Tamir Dortal: A Sudden Shift to the Right

"I was born into a secular family with ideological ties to the Labor and Meretz parties," says Tamir Dortal, 37, a husband and father of four who lives in Jerusalem. He's the founder of the podcast "On Significance" and a teacher. "We lived in Neve Monosson, an elitist settlement near Yehud. My father is Ashkenazi, my mother Moroccan, but we never talked about discrimination at home. We had a red booklet, which made it a non-issue. We grew up with the feeling that the country belonged to us, that the prime minister was like a close relative. When Rabin was assassinated, it felt as if my own grandfather had been killed. The next day, at school, it was clear to us who was to blame for the murder — a child whose father voted Likud."

"We were traditionally observant, but just a little. We'd make *kiddush*, then watch TV, and the next day we'd go to the beach for a barbecue. When I started preparing for my bar mitzvah, I took it seriously and tried to understand what Judaism was all about. I studied Pirkei Avot with a private teacher my parents hired, and I quickly started questioning why we ignored so much of what was written there. Shortly after, I told them I wanted a kosher home, and they went along with it. Ideologically, we were a very Zionist family, but also very left-leaning. Back then, I was really against settlers, religious people, and especially the ultra-Orthodox. I was a member of Tommy Lapid's 'Shinui' youth party, and I thought that settlers and religious people, and of course the ultra-Orthodox, were ruining the country."

What triggered the ideological shift in your life?

"Before I turned twenty, I accidentally attended a lecture by Yakir Segev, one of the founders of the secular pre-military academies. He recommended we attend a pre-military academy, and so I did. In the year of the disengagement from Gush Katif, I studied at Ein Prat Academy, and when I met settlers there, I suddenly realized they were genuinely good people. Meeting them didn't turn me right-wing immediately, but shortly thereafter I traveled to England with a delegation of Jewish and Arab youths, and that was the turning point. We talked a lot about the Israeli-Arab conflict, and I said I supported a Palestinian state alongside Israel and would even give away the Kotel for peace. In contrast, they said they were willing for a different solution — two states, but one where Jews could live under Sharia law without citizenship, and another state exclusively for Arabs."

"The Arabs in our group were from the most moderate factions, and that was the best solution they were willing to offer. Understanding this made me right-wing in an instant. That conversation also made me realize I need to become the best soldier possible, as we need to prepare for war in the strongest and most effective way. I believe meetings between Jews and Arabs should be encouraged by right-wingers, because through these encounters even security-minded leftists realize what Arabs really plan to do."

Know Him in All Your Ways

"After finishing my studies at the academy, I was drafted into the pilot course, a continuation of the elitism I came from. After a few months, I was dismissed from the course and transferred to the armored corps. Throughout this journey, I met people from religious Zionism and admired them greatly in many ways. The strongest desire I had was for my children to grow up with the kind of education they received, but I didn't believe in Hashem or keep the mitzvot, so I didn't know how I could make that happen. Initially, I thought maybe I'd marry a religious girl, but then I realized if a religious girl wanted to marry a secular guy like me, she probably wasn't truly religious herself."

"At this point, Hashem helped me in a special way, and I experienced a leap. At a draft party for a religious friend from the academy, I met his sister, and we started dating. At some stage, she said our relationship couldn't continue because she was religious and I wasn't. I wanted to believe and keep mitzvot, but felt disconnected from it, so applying the principle of 'the heart follows the actions,' I immediately took on Shabbat, kashrut, and prayer. Two days later, Shavuot arrived, and it was the first holiday I ever kept. Wearing a yarmulke was difficult for me, but I kept kosher properly and prayed every day. The relationship lasted half a year, but we broke up for reasons unrelated to religion, which caused a self-crisis. I didn't know how to continue with religion without her."

In the confusion you were in, what were your next steps?

"The girl I was with advised me to go to a yeshiva and deepen my Torah study, so I went for a month to Machon Meir Yeshiva in Jerusalem. Personally, I was still focused on Tel Aviv and a career, moving quickly from a 'Shinui' party youth to a yeshiva student, trying to figure out where it was leading. Simultaneously, I began a law degree at Hebrew University, but quickly realized the bluff. The professors openly supported judicial activism, and I saw there was no honesty there. After my internship, I realized that this profession wasn't for me, as prolonged office work wasn't suitable for my personality, so I got a teaching certificate and started working as a teacher. For me, this was also part of my return to faith, as I chose a less prestigious, but more valuable and meaningful profession."

