The Ultra-Orthodox Debate That Jews Can No Longer Avoid
Ultra-Orthodox Jews have preserved Judaism, but who will preserve the Jewish homeland?
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This is a guest essay by Vanessa Berg, who writes about Judaism and Israel.
You can also listen to the podcast version of this essay on Apple Podcasts, YouTube Music, YouTube, and Spotify.
There is much to respect and admire about the ultra-Orthodox Jewish world.
In many ways, the ultra-Orthodox are living the most direct continuation of the Jewish civilization that existed long before modernity. While most Jews adapted to the modern nation-state, integrated into secular institutions, and absorbed the values and assumptions of the surrounding culture, the ultra-Orthodox largely did not. They built communities designed to preserve Torah, Jewish learning, Jewish practice, and Jewish identity against the powerful assimilatory forces of the modern world.
There is something profoundly admirable about that.
In an age where nearly everything competes for our attention, where more and more people’s identities are increasingly shallow and interchangeable, and where many Jews struggle to remain connected to Judaism at all, the ultra-Orthodox live and breathe Judaism.
Torah is not a hobby; Jewish life is not an extracurricular activity; it is the organizing principle of their existence.
That commitment deserves respect.
It is also true that much of what remains distinctly Jewish in the modern world survives because there were communities that refused to surrender to the pressures of assimilation. The ultra-Orthodox world has produced generations of Torah scholars, preserved traditions that might otherwise have disappeared, and maintained a level of Jewish continuity that many non-Orthodox communities can only envy.
But if we are going to talk honestly about the ultra-Orthodox community, we have to talk about the whole picture — the good, the bad and, sometimes, the ugly. Because Israel is not merely a Jewish civilization; it is also a state. And states require citizens to share burdens.
For years, a growing number of Israelis have argued that the current arrangement between the state and much of the ultra-Orthodox community is unsustainable. Hundreds of thousands of Israelis serve in the army, spend months away from their families in reserve duty, pay taxes, participate in the workforce, and carry the responsibilities that come with citizenship.
Large segments of the ultra-Orthodox community do not.
Many ultra-Orthodox men receive exemptions from military service while studying in yeshivot, a traditional Jewish educational institution focused on the in-depth study of classical Jewish texts, primarily the Talmud and the Torah. Workforce participation among ultra-Orthodox men remains significantly lower than among the broader Israeli population. Government subsidies help sustain institutions built around long-term Torah study.
Whether one supports or opposes these policies, they have created a growing sense among many Israelis that the burdens of citizenship are not being distributed fairly. That debate is legitimate. In fact, it is necessary. A society cannot function if major questions about military service, taxation, welfare, and civic responsibility become untouchable.
To understand how we arrived here, we ought to understand the history of the State of Israel and ultra-Orthodox Jews. The story of ultra-Orthodox Jews in the Land of Israel did not begin with the establishment of the State of Israel in 1948.
There has been a continuous Jewish presence in the Land of Israel since the destruction of the Second Temple by the Romans in 70 CE. Throughout centuries of Byzantine, Arab, Crusader, Mamluk, and Ottoman rule, Jewish communities remained in cities such as Jerusalem, Tiberias, Safed, and Hebron. Many of these communities were deeply religious and devoted significant portions of their lives to Torah study, prayer, and the preservation of Jewish tradition.
The modern ultra-Orthodox community emerged in Europe during the 19th century as a response to modernization, secularization, and the Jewish Enlightenment (the Haskalah). As many Jews sought greater integration into European society, others feared that Jewish identity, observance, and continuity were being eroded. The ultra-Orthodox movement developed largely as an effort to preserve traditional Judaism against those pressures.
By the late 19th and early 20th centuries, long before modern Israeli independence, thousands of deeply religious Jews had settled in the Land of Israel. They established yeshivot, neighborhoods, charitable institutions, and religious communities centered around Torah learning. Their vision was not primarily political. Most viewed themselves as guardians of Jewish tradition rather than builders of a modern nation-state.
This distinction would prove enormously important.
The founders of modern Zionism sought to solve what they viewed as the Jewish political problem: a stateless people vulnerable to persecution and dependent upon others. The emerging Zionist movement focused on sovereignty, self-defense, agriculture, labor, and the creation of modern national institutions.
Many ultra-Orthodox leaders were skeptical of this project. Some opposed what they perceived as “secular Zionism” on theological grounds. Others feared that nationalism would replace Judaism itself. Still others simply wanted to remain separate from the ideological battles of modern Jewish politics.
