JERUSALEM (AP) – Mendy Moskowits, a member of the ultra-Orthodox Belz Hassidic sect in Jerusalem, does not understand the revolt against believers like him.
In recent weeks, ultra-Orthodox Jews have defied coronavirus restrictions by holding large funerals for the beloved rabbis who died of COVID-19, celebrating big weddings and continuing to send their children to school. The rallies led to clashes with police and an unprecedented wave of public outrage at the religious community.
On Tuesday night, hundreds of ultra-Orthodox protesters protested the blockade restrictions, set fire to the dumpster and confronted police officers in Jerusalem.
Moskowits, like many other ultra-Orthodox believers, say Israeli society does not understand their way of life and has turned its community into a scapegoat.
“In my opinion, the media gives us a very bad distortion,” he said.
The ultra-Orthodox community represents about 12% of Israel’s 9.3 million people. But he exerted excessive influence, using his status as king in parliament to provide generous government benefits and subsidies.
Ultra-Orthodox men are exempt from compulsory military service and often receive social assistance payments, while continuing to study full-time in seminars throughout adulthood. Their schools enjoy a wide range of autonomy and focus almost entirely on religion, while avoiding basic subjects such as mathematics and science.
These privileges generated contempt from the general public – resentments that turned into absolute hostility during the coronavirus crisis.
Gilad Malach, a researcher at the Institute for Democracy in Israel, says ultra-Orthodox believers accounted for more than a third of the country’s COVID-19 cases by 2020. Among Israelis over 65, the ultra-Orthodox mortality rate was three times higher than of the general population. , he added.
Data from the Ministry of Health show that vaccination rates in ultra-Orthodox areas are far behind the national average.
The ultra-Orthodox disregard, Malach said, stems in part from the fact that members did not believe that “they must abide by the rules of the state, especially with regard to issues of religious behavior.”
The ultra-Orthodox, also known as “Haredim”, follow a strict interpretation of Judaism, and prominent rabbis are the arbiters of the community in all matters. Many consider secular Israelis a recent aberration of centuries of unaltered Jewish tradition.
“We have rabbis. We don’t just do what we have in mind, “Moskowits said. “We have been listening to them for thousands of years. We will listen to them today. ”
While the ultra-Orthodox community is far from monolithic, many rabbis have ignored or even intentionally violated safety rules. Rabbi Chaim Kanievsky, 93, one of the most influential spiritual leaders, insisted that schools remain open throughout the crisis.
On a recent day, dozens of ultra-Orthodox girls fell in a cascade from a primary school in the Romema neighborhood that operated in violation of the law. Few wore masks or kept their distance from others. Classes were held at nearby boys’ elementary schools and yeshives.
“We can’t make a generation collapse,” said Moskowits, who lives in Romema. “We are still sending our boys to school because we have rabbis who say that the study of the Torah saves and protects.”
In a community that largely avoids the Internet, rabbis plaster “pashkevils” or public notices on the walls of religious neighborhoods to spread their messages.
Some notices urged people not to get vaccinated, even using images of the Holocaust to scare people. “The vaccine is completely useless! The pandemic is already behind us! Was read, comparing the rush for vaccinations with boarding a train to the Auschwitz camp.
Ultra-Orthodox leaders say such views are supported by a radical minority. Most people follow safety rules, they say, and the virus is spreading because communities are poor and people live in small apartments with large families.
Moskowits, a 29-year-old father, said some families have up to 10 children and only one bathroom. From the age of 14, the boys are sent to boarding schools and spend only the Sabbath at home.
For many, the blockade “technically, physically does not work,” Moskowits said. He called it a “violation of human rights.”
Moskowits, who grew up in the UK, speaks English with a British accent, but his vocabulary is strongly spiced with Yiddish and Hebrew words. He wears a black velvet hat, a pressed white shirt and black trousers typical of ultra-Orthodox men – but without a mask, despite the fact that the government requires them publicly. He said he contracted COVID-19 in March and claims that a letter from his doctor excuses him from wearing a mask.
A real estate developer punctuates his working day with prayers at a neighborhood synagogue and tries once a week to pray at the West Wall of Jerusalem, the holiest place where Jews can worship. Once a day, he performs ablations at a mikvah, a Jewish ritual bath, and regularly studies religious texts with a partner.
The religious community is growing rapidly, even though economists have long warned that the system is unsustainable. About 60 percent of its population is under the age of 19, according to the Israeli Institute for Democracy.
Protecting the ultra-Orthodox way of life – or Yiddishkeit – is the ultimate goal of the community. If this means that infections are spreading, this is a price that some members are willing to pay.
The ultra-Orthodox “sacrifice most of their lives for the next generation and for the preservation of Yiddishkeit. We offer everything, “said Moskowits.
This vision is hardly universal.
Nathan Slifkin, an Orthodox rabbi living in Israel, complained in a recent opinion in the Jewish Chronicle that members of the Haredi community “do not really see any connection between violating the restrictions and people dying of COVID.”
Yehuda Meshi-Zahav, head of an ultra-Orthodox ambulance service called ZAKA, lost both parents to the virus in January. He says rabbis urging followers to break coronavirus regulations have “blood on their hands.”
Funerals play a central role in traditional Jewish life, and the pandemic has made them too common. Cars with megaphones circulate in religious neighborhoods announcing deaths and funeral details. The Paskevils announce the communities when a prominent rabbi dies.
Shmuel Gelbstein, deputy director of a Jerusalem funeral society for the ultra-Orthodox community, said this year has been “very busy, very difficult in terms of mortality, both in terms of common deaths, plus, of course, coronavirus, which is definitely an amount that adds to the load. ”
Funeral services for two Haredi rabbis who died of COVID-19 drew 10,000 mourners last week.
The non-Orthodox majority in Israel was outraged by what they saw as contempt for the rules and selective enforcement by the authorities.
But ultra-Orthodox say they are unfairly highlighted, noting that demonstrations against Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu – protected by free speech laws – have allowed the pandemic to continue.
Moskowits explained that for the young people who gathered at these funerals, prominent rabbis are “a huge part of your life.”
“When these younger boys go to the funeral, I feel like their father is dead,” he said. “Nothing stands in the way. He will go to the funeral anyway. “