Srugim, or The Modern Orthodox Singles Scene in Jerusalem

            There’s an Israeli TV show from about ten or fifteen years ago called Srugim that I’d been avoiding for quite a while. Srugim means “knitted,” or “crocheted” and it refers to the kippot (skullcaps) worn by the modern orthodox men featured in the series (I learned how to crochet kippot in Junior high, because girls were supposed to know how to make these for boys. No, really.) Especially in Israel, but also in the United States, you can tell which particular division of Judaism a man belongs to based on whether he’s wearing a crocheted kippah, a black suede or black velvet kippah, a Sephardi kippah (these are actually more like hats and are incredibly beautiful), or a large white kippah, and, of course, if you wear a black hat over your black kippah you are probably ultra-orthodox, but the style of hat will differ depending on which group you belong to. These careful decisions about what to wear on your head allow people to know who’s in the group and who’s an outsider, kind of like how high school students can tell from across a crowded lunchroom who’s in drama club, who’s a jock, and who wants to be the next Mark Zuckerberg.

I’d watched the first episode of Srugim a few years ago, on the recommendation of my best friend from high school who moved to Israel many years ago. We like a lot of the same things, so it surprised me how much I hated this show, or at least that first episode. It wasn’t actually the show overall so much as this one character who just made me angry, and I wasn’t sure if the writers of the show wanted me to like him and tolerate his obnoxious behavior or if they recognized how much of a jerk he was. And, really, I didn’t have the patience to deal with him either way.

            When we got our Chaiflicks subscription (a Jewish streaming service) last winter, I tried to watch that first episode again, because, really, how could my friend love this show and I couldn’t even watch more than one episode? But I still couldn’t tolerate that one guy.

            I kept seeing the show on my watchlist, though, each time I jumped over it to watch something else, and I kept wanting to erase it, but I couldn’t. Finally, a few weeks ago, I decided to try again, this time starting with episode two. And I was hooked! It turned out that the writers absolutely knew this guy was an asshole, and wanted to show how his behavior impacted the people around him, especially the woman who was falling in love with him.  As I watched episode after episode, I realized that the whole point of the show was that these young modern orthodox Jewish singles in Jerusalem are as complex and confused as everyone else, even if their lives looked very buttoned up from the outside.

            Of course, the show is in Hebrew (with English subtitles – before being on Chaiflicks it was on more mainstream American streaming services), so I can tell myself that I’m watching it as homework to help build my Hebrew listening skills.

            The show starts when the main characters are on the brink of being “too old” at age thirty to make good matches in the modern orthodox world (though the age for a good match seems to be rising as women have been going to school and starting professions before marriage).

            Other popular shows recently have focused more on the ultra-orthodox Jewish world (though there are many ultra-orthodox communities and they are not all the same), rather than the modern orthodox, because they live more isolated lives, avoiding popular culture, including television and smartphones. I’m fascinated by those closed worlds too, but the modern orthodox Jewish singles portrayed in Srugim are trying to straddle two worlds, engaging in the modern world of culture and technology and feminism and professional lives, while also trying to maintain religious laws and traditions, and, for me, that’s much more interesting.

            I went to an orthodox Jewish day school (in New York) for Junior high and high school, and I felt like an outsider the whole time, because I could never master all of the rules, let alone believe in them. I kept being overwhelmed by how perfect everyone else seemed to be, on the surface, and how simple and clear their lives looked, with all of their choices made for them.

            It took me a long time to understand that my classmates were struggling just as much as I was, and if anything, they felt more pressure to hide their struggles than I did, and to avoid being judged by their community for the ways they inevitably fell short. Something about watching these characters on Srugim, who are like adult versions of my old classmates, has made me see my old friends (and enemies) more clearly and with more compassion. They get embarrassed too, and feel not good enough sometimes, and get lonely, and struggle to keep all of the rules, or struggle to want to. They can fall for the wrong guy, or be the wrong guy, while still wearing a kippah or keeping kosher and following all of the obvious rules. Being religious doesn’t protect them from life, though for some it is able to offer guidance and comfort along the way.  

