Yaniv Gliksman stands at the site of new housing project at Hanaton (Lim Wui Liang/Journey to Jerusalem)

Nazareth, Israel – Just four years after Kibbutz Hanaton’s population dwindled to 11 and the kibbutz faced bankruptcy, a most unexpected revival has occurred, symbolized by a small tractor clearing a verdant bluff overlooking the Lower Galilee for the construction of 34 houses.

Hanaton, Israel’s only Masorti kibbutz, is back from the brink and thriving, said Yaniv Gliksman, director of operations at Hanaton Educational Center, which offers programming and lodging to local Israelis and tourists. Spurred by the increase in recent years of likeminded native-born Masorti Jews and a shift away from the traditional socialist model, almost 20 new member families will relocate to Hanaton in the coming year.

More familiarly known as Conservative Judaism in North America, Masorti, which means “traditional” in Hebrew, was largely developed by American immigrants in the early 1960s. A pluralistic Jewish movement that emphasizes religious inclusion rather than difference, Masorti as of late has garnered popularity among a more homegrown crowd – at Hanaton, for example, around 75 percent of residents are native-born Israeli.

In a country divided by the religious Orthodox status quo and a vast secular population, the Masorti movement is a blip on a national religious grid that pushes non-Orthodox strains of Judaism to the margins. Even still, Masorti’s egalitarian brand of Judaism is alive and well at Hanaton, which began as an outpost for Conservative American Jews in 1983 and is currently becoming a so-called “renewed kibbutz” – meaning Hanaton is diverging from the kibbutz movement’s traditional economic model of collective subsistence toward a more privatized system.

Throughout the 1980s and 1990s, Israel’s Kibbutz Movement tried and failed to keep Hanaton afloat under the collective model. By 2008, Masorti families began to buy into the kibbutz. Now, for example, Hanaton members own their homes and keep their salaries, but pay dues and collectively own public land and buildings. The kibbutz, once supported by raising sheep and a small rug business, now generates most income from its educational center.

Seventy people live at Hanaton, and while not all identify as Masorti, all alternative forms of Jewish practice are accepted. “When you build an institution like a Conservative kibbutz,” said Rabbi Jerome Epstein, chief Israel affairs officer for United Synagogue of Conservative Judaism, “you help bring it away from the margins and into the center.” Mentioned in the Book of Joshua, Hanaton was one of the first cities encountered by the Israelites when they entered Canaan.

Gliksman moved his wife, a clothing designer, and two-year-old triplets to Hanaton from Jerusalem in June 2009. A brawny and deeply tanned 30 year old, Gliksman believes Hanaton can do its part to undermine what many progressive religious Jews consider to be Israel’s ongoing “Haredization” – basically defined as the shift toward stringent Orthodox religious doctrine.

“I think it’s the best place for a Masorti Jew in Israel,” Gliksman, who was born in Jerusalem, said of Hanaton in an email. “It’s important to have Conservative, Reform, and other ways of expressing Judaism, so this diversity will reach all the Jewish citizens of Israel.”

Unlike the United States, where the Conservative and Reform movements dominate the religious landscape, Israel’s rabbinical authority is dogmatically Orthodox. With little political or religious capital, the kibbutz, Epstein said, can be a place for Masorti Jews to foster their own identity.

“When I look at the more dynamic Conservative communities in North America,” he said, “I see communities where there is a nucleus of people living as Conservative Jews, and that nucleus is able to attract others. It’s the same concept with the kibbutz; it can serve as a nucleus that will draw other people in.”

After success throughout the 1980s, the kibbutz began to nosedive financially. With a dwindling population and unable to even sustain a daily minyan, the kibbutz was forced to outsource food production and lease out its fields. By 2006, Hanaton, bruised and broken, was home to only 11 members.

“About three years ago, a decision was made to try and revive it,” said Andrew Sacks, a Jewish Theological Seminary-ordained rabbi and director of the Rabbinical Assembly in Israel. In 2008, the United Kibbutz Movement “offered people the chance to buy homes on the kibbutz and become members for a low cost. All of a sudden, a bunch of committed Masorti Jews, who otherwise wouldn’t have enough money to buy beautiful homes, could try to create a Masorti community that won’t only serve our needs, but serve as a base. And that’s exactly what’s happening now.”

