A severe cultural storm has been raging through the Haredi sector for the past several months, surrounding the singer and creator, Mendel Rate (Roth). Those who already know him, whether personally or on social networks or Haredi media, have realized that he is known to break social norms, to say the least. He dared, against accepted tradition, to perform with a guitar, giving him the notorious reputation of the "hippie" and "Carlebach style," on the one hand, and giving opportunities to many youngsters to play, perform and express themselves, on the other hand.

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He was willing to perform on Independence Day and even spoke positively about celebrating Israel's independence, encouraging closer ties between the secular and Haredi communities. As part of the reforms that he believes should be instilled in Yeshivas, and the need to combine Torah, Hassidism, music and love, he also claimed that the Yeshiva world needs reorganization and that 12 hours and more of learning in a day is not good for all. He claimed that music must be included in the curriculum, in order to strengthen the students' inner world, over and above their studies.

He said that Haredi parents must show their children expressive love, or in other words, to hug and kiss each other in front of their children. He claimed that there should be a Haredi cinema and even put a lot of effort into producing video clips for his songs. In the future, he plans to set up a joint business for Haredi cinema production.

And if all this is not enough, he even claimed that the Haredi public should embrace the Internet, with the required adjustments, of course. Now, he was not waiting for approval by anyone – for many years he has been sharing his songs and rebellious messages on social media. The message "you don't need to wear eight clothes in summer and colorful clothes also look good," for example, was shared on many channels, as well as the popular Instagram page Dos Celebs, and received comments such as "a sane voice" and "someone is waking us up," as well as less supportive comments, such as "removing from my list, because you don't stop giving this psycho a stage."

This time Rate, the son of a well-known Grand Rebbe, one of the religious leaders in Ashdod, and himself a Hassid who zealously wears Hassidic garb, sinned by being the one who, for the first time in his sector, published a Haredi love song – and even in Yiddish.

At the end of April Rate released a short clip from his recordings on social media, and the storm broke loose. Is this possible? To speak about love in such an open way? And in a song that is distributed to the masses? He was not deterred by the responses and released the full song. The song immediately turned viral and the pouring in of responses, both positive and negative, turned into a flood.

As usual, the critics did not stop him, not for a moment. He is now working on two new songs in Yiddish, with each he will try to break another taboo in Haredi society. The first, on Haredi parents who threw their son out of their home because he had a smartphone, considered utterly forbidden in the Haredi sector. The second, that is due to be released immediately afterwards, contains a declared anti-institutional cry-out, suggesting that each Haredi find God in his own way.

'One who is breaking down the walls'

I met Rate (30), the seventh in a family of 15 siblings, in his home in Ashdod. He has been divorced for seven years, after a very short marriage of four months. In the meantime, until he finds love, he is living with his Grand Rebbe father. His personal journey between marriage and divorce, and onwards, has brought him to write this song.

"I am one who breaks down walls," he declares already at the outset of our conversation. "That's why, even the Haredi site, which is more open than other organized Haredi media, finds it difficult giving me a stage, and I understand them, even though I think that those working on the sites themselves identify at least with some of what I am saying."

In the meantime, other than the songs that he is releasing and getting hundreds of thousands of views (admirable numbers in this sector), he runs popular Instagram and Tiktok accounts, and frequently uses a tool that almost only Haredim use: his "status" on Whatsapp, which correlates in the Haredi world to a story on Instagram. On each channel, his clips reach tens of thousands of views. "With clip on my status or Tiktok, I break conventional ideas. No one can know what I am going to break tomorrow, so there are those who are scared of me."

His life story is complicated. A dispute in the Hassidic sect led to the ex-communication of Rate and his family from the community in which he was raised. "This happened when I was 15," he remembers. "This happens in many Hassidic sects, when politics gets involved, and this happened with us as well. It was very dirty, and they distanced my father from his father, the Grand Rebbe. My father was very close with my grandfather and, as a result, we were excommunicated as well. The Yeshiva of our sect announced that everyone is forbidden from talking to us."

Even though this all happened eight years ago, it has left me traumatized to this day. I am trying to forgive, so that I don't carry this in my heart, but I still talk about it outside, because even now, there are similar things being done in different Hassidic sects in the name of God, and it infuriates me. This story has forced me to embark on a personal journey because I felt that if there can be such hatred within a Hassidic sect, so much verbal violence – even if there is a lot of God worshipping and holiness, and I recognize that there is a need for a fundamental change because there is something wrong here."

Q: But, despite all, you haven't changed your Hassidic appearance. You haven't totally left.

"There were things that went through my head over the years. For a while I thought of being a Chardalnik [state-supporting Haredi] and other times I wanted to join Breslev or Chabad. I even considered joining the hill-top youth, whom I love very much, also because of their connection to nature. But, in the end, my inner feeling was always that my mission was to revolutionize the Hassidic society."

Q: At age 15, he says, he discovered the songs and books of the "Dancing Rabbi," Shlomo Carlebach, which were not totally accepted in mainstream Hassidism.

"I became crazy about him. His messages were exactly what I wanted to bring to the Hassidic society in which I live, but through Torah and halacha. In the Hassidic society, and even more so in the conservative sects, Carlebach was considered "untouchable," and my Grand Rebbe father took my connection to him very severely. I was always "different" in my family and this only made it worse. Not that, heaven forbid, they didn't love me, but they were afraid of my way. They told themselves: "If this started with Carlebach, who knows how this will end? Maybe Mendel with leave religion totally? Even for me, this attitude was not simple at all."

