, “repairing the world” is fixing defects relative to the perfect, utopian model we already possess. There is no searching for other, better utopias. There are breaches in modesty that ruin the world, and so movements and campaigns will be set up to improve the situation. The aim is saving everyone’s next world—but nothing about this world. No one will entertain examining Haredi principles of modesty and separation and ask whether perhaps it is right to adjust them in the new circumstances. Again, I am not judging or saying such adjustment is necessary; I’m only pointing to the fact that you won’t find processes of repair and change in substantial senses there.

I already mentioned the refusal to take risks for the sake of advancing society and the world. Such risk might harm my next world, and when the counterweight is only change and repair in this world—there’s nothing to discuss. Hence children who might “corrupt” our pure students will not be accepted into our institutions—even if that throws hundreds of thousands of children into what we consider a fundamentally flawed education. But the corruption of our children endangers their next world. So what are we even here for?! Think about the value of integration in the religious-Zionist and general worlds, and you’ll see it does not exist at all in the Haredi world. The individual and his spiritual goals (or spiritual survival) stand at the center and push away any general view of repairing and contributing to the world.

This is the essence of the “Noah’s Ark” approach. The world as a whole is a set of challenges we must guard against. Certainly we will not accept or promote social values. At most we promote commandments and their observance—despite the world, not for it. In the Haredi conception, the world is a flood against which our main task is defense, not repair. The Hasidim, who originally were hardly Haredi but today already are (I have written more than once that today religious-Zionism is the only true Hasidism—perhaps apart from groups on the margins of the Hasidic establishment, like Chabad and Breslov), bring here the distinction between Noah and Abraham. Think about a group of people in a cold room. Noah puts on a fur coat and saves himself from the cold; Abraham lights a stove that warms everyone.

My mother—may she live—used to chuckle at the Sabbath piyyut that speaks of “swans and quail and fish.” People sing it with closed eyes in longing of the soul—while the object of longing is to eat swans and fish. Doesn’t sound like especially spiritual aspirations, does it? Is that the spiritual peak of the holy Sabbath? The Hasidim will explain that this is “repairing the material,” turning it into a spiritual value. On Shabbat even enjoying delicacies is a spiritual value. But the Litvaks just long for a bit of relief from the hardships of daily life. There is yet another possibility: perhaps, quite apart from spirituality, it is permissible also to want to enjoy the world a bit?! The world was made for our use; it is not inherently suspect. We are not here only to defend ourselves against it and create bubble alternatives to it.

Lives of poverty and economic and social hardship are not perceived merely as a necessity in Haredi society. In my view it’s not only willingness to pay a price for the truth—though that, too, exists. There is a glorification of withdrawal from the world. Poverty and hardship are an ideal, since they separate from the world (not to mention that they give the leadership control over the public). Pleasure-seeking lives are not suspect because pleasure-seeking is problematic, but because of the lack of separation from the world. These are two different readings of the saying: “Such is the way of Torah: eat bread with salt, drink scant water, and toil in Torah….” Is this the price one must pay for the sake of truth, or does the way of Torah demand withdrawal from the world—its values, its pleasures, and in fact from everything in it. Even printing the Talmud or Torah in a different format (like Steinsaltz) is condemned as deviating from the way of our fathers. That is the influence of the outside world—Heaven forfend; we must preserve the pure cruse of oil against the world.

In column 680 I noted the duality that exists in Haredi society. People can be convinced of some idea and at the same time act differently. Thus, for example, they know that “Gedolei HaDor” (the “great ones of the generation”) are the appointment of Yated Ne’eman’s clerks, that they are manipulated by operators, and that they have no idea what they speak of so decisively—yet they still obey them and see in them the certified representatives of God. Common sense and “the world” are the counsel of the evil inclination. “Torah” is something supposed to be detached from the world and, preferably, quite illogical and oppositional to everything we think. As is known: “The layman’s view is the very opposite of the Torah’s view.” They know that “kosher phones” are mainly a financial matter, but that doesn’t change their status as a biblical “Thou shalt not” and a central Haredi article of faith (at least in public). They want livelihood and education and integration into the world, but see all this as the counsel of the evil inclination. The reason is that it is perceived as something that comes from “the world” and therefore, by definition, contradicts “the Torah’s view” and Torah itself. It’s too rational to be kosher (too good to be KOSHER).

