A Self-Righteous Exile: An Israeli’s Critique of Modern Orthodoxy

Over the years, I’ve spent much time in many diverse and varied Jewish communities in the world. I’ve reaped the benefits of hospitality that international Judaism confers, but I’ve also had to surrender much of my individual political autonomy to the dictates of global Jewish power, whether it be through the Israeli government, the Jewish lobby in the US, or the interpersonal dynamics of remote and weaker communities. While at times robust and empowering, my relationship with my Jewish identity is often ambiguous and fleeting. Sometimes I feel a deep pride, but sometimes I feel a profound sense of embarrassment and repulsion, an undeniable aversion to being associated with the conglomerate known as “The Jewish People.” Sometimes, I just want to be left alone.

Unfortunately, history has taught us that such a wish is naïve at best, dangerous at worst. Western antisemitism does not, in fact, distinguish between those who are Jewish by birth but live ‘gentile’ lives, and those who voluntarily associate with the interests of the ‘people.’ Try as I might, I cannot entirely evade the air of suspicion that trails me as a Jew, or as an Israeli. There is no such thing as a private Jew. However, I would be mistaken to equate today’s West with its grossly antisemitic past. Growing up here, I came to appreciate the relative stability and protection that Western society offers, and that the indifferent, mechanistic social structure that we inhabit is seemingly justified by its lack of overt prejudice. Of course, America is not what it professes to be. It is not a land of freedom, brotherhood and equality. Still, it is home, and it’s not all bad (at least not yet).

In the prosperous community that I knew as a child, where we celebrated Bar and Bat Mitzvahs with lavish, over-the-top parties, and flaunted material wealth, I perceived no regard, no sympathy, for those who were less ‘well-off,’ who lived in abject poverty, even if they were our immediate neighbors. When I began to question the humanity of society, I met with a wall of indifference and ridicule. When I expressed my disinterest with the darwinistic environment to which I was exposed, I was shunned as lazy, bitter and dysfunctional (and later, mentally ill). Lacking any grounding outside of my community and fearful of the anonymity of greater American society, I decided to move to Israel, a decision that I eventually came to regret for political reasons, and for which I’ve suffered much (and have written about in previous posts).

Upon returning after so many years, and now as much Israeli as American, I’ve gained some much-needed perspective on my upbringing and have come to a realization concerning my place in this society. To put it simply, I envy those who didn’t have to put up with the unnecessary rules, hierarchy and structure associated with Modern-Orthodoxy, who don’t feel as if there’s an asterisk next to their identity as Americans. While surely not the worst case of the many insular, cult communities that America seems to teem with, I felt particularly excluded from my peers as a child (I grew up in a small community with few boys my age), and increasingly subject to radicalization as I doubled-down on my faith in my adolescent years, attending a religious all-boys high school and over-extending myself in my academic and ideological pursuits in order to compensate for the pain I felt over not fitting in. Even when my faith began to waver and I became more aware of my personal suffering, I felt pressured to reinvest in my connection to the community, which was all I had ever known, effectively putting all my eggs in just the one basket.

When my faith broke, I slowly sank into depression as I felt my world close in on me. In Israel, I rediscovered Judaism, but neither as a pure faith nor as an ethnic identity. The nostalgia of singing the zemirot on the Sabbath, the home-cooked meals and the comradery, minus the fundamentalism of the settlements, allowed me to reconcile with some of the cultural aspects of what I had feared was lost to me forever. Additionally, as I matured, I came to see God in the love and support that I received from my friends, wholly distinct from the political perversion of religious Zionism, and warmer than the vacuous, regimented insensitivity that I had experienced in Modern Orthodoxy. I began to question my previous determination concerning belief and God solely based on my personal experiences with my childhood sect. Was there something lacking in the ‘Judaism’ that I had known? If Modern Orthodoxy wasn’t faithful to Judaism, what was?

Many Modern Orthodox youth who “go off the derekh” veer either to the far-left or far-right of their native lifestyles. I know of many who have either frummed-out and become Yeshivish (ultra-Orthodox) or frei’d-out and stopped keeping a Halakhic lifestyle, and I assume that most of them would probably agree with my criticism of the internal contradictions of Modern-Orthodoxy. On the one hand, it’s too heavy-handed and structured, on the other hand, it’s too loosely individualistic and too focused on material advancement. Naturally, you would think, a balanced world-view that strives to integrate both religious commitment and productive engagement with the outside world should be sought after, however, as I can testify, the community’s insistence on keeping its foot in both worlds essentially hampers its own ability to progress beyond a simplified, synthetic ideology that attempts to do too much with too few social resources. Whereas both non-traditional or ultra-Orthodox communities have reconciled themselves with the harsh reality of America’s fundamentally Protestant ethos, which rejects any attempt to integrate with other religions (especially Catholicism!), and have chosen their respective paths to surrender either their religious identity or collective economic prospects, Modern Orthodoxy stubbornly fails to make such concessions and maintains its unrealistic ambition to secure its interests by attempting to influence society at large. Such artificially inflated expectations, sustained by the superficial affluence (and associated political ‘clout’) many obtain through unscrupulous business practices in fields such as speculative trading, real-estate and law, and, internally, by administering assisted-living facilities, synagogues, private schools, and food companies (Kashrut, catering, butchers, groceries, etc.), reinforce the ideological exclusivity of the community, further distancing it from general society.

Instead of providing for families who cannot pay the outrageous tuition-fees for the mediocre schools serving the community (a problem averted by similar communities in Europe, which receive ample support from the government for their secular education), Modern-Orthodox leaders distract their communities with hollow Talmudic sophistry, half-hearted political diatribes against America’s liberal values and, of course, the need for collective action in the face of ‘resurging’ antisemitism. The community’s obsession with Israel and Zionism serves as an additional foil to the troubles of the community itself, allowing those in power to shirk their duties and promote their own self-serving interests while facilitating a convenient ‘escape route’ to the Middle-East for those who dare question their authority. While such inauthenticity and corruption can be found in every human society, the sophisticated nature of the indoctrination, and the powerful political status of the community’s leadership points to a more sinister structure–a cult.

When a religious community demands more of its members than what it gives back, and justifies such inconsistencies through the use of abstract ideology and the reinforcement of rigid clerical hierarchy, suspicions may arise. When the community begins to aggressively police other aspects of one’s personal life, especially in relation to political opinions that are both common and acceptable in general society, such suspicions become subject to thorough analysis, and, if so determined by the authorities, direct intervention. Last year, upon discovering the tremendous hatred many in the Modern Orthodox community harbor towards their fellow Muslim-Americans, I became concerned about the danger of domestic terrorism from the community, and alerted law-enforcement to some of the worrying, threatening rhetoric that I encountered. I’m still worried about the radical, violent indoctrination that Modern Orthodox youth receive, and the bloodthirsty eagerness of the many young men who choose to enlist in the IDF and fight an enemy they have never met greatly dismays me.

I sympathize with those in the community who want better, who long for the traditional yiddishkeit of old, and struggle with their place in the community. Sometimes, I even envy their stamina. I also can only imagine that the pain I went through was not a unique experience, and that many members of the community suffer in silence as their neglectful leaders prioritize their own positions over the freedom, money and happiness of their fellow members. Though I truly wish that I could do more, I must face the reality of the political limitations that I am subject to in these circumstances, and I choose to walk away. I’ve given too much already.