I finally gathered the courage to talk to my first group of besuited men on a train toward Times Square, where we'd transfer to the 7 and ride that into Queens for the rally. They were very shy. Most were in their 30s or older, though a proud 8th grader was tagging along with his dozen elders. Some of them carried Hebrew books, some of them were even reading them as we rode, and few of them wouldn’t give me the time of day. It seemed more modesty than rudeness, however, so I pressed on.

The first man I had a real conversation with, a tall, soft man in his mid-thirties, lives entirely with no internet, both at work and home, and has never had it. It didn't seem like he was putting in any active effort to avoid Google and Reddit, it simply didn’t factor into his life. I must've sounded too eager, however, because he soon dove back into the pack, and avoided me for the rest of the trip.

Next I talked to a man with the soulful eyes and striking beard of a conflicted Hollywood protagonist. He was clutching a religious tome to his chest, and attempted to merely tolerate me, but answered all of my questions despite himself. In his opinion, you have to control the internet, but you can't live without it. He personally has no connection at home, but he uses it at work over Wi-Fi on his iPad. His work, naturally, is to study the Talmud, and his iPad affords him a much more portable way to carry his innumerable books on the subject.

The 8th grader, watching our conversation closely, crowed that he doesn't even know how to turn a computer on, and he got a quiet lecture from this ruggedly handsome elder that I wasn't able to overhear.

Exiting the 7, at the second-to-last stop on the line, I let myself get swept toward the stadium with the black-clad group. As we went up some steps, I saw the deep, concerned eyes of my recent interviewee notice a young Hispanic girl's struggle getting an empty stroller up the stairs, and he reached down to help her, then walked away without acknowledging her thanks. What conflict, what internal torment. Were this man to take up acting, he could have the IMDb page of a god.

Joined by two camera-equipped coworkers, who had kept a safe distance as I slathered on my charm on the train, I began to really struggle getting the time of day from attendees loitering in front of Citi Field. Some of them looked genuinely scared of the cameras, others exuded merely a holy shyness: one person told me that he, and most Orthodox, "avoid publicity." Others simply didn't speak English.

Some talked to me after I guaranteed them I'd keep the cameras from rolling. Every time someone began talking, usually eloquently and heartfelt, a crowd of his peers gathered around us, pressing in close to hear how he was expressing his faith — or perhaps curious to hear how I'd undercut it.

As people started to warm up to the camera, or to accept the inevitability of the press's presence, I began to get some real interviews, but I still couldn't get a straight story about the purpose of the gathering. Some men wanted me to know that this was a rally about the internet, not against the internet, as I might've been told. "It's just to make it Kosher," one man said, meaning a Rabbi-approved use.

Others just called the rally — "not a protest!" — an expression of unity, and seemed little interested in the specifics. Everyone I spoke to, however, had some method of regulating their internet intake. A slight majority seemed to have some form of internet in their home, but it was rarely used, or used only for work, and was always subject to a filter, or some other form of accountability.

"It's about being aware of the dangers," said one man, "you need to protect your family, your kids." He pointed out that it's about what your goals are, and making sure the internet doesn't effect that: "We have to make sure that tech isn't our life."