"During this period, I met my wife, and we got married. After the wedding, I moved to Haifa, as she studied at the Technion. I continued working as a teacher in Haifa, and during my first year as a teacher, I started my podcast, 'On Significance.' Back then, I listened to numerous Torah classes, but I also craved political content, topics like economics, statecraft, etc., and I had nothing to listen to. One day, I went to a 'Tikvah Fund' seminar with various interesting speakers. I talked to some of the speakers there, recorded these conversations, and distributed them on several podcast platforms. Back then, podcasts were almost non-existent, the field was still in its infancy in Israel, and people loved the content. One of the topics we dealt with initially was firearm licenses. During the knife terror wave, I began helping people for free who wanted to get weapon licenses, assisting thousands in this effort."

What was the purpose of starting the podcast?

"I wanted an educational tool that would help as many people as possible know and understand what Torah is, what judicial activism is, why settlement is so important, how economics and politics work, etc. Through the knowledge they accumulate, they could exert more significant pressure on politicians to do what's right and good. Thankfully, many people enjoy listening to us. We are nearing our 700th episode of 'On Significance,' with over one and a half million monthly exposures to our content across various networks. Our studio has improved over the years, and today I employ a team that helps maintain the extensive work around the episodes."

You mentioned economics. What is the economic model of the podcast?

"The model is that there is no model. Over the years, I haven't managed to find a stable financial model because we don't have support from a particular fund and no major donors. Our only support is from the general public. People can subscribe to the podcast, and in return, they both enable our activities and receive exclusive content. Besides that, we have advertisements which cover part of the expenses."

"Many people don't realize this, but some people's lives change because of the podcasts or classes they listen to. Many have told me they returned to faith because of our broadcasts. In another context, when I went to comfort the widow of Yedidya Raziel, who was killed in the October 7th attack, she said to me, 'Thanks to your podcast, Hamas couldn't conquer Kerem Shalom.' Months before the war broke out, I spoke about how deceptive the calm was and that people needed to arm themselves, and thanks to that, they raised their preparedness levels and were able to defend themselves."

"Overall, my investment in the podcast is closely tied to my service to Hashem and even stems from it. For me, serving Hashem isn't just about Shabbat, kashrut, tefillin, and synagogue. Serving Hashem means ensuring more Jews are safe in the Land of Israel, understanding the value of mitzvot, knowing Jewish history, and more. Serving Hashem should touch all areas of life, and that's our aim. Incidentally, I believe this is one reason why the Haredi public listens to us in droves. About a third of our audience is Haredi. I created folders with our episodes on Google Drive, allowing people with kosher devices to listen to us. In Haredi cities, people recognize me on the street and tell me, 'Keep it up, well done on the important work.' The Haredi public is essential to listen to and also be heard, and I strive in this area as well, of course."

Through Speech

For the next steps, what are your dreams for the podcast and what will you never do with it?

"I want to start doing live broadcasts, panels, broadcasting live four to five hours a day. Regarding things I wouldn't do, I hope never to descend into screaming and heated arguments, like what happened in the episode with Alon Liel. Alon is the husband of Rachel Liel, former CEO of the New Israel Fund, and father of Daphne Liel from News 12. If I were to film the episode with him again, I'd make it much calmer."

"Beyond that, I have a very open approach to the content we produce. I'm willing, for example, to interview people like Avrum Burg and Ram Ben-Barak, people I believe are willing to harm the country's security to make their agendas happen. One of the aims of our podcast is to let people judge the interviewee without the interviewer characterizing them. I want listeners to hear what the interviewees say and judge for themselves. The Arabs I met in the delegation — I won't shake their hands, but I'll interview them, believing it'll benefit Israel's security."

"Another issue I grapple with is related to slander and defamation. It's an enormous challenge for me, with no absolute answers. I can't predict what a person will say, and I don't edit my interviewees' responses. On one hand, facilitating slander is very complex, but on the other, I can't be responsible for everything people say. Between these two things, I navigate, striving to act for the sake of Heaven and never forgetting the great and important goals for which we exert such efforts in everything we do."