When the Symbol Replaces Belief
Israel is one of the few countries in the world where it is possible to identify, within the public sphere and sometimes at a mere glance, a person’s religious, communal, or political affiliation through external signs of dress. This phenomenon is particularly visible among the various ultra-Orthodox currents, which adhere to distinct sartorial codes, but it is by no means limited to them.
When Arab citizens are added to this picture, it becomes difficult to overlook the broader social reality that emerges: large segments of Israeli society live side by side without truly living together. In many respects, a form of segregation has developed, a strong term, admittedly, but one that is not entirely unfounded, produced by communal, religious, and national divisions.
Ultra-Orthodox Jews, religious Zionists, settlers, and Arab citizens of Israel do not share a common social space, regardless of their socio-economic circumstances, as is generally the case in developed societies. They do not reside in the same neighborhoods, study in the same educational institutions, serve the state together, share meals together, work together to any significant extent, or marry across these boundaries. It is difficult to identify another developed country in which social fragmentation has become so deeply institutionalized. It would be easy to attribute responsibility for this situation to a particular group. In reality, however, much of the mechanisms of social separation were gradually established over decades as a social reality, intensified by political conflicts and by opposition to any vision aspiring toward social cohesion.
In everyday Israeli life, religious symbols occupy an increasingly prominent place in the public sphere. The question that arises is whether these symbols remain connected to their original meaning or whether they have been transformed into markers of tribal, clan-based, or cultural belonging. Do they still represent a belief, a value system, or a worldview, or have they become a tangible substitute for identity itself?
A person wearing a knitted kippah is immediately associated—often before even uttering a word—with a political orientation, a social milieu, a residential environment, or a particular educational system. A black wide-brimmed hat or a large black kippah generally signals ultra-Orthodox affiliation, whereas a small or colorful kippah is frequently interpreted as an indication of belonging to religious Zionism. Thus, a simple item of clothing becomes a kind of visual identity card, replacing the need for personal acquaintance or individual understanding.
A similar phenomenon can be observed regarding the mezuzah. It often functions less as a religious object than as a marker of belonging to Jewish space in an ethnic or cultural sense. Some perceive it as a protective amulet against misfortune; others view it as a discreet sign indicating that the owner of the premises does not reject their Jewish identity. In certain cases, the placement of a mezuzah even serves to prevent neighbors or customers from suspecting that a place is non-Jewish. This leads to a paradoxical situation in which the absence of a mezuzah may be interpreted as an ideological statement just as much as its presence. Similarly, some businesses display kashrut certificates or portraits of rabbis as substitutes for moral trust, as though the symbol itself could guarantee honesty.
Cracks have also appeared in the economic and ethical spheres between religious symbolism and standards of integrity. Some media outlets have referred to the phenomenon of “rabbinic criminality.” Despite the polemical nature of this expression, the ostentatious display of portraits of rabbis or messianic figures in businesses and cafés does not necessarily guarantee honest commercial practices, transparency, or fair treatment of customers and employees. Cases of corruption, financial fraud, misuse of public resources, or sexual abuse occurring within religious frameworks cannot be generalized to the religious public as a whole; nevertheless, they challenge the assumption that the visible display of religious identity constitutes an automatic guarantee of morality.