Tuesday, August 11, 2026

Insularity and Spiritual Purity

Belzer Chasidim at the graves of the Belzer Rebbes (YouTube)
How worthy is a way of life that rejects virtually all aspects of the general culture? And to what lengths is it legitimate to achieve success in maintaining that way of life? Does that mean total isolation from that culture except when absolutely necessary such as a hospitalization? How far must one go to achieve that level of insularity? How important is that insularity to one’s Jewish identity? And when does being insular go too far?

These are the thoughts that immediately occurred to me after reading about yet another conflict between state and religion. Only this one is in Canada, where their constitution protects freedom of worship, just as ours does.

This has been one of my pet peeves about Chasidism for as far back as I can remember. (Although, to be honest, the non-Chasidic Yeshiva world is doing its level best to catch up with them. But I digress.)

The ideology of insularity as a means of protecting oneself from influences foreign to Judaism has gone to such extremes in the Chasidic world that even the very language of the country is seen as a portal to the evils of society at large.

This is why, when you speak to members of certain Chasidic sects, you will hear them speak as though they were new immigrants. Often, they speak in grammatically incorrect ways. When it comes to writing, their spelling is about as accurate as that of a third grader. Their grammar is often no better.

They do this by choice, as a matter of distancing themselves from the surrounding culture. The more different they are from that culture, the less likely they are to participate in it and expose themselves to what they regard as its “evil” pitfalls.

Yiddish is their first language, and it is the language most often used in the home and among family and friends. English is used when necessary. All of this is a matter of communal choice.

Which brings me to what just happened in Montreal, where the languages of the land are both English and French. The following was reported in Arutz Sheva:

“Quebec provincial authorities have dealt a major blow to the Belz Hasidic education system in Montreal, announcing the sweeping cancellation of operating licenses for three major institutions—a kindergarten, a Talmud Torah, and a small yeshiva serving approximately 600 students…”

“The dramatic decision follows a lengthy series of inspections and monitoring efforts involving the institutions’ administration, some of which, according to authorities, have been ongoing since 2007…”

“Among the key deficiencies cited as leading to the drastic measure were a serious shortage of teachers qualified to teach in Quebec’s official languages, English and French; failure to provide the required number of instructional hours in core subjects; the use of unapproved educational materials; and safety concerns involving emergency exits.”

I do not wish these schools any harm. The fact that these children may be left without a school in the coming academic year would deny them any education altogether. Additionally, it places a grossly unfair burden on their parents.

But I have to ask: Why do these schools not comply with what seem like basic common-sense rules that every educational institution worthy of the name should have?

Is it really that difficult, for example, to have teachers who speak English or French properly…

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