Existing as a Jew in the Jewish state is harder than one might expect. What does it mean to be Jewish or not to be, in Israel? While the majority of Israelis are secular (“khiloni”), the remaining segment is generally a shade of Orthodox ranging up to the ultra-Orthodox, known as Haredi. The Haredi so separate themselves from the modern world that many have little realistic understanding of life just beyond their borders, just as the secular world knows little about them. Haredi communities are so rigidly structured and organized that dissatisfaction generally leaves members with two options: suppress them or leave.
Enter Hillel, a non-profit organization founded in 1991 whose stated purpose is “to promote the successful integration of people who decide to leave the ultra-Orthodox communities in Israel in order to join the modern pluralistic world surrounding them.” There is no one else providing this service, says Hillel chairwoman Varda Lifshitz. A volunteer with the organization for seven years, she reports that the organization’s staff, which numbers over 250 people, are all volunteers like her.
Though first impressions imply otherwise, North American Hillel and Israeli Hillel don’t even have their names in common. Hillel: The Foundation for Jewish Campus Life, the North American Jewish campus organization that also operates in Israel, is named for the rabbi whose Medieval school of thought won over its more rigid rival, Shamai. The etymology of the Israeli Hillel captures the difference: the Israeli Hillel is actually an acronym for _HaAgudah L’Yotzim L’She’elah_—The Organization to Exit to Question, after those people themselves, the “yotzim l’she’elah.”
Their anonymous hotline is generally the first point of contact with those who have heard of the organization by word of mouth or from an ad on a local radio station. Iris, who prefers to keep her last name private for the sake of her callers, is a 29-year-old resident of Tel Aviv, was trained as a social worker and now volunteers as a hotline staffer. The hotline serves as an outlet for a Haredi looking to vent any doubts, concerns or problems they might be facing.
Not everyone who calls leaves, nor are they encouraged to, Iris says. “If a person is happiest in the Orthodox world, I believe that’s where they should be,” she says, adding that she does not enthusiastically cheer the person on either way given the gravity to making such a decision. She recalls a call from a young man asking for “the secular book.” His whole life revolved around the Torah and its peripheral texts, and he assumed that there exists a comparable secular text. He sought to compare the two.
Iris views it as her responsibility to raise awareness of the problems waiting for them in the modern world. Though those who go through the process “have thought about the spiritual and emotional components of their move,” she says, they need to be supported as they undergo the transformation. She warns of disruptions in relationships with family and friends, the need to support oneself financially and emotionally, completing a secular education—often from an elementary level—and, potentially, army service. At Hillel, they often refer to those who leave the fold of Orthodoxy as new immigrants because they are truly entering into a whole new world. The organization offers its members a variety of social services, religious rituals, educational scholarships, and social activities to help them build their new lives.
Once accepted into the program, each member is assigned a mentor, another role that Iris fills. She helps them adjust to all areas of secular life, down to details like their wardrobes.
The majority of those leaving the ultra-Orthodox world are between 18 to 23 years old and only 25 percent are women. Efrat (not her real name) is one of the few. Raised in B’nei Brak, an ultra-Orthodox suburb of Tel Aviv, the 23-year-old now lives a life that would have been unfathomable to her just six years ago. The impetus to leave was an arranged marriage to a man who “wasn’t good for me,” she says, which led to the realization that she had no freedom of choice in her own life. Growing up, her education revolved around learning how to be a good wife. Upon entering that role, she felt suffocated as her husband studied religious texts full-time, and left her to earn a living for both of them and then come home to cook and clean. If she faltered she was called a bad wife, she recounts.
Today, Efrat lives with her boyfriend of a few years in a different suburb of Tel Aviv. She has recently completed her matriculation exams, which is something most Israelis do at 18. In addition to owning her own business, she is an actress and an aspiring playwright. She stresses how difficult it is for a woman to leave the fold. It is her good fortune, she says, that she made the move before having children, which is something that traps many women who might otherwise leave. She is grateful for the help she received from Hillel, which she says is doing much-needed work, given the relatively abundant organizations that are actively working to bring secular Jews into Orthodoxy.
Unlike most others who have left, Efrat maintains a good relationship with her parents, who she describes as “very Orthodox but very open. I’m lucky that they love and accept me.” They have even met her boyfriend, who is secular, and “think he’s a good guy.” Regarding her relationship to religion, she says it is “not easy but I know what I don’t want.” From a young age, she “wanted many things but could never act on them,” so her current chance to act is like a dream. “My life is beautiful,” she adds.
Efrat’s story is precisely what encourages volunteers like Iris to continue doing their work. Working with Hillel, she says, “is not too draining” precisely because all of the participants are there of their own volition. Pluralism and freedom of choice are precisely the grounds upon which Hillel—the man and the organization—stands.