The Holocaust changed everything.
The destruction of European Jewry wiped out countless yeshivot, rabbinical dynasties, and centers of Torah learning. Entire religious worlds disappeared almost overnight. In the aftermath, many survivors rebuilt their communities in Israel.
When David Ben-Gurion and Israel’s founding leadership negotiated the relationship between the new state and the ultra-Orthodox community, they were dealing with a relatively small population. In 1948, only a few hundred yeshiva students received exemptions from military service in order to dedicate themselves to full-time Torah study. Ben-Gurion reportedly believed these arrangements would affect only a limited number of people and help preserve remnants of a religious civilization that had been nearly annihilated during the Holocaust.
History had other plans.
What began as an exemption for a few hundred students eventually expanded into a system affecting tens of thousands and then hundreds of thousands of people. The ultra-Orthodox population grew rapidly. Political parties representing their interests became influential coalition partners. Temporary compromises evolved into permanent structures.
Today, the debate is no longer about a small group of Holocaust survivors rebuilding destroyed institutions. It is about one of the fastest-growing populations in Israel and the relationship between Torah study, military service, economic participation, and citizenship in a modern Jewish state.
Understanding this history does not tell us what the solution should be, but it does explain why this issue is so emotionally charged. For many ultra-Orthodox, Torah study is not simply an educational preference. It is the continuation of a sacred mission that preserved the Jewish People for centuries and helped rebuild what the Holocaust nearly destroyed.
For many other ultra-Orthodox Israelis, military service is not simply a government obligation. It is the price of maintaining a sovereign Jewish state in one of the world’s most dangerous neighborhoods.
To be sure, this criticism does not apply to all religious Israeli Jews. Many Orthodox Israelis, particularly those from the Religious Zionist community, serve in the IDF at exceptionally high rates and view military service as both a civic duty and a religious obligation. They are disproportionately represented in combat units, often rise to positions of leadership, and frequently remain in uniform as career officers long after completing their mandatory service. For them, defending the Jewish state is not separate from their faith. It is an expression of it.
If there is one issue on which secular Israelis and Religious Zionists largely find common ground, it is military service. Whatever their differences on religion, politics, or the character of the state, both generally accept that defending Israel is a shared civic responsibility. The ultra-Orthodox community, however, has largely charted a different course, presenting a mounting challenge for the State of Israel to determine how those two visions can productively coexist in the 21st century.
Instead of engaging that debate constructively, parts of the ultra-Orthodox leadership and movement have increasingly chosen violent confrontation. In recent weeks, anti-draft protests have crossed lines that should concern every Israeli regardless of political affiliation.
Ultra-Orthodox protesters attempted to force their way into the home of Military Police commander Brigadier General Yuval Yamin in Ashkelon while his family was inside, in protest of efforts to enforce military conscription. Some demonstrators breached the property and entered the yard.
Days later, extremists targeted the home of Supreme Court Deputy President Noam Sohlberg — attempting to break into the property, damaging windows, and vandalizing the judge’s vehicle while protesting court decisions related to draft enforcement. Dozens were later arrested.
Hundreds of ultra-Orthodox protesters also gathered outside police facilities, with rioters attempting to storm police compounds in both Jerusalem and Beit Shemesh. Several succeeded in breaching the Beit Shemesh station compound following the arrest of a draft evader.
Today in Israel, thousands of ultra-Orthodox protesters blocked major roads and highways and disrupted transportation infrastructure, leaving Israelis stranded at Ben Gurion Airport and soldiers unable to return home from their army bases.
This is not civil disobedience aimed at persuading fellow citizens. It is intimidation, and it deserves to be condemned.
The timing makes the controversy even more explosive.
Yesterday, the Knesset (the Israeli parliament) voted in favor of advancing a proposed Basic Law that would define Torah study as a foundational value of the State of Israel and recognize long-term Torah study as meaningful service to the state and the Jewish People. Critics argue that the legislation effectively places Torah study on a level comparable to military service and could further entrench exemptions for yeshiva students.
The legislation arrives after years of national debate and amid a prolonged multi-front war that has placed extraordinary demands on Israeli soldiers and reservists. Many Israelis who have spent hundreds of days in uniform understandably ask a simple question: Why should one group bear the burden while another is exempt from it?
That question is not anti-ultra-Orthodox. It is not anti-religious. It is not anti-Torah. It is a question about citizenship. And it warrants a legitimate answer.