This year marks the 100th anniversary of Israel’s kibbutz movement, which historically was a bastion of secularism, and served as the linchpin of Israel’s early socialist-Zionist movement. Now, according to Haifa University’s Institute for the Research on the Kibbutz, Hanaton is one of 192 kibbutzim – of 256 – that have semi- or fully privatized; collectivized living is becoming a thing of the past.

While Hanaton might be a beacon for liberal-minded, progressive Israeli Jews, it likely won’t prove to be transformational. “I don’t think Hanaton will lead the movement anywhere,” said Sacks, who also writes a Jerusalem Post blog called “Masorti Matters,” “but I have little doubt it has the potential to become well known for its educational offerings and ritual offerings.”

Many in the Masorti movement, Sacks said, are “refugees” from the Orthodox world, meaning their openness is still informed by a strong sense of religious expression and identification. Epstein, on the other hand, suggested many Jews that join the Masorti movement aren’t religiously affiliated and want an experience less demanding than Orthodoxy.

“It is important to us to be accepting and open,” said Rabbi Haviva Ner-David, who moved to Hanaton with her family in July and defines herself as post-denominational, in an email. “We have people who come to shul each week and are very active in that aspect of the community, and we have those who come irregularly. We have people who drive on Shabbat, and people who don’t. Some couples use the mikveh [ritual bath] and some don’t. But everyone agrees on the egalitarian tefillot [prayers] and the open and accepting attitude.”

While the Hanaton closes its gates to traffic for the Sabbath, some residents park their cars outside the kibbutz; and while the kibbutz follows kashrut, not everyone keeps kosher. “It’s a mix,” Ner-David said. “This is a blessing and a challenge. Diversity is good in my opinion. But it does require more tolerance and flexibility on the part of the community members.”

While disparate forms of Jewish observance can co-exist at Hanaton, non-Orthodox strains have a tougher time in the national arena. For example, only 16 kibbutzim are officially considered religious. Hanaton isn’t one of them.

With roughly 50 Masorti congregations nationwide, opportunities for organized practice are few and far between. The Chief Rabbinate of Israel, which regulates aspects of Jewish life – marriage, burial, kashrut – and only recognizes Orthodox conversions and rabbinical ordinations, doesn’t allocate state funds for the Masorti movement. And with a budget that runs around a meager $3 million – most of which comes from the Jewish Agency and congregation dues – it’s difficult for consolidated Masorti communities to take root.

As a result, “it’s much more costly and much less convenient to be Conservative or Reform,” Epstein said. “You can associate with the Orthodox without any expense at all.”

Even still, that Israelis, not Americans, instigated Hanaton’s reincarnation encourages Gliksman. The 200-member strong Be’er Sheva congregation is 75 percent native-born, South American and Russian, according to Sacks, who believes the “overwhelming majority outside of Jerusalem is non-Anglo.” Sacks said he’s the only American-born individual working in the Rabbinical Assembly’s Israel offices.

As Hanaton gets ready to break ground to accommodate its new member families, there’s reason to hope the kibbutz augurs well for the Masorti movement at large. Participating with Yediot Aronoth, a national newspaper, the movement published a Masorti prayer book last December, which, after reaching number four on Israel’s nonfiction bestseller list, is in its second printing.

“I feel the future is bright,” Gliksman said. “The kids of the new immigrants that established the Masorti movement are adults; it’s easier because they are more accepted by Israeli society. It’s important when you hear someone on the news talking about the movement and he does not have an English accent. It may seem right.”

Rabbi Matisyahu Deutsch is one of Ramat Shlomo's religious leaders. (Jose Leyva/Covering Religion)

RAMAT SHLOMO, JERUSALEM –It’s nearly sundown Wednesday afternoon, and Edan Baruch’s produce stand here is crowded with Orthodox women in long denim skirts, scarves covering their hair, hurriedly buy groceries before dinner.

Baruch, 27, quickens his pace. With the help of a young boy with blond side curls, he unloads the vegetables in his truck and tends to his customers. Baruch looks forward to finishing work so he can drive home to Ramot, another Jerusalem neighborhood just a few miles away.

Baruch wishes that he too could live in Ramat Shlomo but, he explains, the demand for housing here is so high, he couldn’t find an affordable apartment to rent, let alone buy.
“I need a room here, and I don’t have,” Baruch said. “My father and my mother live here, my world is here, all my friends, all my family live here.”

