He believed he had been shortchanged by the education he received. He felt unprepared for secular life and frustrated that he could not blend easily into American society.

So he turned outward, becoming one of the most prominent critics of the charedi community. Through advocacy groups, media projects, and public campaigns, he exposed what he saw as systemic flaws. He highlighted weak secular education and dependence on government assistance.

His activism triggered investigations, lawsuits, government hearings, and intense public scrutiny, and in the process intensified antisemitism. Yeshivos and community organizations felt that their core values and entire chinuch system were under attack and were forced to spend enormous sums on lawyers, lobbyists, and legal defenses.

When articles, statistics, and social media posts portrayed charedim as leeches on the system, many of those claims traced back to work Moster himself had helped produce. As he later admitted, “Much of the evidence circulating online about Haredi dependence on public assistance comes from reporting I helped produce.” At the time, he felt justified. He believed that public pressure was the only way to force change.

Then something unexpected happened.

When his eldest child reached school age, Moster faced a reality he had never fully considered. Despite all his criticism of religious schools, he found himself unable to send his son to a typical public school. He remembered what he had seen while interning in public schools: classrooms where misbehavior went unchecked and “political and ideological fads shaped curricula.”

Together with his wife, he chose a Modern Orthodox school instead. Strong academics. Serious Jewish education. A community bound by shared values. It forced him to admit something he had ignored for years. As he later wrote, “Education isn’t only about math and reading. It’s about belonging to a community that draws its strength from shared beliefs.”

Slowly, his view of the charedi world softened. He began to see what he had once dismissed. Large families. Strong communal bonds. A culture built around shared purpose and responsibility. “Few groups in the U.S. have figured out how to build stable families and vibrant communal life better than the Haredi community has,” he acknowledged.

Then came the viral video.

A young YouTuber named Tyler Oliveira released a sensational exposé of Kiryas Yoel, branding it a town “invaded by welfare addicted Jews.” The video spread rapidly, gaining tens of millions of views and triggering a wave of open antisemitism. Although it uncovered no actual fraud or criminal behavior, the message was clear: this strange religious community was parasitic, living off American taxpayers.

Years earlier, Moster would have applauded the attack. This time, he felt deep regret.

Instead of joining the pile on, he did something that would have seemed unthinkable a decade earlier. He wrote a public defense of the ultra Orthodox community in the Wall Street Journal (A Hasidic Rebel Grows Up   By Naftuli Moster, WSJ, Jan. 29, 2026).

In it, he openly distanced himself from his former stance and rejected Oliveira’s portrayal as false and damaging.

He explained that most of the men studying Torah in Kiryas Yoel also worked for a living, or would soon enter the workforce. Many earned solid incomes but still qualified for benefits simply because they had large families. Under New York law, they were playing by the same rules as everyone else.

More than that, he sensed something deeper behind the attack. Not outrage, but envy. Communities like Kiryas Yoel represented something many Americans quietly wanted: shared values, strong families, cultural continuity, and a sense of belonging.

“Given the chance,” he wrote, “many people would seize the opportunity to live among like minded neighbors, to educate their children according to their beliefs, and to preserve their culture.” The problem was not that Kiryas Yoel existed. The problem was that so few other communities had learned how to build anything like it.

“The answer isn’t to tear down communities like Kiryas Yoel,” he concluded. “The answer is to make it possible for others to build their own.”

If someone who spent years opposing the community could come to see its worth, then surely we who live it should appreciate and treasure what we have.

Rabbi Shraga Freedman author of Sefer Mekadshei Shemecha, Living Kiddush Hashem, and A Life Worth Living.

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