"Why Do They Incite Against Us?" Reflections on the Eve of Independence Day

Last week, my daughter returned home looking gloomy with a shirt soaked in water. She threw down her backpack and hurried to change into a dry shirt. When I asked her how class went, she responded with a stony silence. It was clear she was trying hard to swallow her tears. When I asked why she got wet in this heat, she couldn't hold back anymore and burst into heartbreaking sobs.

"It wasn't in class..." she wailed, "It happened at the bus stop after I got off the bus..." Her words slowly connected and formed broken sentences. It turned out that after she got off the school bus, she encountered a group of girls who study at a municipal school in the city. They spotted her and decided there was no better opportunity to have some fun at her expense.

"They asked me...", the girl sobbed, "why on such a hot day I was wearing a button-down shirt and long sleeves..."

"And what did you answer them?" I was now very interested. "I told them th... that my mom doesn't allow short sleeves..." she continued to sob, "and then they poured water on me and said maybe now it would be less hot... and then they called me 'dosit' and shouted at me..." Her crying intensified by the minute.

Truthfully, my heart broke for her, but at the same time, I was a bit disappointed. My daughter is an intelligent and sharp-thinking child. As a family living in a mixed city, we've talked more than once at home about the differences between us and other children, we've spoken about the reasons that lead us to dress as we do, not own an iPhone, not keep dogs, and not shout in the streets. We've delved into this deeply. Was "my mom doesn't allow" the only response she had left to give the girls who teased her?

"And if I allowed you to wear a short sleeve shirt?" I found myself asking my daughter, "Do you think you'd wear it?" She suddenly fell silent. It was clear the question surprised her. "No, I wouldn't wear it, because I'm embarrassed for people to see me as not modest." Another unexpected answer.

I left her and returned to my tasks while deep in thought.

Unjustified Incitement

Yesterday it happened again. My daughter rushed into the house like a storm, her shirt once more soaked with water, her body shaking with sobs. "They poured water on me again..." she wailed, not needing to add another word. I already understood who 'they' referred to.

This time, however, the reason for the harassment was different. My daughter had worn a white shirt in honor of the birthday of the Rebbe Maharash (it's customary at her school to dress festively on such days), while the group of teasing girls also wore white shirts due to the Independence Day ceremony held at their school.

"They saw me get off the bus and shouted that now we're finally dressed the same, then they splashed water at me and said I'm a 'dosit' and should leave..." she recounted, "So I really did leave," she concluded, with two pools of tears forming in her eyes.

I listened to her words to the last, and then suddenly I discovered something interesting. "Notice," I said to my nine-year-old daughter, "When you dressed differently, they laughed at you, but even when you were dressed the same, they laughed... This means..." "that they don't laugh at me because of the clothes," she completed my thought, and then innocently asked, "So why do they?"

My daughter went to her room, but I couldn’t return to my affairs. In a flash, I remembered the story of the ultra-Orthodox man who boarded a bus and was greeted by the driver with loud cries: "Parasite, go get a job!" The ultra-Orthodox man wasn't flustered. "I just came back from work in hi-tech," he said. "Then go to the army!" yelled the driver at him. The ultra-Orthodox man remained calm. "I just finished reserve duty last week," he replied. All the driver had left to say was, "Then go to hell!"

It seems this bus driver returns each time in the guise of different characters, repeatedly spewing blatant incitement against the ultra-Orthodox community for no justified reason. For instance, like the Mayor of Tiberias, Ron Kobi, who continually incites against the ultra-Orthodox in the city, or like Yair Lapid who just last Shabbat night made his unfounded and absurd claim: "If today there's an 80-year-old grandfather who fought in all of Israel's wars, he receives a pension of 2,432 shekels; but a 19-year-old yeshiva student who evaded IDF service will now receive 8,000 shekels".

Suddenly I realized that for those who intend to harm and incite, accurate facts don't matter at all. It doesn't matter that a yeshiva student in our generation pays an average of 1,000 shekels a month to the yeshiva and doesn't receive any personal funds. It also doesn't matter that we work, pay taxes, and bear the burden just like other citizens.

We will always remain different and 'other'. Whether we stand during the siren or say Psalms, try to explain, or choose silence. It doesn't matter how we react - we will always be seen as people from another world, and the gap will just continue to grow. And intensify.

We are different, and that's a fact. Different in dress, different in opinions, different in lifestyle and culture. With each passing day, the difference becomes deeper. Our conversation topics are so different. And precisely for this reason, incitement arises. An incitement no longer seeking justified reasons and blatantly ignoring reality.

Let's take a moment to look around us. In recent years, on the eve of Independence Day, so many protest columns have been published, pieces by some of the best media personalities from the ultra-Orthodox community wishing to clarify and sharpen the simple and true message: 'We have nothing against the brave fighters who risked their lives for us. We also feel the pain of bereavement, we are also grateful to them and understand that thanks to them we are here'. Despite all of this, we have still remained "the ultra-Orthodox who don't stand during the siren and even disrespect Independence Day by burning flags".

Love Wins

It's evident I wouldn't want for a moment for us to try to resemble those on the opposite side, just as I wouldn't aspire for my daughter to wear short sleeves, just so she wouldn't be mocked and ridiculed. That's not the goal. But right now, on the eve of the day the state was established, it's time to understand that whether we like it or not, we have one central thing in common. Because yes, the State of Israel, with all its divides and intrigues, is exactly what unites and connects us. The state that, while we won't wave its flag from our balconies, we are happy to be part of it and we'll do everything to continue living here; the state that doesn't always go in line with the spirit of halacha and Judaism and often blatantly disregards the opinion of the rabbis, but it is ours, so deeply ours, and we have no other; the state, with all its diverse citizens, who despite being so different, are our brothers, and we all live under one roof.

So it's true there are times it seems we have turned into different entities and separate peoples, but time and again, moments come that warm the heart and remind us we are one nation. It could be an ultra-Orthodox person altruistically donating a kidney to a secular person they've never met, or a firefighter rescuing a child in Bnei Brak at great risk from the flames, or even a soldier during a rocket alert shielding with his body children playing in a Hasidic street in Ashdod.

Do you know siblings who, as children, fight and tease each other non-stop, but as adults, talk about how the quarrels were what brought them together? Any beginner parent counselor will tell you it's perfectly fine. Siblings do not have to be identical, even their arguments are inevitable, but it doesn't impair the blood connection that continues to exist eternally.

So maybe that's exactly our role – to remember these things and our brotherly bond and to use this weapon as a response to incitement. Simply to love, to love, and to love, and to believe that the day will still come when love will prevail.