In recent years he is known as a musical artist and creator. He has released several successful Hassidic hits, but nobody spoke about them as much as they are talking about the love song that he recently released.

Q: How come you decided to release a love song in Yiddish?

"It's all about my personal story. When I turned 20, I had my own opinions, and I also published a dissident pamphlet that was distributed in many Yeshivot. There were several columns and op-eds by some writers, and my page, with a personal article. I wrote there about love and light, words that are not so accepted in the sector. The pamphlet became a hit, but when I wrote an article that yeshiva students need spiritual experiences beyond their studies, and I started talking about the hippies of the 1960s (where Carlebach started his career), this exploded in the Yeshiva. The Yeshiva head instructed me to stop publishing the pamphlet, but I continued in other Yeshivas. After writing another critical article, that Yeshivas don't enable any independent thinking, for the soul and for one's talents, this was the last straw. I wrote that if I headed a Yeshiva, once every few months I would take the students out to pick oranges, to meet our Creator in nature."

"After this article, the entire Yeshiva staff, about 20 people, convened. They had been put to shame because such a young man was learning in their institution. They all sat in a half-circle and called me in to hear what I had to say. I said: I am sorry if I hurt anyone, but I have criticism of the Yeshiva world, that they never touch the soul or inner facets of Judaism."

Q: The explanation did not help and Rate was politely asked to immediately stop all his work.

"They started talking about my case at Hassidic Yeshivas, and this ruined my matchmaking options," he says. "My father, the Grand Rebbe, was worried that I find a wife. I was already older in Hassidic terms; I was 23. I received suggestions from a respectable family in Jerusalem and they pressured me to meet the girl. I met her and saw that she really was an excellent person – just not one that suited me. But it didn't help. My parents, who truly love me, thought that I was making the biggest mistake of my life. I finally got a good offer for matchmaking and I was turning it down? Obviously, they didn't force me, but they spent hours explaining to me that I was making a mistake. In the end, I gave in and agreed. This was a serious mistake."

Q: Why?

"Because to get engaged to a girl when there is no feeling or chemistry, and without any inner connection, is a grave mistake. I got married, and four months later, I got divorced."

What infuriated him during his engagement and short marriage, was supportive advice that he got from two well-known Grand Rebbes, which later triggered his songs.

"They all told me: 'Get married, it will be okay, and if not – the worst is that you'll get divorced.' In the Haredi sector there is a fear of breaking off engagements. But, I believe, that divorce is much worse and much more harmful. There is a taboo on breaking off engagements. And I say: Let's break it up now, together, let's start now. If a person gets engaged and his heart is not yearning for his finance, he should not marry her.

"One Grand Rebbe whom I met after the wedding, also a wise person who many consult with, said to me: I don't see any chance that you are going to live a life of love, because you need a very specific woman to suit you. And to go out dating again as a divorcee, the son of a Grand Rebbe and one who needs a woman with a very certain type of soul, this is almost impossible. I asked him: So what, I will never find love? And he said to me: stay in your marriage, just invest in yourself at the Yeshiva and this will calm your soul.

This response is total corruption of pure love! To tell a yeshiva student "You are not going to love?" I want to shatter this approach! Everyone was sure that I was the problem, but I didn't hurt her at all. It's just that from the first moment, we were not compatible. Why should it be like this? Let's look at the Torah, it's written "And Jacob loved Rachel." Why can't we love like Jacob our Forefather? This is the most beautiful and emotional story in the Bible."

Q: You are critical of the Haredi matchmaking world, but maybe the problem, if it exists at all, is only in the Hassidic sector, where the couple meet only once?

"So, first, yes, I am talking more about the Hassidic society. But I also have criticism of the Lithuanian Yeshiva world. There they are not aware of this issue at all. They do not talk about the soul, they don't learn about life. A Haredi man learning at Yeshiva knows nothing about life and nothing about love. It is true that in the Lithuanian sect there is more openness. Some see movies and learn from that, and that is a bit different. But the whole subject of love and emotions is not talked about in the Haredi Yeshivas, and if you don't know anything about life, you don't know what to look for in a marriage."

'Is there love in the Haredi world?'

Rate wrote the music for his love song in the same room we are meeting in; about two months ago. The song was released on YouTube and spread like a wildfire in Haredi WhatsApp groups. On the other hand, the song was not played even once on Haredi radio channels, and the ones that were played – have been boycotted.

"Several years ago I ran a blog on the Haredi site "Bechadrei Chadarim," where I smashed another taboo every week, but there was one post that evoked the greatest number of responses, and it was titled "Is there love in the Haredi world?" Now, when I wanted to get this message out to the Yeshiva world, so that the men know that there must be attraction and love, I understood that the way to do it was not through a blog, because it was not going to be seen in Yeshivas.

"I thought about the best way to get my message out and initiate a revolution, and I quickly realized that this must be done through music. I told myself, a song in Yiddish, a sweet and beautiful Hassidic tune; I don't need anything else to try and make a difference. A song, unlike an online blog, can reach every Yeshiva student's mp3 player. And this is what happened. I released the song to create discussion. I don't mind hearing those who disagree with me, at least people are talking about it."

