What Do We Really Know When We See a Charedi?

A heated discussion about American Charedi aliyah and their place in Israeli society played out on social media over the past week. It reminded me of a recent experience that my high school-age son had.

My son was waiting for the light rail. When it arrived, it was crowded as usual. As the doors opened, he waited for the passengers inside to step off before getting on. He didn’t want to push his way through, and besides, there are signs on the light rail doors instructing people to do just as he was doing.

As he stepped on, an older woman started scolding him in fast, harsh Hebrew. She accused my son of being a leech on society, selfish, and a few other choice terms along those lines.

Why? Because he took a little longer to get on the light rail, ironically out of consideration for others?

No.

It’s because of what my son was wearing.

My son goes to a Charedi Yeshiva Tichonit, a high school that is Charedi in the sense that the students dress like Charedim and spend the majority of the day studying Torah in the lomdishe style of classical Charedi yeshivas. At the same time, the school offers a full general studies curriculum, including bagruyot (and not just the bare minimum for compliance; my son is taking five-unit math and physics this year, for instance).

Since he was wearing the standard Charedi “uniform” of black pants and a white shirt, that woman applied whatever she believed about Charedim to him.

The reality is that there is diversity within the Charedi community in Israel. I believe that diversity will only become more apparent as more American Charedim make aliyah.

So what exactly is unique about American Charedim?

American and Israeli Charedi societies may share some similarities, but they are far from identical. According to research published by the Israel Democracy Institute, a defining characteristic of American Charedim is their positive attitude toward higher secular education and integration into the workforce.

While the mainstream Charedi educational system in Israel teaches general studies in a very limited manner after elementary school, alternative frameworks are gaining traction. As mentioned, the Charedi Yeshiva Tichonit movement is one of them. With over 20 such institutions operating across Israel, the goal of Leshem, the organization behind the movement, is to provide an uncompromising Torah education while simultaneously preparing students for professional life.

While my family lives in a Dati Leumi (Religious Zionist) community and we identify as such, this particular son feels most comfortable in the environment his high school offers. He appreciates the rigorous learning style as well as the international student body, which includes many boys from American backgrounds. At parent-teacher conferences, I always find plenty of fellow “Anglos” to talk to. While my son is fluent in Hebrew, he values having peers from English-speaking homes, both in his own school as well as when interacting with students from other Leshem-affiliated institutions.

There is also a small but growing world of Charedi Hesder yeshivas. The Ministry of Defense describes these frameworks as combining Torah learning, academic or technological education, as well as military service in programs designed specifically for Charedi students. Rabbi Karmi Gross, the Rosh Yeshiva of one of these yeshivas, recently published an op-ed exploring why Charedim have historically not served in the IDF in large numbers. He asserts that this reality is changing because Charedi society as a whole is increasingly coming to view itself as part of mainstream Israeli society. It is no coincidence, in my view, that Rabbi Gross is himself an oleh from the United States. As he and other like-minded pioneers continue to build these institutions, American Charedi olim may well accelerate this quiet revolution.

Further evidence of this shift is the emergence of new political voices, such as Moti Leitner of the Charedi Public Party. He advocates for Charedi participation in military or national service, a core curriculum in Charedi schools, professional training, and broader integration into Israeli society. What particularly caught my attention was Leitner’s focus on Charedi olim. In a recent interview with the Jerusalem Post, he spoke about the unique hurdles Charedi immigrants face when navigating bureaucracy and finding suitable schools, emphasizing the need for educational institutions “like the ones they’re used to.”

Of course, there is a classic chicken-and-egg dilemma. Families won’t move to Israel if there are no schools, communities, and institutions that work for them. As Dr. Disa Sacks wrote from within the American Charedi community in a recent opinion piece, “Israeli Charedi leadership needs to take a page out of the American Charedi leadership’s manual […] the current Charedi leadership needs to change or allow new leadership to make the tough decisions that will ensure the future of a prosperous Charedi community in Israel — one that will not be insular, focused, and disassociated from the rest of Israel.”

However, institutions aren’t going to materialize without a critical mass of families pushing for them. American Charedim who are willing to step up as pioneers may need to arrive before everything is perfectly established. Fortunately, there is already a growing movement for them to plug into.

Which brings me back to my son and the light rail.

The woman who yelled at him saw a boy in black pants and a white shirt and assumed she knew everything about him. She saw his “uniform” and filled in the rest. For me, this carries a broader message, especially during the month of Elul when we strive for self-improvement and seek to judge others more favorably. People are so much more complex than the categories we construct for them. Sometimes, the people who don’t quite fit into our pre-existing boxes are precisely the ones with the potential to build something new.