Whose Housing Minister? — The Haredi Community’s or the State of Israel’s?

Once upon a time, in a distinguished community somewhere in the center of Israel, a decision was made: they would build a synagogue. The community secured land allocation, permits, and laid the cornerstone in a grand ceremony. All that remained was the construction. But alas: building is expensive, and the community’s funds were scant. Despairing, they nearly shelved the project—until Yossel Knacker appeared.

You may not know Yossel personally, but people of his kind are familiar. He’s a dedicated activist and fixer, the kind of “networker” who operates behind the scenes across every municipality. He cancels fines, advances unorthodox projects—a rare asset. Think of him as the cherry on top, or the goose that laid the golden egg.

Yossel explained to the devoted Gabbaim that fundraising was only one route: long, arduous, and convoluted. The real cause of the exorbitant building costs was Israel’s brutal bureaucracy, and he claimed to have an alternative path. He could procure labor for half price, concrete work so cheap it was laughable, nearly free plumbing and electrical setup—and most crucially: make all the money-siphoning bureaucracy simply vanish.

The Gabbaim didn’t fully grasp the system, but they clearly understood the bottom line. And they loved it. Prices fell by half; still terrifyingly high, but now within reach.

Yossel entered the scene with gusto, and suddenly the picture was rosy. Israel’s merciless bureaucracy was draining the nation’s coffers, but Yossel was no ordinary man. A thick envelope, discreetly transferred to the right official at the right time, earned him a wink and a signed approval. With that one envelope, dozens of troublesome expense items disappeared.

Not only did he save them from inflated road taxes and tree-cutting permits. The entire site was completely devoid of inspectors: no building inspectors, city engineers, sanitation, accessibility, electric company, water authority, fire department, antiquities, parks department, transportation, transit authority, military police, internal investigations office—everyone vanished. Peace and quiet reigned.

From day one, the savings were evident. No need for plumbing consultants, molding engineers, fire-safety experts, accessibility coordinators, safety overseers, certified electricians—none of it mattered anymore. Yossel brought along a few cousins, who in turn recruited more cousins. The work happened fast and, crucially, at a quarter of the cost.

Floor by floor, year by year, and the building was basically ready. The community arranged a grand dedication ceremony, complete with a beautiful Torah procession. Elegant invitations went out to founding members; Zanvil and the whole entourage were reserved seats for the big day. Yossel himself bought a sharp suit, polished his modest persona, and proclaimed: “It wasn’t me—it’s the power of public unity.”

Then, a day before the inauguration, it happened. On what seemed like an ordinary, warm day—average humidity, but beneath the surface, something trembled. A mild quake: 3.8 on the Richter scale, coupled with strong winds. Suddenly, the magnificent building, with its Italian marble and Indian tiles and gleaming lobby, began to sway.

Even in the heat, hail came down—not icy but hard, polite, Jerusalem-style hailstones rapping on holy heads that only wanted a peaceful chat in the shade of their sanctuary. With God’s merciful help, there were no fatalities: just one head injury, two people traumatized, and several stained-glass windows shattered. May their memories be for a blessing.

The reality was clear: the city bears full responsibility here. It’s their job to enforce the law. When that responsibility is ignored because of envelopes or other illegitimate influences—it’s unthinkable!

That’s when the municipality stepped in. It turned out: even the most convincingly complete broken building is not fit to enter. Investigations opened, engineers were dismissed, people were fined, and the building was sealed shut.

At first, people were angry, but the reality was clear: the city bears full responsibility here. It’s their job to enforce the law. When that responsibility is ignored because of envelopes or other illegitimate influences—it’s unthinkable!

After the dust settled and the broken stones were cleared, the community organized a massive rally in an old portable trailer. Yossel Knacker sat in the front row, face downcast. The crowd didn’t ignore him. Every speaker remembered his tremendous “contribution,” and recounted the mischief that disrupted everything.

“But it’s our fault,” cried one speaker. “Our sins caused this—maybe we failed in our heavenly calculations. And yet—surely we are public victims. If I am not for myself, who will be for me? Perhaps this is God’s message to us: we didn’t observe proper silence during Torah reading, or we must strengthen the walls of modesty. Every person is responsible for their household!”

 

The Responsibility Test

Too many people struggle to discern when they ought to express an opinion, and when they’re just behaving like a mother-in-law in a china shop. When they are obligated to stick their nose in, and when it’s best left right where it is. That’s perfectly fine; tact is a finite resource, and those who weren’t given it likely never needed it.

The key question is this: when should an opinion carry weight? When does someone have the right for their perspective to be considered, perhaps even decisive, and when should their opinion be politely ignored, because it holds no relevance?

When does someone have the right for their perspective to be considered, perhaps even decisive, and when should their opinion be politely ignored, because it holds no relevance?