Some of the Haredi musicians participating in the song were hesitant about letting their name be known. In the end, they decided to do it. "When the first clip was released from the studio, we were surprised to find that most comments supported what we said. After the song was released, I received more than one thousand comments on WhatsApp, most from people I don't even know.

"The song reached Yeshivas, single and married students, and became the topic of conversation in every Hassidic Yeshiva, also in Hassidic Kollels. I made a TikTok video about the comments. One day, after the song was released, I was walking here in Ashdod and I met some Hassidic men. They immediately started arguing with me about the song. Wherever I go, people stop and talk to me about the song. Those men asked me: How come a young Yeshiva student isn't scared to talk about love? I told them: I don't understand, the Creator of the world was not scared that you would learn about the story of Queen Esther, where it says, "And the king loved Esther," or the story of Ruth, and many other verses in the Torah that talk about love? What was I actually telling this young man? It was okay for Jacob our Forefather; it was okay for King Solomon, and I am the one talking about love? I believe that the Haredi society has to convert love into practical life. Every Hassidic man must give his wife a hug in front of his children. When I get married I will give my wife a kiss on the forehead every Friday night in front of my children, and I will sing her love songs."

Q: People can hear the song, feel that they don't have love and decide to get divorced.

"Look, as this is not the first time that I am talking about love, people are talking to me about their lives; even though I am not a counselor. And the hardest question that I encounter in life is actually this. Some guy asked me, "I am married. I have seven children and I don't have love. What should I do?" This this the most horrifying issue. It really scares me and I don't know what to answer. It is a very powerful question.

"In any case, I specifically wrote about this again and again that I only talk to single guys, and not to married men. I am trying to make a difference from the outset. Not to take action among those who are already married. But, yes, it is a very complicated matter that shakes my heart and so I can do nothing. The song also raises questions, what should I do? I have to tell my truth so that I can heal the next generation."

Q: Did you get any offers for matchmaking after you released the song?

"Definitely. There were also matchmakers who called me, and women contacted me through Instagram or WhatsApp, but there wasn't anyone suitable. I am also looking for someone who is from a sect that is as close as possible to my upbringing; someone who has taken the step outwards. Once I thought that I need someone who is different than me, someone from the outside, but today I know that my essence is not only Hassidic, but I am also the son of a Grand Rebbe. This is in my soul. I am in deep trouble. Haredim don't have options for finding love online. There is no earmarked App, only through matchmakers, and anyone who has any self-awareness – has a hard time with matchmakers."

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Today, as stated above, in addition to the songs he releases, he is also a type of Haredi social media star, also on TikTok. "Until six weeks ago I didn't know what TikTok is. I believe that it is just another wonderful way to reach more people. When I joined, I saw that exposure on TikTok is so much more than any other media channel, and I said to myself: Wow! I really want to make a difference for people. I don't follow problematic content, only my friends. On my third day on TikTok I released a song that I called, "Daddy, I want to protect my eyes on TikTok." This song portrays this conflict. I am so open, but also so conservative. I learn Kabbalah and strive to be like the Ba'al Shem Tov."

Q: If the Ba'al Shem Tov was alive today, do you think he would open a TikTok account?

"Many times I think that it is possible. There is a song that I made into a clip using big cinema production technology. The song is called "Mincha," and it is based on the Ba'al Shem Tov's sayings. I tried to spread his message through the clip. If he was alive today and had the skills to understand the media, I believe that he would have done what I am doing."

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The opening night of "Bar Mitzvah Time" at the Mesamhey Lev theater in central Israel is promising to be an extraordinary one, with Yinon Davidian, a 16-year old Ultra-Orthodox actor with Down syndrome, to take the lead role.

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"For years, I hoped to make my theater dreams come true, day and night – and here we are, I succeeded," Davidian told Israel Hayom. 

"Bar Mitzvah Time" was created especially for Davidian by well-known Haredi Israeli actor Ofer Halevi. It has already been performed at schools and ultra-Orthodox cultural events. 

Q: What was it like preparing for the play? Was it difficult for you to learn your script?

"Not at all. It was easy. I learned the script by heart when they gave it to me, and when they made changes afterward, I managed to learn them as well."

Q: The play was delayed for a year and a half because of the pandemic. How did you deal with that? 

"I continued going to yeshiva, composing music, playing the keyboards. I also recorded a video for Israelis during this time to cheer up those who could not leave their homes [due to a lockdown]. I sang them happy songs."

Davidian's video was posted on the Hidabrut website, popular among Haredim. 

Q: What else do you like to do in your free time? 

"I like to sing at weddings, to make the bride and groom happy, but also at bar mitzvahs and other events. I like to have fun, to make people happy. When there is an event at our yeshiva, everyone jumps on me and sings. I create melodies for Psalm verses, and sometimes I play music and sing songs and compose my own."

At every performance, Davidian is supported by his parents, Dan and Anat, who were both born in secular families and became religious later in life. 

Dan: "In the beginning, Anat was in a complete shock, as all mothers are when they find out they are carrying a baby with Down syndrome. It took Anat a year to come to herself. I, in turn, had a more practical reaction. I mostly thought of what we were supposed to do now. We went to ask a rabbi whether we should continue to have children because Anat was very worried. The rabbi encouraged us to continue, not to stop, and with God's help, [he said that] every child born next will only be good for Yinon. And that is exactly what happened." 

