Opposite the expensive neighborhoods of Tel Aviv - 4 rooms for about 6,300 shekels: So why are secular young people left out?

It only takes a very short distance to see the gap. On one side are Ramat HaHayal and Hadar Yosef in Tel Aviv, areas where young people struggle with rent that keeps climbing, and sometimes pay almost 6,000 shekels a month for an old two-room apartment. Not far from there, across the municipal border of Bnei Brak, stand new buildings in the Sofrim complex - where, today, one can find a four-room apartment for about 6,300 shekels, a three-and-a-half-room apartment for 5,800 shekels, a three-room apartment at a similar price, and a garden apartment for about 6,200 shekels.

On paper, this should be one of the most obvious alternatives for young people looking to stay in Gush Dan without spending a huge portion of their salary on rent. However, for Roy, Shahar, and Reut, three secular young people who looked for a home there, the price was only the first part of the story.

The Sofrim complex is a new neighborhood in northern Bnei Brak, built partly as part of the "Mechir LeMishtaken" (Price for the Resident) project. Haredim live there alongside secular people who arrived from different parts of the country. But recently, the tension that existed beneath the surface regarding the character of the neighborhood has broken out, mainly around driving on the Sabbath.

Last week, a fence was placed on the road in an attempt to prevent the passage of vehicles, and the police removed it after determining that the blockade was illegal. Yesterday, containers were already placed on the access road to the neighborhood. This time, too, police arrived, the containers were removed, and the road was reopened. The truck driver who placed them was summoned for questioning and claimed he was sent by the municipality. But for young people who considered moving to the neighborhood, the argument over the road is only an external expression of a much more fundamental question: is an apartment in the neighborhood really available to anyone who wants to live there?

"There is no room in this building for an apartment for two men"

Roy, 28, works in high-tech in the Ramat HaHayal area. Every morning he is a very short distance from the Sofrim complex, so for him, moving to the neighborhood seemed almost obvious: a new apartment, close to work, and at a price significantly lower than the options he found in Tel Aviv.

According to him, everything changed when he came to see one of the apartments together with his partner. "I tried to rent an apartment there, but the moment I arrived with my partner, I was told there was a problem with proceeding with a contract with me," he told Walla. According to him, he was told that "there is no room in this building for an apartment for two men" and that it is "not respectable." Roy says he was not prepared for what he heard. "I was in shock. I left there in tears. I asked myself, am I a disreputable person just because I am gay? I just wanted to rent an apartment, pay for it, and continue with my life."

In the end, he and his partner remained on the other side of the municipal border. "We compromised on a very old two-room apartment in Hadar Yosef, and we pay almost 6,000 shekels a month for it. And then you look at what they offer there: four new rooms for 6,300 shekels. How can you not go crazy from this gap?"

From his point of view, the question is no longer just economic. "Instead of bringing young people here, giving people the opportunity to live with dignity near their workplace, you feel that you are being pushed away. Why do I have to wear black and white to feel that I fit into the neighborhood? It is so close to me, and every time I pass through the area, I think about it again."

Roy also directs his anger at the policy that allowed, according to him, such a situation to develop. For him, a new neighborhood being built in an area where land and housing are so expensive should be an opportunity for connection between populations, not a place where a young person arriving to rent an apartment is required to explain who they live with and how they manage their life.

"It's better that you don't live here and look for another place"

For Shahar, 36, the encounter with the neighborhood was different, but the feeling that remained was similar. Shahar has been serving in the reserves for over a year and a half. During this period, he found himself leaving home again and again for long periods and returning for a short time. What he wanted, according to him, was simple: an apartment of his own to which he could return.

"You are in this reality for months, returning from reserve duty and wanting a place to lay your head," he says. "I didn't ask for anything special. I saw a new apartment at a price I could afford and said to myself, maybe I finally found it." According to him, when he came to see the apartment while identified as a reserve soldier, he heard neighbors in the area shouting: "We will die and not enlist." Later, according to him, the landlady asked him if he walks around in uniform a lot.

"I told her yes. Of course yes. When I return from reserve duty, I return in uniform, and with pride," he said. "And then she told me: to tell you the truth, it might create problems in the neighborhood. I don't want to receive complaints, it's better that you don't live here and look for another place." This sentence, according to him, stayed with him. "Another place? Of course I can look for another place. The problem is that another place costs much more money. A short distance from there, prices jump. So why can't I live in a new apartment at a price I can afford just because I return home in uniform?"

Shahar speaks with pain when he talks about the last year and a half. "I do reserve duty, I lost friends, life stopped for periods. And then you return and want the most basic thing in the world - a home. Not a benefit and not a gift. I pay rent like everyone else. And then you are told that your uniform can create problems."

