Israel's identity crisis: Why it could be as detrimental as Palestinian conflict

When Tanya Rosenblit boarded the No. 451 bus to Jerusalem last month, she knew that the predominantly ultra-Orthodox passengers would keep their distance from her because of their adherence to strict rules of gender segregation.

But when one of them demanded she move to the rear, Ms. Rosenblit held her ground.

"He said, 'Respect me by moving to the back of the bus,' " she said. "I said he should be ashamed he didn't respect [his] own mother or daughter. I asked him why it was so horrible for a woman to sit at the front of the bus. I was really angry."

Rosenblit's Rosa Parks-like confrontation helped reveal the fault line between mainstream Israel and the insular ultra-Orthodox, or Haredi, minority in a way not seen in years.

Culture clashes over Sabbath observance rules have been commonplace for decades. But reports of the creeping exclusion of women from public places has touched a raw nerve in the Jewish state by raising the prospect of an Israel dominated by a religious extremism similar to hard-line ideologies prevalent in neighboring Muslim states.

It also has added to fears that Israel's much-touted democracy and its underpinnings of individual rights and equality are under threat.

"This is an important moment for Israel. The good news is that both the public and the political system are responding with the appropriate outrage," says Yossi Klein Halevi, a fellow at the Shalom Hartman Institute in Jerusalem.

"One of the responsibilities that have been forced on the state of Israel because of its regional location, and its location in the Holy Land, is to be a force against religious fundamentalism. That's true in Israel's frontline role against jihadism, and it's true as well for maintaining an open society in one of the most religiously intense countries in the world."

Leaving their enclaves

The culture clash is being heightened by some stark demographic trends: Thanks to high birthrates, the percentage of ultra-Orthodox in the adult Israeli population has doubled to 8 percent over the past 20 years. In another 50 years, they will make up nearly a third of the population, according to government statistics.

Along with the newfound political and economic clout, ultra-Orthodox Jews are gradually moving from the margins of society into mainstream jobs, neighborhoods, and organizations like the army.

Recognizing their leverage, companies and government agencies have quietly deferred to their requests for gender-segregated buses and health clinic waiting rooms, and for billboards cleansed of female images.

To be sure, many ultra-Orthodox see themselves as a minority persecuted by Israel's secular mainstream, which wants to intervene in a subculture that has long tried to protect its values through bans on movies, television, and the Internet.

"It is important that the secular society respect their way of life," says Sari Rot, a female reporter for ultra-Orthodox news website Behadrei Haredim. "I wouldn't expect that someone would force me to shake the hand of man."

Some Haredi demands, such as excluding female soldiers from singing at military ceremonies, flew under the radar of most Israelis. But the cases of Rosenblit and – a week later – Naama Margolis, an 8-year-old girl who was called a prostitute and spat on for not dressing modestly enough, galvanized the Israeli public.

"It takes a lot to shock Israelis, because they've seen so much here. They don't have time to think about other things," says Orly Erez Lihovsky, a lawyer for the Israel Religious Action Center. "It's at a stage where it can't be ignored anymore."

Israeli President Shimon Peres and Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu have condemned the segregation of women in public. And the military's chief rabbi issued an order on Jan. 3 banning religious soldiers from walking out on official ceremonies with female vocalists.

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