Recently a two-room addition to a religious school set up by
Keren Nesivos Moshe was ruthlessly demolished by a crane
sent by the Nahariya municipality -- despite the fact that
the school had received permission from that same
municipality to build the addition.
How did a religious school manage to sneak into this secular
stronghold in the first place?
It's all part of the story of the "religious revolution"
sweeping across Eretz Yisroel.
A Permit to Build, No Permit Needed to Destroy
Keren Nesivos Moshe was established in 1998 to bring Torah
education to communities that are totally lacking in
religious life and institutions. Nahariya certainly met the
criteria -- before the Keren arrived in the town,
yarmulkes were as rare as clouds on a summer day in
Israel.
In its first year of operation, 20 girls signed up. For the
current academic year, enrollment for the school, which is
fully licensed by the city municipality, jumped to 90 girls.
It was logical to assume that the time was ripe to open a
boys' school.
When 15 boys signed up during the registration drive last
spring, that number was pretty much on target with what the
Keren had expected for a first-year enrollment. A few weeks
later, however, the number dropped to 12.
Rabbi Tzvi Boymel, head of Keren activity in Eretz Yisroel,
was concerned. Before making the decision of whether or not
to go ahead and open the school, he sought the advice of
HaRav Aharon Leib Steinman, who was instrumental in creating
Keren Nesivos Moshe and remains one of its guiding
forces.
"Should we still open the school?" Rabbi Boymel asked.
"For twelve Yiddishe kinderlach," HaRav Steinman
replied, "we open a school."
But then four more boys dropped out. Rabbi Boymel asked
HaRav Steinman the question again.
"For eight Yiddishe kinderlach," HaRav Steinman
replied, "we open a school."
A few weeks later the number of boys dropped to seven. HaRav
Steinman remained committed to opening the school.
Then the number dropped to three. Should they open a school
for just three boys?
This time HaRav Steinman hesitated. He asked Rabbi Boymel
about the boys, about their parents, about their siblings
and about the costs involved. Finally he made his
decision:
"For three Yiddishe kinderlach," he announced, "we
open a school."
From a cost-benefit perspective, it might seem incredible to
spend thousands of dollars on a school that would educate
just three students. HaRav Steinman, though, was basing his
decision on sound business principles.
He told Rabbi Boymel that the school had to open because the
future of Torah education in Nahariya was resting on the
small shoulders of these three young boys. A school for
girls was not enough to sustain a community, because without
a place for the sons to learn Torah, families would not be
able to progress together in Yiddishkeit. The net
result would be a gradual decline in the girls' school
enrollment, and the eventual demise of the school.
And so when the school year began, Nahariya residents were
greeted with the following "facts on the ground": the
original building for the girls' school, a two-room addition
to the original building to house new classes for the girls'
school, and a new Torah school for boys.
An anti-religious organization went to the Nahariya city
hall and lodged a complaint against the two-room addition to
the girls' school. Despite the fact that the Keren had
received all the necessary permits to build the addition,
the municipality acquiesced and revoked the permit. A few
days later Keren officials received a letter from the
municipality notifying them that the new classrooms would be
demolished on December 2.
According to law, the recipients of such notifications have
the right to appeal the decision, and no action can be taken
against them until they have a chance to file the appeal.
The teachers of the school were therefore astounded when
they arrived at work only to discover that a crane from the
municipality had arrived at the school at 6 a.m. on
Thursday, November 9, and, without advance warning, reached
over the school's fence and demolished the structure.
The destruction was total. Not only was the temporary
addition destroyed, but also everything that was inside --
desks, chairs, blackboards, books and even the
mezuzas on the doors.
We Want the Real Thing
Kiryat Shmuel is one of four "kiryas" that dot the
shoreline between Haifa and Nahariya. Most of the residents
of these small communities define their religious
orientation as "semi-traditional," which in Israel means
that although they are not anti-religious, their connection
to Yiddishkeit is tenuous at best -- maybe a short
visit to shul on Shabbos morning followed by
Kiddush and off to the soccer game is par for the
course for many such families.
So when Keren Nesivos Moshe received a request from a group
of Kiryat Shmuel parents to open a school in their town, it
would have been forgivable for the Keren to think that the
parents had dialed the wrong number.
But the parents had decided all on their own that they
wanted their children to receive a Torah education. And what
is more, as they explained to the Keren's directors, they
wanted the "real thing." The Keren agreed to open a school,
and 28 children, boys and girls, signed up for the first
year.
It is standard policy for the Keren's schools to have mixed
classes until children reach the fourth grade, and so this
was the policy that the Keren intended to follow in Kiryat
Shmuel. But the parents did not agree. When they said they
wanted the real thing, they meant it. The school opened with
separate classes for boys and girls.
Another community is also showing some surprising
stubbornness when it comes to getting real Yiddishkeit.