Likewise they understand internally that morality is important—as every person does—but their faith basically tells them it’s a secular-Reform thing we must suppress and ignore. In the “ben-Torah” world there is only halakhah. There is also “mussar” (in the yeshivish sense), which is about spiritual and halakhic advancement, but not “morality” (ethics). Sometimes these overlap when moral principles find expression in halakhah, but that’s primarily because of the halakhah, not because of the morality. Morality and democracy are counsel of the evil inclination—both because they come from outside, and mainly because they come to repair the world and society, especially if they come with personal costs (my next world may be harmed). It is thus a religious duty to ignore them and brutally suppress pangs of conscience. I think only this way can the shocking callousness and indifference to sharing the burden—and the grievous, fundamental failure to understand the distress of their surroundings—be created in the Haredi world. There is fear of “corruption,” and that overrides the entire Torah. Let others—whose lives in any case are worth nothing—die for us.

In the Haredi bubble of separation there are no captives and no slain, and certainly no fallen soldiers; thus the isolation reinforces itself. Because of it they truly do not feel what happens around them—but that is the point. Noah’s Ark protects us from the world and its influences. From here can also come the great indifference to the world. The Haredim’s concern is to ensure that each one reaches the next world whole and without risks—even if that happens sooner than expected with the help of our neighbors. And if necessary, let the world go to hell (unless the services the world provides them start to be harmed, like funding, etc.). A tax on sugary drinks and bottles, and on disposable tableware that pollutes the environment—their entire meaning, in their eyes, is a desire to harm Haredi society. They do not even know the discourse of repairing the world and improving its state: environmental quality, climate problems, and not even long-term health questions. Their long term is the next world. Medical issues are handled in the immediate term only when they arise in practice, since there is no long-term thinking. Therefore there is no permit for autopsies or paving roads, since all these harm an immediate religious value and are done for long-term benefits. Once again, it’s not only Maslow’s pyramid that causes the focus on the immediate. There is an ideology and a principled conception here. In their eyes, morality and the duty to share the social burden and to care for repairing and improving the world are the counsel of the evil inclination and Western culture. We are supposed to survive here and reach the next world without “corruption.” That’s all.

Summary: “People of This World” and “People of the World to Come”

I think the picture I have drawn here gives a substantive meaning to Haredi-ness. There is a worldview here, not just sociology. The sociology is the outcome of a conception and ideology. A Haredi is one who sees himself as a “person of the World to Come,” and for whom this world is only a corridor that must be traversed safely to survive to the next stage. A national-religious person is a “person of this world,” who sees his main role in repairing this world and the World to Come as a bonus that will come at the end (or not). The other features are largely the result of this difference.

It is important to note that this difference unites all Haredi groups on the one hand and all non-Haredi groups on the other. Here you won’t find a Haredi-Hardal connection. The Hardalim are entirely on the non-Haredi side of the equation, since they are even more ideological and more world-repairing (according to their concepts) than modern religious-Zionists (whose notion of repairing the world is different, but who still believe in “repairing the world” as a basic religious mission). Hardalim too do not talk about the next world, but about repairing this world “in the kingdom of the Almighty.”

To conclude, I must reiterate an important point. I have harsh criticism of Haredi-ness, but this column focused on description, not judgment. It is only diagnostic. To sharpen this, I’ll bring the Rambam’s words at the start of chapter 10 of Hilkhot Teshuvah:

1. A person should not say: “I will do the commandments of the Torah and engage in its wisdom in order that I receive all the blessings written in it, or in order that I merit life in the World to Come; and I will separate from the transgressions from which the Torah warned in order to be saved from the curses written in the Torah or so that I not be cut off from life in the World to Come.” It is not fitting to serve God in this manner; one who serves thus serves out of fear, and this is not the level of the prophets nor the level of the sages. None serve God in this way except the ignorant, women, and children, whom one trains to serve out of fear until their knowledge increases and they serve out of love.

2. One who serves out of love engages in Torah and commandments and walks in paths of wisdom not because of anything in the world and not out of fear of evil and not in order to inherit the good; rather, he does the truth because it is true, and the good will follow as a result. This level is very great and not every sage merits it; it is the level of Abraham our father, whom the Holy One called “My beloved,” for he served only out of love. And it is the level to which the Holy One commanded us through Moses, as it is said: “You shall love the Lord your God.” When a person will love God with the proper love, he will immediately do all the commandments out of love.

One could take my words to imply that halakhah 1 describes the Haredim and halakhah 2 the religious-Zionists—but that’s not it. This is not a contrast between serving for its own sake and serving not for its own sake. The difference between Haredim and religious-Zionists lies in two different conceptions of “for its own sake” itself: Haredim understand serving God as standing before God with the rest of the world being a Ringo course. Humanity and the entire universe are just a cast of extras whose role is to create challenges for me so that I reach the next world whole. The spiritual solipsism that characterizes Haredi-ness is a different conception of serving God and of the spiritual repair it demands—but it is not necessarily serving for reward. By contrast, non-Haredi religious Jews see serving God as something whose concern is building and repairing this world.

