Six women offer their insights and personal experiences on encountering and navigating diversity within the frum community

It’s been nearly three months since Lag B’omer, when 45 people tragically died while celebrating Rabi Shimon bar Yochai’s yahrtzeit in Meron. Numb with shock and grief, Jewish communities across mourned both the personal and collective facets of the disaster.

Of particular importance was honoring the 45 kedoshim as individuals, underscoring the singularity and distinctness of each person we lost. While encountering the kedoshim on a more intimate basis, countless people shared an observation: The victims of the Meron tragedy represent a nearly complete cross-section of the Jewish religious demographic: Chassidic, Litvish, Dati-Leumi, Modern Orthodox, Israeli, chutznik, Brisker, yeshivish. All are tragically accounted for.

The convergence of so many religious shades in Klal Yisrael under these excruciating circumstances gives us pause for thought. Although we share so many fundamental values, the lines in the sand dividing our communities frequently seem more prominent than our commonalities.

Where do the fault lines between our divergent communities lie? Are we only capable of uniting under circumstances of loss, or can we cultivate relationships across the religious spectrum during tranquil times as well? Do we see value in pursuing connections with religious Jews who are unlike us? And if not, why?

Six women offer their insights and personal experiences on encountering and navigating diversity within the frum community.

How would you describe the hashkafos of your closest friends?

Shira: I have a lot of friends with many different hashkafos. My closest friends are mostly YU machmir. I do have some close friends who are more modern and we don’t share the same standards in certain areas.

Elisheva: They’re what you’d call classic chareidi or yeshivish.

Rivka: My closest friends range from formal hashkafah to loosely religious, to classic modern Orthodox, to right YU, and further right.

Michal: My close friends are hashkafically very similar to me, Anglos who have moved to Israel and are living a chareidi lifestyle.

Leah: Dati Leumi or Dati Leumi Torani, living a life firmly rooted in halachah with avodat Hashem as the top priority and recognizing that the modern State of Israel is a gift and opportunity from Hashem.

Bruchi: We’re what’s called American chassidish. This is different, and more mellow, than more Hungarian chassidim who maintain a closer identity to how they lived in Europe. For example, my friends and I wear a sheitel without an extra covering, speak and read English, and in general are more involved in the outside world. At the same time, we speak Yiddish to our children.

Do you find it challenging to tolerate religious Jews who are different from you?

Rivka: My parents each come from a very  different culture. I identified with one side of the family for a good part of my childhood, and as a teen found it difficult to tolerate differences, but I’ve made progress since then. Initially, I was under the impression that there’s only one correct way to serve Hashem. I realized that it wasn’t possible for only one community to “get it right” and for everybody else to be wrong. I’ve had the opportunity to learn that there are many beautiful ways to serve Him and each community/hashkafah has something to offer.

Bruchi: Differences are hard to tolerate in all areas, be it religious or personality. We instinctively view differences as dangerous, as a challenge to our personal status quo. That said, the more similar we are to someone else, the more we fight. Think about the way siblings fight... When we expect people to be like us but they’re not, it rankles. That’s why I find it hardest to be tolerant of chassidim who are further to the right than me.

Truthfully, intolerance is rooted in the fact that I’m feeling judged — whether or not someone is actually judging me. When I see chassidish women with more external chumros in tzniyus than me, I feel judged by them, because they won’t do things that I feel there’s no problem doing.  I have to remember that this is my issue, and has nothing to do with them.

I also think it’s easier to refrain from judging someone who’s doing less than you in frumkeit, because they inspire your higher self. Someone who does more than you will trigger your more childish, insecure self, so you’ll naturally judge. In both cases, it takes a highly developed person to bridge the sensitive balance between accepting the person without accepting the person’s standards as acceptable/right for me.

Leah: I believe religious Jews who are different than me are also plugging into truths; we’re just choosing to emphasize different aspects of that truth. I don’t have a problem with disagreeing — there’s such a thing as machloket l’Sheim Shamayim — but that doesn’t take away from my fundamental acceptance and appreciation of other Jews as my brothers and sisters, to be valued, appreciated, and loved.

Elisheva: I come from a hashkafically diverse family, so tolerance is part of my reality. However, I find it challenging when I’m in a hashkafically diverse situation and feel under attack: “Why is your husband in kollel? Why don’t your boys learn secular studies?” I’m not questioning your lifestyle, why do I have to defend my life’s choices? If people are genuinely interested in understanding my lifestyle, then I’m happy to engage in respectful dialogue, but too many times I’ve found myself unwittingly on the defensive and it’s very uncomfortable.

I also question what “accepting” really means. I don’t think everyone has to be like me, there are definitely different paths in avodas Hashem, but they all have to be consistent with halachah to be considered a derech. I think there’s a difference between loving a person and accepting their lifestyle. I look for good in every person but how can I approve of behavior that’s not in sync with Torah values?

Shira: I find it difficult to tolerate religious Jews who look down on me for not being as religious or as modern as they are. I’ve found that all religious people are sometimes judgmental toward others unlike them. I know I’m guilty of thinking “I can’t believe so-and-so let their child go to that camp!” and if a parent lets their child dress in a way I find inappropriate, I’ll comment. My more modern friends call their more religious friends “religs” and I’ll say about them, “oh, they’re more modern” but it’s not a negative statement, it’s just labels we give each other.

As I get older and more comfortable in my own skin I’m trying not to look at what other people do in terms of religion and just do my personal best. I learn from my more modern and my more yeshivish friends; they all value being Jewish, even if it looks outwardly different.

Michal: I made a significant hashkafic shift in seminary and for the first decade or so afterwards I wasn’t comfortable enough with my new identity to tolerate hashkafic differences in a healthy way. I wish someone would have explained to me that being secure in who I am doesn’t mean being afraid of who I’m not. At this point I’ve learned to be “colorblind” and relate less to a hashkafah and more to a person. This allows me to enjoy the beauty of each individual and to learn from so many types of people. Additionally, I teach in a hashkafically diverse environment and in that capacity I pride myself in relating to my students through the lens of what’s best for each of them, hashkafic orientation notwithstanding.