At the same time, there is a danger lurking within this debate — a very dangerous one. The temptation is to stop criticizing policies and start condemning people; to stop arguing with ideas and start hating entire communities.
Israel has become increasingly vulnerable to this trap.
Instead of discussing concrete questions about military service, workforce participation, education, or welfare policy, many Israelis retreat into symbolic warfare. Every issue becomes a clash between tribes. Every disagreement becomes a test of loyalty. Every citizen becomes a representative of a camp.
That path leads nowhere good.
The result is that criticism of ultra-Orthodox political behavior can easily become hostility toward ultra-Orthodox Jews. Criticism of Left-wing policies becomes hatred of Left-wing Israelis. Concern about Arab Israeli extremism becomes suspicion of Arab Israelis. Anger at politicians becomes contempt for ordinary voters.
Jews in the diaspora know this all too well, especially since October 7th. Disagreement with Israel, whether legitimate or bigoted, has become disdain for Jews as a whole.
Everyone becomes a symbol. Nobody remains a person.
Recently, a self-described liberal Israeli posted a photograph of two religious Jews walking in Tel Aviv and warned of a supposed religious “takeover” of the city. She knew nothing about them. One was pushing a stroller, the other carried a weapon while apparently serving in the reserves — but none of that mattered.
They had ceased being individuals. They had become symbols. That is exactly how societies poison themselves.
There is no meaningful difference between demonizing all ultra-Orthodox because of the actions of some extremists and demonizing any other group because of the actions of its worst representatives. The moment ordinary people become scapegoats for collective frustrations, a just struggle becomes an unjust one.
Israel faces a genuine challenge regarding the relationship between Torah study, military service, economic participation, and civic responsibility. The challenge is real. The grievances are real. The frustrations are real. But so are the dangers of turning millions of citizens into enemies.
There is indeed a struggle over the future character of the State of Israel. There are profound disagreements that must be addressed. There are policies that must change. There are burdens that must be shared more fairly. None of that requires hatred. In fact, hatred makes solutions impossible.
Israel is too small, too diverse, and too interconnected for any tribe to win alone. Lasting solutions will require partnerships between secular Jews, traditional Jews, religious Zionists, ultra-Orthodox, Arab Israelis, immigrants, veterans, entrepreneurs, workers, and scholars. No community is disappearing after the next election, and no tribe is going away.
The future will be built together, or not at all. That means we must be capable of doing two things simultaneously: We must be willing to criticize the ultra-Orthodox community when criticism is deserved, and we must refuse to hate the ultra-Orthodox community while doing it.
The first is necessary for justice. The second is necessary for the continuation of Israel itself.
Not a fan of the ultra orthodox males in Israel, you were too polite, PC. Talking about the ones who sit around all day "studying", collecting welfare,don't work, don't pay taxes, don't serve in the military, attack female police, some are known to spit. I am a Netanyahu fan but if I lived there I would vote for Bennett as Netanyahu is unfortunately beholden to their vote.
A historical footnote on the continuity claim: scholars of Jewish modernity (Jacob Katz, Michael Silber, Haym Soloveitchik) generally describe ultra-Orthodoxy not as a direct continuation of pre-modern Jewish civilization but as a modern movement created in reaction to emancipation, Haskalah, and Reform. Silber's well-known essay on the subject is titled "The Emergence of Ultra-Orthodoxy: The Invention of a Tradition."
The distinction matters because traditional Jewish society wasn't traditionalist. Pre-modern Jews observed halacha as the unexamined norm of a community with real coercive authority, not as an ideological stance taken against available alternatives. Once observance became a conscious choice, and stringency a banner, as in the Chatam Sofer's repurposing of "chadash assur min haTorah," even maximal fidelity to inherited practice became something structurally new.
The postwar Haredi world departs further still. The "society of learners," in which long-term, full-time kollel study is the norm for men, has no precedent in Jewish history; pre-modern communities expected most men to work, with serious learning reserved for a small elite. And as Soloveitchik argued in "Rupture and Reconstruction," the destruction of Europe's organic communities shifted Haredi religiosity from mimetic transmission to text-driven stringency, producing practice that is in places more rigid than what it claims to continue.
None of this negates the piece's comparative point: in curriculum, liturgy, language, and communal thickness, the Haredi world is plainly closer to 18th-century Vilna or Pressburg than any other surviving option. But "closest surviving approximation, substantially reconstructed" is a different claim from "most direct continuation," and the latter largely restates the movement's own self-understanding rather than the historical record.