In researching Yeshiva Fundamentalism, a study of men's piety and religious attitudes in an ultra-Orthodox enclave in Israel, Nurit Stadler took on a series of challenging methodological tasks. First, she set out to examine shifting ideas and practices in a community that claims to live in an unchanging, Torah-encapsulated time vacuum. Second, she had to come up with creative ways of accessing and interviewing men whose belief system and social norms strongly limit contact with women. And third, she had to learn the language of Jewish textual study—a language that has some resemblance to modern Hebrew, yet more often than not uses words and phrases that have thick layers of meaning that are opaque to those who are unschooled in the voluminous textual tradition.
Stadler met these methodological challenges by crafting a uniquely appropriate fieldwork approach. Working closely with one key informant from the yeshiva world, she conducted individual study sessions with dozens of men. These sessions centered on traditional texts chosen for their relevance to the themes she hoped to pursue: masculinity, family, piety, and employment. Structured similarly to traditional yeshiva hevruta learning, this setting not only offered her informants a feeling of comfortable familiarity, but also allowed them to use their time productively in Torah study even while they participated in her fieldwork project. This approach certainly has significant limitations in that it artificially and partially replicates a certain aspect of the men's “natural” setting without allowing for the kind of rich, multilayered ethnography that anthropologists prefer. Stadler could listen to the men talk about their rabbis and their colleagues and families, but she could never actually witness these interactions firsthand. However, given the barriers presented by ultra-Orthodox gender roles and beliefs regarding the importance of engaging in Torah study day and night, Stadler's creative approach absolutely paid off. Augmenting the study sessions with careful perusal of pamphlets, books, and posters displayed in the ultra-Orthodox community, Stadler succeeded in getting at tensions and dynamics that shed light on gender and change in a community that prides itself on constancy and homogeneity.
Stadler's core argument is that “piety is not a fixed model, that instead it is always shifting and constantly being revised, reinterpreted, and contested by the members of the fundamentalist groups” (1). This argument is important in that it challenges the ability of fundamentalist groups to claim the political high ground through assertions of exclusive ownership of a sacred past. Conceptually, this argument contributes to a clearer understanding of the diversity of views and practices that exist within all communities, including fundamentalist ones.
Furthermore, Stadler argues, “Fundamentalism is not, as many see it, necessarily static just because it is conservative; instead, it presents an innovating challenge to orthodoxy on its own grounds, and it is the somewhat unpredictable growing point of religiosity” (3). Indeed, the spiritual fervor of fundamentalist movements may give these movements a particularly dynamic edge. Despite declarations of adherence to tradition, religious fervor, whether inspired by new or old ideas, is notoriously hard to control.
Stadler addresses these arguments through examination of several hot-button issues in the ultra-Orthodox community. Chapter 4, for instance, presents material indicating that the newer generation of ultra-Orthodox men is not comfortable with their rabbis' denunciation of work in favor of lifelong Talmud study. Men she interviewed criticized their rabbis for disregarding the men's economic distress, for discouraging employment as a legitimate alternative for men not suited to the yeshiva life, and for forcing men to rely on state stipends, women's work, and under-the-table temporary jobs. The rabbis' opposition to work, according to the men, isolated them from the world and made it impossible for them to support their families.
Chapter 5, “The Idealization of Soldiers' Masculinity,” is, to my mind, the most interesting part of the book. Here, Stadler first presents the official line in the ultra-Orthodox community, describing posters comparing the Israeli military draft to Nazi transports and lauding Torah study rather than the Israel Defense Forces as the most powerful protector of the Jewish people. Then, she explains, “although most of my interviewees perceived the army as an arena of transgression that stood in opposition to the sacred, they also regarded it as a possible site for constructing a new model of Haredi heroism and for practicing novel piety” (108). The young men she interviewed told her that boys in yeshiva have nowhere to channel their physical energy, whereas in the army, they could use that energy to make the army and the Jewish nation stronger. “Yeshiva students' fantasies about the army are represented by narrative glorifying Israeli combat soldiers and wars” (111). Stadler shares several photographs that she took on Purim, when children traditionally dress in costumes. In 2005, she found that the most popular costumes worn by ultra-Orthodox boys included uniforms of soldiers, police officers, and rapid response medical units.
In Chapter 6, Stadler presents a case study in which this new mentality goes beyond fantasy and is acted out in an institutionalized and highly respected manner. ZAKA, the all-male ultra-Orthodox team that identifies the bodies of disaster victims after terrorist attacks and other multiple-casualty incidents, has offered men a means of engaging constructively with the state. In ZAKA, men combine yeshiva-based knowledge of Jewish death rituals with secular expertise in first aid and scientific methods of body part identification. Rushing to disaster scenes on motorcycles and ambulances, ZAKA has allowed for the creation of a new form of ultra-Orthodox “heroic masculinity” (149).
Stadler has written a thought-provoking and readable book that makes an original contribution to the study of religious fundamentalisms. Like many pioneering studies, this one left me wishing to know more. Did any of her interviewees eventually act on their desires for change? How do their wives, mothers, and sisters feel about the men's dissatisfaction with the status quo? Do the men discuss these issues openly among themselves? Were there differences in the comments shared by the youngest men as compared to those in their late twenties and thirties? The married men versus the single men? The poorest men versus those who had better financial supports? How do other members of the community view “Rashi,” Stadler's key informant? Did the men who agreed to meet with Stadler face any negative (or positive) repercussions? Do the rabbis know that there is this groundswell of dissatisfaction?
Most of these questions have to do with the social context of Stadler's interviewees and thus lie outside the methodological parameters of this particular study. Thus, I raise these questions not in critique, but in the hope that they will be addressed in future research on the ultra-Orthodox community. Yeshiva Fundamentalism certainly deserves a prominent place on the bookshelves of students of contemporary religion. It could serve to inspire scholars of other fundamentalist movements to look more closely at issues of generational dissatisfaction, heroic masculinity, and the emergence of new forms of piety.
