To many Orthodox Jews, it is forbidden for men to listen to women sing, and in the most rigid circles any sort of public performance by a woman is frowned upon. In the past few years, however, it has been common for female haredi actors and musicians to put on plays, concerts, and the like for audiences made up of women alone. The anthropologist Jessica Roda explores this phenomenon in a recent book. Lauren Hakimi writes in her review:

Roda, who grew up in a secular environment in French Guiana in South America, became personally interested in haredi life in 2015 when the deaths of two loved ones pushed her to explore her religiosity. Living in Montreal at the time, she joined a group that was dedicated to supporting people who’d left the community. She also taught anthropology to haredi women. She started interviewing artists who’d left the community, and from there, met people who were still part of it, in both Montreal and New York City.

Roda’s book chronicles a recent historical development. It used to be that haredi female singing and dancing was mostly relegated to the world of girls’ schools and summer camps. Now, it’s become a viable career option. Roda attributes this cultural development to several factors: the advent of a haredi content and entertainment industry, social media, and an increasing cultural emphasis on self-care and government programs that fund it. . . . The book also shines a light on the blurry boundaries between people who are part of the community and those who have left.

If Iran succeeds in obtaining nuclear weapons, the war in Gaza, let alone the protests on college campuses, will seem like a minor complication. Jonathan Schachter fears that this danger could be much more imminent than decisionmakers in Jerusalem and Washington believe. In his view, Israel seems to be repeating the mistake that allowed it to be taken by surprise on Simchat Torah of 2023 and Yom Kippur of 1973: putting too much faith in an intelligence concept that could be wrong.

Israel and the United States apparently believe that despite Iran’s well-documented progress in developing capabilities necessary for producing and delivering nuclear weapons, as well as its extensive and ongoing record of violating its international nuclear obligations, there is no acute crisis because building a bomb would take time, would be observable, and could be stopped by force. Taken together, these assumptions and their moderating impact on Israeli and American policy form a new Iran concept reminiscent of its 1973 namesake and of the systemic failures that preceded the October 7 massacre.

Meanwhile, most of the restrictions put in place by the 2015 nuclear deal will expire by the end of next year, rendering the question of Iran’s adherence moot. And the forces that could be taking action aren’t:

The European Union regularly issues boilerplate press releases asserting its members’ “grave concern.” American decisionmakers and spokespeople have created the unmistakable impression that their reservations about the use of force are stronger than their commitment to use force to prevent an Iranian atomic bomb. At the same time, the U.S. refuses to enforce its own sanctions comprehensively: Iranian oil exports (especially to China) and foreign-currency reserves have ballooned since January 2021, when the Biden administration took office.

Israel’s response has also been sluggish and ambiguous. Despite its oft-stated policy of never allowing a nuclear Iran, Israel’s words and deeds have sent mixed messages to allies and adversaries—perhaps inadvertently reinforcing the prevailing sense in Washington and elsewhere that Iran’s nuclear efforts do not present an exigent crisis.