The main streets and thoroughfares of ultra-Orthodox cities and neighborhoods on the eve of major holidays absolutely teem with activity, hustle and bustle, as their denizens go about their preparations, spiritual and temporal, for the impending festive meals, prayers and rituals.
This past Tuesday, on the eve of the seventh day of Passover, was vastly different.
Although social-distancing orders and restrictions on freedom of movement have been imposed on the general population, due to the coronavirus epidemic, the high level of infections in ultra-Orthodox neighborhoods led the government to impose even tighter lockdowns on those areas in recent days.
So while driving around the mostly empty roads of Jerusalem was eerie enough, the police checkpoints set up at the entrances to ultra-Orthodox neighborhoods served to further heighten the uncanny nature of the sector’s predicament.
And once through the police cordon and into the Bayit Vagan neighborhood’s central Hapisga Street, the atmosphere was odder still.
The street, which is often snarled up with numerous forms of vehicular traffic performing contortionist maneuvers of the most extreme nature, accompanied by the wailing protests of numerous car horns, was deserted.
Whereas it is usually a hive of activity, with men, women and children making their way to and from synagogues and grocery stores for the morning prayer service and to buy their holiday wares, on Tuesday morning a calm, cool stillness prevailed, punctuated by the call of songbirds usually drowned out by the clamor of the street.
But despite the preternatural quiet, there was another sound persistently floating out across the neighborhood from above.
It was the sound of individuals on their balconies, porches, or at open windows praying in what have become known as “balcony minyanim,” prayer services comprising 10 men, often in different apartment buildings, but in close enough proximity to constitute a quorum without leaving their homes.
This is the creative solution of the deeply religious residents of the ultra-Orthodox neighborhoods to the restraints the coronavirus epidemic has put on Jewish life, and is testament to their efforts to continue their religious observance in spite of any difficulties that may arise.
Despite the slower adherence to the social-distancing instructions, and then orders, by the ultra-Orthodox and its leadership, the community is now for the most part adhering to the directives.
The very few people to be found in the streets mostly wear some form of mask or face covering and appear to be on essential business such as grocery shopping.
And those who are out briefly appear stoical and even fatalistic about their situation, explaining that the current circumstances are, as is everything, the will of God.
EPHRAIM, NOT his real name, who was on his way to a grocery store early Tuesday morning in Bayit Vagan, was uncomplaining when asked how the lockdown has affected him and his family.
And in fact, the substance of Ephraim’s life has changed very little, even if his location has become fixed.
He is immersed full-time in religious learning, teaching and studying at the Kol Yaakov Yeshiva in Bayit Vagan.
Now he studies at home by himself, occasionally studying with a study partner over the phone, and prays in a “balcony minyan.”
“We believe that everything God does is for the good,” he said simply.
“God wants to test us, to see how we serve him when things are good and when they’re bad. So we will continue to serve Him in all circumstances. Right now things are less simple, but we will continue to pray and study and observe the commandments.”
Over in Har Nof, another ultra-Orthodox neighborhood under lockdown, the scenes and opinions are similar.
The streets were likewise deserted, while the sounds of the morning prayers drifted by overhead.
One prayer service was witnessed being conducted outside by a group of 10 men, in contravention of the government orders, although the men were well spaced apart.
In general, however, the neighborhood was quiet, the synagogues and yeshivot shuttered, and the residents remained indoors.
Eliezer David, an elderly man who was also on his way to a grocery store, was also phlegmatic about the current circumstances, and said that other outbreaks of disease had hit the Holy Land harder.
In particular, he said that inhabitants of the region had suffered to a greater extent in the Spanish flu pandemic of 1918 and 1919, and noted that his own grandfather had caught the disease in Tel Aviv and died there during the outbreak.
And he was uncomplaining about the loss of his prayer routine three times daily in synagogue, something he is not able to replicate on a balcony, since he has none.
Instead, he pointed out that the Talmud states that the tearful prayer always passes through the gates of Heaven.
“Today, with this tragedy, especially what has happened to the Jewish community in the US, who cannot cry?” he asked in reference to the hundreds of US Jews who have died in New York and New Jersey. “If a person prays with their whole heart, God hears these prayers and sees these tears.”
Eliezer said that he and his wife had held the Passover Seder alone, and that the experience without the rest of his family had been strange and lacking.
But this, too, he accepted with equanimity and forbearance.
“Yes, we miss our family, but people need to learn not to be spoiled; we must be able to forgo and restrain ourselves, to be patient,” said Eliezer.
Because of the delayed manner in which the ultra-Orthodox leadership and community adopted the social-distancing orders, and due to the outright and highly conspicuous opposition of a minority of extremists, elements in the media and general public have adopted an antagonistic attitude to the community.
Ephraim in Bayit Vagan said calmly that generalizations against the ultra-Orthodox were unfair and incorrect, and objected to the stereotype that has been made of the community.
But he nevertheless acknowledged that infection rates are higher in ultra-Orthodox neighborhoods, attributing this to the communal lifestyle of the community, and said he did not see closures as wrong.
Back in Har Nof, Eliezer was likewise tolerant and understanding of the shutdown on ultra-Orthodox neighborhoods.
But he did call for greater societal solidarity. True national unity is needed to cope with the contagion and its effects, he said, reacting to outspoken attacks in some quarters against the ultra-Orthodox community regarding how it is has handled the epidemic.
“The order of the hour is not to attack each other but, rather, to be united. Then God will have mercy on us all and stop this plague. We must not slander and besmirch each other. That is most important.”