Baruch thought his housing troubles were over when the Israeli Interior Ministry announced plans to add 1,600 new units to Ramat Shlomo. But the announcement coincided with Vice President Joe Biden’s visit to Israel flung the ultra-Orthodox neighborhood into international controversy.

Baruch’s fate still hangs in the balance.

The Obama Administration continues to demand a halt to the expansion, while, Netanyahu’s government said there has been no change in Jerusalem’s construction policy. But Israel’s district committee has stopped all new construction.

Baruch’s situation is typical. He, and many ultra-Orthodox twenty-somethings represent a population explosion that has been taking place for some time within Israel’s Haredi community. And Israeli officials say the expansion is a direct response to their need for housing.

In Ramat Shlomo, the demand for housing is particularly high both because of the Haredim’s high birth rates, and the religious zeal to be near Jerusalem.

Ramat Shlomo is located in an outlying area of East Jerusalem—on land that was annexed by Israel after the 1967 war. The Israeli government considers the neighborhood as part of a unified Israeli capital. However, the United Nations considers Ramat Shlomo an illegal settlement. Critics have condemned the expansion, claiming it is an attempt for Israel to build on contested land and prevent a future Palestinian capital in East Jerusalem.

In recent months, the Obama Administration has adopted a stronger stance on Jewish settlements, insisting that Israel impose a freeze on construction in order to move forward with negotiations between Israelis and Palestinians.

The news of the Ramat Shlomo expansion—especially during Biden’s visit to Israel—has created a crisis within the U.S.-Israeli relationship.

Ramat Shlomo expansion plan includes 1,600 new units. (Jose Leyva/Covering Religion)

But for Baruch and other residents in this tight-knit Haredi neighborhood, the expansion plans are strictly a local matter. Ruth, who preferred to not give her last name, was running errands on her way home. She wore a bright white blouse, and a black snood—a netlike cap covering her hair. Ruth has “married off” three daughters, none of who were able to afford housing in Ramat Shlomo.

“Obama shouldn’t stick his nose in our business.” she said in a clear American accent.

Ramat Shlomo is one of the settlements with the quickest population growth in the recent years. From 2003 to date, the population of the exclusively ultra-Orthodox neighborhood has grown almost 48 percent, more than any other settlement in East Jerusalem, according to the Central Bureau of Statistics. Currently, between 18,000 and 20,000 people live in the 2,000-unit neighborhood.

The settlement, located in the northeastern part of Jerusalem, was built in 1995, attracting ultra-Orthodox families due to a shortage of housing elsewhere in the city and the very low prices of houses in this new neighborhood. Initially, the Israeli government subsidized the 1,560 square feet apartments. The first settlers received the land for free, and just had to pay for the construction cost of the homes.

Haredi families living in Ramat Shlomo have an average of eight children per household, according to the Jerusalem Statistical Yearbook. The neighborhood’s rapid growth has pushed the demand for space and, in-turn, the price of the units. Now there are simply not enough apartments for younger couples who want to live in the observant Jewish neighborhood, close to their families and rabbis, and within the Haredi community.

Once cheap, the current price of the two to three bedroom apartments now range from $350,000 to $850,000 according to Eiferman Properties, the original developers of the neighborhood. And residents say the rent can go up to $1,000 a month.

“It’s expensive,” said an American journalist who lives in Ramat Shlomo and preferred not to disclose his name. “It is hard to live in these small apartments, but Jewish people are willing to sacrifice because there is something more important to them than just the physical setting. It’s the spiritual setting: you are living in the outskirts of Jerusalem.”

He was one of the first settlers in Ramat Shlomo. The man, a 63 year-old Chicago-native, lives with his wife, and five of his seven children. He now teaches Torah and studies part-time at the local yeshiva.

The Ramat Shlomo community has been pressing for the settlement expansion for the last five years, according to residents. In response, the government has been working on a plan to increase the units of the neighborhood located in this disputed land.

The project includes 1,600 new homes. Most of the units in Ramat Shlomo are 1,560 square feet, however, the expansion includes 1,100 units at 1,290 square feet, and the rest will be 1,022 square feet. The size is meant to specifically target young couples.

“There’s no reason why the neighborhood shouldn’t expand,” Ruth said. “Lots of young couples don’t need 145 meters [1,560 feet], they need 120 [1,290].” She hopes her daughters will be able to move back into the neighborhood.