The decisive factor is responsibility. If someone is responsible for a matter, they are the one who must ensure it’s run properly. If you’re the head of a yeshiva, for example, you have a responsibility for the students. You are therefore the one entitled—indeed, obligated—to weigh in on how the institution is run. The cook, by contrast, will sleep just fine even if one of the boys enlists in the army; his opinion on the yeshiva’s educational philosophy is irrelevant.

If you’re a CEO, the responsibility is yours. Silence is not an option. This has nothing to do with intelligence: it’s about the weight of responsibility. You are the one bearing the burden. If something goes wrong, it will be your job to fix it, not the junior employee, however clever he may be.

Make no mistake: responsibility is no picnic. Responsibility means that if something happens at 3 a.m., it’s you who gets the call. It means you can never say, “Hashem will take care of the boy.” Responsibility is an obligation, not a privilege. And from this it follows that someone who bears no responsibility shouldn’t expect their opinion to carry much weight. If you don’t bear the burden, you won’t carry the blame—so your say doesn’t count.

You want to build a synagogue. The synagogue down the block holds wildly different views—they belong to “Union of the Yeshiva Men,” while you align with “The Yeshiva Men’s Union.” Clearly, the two cannot coexist under one roof. That’s fine. Go build your synagogue. But if you decide to take over a public park to do it, the person responsible for managing the city’s public spaces is expected to remove you, regardless of how important you think your synagogue is.

Do you believe your synagogue is more important than public green space? Maybe you’re right. But unless you’re responsible for all public services, your opinion doesn’t matter. You can’t claim part of the park for your minyan and then complain that there aren’t enough playgrounds. If the municipality is responsible for public spaces, then it’s up to them to allocate them. Want to be responsible? Great, but be ready to take the complaints too. Win an election, represent the residents, and then prioritize as you see fit. But to expect the municipality to clean the streets, run the schools, and build playgrounds while you seize public land for private religious use isn’t just audacity. It’s moral failure.

You want to go to Meron for Lag BaOmer. Let the masses ascend in honor of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai. My great-great-grandfather made the pilgrimage on a donkey. And now? The wicked Zionists—who already secularized the children of Tehran—dare restrict this sacred gathering with excuses: time slots, entry tickets, police officers at every turn. Who gave them the right to meddle in a holy place?

You’re right! They shouldn’t be in charge. The historic religious endowments that have always managed the site should run the event. But are they willing to take responsibility? Will the blame fall on them?

At the Meron disaster, 45 people died. Who pays the monthly survivor benefits? The “Committee of Five” (which includes Haredi institutions operating the site)? Who bears responsibility? The “Hachnasat Orchim” guesthouses? For years, individuals gave interviews with grand titles like “Chief Logistics Officer of Meron,” “Project Head of the Mountain,” and so on. They handed out vehicle passes, posed for photos in the command center, and sponsored puff pieces. But responsibility? Guilt? That’s not their department. That’s for the Ribbono Shel Olam.

If anyone is to be held responsible, it’s the State of Israel—it should pay compensation to the families, provide graves for the dead, monthly stipends to widows and orphans, and medical care for the injured

Blame is assigned to God. It was a kapara, an atonement for all of Israel. We cannot know the heavenly calculations. And most importantly: they didn’t die due to our negligence. It was Divine Will. If anyone is to be held responsible, it’s the State of Israel—it should pay compensation to the families, provide graves for the dead, monthly stipends to widows and orphans, and medical care for the injured. The only thing we are willing to take on is the actual organizing of the event. Not the funding, of course—that’s the State’s job. In our great benevolence, we agree to take control of the site, and then act shocked when the State refuses, reclaims land, and strips away control. Surprise! The one who foots the bill for the consequences wants the ability to prevent them in the first place.

Yes, Israeli bureaucracy is awful. It should be streamlined. But if you build illegally and your structure collapses, if you invest people’s money in speculative schemes and it disappears, that’s not a test from Heaven. You did that. So if your plan is to throw your hands to the sky at the end and say, “It’s all for the best,” then don’t start. Either take responsibility for your actions, or don’t act at all.

 

Who Will Take Responsibility for the State?

The way we Haredim live in Israel today is a case study in systemic irresponsibility. We live here in a constant “yes and no” relationship—disconnected, yet still part of the whole. But we must internalize this basic truth: even if we are full citizens, equal in rights, there is one thing in which we are not equal to others—we have no right to an opinion on matters in which we refuse to take part.

Our opinion on a war in which we do not fight is meaningless. The same goes for the return of hostages when neither we nor our children will pay the price, neither the moral price of their continued captivity, nor the battlefield cost of confronting terrorists released in return. We bear no moral burden, for we do not place the blame for their non-return upon ourselves. We will blame Hashem, who chose not to bring them home, or the secularists who transgress. And we certainly do not pay the battlefield price, because we are not on the battlefield. If you bear neither guilt nor responsibility, do not speak. Remain silent.