Anat: "We had two more children after Yinon, and it was very good for him. As a child, he functioned, spoke and sang - and now he even stars in a play." 

The couple has seven children altogether, Yinon was their fifth child. 

Dan: "When Yinon was born, we were advised to treat him as a normal child, like the rest of our children. We fully adhered. When one believes that everything comes from God, he knows to accept that all is for the best because it comes from love."

Davidian studies at a yeshiva in Bnei Brak, where he learns the Talmud, Jewish law and Torah commentary. It is at this yeshiva that his theater journey began. 

"I saw Ofer and his colleagues at a performance at the yeshiva, and I really wanted to join them," he said. "To perform alongside them. They are awesome."

Halevi runs the Mesamhey Lev theater. Just like Davidian's parents, he too, became religious. 

The two met when Davidian was volunteering with colleagues at the Bnei Brak yeshiva, performing a play. 

Halevi: "I saw Yinon, a sweet child, who wanted to go on stage and participate, and we invited him. I did not think that anything more would come of it until one day his father, Dan, called me and said, 'Yinon has a dream to star as a real actor in one of your plays, and I want to help make his dream come true. What do you think?'

"In the beginning, I was skeptical," Halevi continued. "I spoke to Izo Leibowitz, who would eventually become the director of the play, and we created a minor role for Yinon. But when we met him and saw what he could do, we realized that he is very talented and he can play a lead role. 

"That is when we decided to come up with one just for him, with a story that would have a connection to him. The message of the play is that if you believe in yourself, you can achieve anything. When I saw the parents, how much they invested in Yinon and how much they believed in him, it encouraged me to create a play for him, a professional production with professional actors.

"Yinon read the Torah scroll at his bar mitzvah. For a child like him, to read the Torah is very rare. What stood out in his story is the possibility to communicate to the audience an important message."

"Bar Mitzvah Time" tells the story of a young boy – portrayed by Davidian – who promises to help his friend who has no money to create a video for his bar mitzvah. He turns to an actor for help – portrayed by Halevi – whose colleague had just left town unexpectedly and needed help to stage a play. That is when he tells the boy, "It is not that I am helping you, rather you are helping me."

Halevi: "In another part of the play, my character – a father – has a son born with Down syndrome and sinks into a terrible depression. Yinon comforts him, and strengthens him, and shows him a different perspective on children with Down syndrome, and gives the father hope."

Q: Did the theater operate during the coronavirus? 

"We had several performances scheduled, but the coronavirus brought everything to a stop. After the lockdowns, we began performing the play and already have shows scheduled in Jerusalem, Bnei Brak, Petah Tikva, Holon and more. 

"Our goal is to get people to see youth with Down syndrome with acceptance. Several times throughout the play, Yinon says, 'I am normal, I am just like you.'"

Mesamhey Lev is located in Elad, where Halevi and his family live. It has been staging plays for more than 20 years. According to Halevi, only recently have plays performed for Haredi audiences become professional.

Q: Haven't there always been plays for the ultra-Orthodox?

"There were some, but it was never anything professional. These weren't graduates of acting schools. We, who became religious, but had already performed in the secular world, brought something new to the community." 

Q: When did you start creating plays for Haredim? 

"The plays were initially intended for non-religious audiences, but we noticed all of a sudden that the halls were filled with ultra-Orthodox viewers to the brim. We even hired security guards for the entrances because so many tried to enter. That is when I understood I had a mission. 

"I felt I had an opportunity to communicate messages that I believe in through my acting. After consulting with a rabbi, I came up with the idea of a Haredi theater with professional productions, with lighting, sound and decorations, and the works. With time, we grew and currently have 10 plays we perform, which have been seen by approximately about a quarter of a million people."

Q: Who are the actors playing in your theater? As we know, there are no acting schools for Haredim. 

"That's true. Most of our actors became religious. Very few actors are actual Haredim, from birth. I only have one such actor on my staff. He used to be a teacher in Beit Shemesh, and one day he decided to make his dream of becoming an actor come true and turned to us. He was a very good student, for he has a natural talent for acting, and since then, he's been performing in our plays." 

According to Halevi, the Haredi community has become more accepting of theater and demand for acting has been on the rise.

"We are planning to establish a Haredi acting school in Elad soon," he said. "A special one for youngsters, a completely professional school. Both boys and girls will be able to study there, in separate classrooms, two or three times a week. 

"The Haredi community is very open now to accept things like this. They have come to understand that art is part of Jewish culture, and that through art one can communicate a message in a way no less effective than a lecture, if not more."

The seasoned actor said that even ultra-Orthodox rabbis come to Mesamhey Lev. 

"Quite a lot of Haredi rabbis come up to me and say, 'I also deserve to spend a few hours relaxing, laughing and disconnecting," he said. 

Mesamhey Lev is currently seeking official recognition from the Culture Ministry, which would in turn, provide more funds. 

"We don't receive funding right now, but we are negotiating with the Culture Ministry to recognize us as a theater," Halevi said. "I hope in the future we will be able to receive funds that will help us continue our work. There is some discrimination in this matter, for we are a Haredi theater, no doubt."

Q: What is your audience like?

