As the pandemic rages, many Ultra-Orthodox leaders adhere to tradition at all costs

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Nora Rubel is the Jane and Alan Batkin Professor in Jewish Studies at the University of Rochester and the author of Doubting the Devout: The Ultra-Orthodox in the Jewish American Imagination.

Jews mark time with festivals dictated by the Hebrew calendar. The recently observed High Holidays were in many ways a celebration of the end of what has been, for almost everyone, the very odd and sad year of 5780. In early March, with the dawning realization of the dangers posed by COVID-19, many North American Jewish congregations cancelled their celebrations of the carnival-like holiday of Purim. Some Orthodox Jews held them anyway. At that point, no official guidelines advised otherwise.

In New York State, schools would be ordered closed a few days later. Several weeks later, the Brooklyn neighbourhoods of Borough Park, Crown Heights and Williamsburg were disproportionately devastated by the virus. These communities have large populations of Orthodox Jews, specifically ultra-Orthodox Jews (also known as Haredim), and infection and death rates hit those communities hard. Similar spikes among Haredim occurred in Israel directly after Purim.

Why were they hit so hard? Several factors made the Haredim vulnerable: large families living in close quarters, poverty and lack of access to information – many eschew the internet and do not have televisions. In the United States, the Trump administration was slow to act, offering contradictory guidance on how best to combat the disease. Witnessing the impact upon their communities, Haredim began to take the virus seriously and large numbers even donated plasma in order to provide antibodies.

But seven months later, positivity rates are disproportionally rising among Haredim again; the town of Kiryas Joel, a Satmar Hasidic enclave outside of New York, has a 27.6-per-cent rate. Lakewood, N.J. (another largely ultra-Orthodox town) has a similar number and Israeli Haredi cases dwarf those of their fellow citizens. What does it mean that this religious subculture, one that has been hit disproportionately by the virus, appears to resist public health measures to protect itself? The scourge in March was the tragic result of high risk factors coupled with poor information. What is happening now is the catastrophic result of irresponsible religious leadership and willful defiance of civil authority.

Religion, for many, is what we do as a group, what we do together. During the COVID-19 shutdown, schools and houses of worship were shuttered, gatherings were limited or prohibited altogether and travel was discouraged. For many North American Jews, Passover (which fell in the early part of April) was an exercise in hastily teaching parents and grandparents how to use Zoom. Weddings and b’nai mitzvah were postponed or performed remotely. Funerals and shivot (mourners' gatherings) were tragically limited.

In many ways, such restrictions had a greater effect on the social and religious lives of Orthodox Jews than others. Zooming on holidays and Shabbat is prohibited. In order to recite certain prayers, a minyan (a quorum of 10 adult men) is required. Remote-learning for Haredi children is, in many ways, a non-starter since most households do not have internet access. Additionally, visibly Orthodox Jews felt stigmatized by others who treated them with a broad brush as potential virus spreaders. Anti-Semitic incidents spiked along with the virus, as well as revived conspiracy theories linking Jews to the pandemic.

Historians make a distinction between segregationist and integrationist Jews, categorizing the Haredim as the former because of their insular nature. Modern Orthodoxy – a designation that is constantly changing – remains in the latter category. The Haredim and the Modern Orthodox both consider themselves religious and rigorously observant Jews yet part company over the way they engage with the outside world. Orthodox Jews are in the minority of North American Jewry and the Haredim are a minority within that minority. Despite being almost indistinguishable to outsiders, the Haredim harbour a great diversity. Ultra-orthodox (or Haredi) Judaism is a broad, umbrella-like term that includes both Hasidic and non-Hasidic (sometimes referred to as “yeshivish”) groups.

The Haredim are also not a monolith in their response to the coronavirus’s threat. Some communities have respected available medical advice and have adhered to physical distancing and masking. But many have not. Reports of huge indoor weddings, packed yeshivot (religious academies) and a broad disregard for masking reflect a lack of concern about the virus. Over and over, the excuse is given that “everyone has had it.” Many Haredim believe that after the terrible March plague, the mass infection has led to herd immunity – a dangerous myth. The WhatsApp rumour mill encourages Haredim not to get tested in order to keep numbers down. Where are the rabbis and rebbes in all this? While some religious leaders have recently attempted to support physical distancing, many – concerned about disruption to continuity – have encouraged their followers to continue to observe their mitzvot (commandments), study their Torah and uphold tradition at all costs. And the costs are indeed high.

The most recent firestorm in New York occurred when Mayor Bill de Blasio and Governor Andrew Cuomo called out “the ultra-Orthodox” by name in discussing the rapidly rising rates in certain New York counties. New restrictions have been placed on the Red Zone (that includes the Haredi neighbourhoods in Brooklyn), which averages 4.6 per cent positive while the entire state averages 1.21 per cent, one of the lowest in the nation. Synagogues (along with all houses of worship) in red zones must operate at 25 per cent capacity and may not hold gatherings of more than 10 people. Schools, which had reopened, are now closed again.

As these new shutdowns came in the midst of the Jewish festival of Sukkot, some Haredim believed the rules were targeting them directly and argued that their religious freedoms were being threatened. Hundreds gathered recently in Borough Park to burn masks and wave Trump signs. Caught up in the fervour, some physically attacked a reporter (a member of their own community) for being a “snitch.” Similar language of religious freedom and “defiance over compliance” can be seen in red states, a rejection of public health measures in favour of the Trump administration’s “herd immunity” strategy. Likewise, Haredi print media occasionally reads like the President’s Twitter feed. These anti-integrationist communities, by expressing their defiance in this manner, are demonstrating their assimilation into the right-wing political sphere, finding common cause with conservative evangelical Christians.

But in the eyes of other Jews, many see this behaviour as embarrassing at best and as a chillul haShem (a desecration of God’s name) at worst. The apparent relationship of any Jews to this modern plague has led to the swift revival of the most deplorable anti-Semitic tropes and rhetoric. What is hard to talk about is what is always hard to talk about – that two things can be true at the same time. Groups of Haredim are spreading the virus at a disproportionate rate and anti-Semites are spreading vile, Jew-hating speech that infects us all. The Jewish new year of 5781 is already well under way. Will we be able to stop either spread before 5782?

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