From his point of view, this is exactly the point where the story of the Sofrim complex stops being a real estate discussion. "If they are building a new neighborhood in the center of the country, in an area where young people can barely afford to live - why cause some of them to feel that they don't fit in from the start? Why not the opposite? Why not say: this is a new neighborhood, come everyone?"

"They shouted at me 'Shiksa, go away from here' - and then a young child spat in my direction"

Reut, 24, also saw the Sofrim complex as an opportunity to leave her parents' house for the first time. When she started checking prices, the numbers seemed almost impossible compared to what she knew from the environment. A garden apartment for about 6,200 shekels was for her the kind of offer that makes you stop and look at the ad again. In other places, she found much smaller apartments at prices that approached this amount.

She arrived to see an apartment while wearing a tank top. According to her, only when she left the stairwell did she realize how much she did not feel welcome in the place. "I went outside and they shouted at me: 'Shiksa, go away from here, go away from here, shiksa'," she told Walla. "I was scared. I was really scared. I walked towards the car and was in shock."

According to her, a moment later a young child passed by her, who she estimated was about eight years old, and spat in her direction. "That's where it ended for me. I realized that even if the apartment is beautiful and the price is good, I will not live in a place where I leave the building and am afraid because of how I am dressed."

Reut gave up on the apartment. Today, according to her, she pays 5,500 shekels a month for a two-room apartment. "And that's what drives me crazy," she says. "I look at this neighborhood and say to myself: why don't I deserve to live here? Why can a garden apartment cost about 6,200 shekels there, and I have to pay 5,500 for two rooms just to feel that I can leave the house as I am?"

According to her, already during the search, she noticed details that made it clear to her that the apartments were designed also according to the needs of the religious and Haredi population. "I saw that there are two sinks in the apartments. For me, there is no problem with that. Really. A landlord can build two sinks, three sinks, whatever he wants. That's not the point at all. I can live perfectly fine with two sinks. But if I feel that they won't rent to me because I walk around in a tank top and don't keep the Sabbath, then the problem is no longer the kitchen."

"I didn't take the apartment - I knew I might go through hell there"

Reut says that a friend of hers who lives in the area has already encountered, according to her, difficulty moving her vehicle on the Sabbath after it was blocked. The recent events around the road blockades only strengthened her decision not to move. "Of course I didn't take the apartment," she says. "I knew I might go through hell there. But it still sits on my heart. I am 24 years old. I want to study, develop, save money. When so much of the salary goes to a small apartment, all these things are delayed. And then there is a new neighborhood almost next to you with much more sane prices, but you feel that it is not really for you."

And this is exactly the absurdity that the Sofrim complex presents today: a four-room apartment for about 6,300 shekels, three-and-a-half rooms for 5,800 shekels, three rooms for 5,800 shekels, and a garden apartment for 6,200 shekels. For young people trying to stay in the Tel Aviv area, these are prices that are hard to ignore.

But an apartment is not just a number in an ad. It is also the question of whether you will be able to leave the parking lot on the Sabbath, if you will feel comfortable entering the building in uniform, if you will be able to arrive with your partner without explaining yourself, and if a tank top will make you a target for shouting in the street.

It is important to say: secular people also live in the Sofrim complex, and there is no basis to determine that all apartment owners in the area refuse to rent to them or that all Haredi residents oppose their presence. The three interviewees tell about their personal experiences and the things that, according to them, were said to them - but when these testimonies connect to the open confrontations around driving on the Sabbath and the blockades that have already reached the road twice, it is hard to ignore the question they raise.

Especially in a period when young people are being pushed out of Tel Aviv because of housing prices, the Sofrim complex could have been a completely different story: a new neighborhood in a central location, at relatively accessible prices, that connects populations and allows even those who work in Ramat HaHayal or northern Tel Aviv to stay close.

The distance is short - but can feel much larger

Instead, Roy, Shahar, and Reut found themselves looking for an apartment elsewhere. The border between Tel Aviv and Bnei Brak in this case is very short. Sometimes it is only a few minutes' drive. But for a young person arriving with their partner, a reservist returning in uniform, or a 24-year-old young woman arriving to see an apartment in a tank top, at least according to their testimonies, this distance can feel much larger.

And the question that remains at the end is not whether it is allowed for a neighborhood to be Haredi - the question is different: when building a new neighborhood in the heart of one of the most expensive housing areas in Israel, who gets the opportunity to live in it - and is a price that seems accessible on paper really accessible to everyone?