Our relationship with state institutions is a textbook case of “walking with it, feeling apart from it.” We take budgets, but claim no responsibility for the decisions made with them. That doesn’t make us parasites—we receive what we’re entitled to, like any other citizen. That’s fair. But if we renounce responsibility both for the fate of the Jewish people and for the state itself—if our approach is “let the city be built by its scholars,” while we remain in the back room—then we have no right to control the process, to allocate budgets, to sit in the security cabinet, or even to legislate matters of Jewish identity in the state, as long as we do not carry any responsibility for preserving that identity.

If the Housing Minister sees himself as responsible only for Haredi housing, then the State of Israel no longer has a Housing Minister looking after the general population. He has abdicated his public responsibility, yet continues to wield the authority

When we examine the situation closely, the depth of the injustice becomes clear. The legendary Chair of the Finance Committee comes from United Torah Judaism. The Housing Minister is a Hasidic Jew. The Minister of Religious Affairs is from Shas. All of them devote themselves—at least attempt to devote themselves—to their constituents with impressive dedication. They try to funnel money to Torah institutions, to build housing for the Haredi community, and to appoint rabbis who reflect the Haredi-Sephardic worldview. There is logic here: that was their ticket into the Knesset, their clear platform.

But there is also a glaring injustice: if the Housing Minister sees himself as responsible only for Haredi housing, then the State of Israel no longer has a Housing Minister looking after the general population. He has abdicated his public responsibility, yet continues to wield the authority. That harms the entire public—who find a critical role in government unstaffed—and ultimately, what harms the country harms the Haredim too.

The Chair of the Finance Committee holds enormous power. He is supposed to oversee every decision of the Finance Ministry and ensure the wise allocation of public funds. This is not a ceremonial position invented to keep a bored politician busy. If that role has become a mechanism for protecting yeshiva budgets, then it may be good for the Haredim but disastrous for the country. A crucial oversight role goes unfulfilled, enabling the Finance Ministry to do as it pleases in exchange for appeasing the Haredi sector. If someone cannot take responsibility for the full scope of a public role, they must not hold that role at all.

The same applies to the Ministry of Religious Services, which is responsible for religious services for the entire country. The previous minister may have blundered through like a bull in a china shop, and his reform may have been unsuccessful in the end—but at least he tried. For years, the Chief Rabbinate has been withering. Local religious councils are stagnant. The national kashrut system is deteriorating. Meanwhile, the current minister brags about appointing rabbis “from among our people.” Why should he care about kashrut? Haredim don’t rely on the state’s kashrut anyway. Why should he care about religious councils? Haredim don’t marry through them or use their services.

The problem isn’t only in the appointments, even if they are driven by blatant nepotism and political affiliation. That may be the lesser evil. The true damage lies in the neglect and destruction of the entire system, because the person in charge neither takes responsibility nor suffers any consequences—not politically, not personally.

If we’re looking for the root cause of the resentment toward Haredim, it’s not (just) the draft issue, and not (just) the budgets we receive. The deeper cause is the way power is taken from the public at large. A Haredi individual can be an excellent Housing Minister—he can even be Prime Minister—but only on the condition that he functions as a minister or prime minister, and not as a political operator twisting the system for his own faction’s benefit.

 

Irresponsible Communities

Let me add one final point. The argument laid out above should resonate with two very different Haredi communities: on the one hand, those striving to integrate—who seek to take the wheel, participate in the institutions of the state, and embrace civic responsibilities alongside their rights; and on the other, those who choose separation—who avoid public discourse, feel no connection to war or economics, and wish to live their lives entirely apart from the state.

Surprisingly, neither community passes the test of responsibility.

This is not a judgment on any individual. We all know that people who err or act negligently tend to deflect blame—that’s human nature. The question is not how individuals behave, but how the community responds.

At the end of the day, responsibility is the foundation of a functioning society. We must not give it up. We must not stay silent.

A person rolls a flaming dumpster into a demonstration, endangering lives. I don’t judge him. He’s a fool, plain and simple. But what matters is how his community reacts. Is he denounced? Disgraced? Or does he receive a hero’s welcome upon release from the “Zionist prison”? The instinct to embrace our own is understandable. But where is your responsibility for the lives he endangered? You rely on the state to clear the streets and protect passersby—yet when one of your own crosses the line, you do nothing to stop him. “He’s one of us.”

The integrators, too, must engage in deep soul-searching. They are quick to demand accountability, but only for others. When failure emerges from within, from people “in the circle,” silence reigns. Allies are protected. Corruption is overlooked. Politicians are routinely whitewashed. Government “project managers” are shielded by their public status. Why should we care that someone failed miserably? He’s a friend.

At the end of the day, responsibility is the foundation of a functioning society. We must not give it up. We must not stay silent.

 

Image credit: bigstouck