"Our plays can fit any audience, we adapt ourselves. Of course, we mostly target ultra-Orthodox viewers, but we have performed in front of religious Zionist and secular people as well."

Q: What about female audiences?

"We have a separate theater for women as well, in which only actresses perform. I run this one as well. We hope to have even more plays and more performances, which, hopefully, we will arrange once we have more funds." 

Q: What is the main message you try to convey through Mesamhey Lev?

"The importance of accepting someone who is different. In one of our plays, there's a line where I say, 'All wars in the world happened because we did not respect the other person's choice.' Our motto is accepting a person with differences, and Yinon's play comes just in time to convey that message."

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Jews in Mexico are building a so-called 'City of Torah' for young observant Jewish families and students who cannot afford an apartment in the capital.

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Ciudad de la Tora is being built on an area that was purchased outside the Ixtapan de la Salle town, 120 km (70 miles) south of Mexico City.

Another reason for establishing the new city is the situation in the capital, which boasts Mexicos' largest Jewish community. Jewish residents there say their children are afraid to leave their homes lest they become targets of antisemitic attacks.

Some 120 houses are to be constructed on the property, all of which have already been registered for by Jewish families.

The community held a cornerstone laying ceremony for the community on Sunday. Some 5,000 residents of Mexico City attended the ceremony, as well as rabbis and Jewish leaders from the United States and prominent Haredi singers.

The new town draws inspiration from Rabbi Aharon Kotler, who brought several yeshiva students from New York to study in Lakewood, New Jersey, in the 1940s and turned it into a hub of Orthodox Judaism.

Developers plan to build a yeshiva on the site, Torat Eliyahu, and dorms for students to live in.

"In contrast to other large Jewish cities, this one is being built by Mexican Jews themselves," Rabbi Yehoshua Gretzolin, the head of Torat Eliyahu, said. "The new community will have representatives of both the Sephardi and Ashkenazi communities, and members of all Jewish communities in Mexico will live here."

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Instructions from various authorities were contradictory. Girls' schools, for example, have been cancelled, but the city announced that the heads of each Talmud Torah for boys could decide for themselves whether or not to open. Daycare centers are open, but nursery schools are not.

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But that's how it's been for the past week. On Sunday, we were told that there would be a lockdown on Monday. On Monday, the lockdown was cancelled, and an overnight curfew was instated, instead. That night, even the curfew was postponed by a day.

It's important to say that the regulations are important. If a lockdown or a curfew is needed, I and the rest of the residents will observe them, of course. But it's hard to see the reasoning in an overnight curfew. Children are home at that time of night, and in any case we are still permitted to walk to the closest synagogue even after 7 p.m. Weddings that were supposed to take place in the evening have been moved to the afternoon. So what good will the curfew do, when everything else is allowed the rest of the day?

After morning prayers on Tuesday, a dispute arose between worshippers at the synagogue where I pray. It was the same old argument – was coronavirus a thing, or was it just a "flu"? Thank God, even those who were shouting that they had read articles that proved that there was no reason to get hysterical and it was all a conspiracy by hospitals looking to increase their budgets, were wearing masks. Even if there is debate and there are differences of opinion in the city, as well as outrage at the government that is once again putting Haredi areas under a closure, the residents are disciplined.

Messages in Bnei Brak on Tuesday promised another "carrot," as well as the curfew: if the regulations were upheld and Bnei Brak could be upgraded to "orange" under the traffic light plan – and maybe even green – we could celebrate the High Holidays almost like we do every year. Otherwise, the closure would continue into the holidays and we would see a repeat of this year's locked-down Passover seder. That was more effective than any closure: Bnei Brak isn't willing to mark another holiday in isolation.

On Tuesday night, the streets of Bnei Brak were quiet and sad, and empty, because we are disciplined. Mournful, because once again we Bnei Brak-ites have been singled out. Elsewhere, everything is open, but for us, everything is closed.

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"In the Orthodox matchmaking world it is widely accepted to 'pay' well for an eligible groom," says Chaim, 22, a student at the Mir Yeshiva in Jerusalem, himself of matchmaking age. "The thing most of the serious prodigies ['iluim'] in the yeshivas want is a 'full deal', an all-encompassing arrangement. Meaning, a new apartment in a good location - Jerusalem or Bnei Brak - furniture and everything, without the groom needing to worry about all the economic stuff, so he can just study Torah quietly. The numbers skyrocketed, and of course only the wealthy could afford such a prodigy at those numbers."

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Those days ended when the pandemic started. Nowadays even the wealthy Orthodox are finding it difficult to spend more than a million shekels for a prodigy groom. "The grooms' market has witnessed a sharp economic downturn of hundreds of thousands of shekels a groom," says Eli Tsoran, 37, a veteran Orthodox matchmaker. "I believe this downturn won't be reversed any time soon. Once the prices went down, I'm not sure they'll go back to what they were."

According to Tsoran, many in the Orthodox community are happy with this apparent trend brought on by the virus. "The demand for huge amounts between the sides has become more balanced. Many families that asked for NIS 800,000 for an eligible groom are now talking about NIS 500,000. People understood that the sector needs to be more logical if they want to marry their kids.

"The virus has given hope to many families of lesser means to get a good match. The public understood that the world is fighting a pandemic, that is hurting families and taking people to another world, so all the financial management and demands have changed. And once the demands were lowered - they won't go back to what they were before the virus so fast. Many matches that are beginning now have started with more reasonable prices than before."

