THE Council of Torah Greats, a forum of some of the most distinguished ultra-Orthodox (or Haredi) rabbis in Israel, gathered on June 30th to discuss a “great spiritual danger”. WhatsApp, a messaging app for smartphones, it turns out, has become a popular method for their followers to form groups for exchanging gossip and even “immodest” images and video clips.

So the rabbis issued a long list of edicts including an injunction to stop using WhatsApp, and instructions to purchase only specially programmed smartphones with filters keeping out all but rabbinically-approved data services. To enforce the prohibitions, they declared that those who are found to own non-kosher devices will have their children expelled from ultra-Orthodox schools and will not be allowed to work in their institutions.

This is only the latest round in a long struggle by the rabbis to keep modern media from corrupting their community. It used to be simple, for the spiritual leaders of the section of religious Judaism that believes in cutting itself off from the secular world, to keep hostile influences out. Televisions were large cumbersome appliances, which needed prominent antennae and could not be hidden away. Owning one was immediate grounds for ostracism. Secular newspapers could be bought only outside Haredi neighbourhoods, and had to be read on the sly.

Without competition from television, print journalism has continued to flourish among the Haredim; three daily newspapers and dozens of weekly and monthly magazines cater specifically for them. All these publications are subject to rabbinical supervision and often censorship. They adhere to a strict code. Photographs of women (even modestly dressed), are banned, as are references to sexual issues or reporting on violent crime. Deference towards rabbis is compulsory. So, too, is a clear conviction that a God-fearing and Torah-observant life is the only one, while a secular lifestyle is a one-way path to depravity. The internet has changed all that.

The rabbis tried banning computers from homes. But they were forced to concede that these were necessary for work purposes, so they next tried to forbid them from being connected to the internet. In recent years, though, these prohibitions have become irrelevant; mobile web-connected devices have largely replaced the earlier generations of cellular phones.

The ultra-Orthodox community’s purchasing power is such that Israeli mobile-phone providers agreed to market special “kosher connection” smartphones, without the offending apps and allowing only carefully regulated information services. To make sure the faithful use them, these devices have their own group of phone numbers and a distinctive ringtone. But many younger Haredim have ignored the edict, or instead buy two mobile devices: one for calls within the community, while tucked away in another pocket is a smartphone to keep up with the outside world. The path of righteousness is not easy.