Jews Love Dead Charedim
12/13/24
I grew up in Bournemouth, England, a picturesque seaside town on the southwest coast of the UK, where my parents serve the Jewish community as Chabad representatives.
Much like Martha's Vineyard, Bournemouth's population explodes in the summer months as thousands come from London and across the country to get away from the city and soak in the refreshing breeze and miles of golden beaches.
While the Jewish community that summers on MV primarily identify themselves as Conservative, Reform, or simply Secular Jews, the Jews that visit Bournemouth are from somewhat a different background. It was Haredi Jews who made Bournemouth their pilgrimage site.
Thousands of Chassidim, Livaks, and other Charedim of all stripes would pour onto the Bournemouth streets. Entire roads of our English neighborhood, "East Cliff," would be suddenly transformed into something more reminiscent of Boro Park or Me'ah Shearim. Walking the streets on Friday night, you could hear the peaceful tunes of Shabbat melodies coming from the windows.
On a recent visit to England this year, I attended my parents' synagogue for the Shacharit prayer one morning. It was the weekend following Pesach, and there were many Charedim in attendance who came to rest after the holiday (however funny that sounds, we all know that Pesach is more work than it is holiday).
I remember keeping my eyes on a young Haredi boy as he prayed. He swayed from side to side, pointing inside the siddur as he said each word out loud. And when the Torah was taken out from the ark for the reading, I saw the boy get up and delicately and lovingly give the Torah a gentle kiss.
It had been a while since I'd spent quality time observing the lives of those to whom nothing else matters other than the words of prayer and the learning of Torah. Nothing else in this boy's life—literally. He doesn't watch sports, he doesn't watch TV, and he couldn't name you a single actor or musical artist. His concerns are studying another Mishna, another verse in the Chumash, and ensuring that his prayers each morning are done with proper focus.
And boy, was it refreshing. It was cleansing. It was purifying. Something within me wished that I too would live a life where things outside of Torah and mitzvot mattered less to me. Perhaps one day.
On Wednesday evening this week, a young Haredi boy in Israel, Tuvia Simcha, was murdered as he returned home from his sister's wedding. He was sitting on the bus home when a Palestinian terrorist opened fire and shot him in the heart, killing Tuvia and injuring many others.
As Tuvia's death was announced, social media was filled with his picture, politicians offered their condolences, and obituaries were written for this small and precious boy who did nobody wrong.
But as I read these posts, I felt sad. It is no secret that Haredim are looked down upon by many in the broader Jewish community. Whether it's for their lack of service in the IDF or because some of them don't participate in the workforce, Haredim are often viewed as an insufferable inconvenience.
I'm not here to get into the reasons for their lifestyle choices, but I am writing today because I wish it wouldn't take a young boy being shot in the heart to appreciate people who make different choices than we do.
Just because one doesn't see eye to eye with the Haredi lifestyle, it doesn't mean they are "oppressed," "wayward," or "stupid," as I recently read in a book by an individual I otherwise love.
On the contrary, Haredim often live exceptionally meaningful and modest lives filled with loving families, caring communities, and a life that is centered around Shabbat, holidays, prayer, and Torah learning.
As a people who've been subject to the disgust of others for thousands of years while yet suddenly adored and celebrated in death, as Dara Horn brilliantly articulates in People Love Dead Jews, let's all do a little better and try to appreciate Charedim even if they are different than us.
In their lifetime. Not only in their deaths.
Let's not only love Dead Charedim.