Just like in the secular dating world, the Orthodox matchmaking world has seen many changes during the pandemic. But in the case of this conservative sector, these are extreme changes that no one saw coming.

"The matchmaking market has changed in so many ways," says Sarah Pachter, who owns an ad agency in the Orthodox sector and is a mother of 11 children. "I'm not a professional matchmaker, but I meet with people in the sector and occasionally do some matchmaking. I've made 18 matches so far, including my son," she says.

Q: So what has changed since the pandemic began?

"The Orthodox matchmaking world was very rigid," says Pachter, "there was a certain way how each match advanced, how it progressed, where they met, etc. The virus shook that up, changed things, changes that, I hope, will remain for a long time.

"For example, the first meeting between young Orthodox people usually took place in the girl's home. During the pandemic no one wanted to enter a stranger's house, so the youngsters went alone to a park for the first date, and only after they were matched - their parents met on Zoom or talked on the phone.

"If not at a home, matchmaking meetings occurred before the pandemic in hotel lobbies, in Jerusalem or Tel Aviv. Now, without any other option, they meet in nature, open parks. There are many boys and girls who met this way in the past few months, and it only did them good. Even now, as restrictions are eased, this has remained. The market isn't as rigid as before."

According to Pachter, the most significant change recently has to do with what happens after the match is sealed, when the couple agree to marry. "Up until the pandemic, usually a race began that would last for three to four months to secure a large hall with at least 400-500 guests, and usually much more, a big band, a camera crew, decorations and everything.

"Suddenly now people have learned you can have small modest weddings in the yard of a home, or somewhere green, and it's just as pretty as a huge and crowded wedding - and also saves thousands of shekels if not more. Today I see people getting their children engaged, when there are already fewer restrictions, and they still aren't planning on huge weddings like before the pandemic. I hope it stays that way. It's a significant financial relief for many families with a lot of children."

Reuven Paul, 50, a well-known figure in the Orthodox sector and a veteran volunteer in the Hatzalah organization, get his son engaged three weeks ago during the peak of the virus. The whole matchmaking process took place during the pandemic.

"The custom is to have the first date in a hotel lobby, but since the hotels are closed, the dates were held in the home of an American family in Jerusalem, with a large garden, and there the couple felt free and relaxed. It was a good solution for all, they felt at ease in the garden," says Paul.

Paul says he's been speaking over the past few days with Orthodox friends, who like him are about to marry their children. "I have quite a few friends who got their kids engaged in recent weeks. I see some of them have internalized the virus and some haven't. Some still live in a bubble and think that the bigger the event they have - the more they will be 'worth'. Those kinds of people haven't changed, but I think most of my friends have. They're happy the Orthodox have realized that you can have different weddings, much more modest ones."

According to Paul, there's a sharp drop in wedding budgets, a result of the financial crisis the pandemic has caused. "The million-dollar question is will it stay like this next year and beyond. Personally, I think the economic shift in how events are held will remain. Even if the virus will disappear completely, people will continue to look, like me, for smaller and more familial places, to hold beautiful events in.

"Usually, when you have a huge wedding and forget to invite someone - he's insulted. You're always under pressure, who did I forget to invite? But when you have a 'corona wedding', it's not relevant anymore. Everyone knows why you didn't invite them, because you're having a small wedding with less family, and that's it. I think these weddings will catch on. There's something nice about a small wedding in a more relaxed setting."

"The virus simply opened up new channels in the brain. Up until the pandemic, even people who didn't have money would say 'I need to have a big wedding.' Today, even wealthy Orthodox say 'What do we need all of this for?'"

Tsoran the matchmaker agrees: "The financial crisis, in the current reality, has left many families with no income. Suddenly I'm hearing families tell me 'Let's do modest weddings with 50 people, what's wrong with that?' A wedding with a singer and keyboard instead of a band with seven horns, and in a marque or on a roof instead of a ritzy hall.

"What did one mother say to me? 'The young couple only need themselves at the wedding. The guests and all the hubbub around don't add a thing, it's just so the parents feel good. So it's better to have a small and modest event.'"

Dalia Kurtzweil, 43, is a Chabad emissary together with her husband in Dnipro, Ukraine. From there she works in matchmaking, mostly inside the Chabad community, with a resume chock full of matches. Now she believes the changes in the Orthodox matchmaking market during the pandemic will be the new norm.

Kurtzweil's job, especially these days, is more difficult than the usual Orthodox matchmaker, since a large part of matchmaking in the Chabad community is between Chabadnik families in various countries, when at times the young couple will be sent as emissaries to a third country. In the past few months, with international flight halted, the mission became even more challenging.

"And despite everything, it happens. There are match offers, and there are meetings between young Orthodox people from different countries - by Zoom or Whatsapp videos. True, it's not easy, and many would prefer a real meeting, but that's what we have right now, and many are doing it. Others ask to wait until this period is over.

"In Israel it's easier, because there were solutions for a real meeting during lockdown, as well. If one of the couple was, for example, an essential worker he could go to another city to meet, in the permitted fashion, of course."

Kurtzweil mentions another surprising advantage that appeared during the pandemic: "When everyone was locked up in the house and many didn't work, the young ones had more time to choose and check the match offers they got. It's a change that permeated because of the situation, and I hope it stays."