A few blocks up Jolti Street, Rabbi Matisyahu Deutsche’s household was bustling. The rabbi just added an extra room to his home. His wife and four of their children—seven others have already married—were busy preparing the house for the Passover holidays. The smell of fresh paint and sanitizer filled the hallways.

The children restocked a newly remodeled kitchen, while the library—with its collection of hundreds of Hebrew texts—remained untouched. It was clear the sagging shelves, filled with books on Jewish practice and law, had been part of the Deutsche home for years.

For the rabbi, the expansion is not only a response to a desperate need for housing, but he says, the demand is driven by something far more simple: location.

“The reason why people start to come,” Rabbi Deutsche said. “Because it was a nice area, brand new apartments, and a view of old Jerusalem.”

Ramat Shlomo is located three miles outside the old city, or a twenty-minute drive. And from its hilltop, there is a clear view of old Jerusalem.

“All Israel is the holy land but Jerusalem itself, the most holy, is the old city where you have the Western Wall,” the rabbi said. Through a translator he explained that God led them to Jerusalem thousands of years ago.

For the Haredim, the Torah dictates that God gave them the holy land. And living in Jerusalem plays a central role in fulfilling their past, present and future.

“We have the right, the privilege, and the responsibility,” said the Chicago-born journalist. He said the ultra-Orthodox have a responsibility to move to Jerusalem, pave the way for the larger Jewish Diaspora to follow and, in so doing, hasten the coming of the Messiah and end the Jewish exile.

Many Ramat Shlomo residents referred to this process as the “beginning of redemption.” Deutsche said redemption underlies the very emphasis on creating an observant ultra-Orthodox community in Ramat Shlomo.

The settlement, located in East Jerusalem, has high birth rates. (Jose Leyva/Covering Religion)

“We believe that when all the Jews will be religious, will keep whatever the Torah tell us to keep then the Messiah will come,” the rabbi said. “Because of that, they [the residents] want to be here. When the Messiah will come, they want to be ready.”

The rabbi explained the Torah also says Jews must live in peace with everyone, and that includes the Palestinians. However, he has a hard time understanding the international outcry about Ramat Shlomo’s expansion plans. For him, this neighborhood has existed for 15 years, and there’s no difference between 2,000 and 4,000 apartments.

Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu echoed the local sentiment when he spoke at a conference of the Israel American Public Affairs Committee in Washington on March 23.

“The Jewish people were building Jerusalem 3,000 year ago,” said Netanyahu. “And the Jewish people are building Jerusalem today. Jerusalem is not a settlement. It is our capital.”

For the Palestinian Authority, Ramat Shlomo’s expansion represents a major blow to peace talks.

“The decision to build 1,600 units – settlement units in occupied Jerusalem – is a dangerous decision,” said Nabil Abu Rudeina, Palestinian Presidential Spokesperson. He said that such a move is “liable to torpedo negotiations” and cause U.S. efforts to renew talks “fail before they have even started.”

With men serving women, there's opportunity for inappropriate touching at Zisalek. (Yaffi Spodek/Journey to Jerusalem)

JERUSALEM – Zisalek, the first ice cream parlor in Jerusalem’s Haredi enclave of Geula, was jammed with rabidly enthusiastic customers on the day it opened early in the spring. They came by the thousands to the compact shop on Malchei Yisrael Street to sample the ice cream made on site, under strict rabbinical supervision.

Since opening day, business has thrived. Young couples lounge at the shop’s two tables, and men and women flock in and out of the store’s open glass doors. It was likely the first time many in the neighborhood had tasted gourmet ice cream. While packaged kosher ice cream is readily available, getting it fresh in a store that adheres to the appropriate kashrut regulations is a challenge for the ultra-Orthodox.

“There’s no place nearby that sells kosher ice cream,” said Avi Press, 19, a Geula resident and student at the Mir yeshiva, as he enjoyed a kiwi-flavored double scoop. “There is Katzefet on Ben-Yehuda Street; we would eat there, but not everyone relies on that hechsher,” a kosher certification label granted by a rabbi.

“Zisalek is better and tastier,” Press continued. “And it’s cheaper too.”

Orthodox Jews require a kosher certification on items like ice cream to ensure that the cream, sugar and butterfat are made of pure ingredients that contain no animal products. But the Zisalek hechsher goes a step further. It requires that the shop comport itself in a kosher way. A sign hangs on an inside wall of the shop, saying it’s “improper and undesirable” for customers to linger. This is a warning that no socializing between the sexes is permitted on the premises. In a society where men and women are discouraged from mingling in social situations, Zisalek’s close quarters almost welcome coed interaction.

