Haredim on the Hill
- J.P. Katz
- 1 hour ago
- 3 min read
Haredim on the Hill: Idealism, Land, and the Cost of Raising a Family
Watch the full interview here:
Haredim on the Hill: A Conversation About Idealism, Land, and the Housing Reality
What used to be a modest four-story building across the street is now slated to become a nineteen-story tower. “I’ll see nothing but buildings,” he says matter-of-factly. “When that sages said that the ‘air of the land of Israel makes one more wise,’ living in 19 story towers is not what they meant.” He feels that such civil engineering gives people the sense that this place was ever meant for families like his.
Isn’t urban renewal supposed to solve the housing crisis?
Ephraim doesn’t dismiss the idea. He acknowledges the pressure Israel faces—too many people, too little land, soaring prices. But he describes the lived reality behind the policy language. For large families struggling to survive on modest incomes, density often means smaller apartments, higher costs, and a quality of life that steadily erodes. He explains that “People are dying, trying to survive.” Although people generally don’t wear their personal financial struggles on their sleeves, it is clear to anyone with their eyes, ears and hearts open that the struggle is real.
As the conversation shifts, the film cuts from the crowded city to open hills. The contrast is intentional. Standing in the open landscape, Ephraim’s tone changes. “Hashem gave this to us,” he says, gesturing toward the land. “Not to one group. Not to people who dress a certain way. To all of Am Yisrael.”
Why does this matter so much?
Ephraim explains, housing is not just about shelter. It is about dignity. It is about whether families raising many children—often with limited means—are given a future that is livable. They’re not looking for villas, they’re looking for space to breathe. Light. Stability. A place where raising children doesn’t feel like a daily emergency.
The conversation deepens. Ephraim situates the housing crisis within a broader national struggle over land. “People think the war is only in Gaza, or on the borders,” he tells the interviewer. “But the real fight is over every inch of this land.” Who gets to live where? Who gets to expand? Who gets boxed in?
Is this ideology or survival?
"Not everything is about real estate." There are no signs saying "come live here." Efraim explains, "There are things in life that are more important than real estate. This is something different. A place where nobody has gone before. There are things that my children will get that an average person building in Afula or the periphery wouldn't get."
He hopes that people will see what they're doing and begin to build new communities in the Galil where the Jewish population is diminishing. He believes that only the religious people who have faith will go to such places regardless of the threats.
Ephraim pauses and explains that idealism comes first—the belief that the land of Israel belongs to the Jewish people as a whole. Torah comes to life when you’re building gardens and setting up neighborhoods together with your neighbors. Property law and shmita and halacha have been discussions with his neighbors in Ramot neighborhood in Jerusalem. However, there is a practical necessity of pioneering new communities in Judea Samaria as well. Large families face an impossible equation: wages that don’t keep up, housing prices that soar, and planning policies that assume vertical living is a universal solution.
For Ephraim, that assumption ignores cultural and economic realities. High-rises work for some people, but when you have many children, when your life is centered around family and community, it becomes unlivable.
What if nothing changes?
Families will fall deeper into poverty. Communities will fracture. And resentment will grow—not because of ideology, but because of neglect. When people feel there’s no place for them, they don’t disappear. They suffer.
What makes Haredim on the Hill striking is the absence of slogans. Ephraim does not speak in anger. He speaks in practical terms—about rent, space, sunlight, and children sharing bedrooms. His idealism is grounded in necessity.
Is this only about the Haredi public?
According to Ephraim, this is about what kind of country we’re building. If we can’t plan for families who are struggling the most, then the system is broken.
As the conversation comes to a close, the open hills remain in frame. They are not presented as a demand, but as a question. Can Israel reconcile its ideals with its planning? Can a nation built on continuity make room—literally—for those trying to carry that continuity forward?
Ephraim doesn’t claim to have the solution. But he leaves the interviewer, and the viewer, with a challenge: affordable housing is not a favor. It is the difference between survival and collapse for families living at the edge.
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