One of Moses' other edicts sows discontent

Within days, Bakshi-Doron was reporting death threats and talking about resignation. He explained that excommunication in the ultra-Orthodox world means "that I cannot go out in public, I cannot pray in synagogue, and I cannot participate in ceremonies and events. My children cannot go to school," he said. "I am afraid."

Politicians stepped in to broker a shaky rabbinical compromise that allows individual communities to set their own rules and exempts larger cities from strict shmita observance. But the clash has left many Israelis asking themselves where their country is headed.

Menachem Friedman, a sociologist at Bar-Ilan University outside Tel Aviv, notes that the Chief Rabbinate has long symbolized a moderation that allows religious and secular Jews to build a community together.

"And now a chief rabbi, who is like a pope, is admitting he is afraid. Of whom? The [ultra-Orthodox] rabbis! It's unbelievable," says Mr. Friedman.

"It represents a dramatic change in status and power of the [ultra-Orthodox]."

That growing power might be best symbolized in the verdant grounds surrounding Israel's national parliament, where workers are preparing flower beds to observe shmita for the first time in history.

Workers will dig up the beds and put down a layer of special plastic so that the flowers and shrubs technically will not be part of the land of Israel.

They will be tended to by non-Jewish gardeners.

For many Israelis, economics are the central issue. "Every shmita, we have the question of how to provide food for people who refuse to eat Israeli produce, and it becomes political. Is it meeting the needs of a minority group or is it having a minority drag down everybody else economically?" asks Jerusalem-based Rabbi Arik Ascherman.

Some suggest that some ultra-Orthodox will benefit financially. "There are going to be a lot of [religiously] observant people who make money," says Marc Miller, the economic director of a farm in the Golan Heights. "There are an awful lot of jobs involved in shmita inspection and importing."

Farmers, worried about losses in the millions, are unhappy with the rabbinical compromise solution. Some plan to sell their food directly to customers, who are already fretting about soaring prices.

"It'll be an expensive year," says Randi Fietelberg, an ultra-Orthodox woman buying produce at a downtown supermarket. She says she sees no alternative to following the Jerusalem rabbinate's strict directive on shmita.

But a fellow shopper, who chose not to give her name, was less concerned.

Browsing the produce aisles with the solid, practical air of a woman who has run a household through Israel's leaner economic times, she said she had little patience for the strict ruling on shmita. "It's a pity that they have to waste all that food."

*Grace McMillan contributed to this report.

(c) Copyright 2000. The Christian Science Publishing Society

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