At the level of outcomes we will also find a correlation with serving “not for its own sake” on the Haredi side and with secularization on the religious-Zionist side. Among Haredim, service for the sake of reward is a natural (though not necessary) result, for if the next world is the focus and in this world I am in hardship, it follows that I will centralize the future results and bonuses I’ll receive. The next world is my consolation in poverty. If I’m required to suffer here, then let them promise me something in the future—a purpose to my toil. Among the religious-Zionists, usually it is service for its own sake, since for them the focus is repair of the world, not myself (of course one could aim at repairing the world so as to get maximal reward, but that is not as natural as on the Haredi side). Either way, this is an outcome of the difference, not the essential difference itself. There are Haredim who serve God devotedly “for Heaven’s sake,” whose entire concern is to please God and not to get reward. Yet they think the way to do so proceeds via a picture of spiritual solipsism. Conversely, clearly there are religious-Zionists who don’t cleave to repairing the world because they are weak, and there are those who do so in hope of reward. We’re all human. Still, religious-Zionism and modern religiosity posit that our mission is to repair the world. Moreover, from here one can also understand the greater secularization on the religious-Zionist side: if you are connected to the world and want its repair, and see in it your central concern, it is only natural that you drift toward moral values and liberalism (democracy), and from there you place halakhic-Torah (seemingly particularistic) values on the margins. That will not seem to you the important thing.

But all these are outcomes of the differences, not their essence. Here I compared the fundamental ideologies, not the behavioral patterns of this or that individual.

Ending with a Personal View: People of Two Worlds

Up to here I only described both sides, with occasional judgments in passing. My aim was diagnostic, not critique or judgment. But I feel a need to complete the picture with my own personal stance. Despite my criticism, I am not entirely on the religious-Zionist side on these matters. I feel myself in between the two conceptions. In my view, halakhah is not intended to repair the world. To my mind it also does not do so in practice. Commitment to halakhah is, to me, a “Haredi”-style commitment to obey God’s command and do things His way. In my view, what is beyond halakhah is not particular to Judaism and Torah but moral values that by definition are universal (there is no such thing as “Jewish morality”). I have often written that I also don’t think we learn them from the Torah. In these respects I belong to the Haredi side of the map.

But there is an important addition: in my view morality is not part of halakhah, but it is binding. God certainly expects us to behave morally and to repair the world. Not because there is a morality unique to us (otherwise the world would not accept it), but because we are human beings, and as part of humanity we are obligated to morality and to repairing the world and not only to observing halakhah—exactly like any gentile (no more and no less; in this sense I do not agree with religious-Zionists). On this matter we would do well to learn from the nations. In my eyes it is very important to repair air pollution and the climate, to advance morality in the world, to share the burden in Israel’s society, to pursue liberalism and democracy, and the like. But this is so even though, in my view, this is not a mitzvah in the narrow sense of that term.

Take, for example, the discourse that presents the draft as a commandment with sources and halakhic arguments. To me this is a distorted, twisted discourse. Sometimes I get the impression it’s done to address Haredim in their own language and try to persuade them there are halakhic obligations to fight. I have often explained that this is a matter of common-sense pikuach nefesh (saving life), not a “milchemet mitzvah” of “helping Israel from the hand of an oppressor” (see, for example, column 649). So on the one hand it is not a commandment, and on the other hand it is binding. And it would be equally binding were we in Belgium or Zimbabwe.

In short: I, too, think the world is not a Ringo course, and it was not created only so we separate from it and flee it. Humanity is not a cast of extras meant to challenge me, and when I do something for it, it’s not only to repair my spiritual world but mainly to benefit them (I will send gifts to the poor on their Purim and not on mine). The world was created so that we live it to the fullest—but along the halakhic path. Halakhah and Torah did not come to replace the world but to constitute an additional story above it. In this sense I feel on the religious-Zionist side of the map; but in my view that is not connected to halakhah and Torah but to our obligation as human beings (which, too, is the product of a divine command and demand).

The Haredi model advocates a single-story model: halakhah and Torah. The religious-Zionist model also advocates a single story: Torah and halakhah that include the universal values and the duty to repair the world. In contrast, I advocate a two-story model: on the first floor we are human beings, and as such we are fully “people of this world,” with all that entails. On the second, particularistic floor we are “people of the World to Come,” acting to fulfill God’s will without necessarily tying this to this- or-that social repair. Incidentally, repairs of “worlds” or spiritual dimensions of reality quite plausibly exist here (I have often written that the commandments were likely intended to achieve certain spiritual goals), but that can still be a conception of “repairing the world” (even if not socially) of “people of this world,” not merely the personal repair of “people of the next world.” In other words, for me this is true even on the second floor, not only on the first. In any case, it turns out I’ve met yet another issue on which I disagree with both sides of the dispute.