Q: Did families seal matches only through Zoom meetings?

"No. I don't know any couple who sealed a match only through Zoom. No one is expected to make a life-changing decision on a computer."

Q: Did you manage to "seal a match" during the pandemic?

"I got a few couples connected over the past few weeks, also from different countries, and they are in a process. But there are a lot of calls, certainly. People have changed their lives because of the coronavirus, they're less in the rat race, they're more available to hear about match offers. That was a big problem in the past, that people were so busy with work and career, they couldn't hear. Now, after sitting at home for so long, alone, they understand it might be time to hear some offers, to see what's out there.

"These times changed a lot for me. Until today I couldn't really meet the people I try to match, because of my living abroad, and it was all done by phone. Think about it: I barely knew who was on the other end of the line, and I was already offering matches. Since the pandemic, the Zoom calls for matchmaking became something reasonable, and now I meet every evening on video people who talk to me, tell me about themselves, their dreams and wishes of who to marry, and I feel them up close.

"I definitely feel the pandemic brought a lot of change to matchmaking: less technical name-sharing between possible candidates, and more emotional bonding between the matchmaker and the candidates, in a way that makes it easier for them to find a match. Even the candidates have more time to think about who they want to meet. They had a lot of time to feel lonely and in need, and I believe this will bring many of them to think differently, to agree to things they probably wouldn't have agreed to compromise on before when it comes to a partner. Now they look at things differently, they understand they're being offered lovely people, and it's a pity to be stubborn."

Chaim Scheller, a known matchmaking consultant in the modern Orthodox sector, which includes the national Orthodox and national religious, says the virus actually stopped the matchmaking in the public he works with. "This group is basically more open and relaxed, and the virus blocked them. You tell a yeshiva boy to meet by telephone or on an app, and for him it doesn't really work.

"So I waited for things to return to normal, so I could organize face-to-face meetings. I believe in real, in-person courting, and less so in phone calls or Zoom, which I believe lead to nothing. The possibility for a first meeting between humans doesn't happen in Zoom, just like learning through Zoom is nothing like it is in normal life. In matches like that the sides are just 'floating', they don't feel like it's a real meeting.

"But I did make a match during the pandemic, it started before, and was on solid footing. There was also another match I offered, who wanted to meet, but couldn't find where. So I organized especially for him a certain ice cream parlor to open up in Tel Aviv, so he could meet."

Q: If I understand correctly, there is a huge bottleneck of candidates in the modern Orthodox community that will open immediately when everyone gets on the market after the virus.

"That's an issue that bothers me, but don't forget that people are looking for the best, and it's a process that takes time, so there might not be a gridlock of Orthodox people waiting to get married. And I won't start to suddenly organize meetings now, after the virus, 900 couples at once. For me the pandemic was a time that let me get to know my clients better, to try and make matches and organize meetings that will take place now - with the return to normal."

Another innovation that came with the pandemic: "balcony matchmaking."

During the lockdown when meetings were forbidden, the Orthodox mind came up with creative solutions such as matches between neighbors in the same building. According to the Orthodox matchmakers, it's a trend that might continue after the pandemic. "People understand they don't always have to look far," says Pachter, "sometimes a match is on the other side of the door."

Pachter thinks the sector will see many more similar matches, even when things go back to normal. "Matches between neighbors were once less acceptable amongst the Orthodox, but the pandemic made us get used to quite a few new things."

Kurtzweil: "I also know a couple who live close by in Kfar Chabad and met in one of the grandparents' homes, in a quiet room. It was lovely. And there was another time two young neighbors, also from Kfar Chabad, that for some reason no one thought to match them, but now, after the pandemic opened people's minds, their acquaintances said: 'Why are we looking far?' - and they offered each other. And they sealed the match.

"The pandemic created a situation where people are willing to hear offers they may not have heard before. The young want to marry, and they have learned now to look for the more positive things in each other, and not the drawbacks."

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On Wednesday, Rabbi Akiva St, the city's 5th Avenue, was nearly empty. So were the other streets.

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 "The city has gotten used to the new reality, albeit late," says Avraham Kagan, who lives in central Bnei Brak.

"For example, look at the advertising leaflets that are stuffed in mailboxes. They're all full of ads for Passover sales, but each ad has a circle saying that the store is shut and offers delivery only. There are also a lot of ads about one-time holiday sales by shop owners who are stuck with a huge amount of stock but have no customers," Kagan says.

Meanwhile, prayers in public or at synagogues was officially stopped as of Sunday, when Rabbi Chaim Kanievsky announced that no prayer minyans must take place in the city.

In effect, as of Wednesday, a small group of worshippers was still trying to flout the instructions. A riot even broke out on Dessler St. when a few worshippers who entered a synagogue for morning prayers were greeted with shouts of "Murderers! Murderers!" aimed at them from nearby balconies, as well as threats to call the police. City workers welded shut the doors of a synagogue on Hashomer St. that belongs to the extremist Jerusalem Faction sect, which was still trying to hold minyans there.

'The majority are being careful'

"But even with the Jerusalem Faction, most people are being careful," says Yehuda Rapaport, who lives in the west of the city.

"At the funeral of the sect leader on Saturday night, there were hundreds of people, and they caught it. [On Tuesday] there was another funeral for the wife of a well-known rabbi from the 'Faction,' and it took place according to regulations," Rapaport adds.