But even the sign and the certification were not enough to satisfy everyone in Geula. According to a report on a popular Orthodox blog, The Yeshiva World, dozens of Haredi men – most from Eida Hareidit, a competing kashrut label – recently gathered outside Zisalek to protest what they perceived to be customers’ immodest behavior.

Zisalek, which means “sweet lick” in Yiddish, received its hechsher from Rabbi Avraham Rubin, whose Badatz certification endorses dozens of stores in the area, and requires an effort to preserve modesty.

In anticipation of a large crowd on opening day, hired security guards made sure that men and women passed through two separate entrances. Since then, some believe the rules have slackened. Indeed, the store now uses a single entrance.

“Besides the food and ingredients, we are very strict about modesty,” said Rabbi Menachem Gorlitz, Rubin’s primary mashgiach. “There shouldn’t be a mixture of men and women hanging out in an environment that is lacking in modesty. If we see or hear that there are problems in this area, I would definitely take away the kashrut certificate.”

Menachem Friedman, a sociologist and professor emeritus at Bar-Ilan University, said the opening of Zisalek reflects an entrepreneurial spirit in a historically poor community. But communal norms still prevail. He predicts it’s only a matter of time before Zisalek shuts down. “It only takes one incident where men and women establish relations and that’s it,” he said.

Rubin’s hechsher requires the store to use camera surveillance to monitor food preparation and a mashgiach to visit twice daily. “Regular customers will also call us to report problems,” Gorlitz added. Even still, the measures aren’t enough to appease the more widely accepted Eida Hareidit, which has existed for 60 years; Rabbi Rubin’s hechsher, by comparison, is only 14 years old.

“Everyone accepts the Eida Hareidit hechsher because it meets everyone’s standards, the Ashkenazim and the Sephardim,” said Yaakov Meir, who works at Uri’s Pizza, an Eida Hareidit-certified store down the block from Zisalek. Meir also claimed that local stores that lost the Eida Hareidit label for various infractions were granted Rubin’s hechsher, implying that the Rubin hechsher is inferior.

Gorlitz denies the allegation. “If a store lost its hechsher from a different organization, for whatever reason,” he said, “Rabbi Rubin would not certify them either.”

As far as food preparation goes, the differences between Eida Hareidit and Rubin’s hechsher are negligible. The prevailing concern for Eida Hareidit is over Rubin’s willingness to dole out certifications to stores outside Hareidi neighborhoods, where it’s more difficult to monitor coed interaction. While Rubin does issue certifications to mixed-seating stores like Zisalek, Gorelitz said he’s mindful of location, even when servicing stores in the same chain. Sam’s Bagels, for example, is under Rubin’s hechsher – but only the Geula franchise. The locations on Yaffo and Ben Yehuda Streets – both high-traffic hubs in downtown Jerusalem – are not certified.

The Zisalek flare-up wasn’t an isolated incident. In a community that places an immeasurable value on the stringency of its kashrut labels, there’s deep-rooted tension surrounding the legitimacy of different rabbis. After pressure by Eida Hareidit to drop Rubin’s hechsher and adopt its own, Yaakov Halperin, Zisalek’s owner and proprietor of an Israeli eyeglasses chain, agreed to a set of concessions, according to Matzav, an Orthodox news site.

Now, non-packaged ice cream won’t be sold after 1 p.m. on Fridays, coinciding with the dismissal time of the local high schools. “In past weeks, the young girls would come when school was over to buy ice cream and hang out,” Gorlitz explained. “Now, they can still get ice cream, but it won’t be eaten on the street.” The store will also close at 10:30 p.m. each night and not open on Saturdays after the Sabbath, to further prevent the area from becoming a hangout.

On a recent Friday afternoon before the concessions, Zisalek’s tables and counters were crowded with customers stopping for a snack while running their pre-Sabbath errands. Employees filled cones and cups with heaping scoops of ice cream – Zisalek features 36 flavors, split evenly between dairy and pareve. Despite the controversy, Gorlitz believes Zisalek has staying power – as long as it follows the rules. “Every time there is something new, there will always be people who don’t like it,” he said. “For now it’s new and people aren’t used to it. Soon they will become accustomed. They also want to be able to eat good ice cream, just like everyone else.”