            My high school best friend (the one who recommended Srugim) lived in Jerusalem during her twenties, and though she’d told me some of the highs and lows of those years along the way, I didn’t really get it. Her life seemed so clear and straightforward compared to the incoherent chaos and fear I lived with at that time. I took a lot of comfort in the idea that at least she was doing okay. But now I’m getting a fuller picture of what she lived through, with all of the blind dates and coffee meetups and the endless pressure to find “the one” in order to start her real life (aka, having children). I should have known better, given how well I knew her, but at the time I wasn’t up to understanding that everyone’s life is complicated.

            Often, when I only see the Facebook or Instagram versions of orthodox lives (the beautifully baked challah on the perfectly set Shabbat table, all seven kids lined up in age order and well-behaved), I forget that behind those images are real lives, with temper tantrums and burned meals and lost jobs and grief and betrayals.

            There’s something about being a religious Jew that moves me, though Not the way the rabbis are in charge of everything and the rules are so strict, but the way that every event of the day, every simple handwashing or meal or walk, takes on meaning, because it is acknowledged by a ritual or a blessing. I love the way life is meant to be something to treasure: even when you are bored or confused or angry, there’s a prayer or a lesson from the Talmud to help you through it and to acknowledge that this is life and every moment of it, however painful, has value. It’s like a complex piece of music, where each note matters: each pause, each cacophony, each harmony, each predictable scale or unexpected resolution, is an important part of the whole.

            One of the main characters on Srugim goes through her own crisis of faith, partially because she falls in love with a non-religious man, but mostly because she realizes that even though she grew up in the religious world, it doesn’t really fit her, or at least it doesn’t allow for all of who she is. And watching her gradually find her own way forward, while still holding onto the friends who remain in that world, without the show ever judging which way is right or wrong, was really validating. It reminded me of something I’ve known for a long time, but always need to re-learn: being religious isn’t supposed to be a way to hide from the difficulties of life, even if many people try to use it that way, like my father did. Being religious is meant to be a way to help you get through it, and to remember what’s important to you when you are overwhelmed with all of the chaos that keeps pulling you off track.

Even among the religious characters on the show, each one has their own relationship with the laws they follow, and how deeply they think about their choices, or not; some feel deeply connected to God and some seem to follow all the rules by rote, and the same people can do it all differently at different times in their lives.

I was sure I’d missed a lot on my first binge through the three seasons of the show (I watched 45 episodes in about a week and a half), so I was thrilled when my mom was interested in watching it through from the beginning with me, at a somewhat slower pace. And on second viewing I’m noticing a lot more details, of course, but I’m also feeling more, allowing myself to sit with these characters and their certainties and doubts and their mistakes and their deep love for each other. It feels like these characters are my friends now, even the one I hated at the beginning (though he still pisses me off on a regular basis), and I’m allowing myself to know them as they are, and accept them as they are, without (too much) judgement.

I saw an article online saying that the creator of the show tried to make a sequel a few years ago, showing this same community in the next phase of their lives. I don’t know if anything came of that effort, but if they ever get a chance to make that show, I will be watching.

Srugim trailer – https://youtu.be/zbxgf3cNV4U?si=m7eUiplvnZ6x9a-H

Srugim theme song – https://youtu.be/OrvMH0hQClQ?si=kD4KQP3S7_EL7pUR

If you haven’t had a chance yet, please check out my Young Adult novel, Yeshiva Girl, on Amazon. And if you feel called to write a review of the book, on Amazon, or anywhere else, I’d be honored.

            Yeshiva Girl is about a Jewish teenager on Long Island, named Isabel, though her father calls her Jezebel. Her father has been accused of inappropriate sexual behavior with one of his students, which he denies, but Izzy implicitly believes it’s true. As a result of his problems, her father sends her to a co-ed Orthodox yeshiva for tenth grade, out of the blue, and Izzy and her mother can’t figure out how to prevent it. At Yeshiva, though, Izzy finds that religious people are much more complicated than she had expected. Some, like her father, may use religion as a place to hide, but others search for and find comfort, and community, and even enlightenment. The question is, what will Izzy find?