"You need to realize that most [Bnei Brak] residents aren't online and don't listen to the radio," says ultra-Orthodox journalist Yisrael Cohen, also a resident of the city.

"They don't know about the Health Ministry regulation. Last week a few police cars went through the city, warning people, and it worked. Now everyone is staying home," Cohen says.

Shlomo Margaliot, who heads a Chabad synagogue in Bnei Brak, says that he and his family have not left their home in two weeks except to shop for food.

"When we saw what was happening in Crown Heights in Brooklyn, we internalized that the situation could get very complicated very quickly, and we kept at home. Still, we're Chabadniks, so we're informed, and this week we saw for the first time that the rest of our haredi neighbors don't understand how serious this story is. We explained how dangerous it was. There are those who understood and those who didn't," he says.

According to Margaliot, as of last Saturday there were still prayer minyans in the streets, but starting Sunday, after rabbis banned prayers in a minyan, "it was over."

People are disciplined, he says. "It's just that until last week, they didn't understand the extent of the problem. In my opinion, there is now no need to quarantine Bnei Brak. The residents aren't stupid, and the moment they realized the situation, they behaved like everyone else in the country. You don't see people in the streets," Margaliot says.

In Bnei Brak, like other haredi cities, an alternative has been found to minyans: Prayers on balconies, each worshipper from his own home. One resident of Hashomer St. put a giant loudspeaker on his balcony for afternoon prayers.

In the city's Pardes Katz neighborhood, two residents who ventured out to purchase food for the weekend, wearing masks, were arguing about the preparations the city was making.

"The city was too late in taking up the reins. At first, they dismissed the regulations, they didn't think it would be serious. Now, Bnei Brak leads in the number of corona cases," argued Shlomo Benin.

Benin's friend Kobi Anavi explained that the residents were cut off from the media: "Most of the people didn't know what was happening in the world, didn't realize lives were at risk."

But both men agree that this Passover, which begins on the evening of Wednesday, April 8, will be the most unusual one the city has known.

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In other words, Gantz warned the public: "Watch out! The haredim are voting in droves! Go vote!"

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This statement, which is supposedly embedded in the innocent enough graph, is the height of a highly orchestrated and ugly campaign against the haredim that we have witnessed over the last month, first from Yisrael Beytenu leader Avigdor Lieberman and now from Gantz and his fellow party members.

The same Gantz who at the outset of his campaign was still trying to conduct negotiations both publicly and behind the scenes with the haredim, and even made a highly publicized visit to Bnei Brak to meet with haredim, has in recent weeks and spoken out on every public stage on the need for a "secular unity government."

Suddenly, we haredim have been taken out of the equation. We are no longer legitimate. I would almost go so far as to say: We have been outlawed. And yet no one says a word.

Do our readers need to be reminded of the uproar over Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu's remark that the "Arabs are voting in droves" during the 2015 election? Yet now that Gantz is saying the same thing about the haredim, his remarks have gone under the radar. No one protests. Nor will they in the future.

True, Gantz tried to reach out to the haredim, and the haredim were not exactly responsive to his efforts. For good reason. Let us not forget who his rotation agreement partner is. But the path from here to the ugly graph we saw on Friday is rather long.

What is Gantz complaining about? High voter turnout in the haredi sector? You'd think we were doing something wrong when all we are doing is exercising our legal right and obligation.

In fact, 77% voter turnout in Bnei Brak seems too low. I really hope it goes up come Tuesday. I realize we are in the middle of an election campaign and that harsh statements will be made. But Gantz's graph was not just another campaign message. It was an offensive, ugly, insulting and infuriating message. I don't know how the election will turn out but I hope the results will not be such that we are outlawed. Anything else would be a bonus.

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A recent concert by Steinmetz in the city of Afula, which took place with the audience segregated by gender, sparked a national controversy about gender segregation at public events, even those held for the ultra-Orthodox community.

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On Sunday, the Haifa District Court discussed another petition submitted against another scheduled Steinmetz concert, scheduled to be held at the Haifa International Convention Center on Monday.

"It's infuriating. People who assume to understand how the haredi public's mind work come in and try to dictate how we should live in a Jewish state. I think that the minimum [they can do] is let people who adhere to a 3,000-year-old tradition, who keep the Jewish fires burning, live according to their beliefs," Steinmetz says.

"A musical event is holy, in my eyes. Every time I sing at a concert, I thank God in song … it's a kind of prayer. So as far as I'm concerned, the concert hall is a kind of synagogue, and above all, there needs to be separation [between men and women]," Steinmetz says.

Q: What kind of responses did you get after you announced that you would not appear in Afula unless there was gender segregation?

"Before the concert, [Interior Minister] Aryeh Deri and MK Moshe Gafni came to me and said, 'Good for you for standing up for your principles and for God."

Q: In the US, you recently appeared before male-only audiences. How was that received?

"It only shows the hypocrisy here in Israel. In non-Jewish countries, all over the world, we appear before audiences with full [gender] separation, and receive public funds. We even held a show at a park abroad, with full separation. People everywhere understand that there is an audience that wants this, and there is acceptance and understanding that people think differently. But not in Israel."

The post 'I don't exclude women,' says haredi singer at heart of gender segregation storm appeared first on www.israelhayom.com.