When the Keren opened a school in Tzoran in 1998, the
parents of the 20 children who enrolled were completely
nonreligious. The school has since grown to 240 children --
and moved to bigger quarters in the nearby town of Kadima --
and now most of the parents are shomer Shabbos.
In Kadima they are encountering resistance. Though many of
the school's parents live there, there are also militant
secularists who have formed "Kadima Bechofshiyut" which
means, essentially, Keep Kadima Secular. They regard the
Nesivos Moshe school as the vanguard of chareidi influence
(and perhaps rightly so, though with full rights to be so)
and are fighting it every step of the way.
A Treat For The Eyes, Tranquility For The Soul
According to Rabbi Boymel, after seeing the results of the
past two years, he is even more convinced that Keren Nesivos
Moshe has only just begun to tap the vast potential that
lays buried within communities that are generally perceived
to be staunchly secular.
The Keren's high school for girls in Haifa, for example,
started out with just 15 pupils when it opened its doors in
1999. Today, just one year later, it has 61.
"When we held our first meeting for the parents," Rabbi
Boymel says, "about seventy percent of the mothers didn't
cover their hair. This year, 99 percent of the mothers wore
hats or sheitels.
"The girls learning at this school are transforming their
homes," he says.
Afula is another huge success story. The 18 original
children enrolled at the school have since been joined by
169 others. This school body represents some 200 families
that are now becoming fully committed to a Torah way of
life.
Boymel says that what is happening in Nahariya, Kiryat
Shmuel, Tzoran and Afula is being replicated in numerous
cities throughout Eretz Yisroel. The overall enrollment of
just 388 children in the Keren's first year has now grown to
an impressive force of 2,050 students learning in 29
kindergartens, 12 elementary schools and 3 high schools.
For some people these numbers may be a cause for worry. But
for others, it's the best news they have heard from this
troubled region of the world in the longest time.
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"Live and Let Live" in Kadima
by B. Kahn
Orly Shocker is a resident of Kadimah. Not so long ago, she
was far from Torah and mitzvah observance. But as she
testifies about herself: "Four years ago, I decided to
realize my right to live as a Torah and mitzvah observant
Jew." Her letter to the members of the Kadimah Hachofshit
organization and the few who oppose the school among the
secular residents of Kadimah--a letter which was distributed
in the mailboxes of all of the settlement's residents--was
also published in Ha'aretz under the title: "Live and
Let Live." She writes:
Besiyato deShmaya. My name is Orly Shocker and I am
34. My parents made aliya 50 years ago straight into the
arms of Kadimah, whose houses then were dilapidated shacks.
I was born, raised and educated in Kadimah, in the lap of
the Noar Ha'Oved veHalomed. I got married and gave birth to
children in Kadimah, and built my dream home here.
Until now, everything seemed fine. However, four years ago,
I decided to realize my right to live as a Torah observant
Jew, as did scores of other members of our community. We
wanted a school which would suit our lifestyle. Yes, we also
want "a good life." After facing many efforts and attempts
to thwart our dream, we succeeded in opening a Torah school:
Bais Yaakov (Yipes!).
We didn't ask anyone to help us, even though we pay taxes
like all law abiding citizens, and our money goes to
subsidize other schools, and sometimes for cultural
activities in which we don't participate. However, for some
reason, our school bothered a number of residents. Maybe
they're afraid that we will put kippot and
tsitsit on them. (Fear not.)
Stop with the stories about closing roads [on Shabbos] and
gaining control of your homes. You claim that children who
don't live in Kadimah come to study here, while at the very
same time you are fighting to establish a regional junior
high school here. In the past you struggled to establish a
school for special children here. The place where Bais
Yaakov is located today was an abandoned hulk, and
functioned only as a drug den and a home for activities of
the Satan's Cult. (There were write-ups about that in the
papers.) Why didn't the residents complain then? Is our
Torah school worse?
Please don't worry. It cost us, the parents, quite enough
money. Lunches cost money!
A number of weeks ago, a pamphlet was circulated that said:
"Don't let the chareidim gain control of the settlement." So
chevra, understand: the chareidim aren't trying to
take control. Those chareidim are the cream of Kadimah's
crop, who have decided to do teshuva. (They have a
right to do teshuva.) We were raised and grew up with
Kadimah, and here everyone respected his fellow--rich or
poor, secular or religious, educated or not so educated. We
have a right just like every one else to raise our children
in Yiddishkeit, here, in our Kadimah, where I was
born, where I grew up. Kadimah is my home, and here I shall
remain.
By the way, I can also bring signatures by the thousands,
and without going from door to door and strewing hatred.
Think: does our school really bother anyone? Enough! Stop
with the vain hatred and accept that which is different. The
State is burning under our feet, and you have nothing better
to do than occupy yourselves with this hatred.
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