At your work, Pilates, in the reserves, at the table next to you in the café, in the apartment opposite, in the Paybox group that opened - we are there, with you, by your side. The ones you tend to call "lite," or say to them (doubtful to ask) "But you're not really religious(?)." Those who, in an in-depth conversation, will throw at them, "Well, you don't represent." We? We will remain embarrassed, not understanding whether it is a compliment or an insult. For the most part, we will smile submissively and with a slight blush. Because the truth? We got used to it.
We have become accustomed to accepting definitions of mediocrity, which correspond with diminishing words like "compromise," "lite," and "not really." We were so devoted to it that sometimes we began to believe it. The "mehadrin" even present themselves this way. But inside, deep down, we know otherwise.
We know that there is no description that describes our worldview more deeply than "religious Zionism." We know that we feel at home with the combination of Torah and work. And even though it seems to the bystander that work consumes most of our lives, the language that comes with this definition is our native language. We still present our age according to the tribe in Bnei Akiva, during Shabbat observance we will speak in terms of craftsmen, we have not weaned ourselves from fear of a "slippery slope", and when someone behaves in an extreme way next to us - we will rush to speak in terms of sanctification or blasphemy.
It's hard to pinpoint when we gave up. Did the bourgeois and capitalist pace prevail – or were we embarrassed so much by our brothers and sisters that we began to distance ourselves and blend into an amorphous world devoid of definitions?
It seems that while we were busy, our devout brothers in the sector developed a language. When we were asleep, there were those who cared about investing in ideology. And so, over the years, with admirable devotion, Torah nuclei have emerged in almost every city in Israel, and jargon has developed that includes discourse on "guarding," "defense," and "war of civilizations." While we didn't even realize we had to form an opinion, the light on the stage went out, and our girls started dancing in performances at Bnei Akiva in the dark, with only ultraviolet light and gloves hinting at their presence.
When we were in "estoppel" mode, a party arose that bears the name of all of us. She did not apologize or ask permission, but she drew a clear line between those who are "religious Zionists" and those who are no longer "religious Zionists." Who's inside and who's out. A deep-rooted ideological movement – out, a contemporary political party to identify with or oppose – is none. And we were gone.
And we have no one to blame but ourselves. For while conservatism creates active enterprises and key roles, and liberalism creates actions and institutions, moderation seems to create nothing. It seems to have no jargon, no uniqueness. It is perceived as empty, as a compromise, as "fur" - and who wants to see themselves as tortillas or margarine?
So we gave up.
But the Israeli reality, which knocks so our doors, may show us otherwise. Because the rope seemed to be stretched, and with it the ends moved away, but just like pulling a rope, its center also lengthened. Perhaps there is reason to believe that there are more of us today – religious, moderate, lost. They don't know how, but they feel in their gut that this is the time for moderation to raise its head and act.
Because maybe "fur" is the new taste. Perhaps in a reality that tries to produce new and extreme flavors, there is a yearning for simplicity, for a connecting hyphen, for moderate religiosity. One that does not come to "light up the city." One that is mixed with the general public in simple harmony. One that does not pride itself on not fulfilling all the 33 mitzvot, but which also does not allow itself to distribute grades to those who choose otherwise. One that will observe Passover religiously, and at the same time cringe at the thought of rummaging through someone's bag. One that does not necessarily know how to cite a variety of sources, but is devoted to the story of "finding and miserable." One that stops apologizing for moderation, and understands that moderation is an ideology.
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