Tel Aviv’s booming science and technology industry, bolstered by graduates of elite state intelligence units, has earned Israel the nickname “start-up nation”.
Yet in Bnei Brak, an ultra-Orthodox suburb just a few miles east of Tel Aviv’s skyscrapers, a vicious fight is unfolding over whether smartphones are compatible with traditional Jewish law - and who should have the power to decide on internet access.
Israel’s ultra-Orthodox, or Haredim, population, has grown to make up 12% of the country; according to one study, one in four Israelis will be ultra-Orthodox by 2050.
Much of the community still shuns television and other mass media, which is viewed as a threat to their way of life. The first wave of mobile phones was dealt with by creating kosher handsets, which could only make and receive calls from other blessed numbers, identifiable by the prefix 05331, and did not have cameras or internet capability.
The rise of the smartphone, however, is making it harder for the community to get by without using the internet. In Israel, as in many high income countries, municipal service provision, filing taxes and accessing bank accounts has mostly moved online.
The Haredim’s solution so far has been to continue with “dumb” phones, or to allow smartphones that come with content blocking filters preinstalled: the only apps on a typical kosher smartphone’s home screen are a clock, calculator, and navigation software.
Only one body – the Rabbinical Committee for Communications – has the power to issue kosher certificates for Israel’s estimated 500,000 kosher mobile phones. It is an opaque and influential operation which can screen numbers, content and the flow of information as it pleases.
“The rabbis used to say: ‘Stay away from Allenby Street in the middle of Tel Aviv, it’s sinful.’ But now anyone can go to Allenby Street on their phone. The idea originally was to keep the community safe from impure culture,” said Israel Cohen, a prominent Haredi political commentator.
“It is rare for the Haredi community to agree on anything but many people think the committee is out of touch.”
Members have alleged that blocked numbers include news and public transport hotlines still widely used by Haredim, and even numbers for medical and domestic violence services. Kosher numbers also cannot be transferred to non-kosher providers, severely limiting competition.
The Guardian made several unsuccessful attempts to contact the committee for comment.
Lawsuits challenging the monopoly, which Israeli media has estimated is worth upwards of 75m shekels (£18m) a year, have had limited success. Late last year, Israel’s communications ministry tried to hold hearings on abolishing the system, based on a legal opinion from the state competition authority, but was met with fury from some community leaders. Those proposals have now been stymied by the collapse of the short-lived coalition government last month.
Ultimately, however, the Rabbinical Committee for Communications may be fighting a losing battle. Recent research by the Israel Democracy Institute found that members of the ultra-Orthodox community are gradually integrating the online world into their lifestyles, with two-thirds using the internet for basic needs such as email, work, accessing government services, banking and information searches. About half of those who are online are also using social media networks.
For Uriel Diament, who runs a small phone shop on the main shopping street in Bnei Brak, change can’t come quickly enough. His kosher certificate was suspended earlier this year after he spoke out against the monopoly; his business and staff have been attacked several times, and the windows and door broken by crowds of angry young men he says were whipped into a frenzy by their rabbis.
“The strategy is to go shop to shop and intimidate the sellers. The [demonstrators] are lied to, they tell them I’m selling iPhones with internet access to 13-year-olds, but that’s not true. It’s not about serving God; they’re a mafia,” the 39-year-old said.
During the Guardian’s visit to Diament’s shop, a middle-aged man entered and shouted at the staff, calling them “collaborators who are disobedient to the rabbis”.
“The times have changed,” Diament said after the man had left. “They can’t put their heads in the sand forever.”
