Abstract
This study examines aspects of ethnic, religious, and moral boundary work among Jewish-Israeli kosher slaughterers based, on 35 in-depth interviews, four ethnographic observations, informal conversations, and other secondary sources such as video footage of the slaughter sites gathered between 2014 and 2019. In Israel, the self-proclaimed sovereign homeland of the Jewish people, being Jewish means being part of the political, ethnic, and religious hegemony. While being stigmatized for doing dirty work, the Jewish slaughterers’ workplace setting groups them with menial laborers from a minority ethnic group, both physically and organizationally. The stigma associated with animal killing in Israel encourages the slaughterers to distinguish themselves from other workers by engaging in boundary work. Within the workplace setting, this boundary work occurs around various aspects of intersecting identities: racio-ethnic, national, religious, and professional. Furthermore, this boundary work is fueled by various organizational mechanisms such as the slaughter site’s spatial architecture, differential wage structure, and the use of tools and technologies. While these workplace conditions are determined by the employers, they are constantly restructured and reinforced by the slaughterers to assert their moral superiority vis-a-vis other workers. While exploring these organizational mechanisms, I conceptualize the Jewish slaughter knife as a boundary-maintaining object. I claim that the slaughterers constantly leverage these material, symbolic, and discursive resources to morally segregate the two workers’ groups and the morally tainted aspects of slaughter, such as violence and cruelty, to the ‘Arab’ others. Meanwhile, the prevailing Jew–Arab tensions and the popular symbolic representation of the Arabs ensures that these behaviors are treated as an inherent racio-ethnic trait, thereby reinforcing these boundaries.
Keywords
Introduction
Religious slaughter is fundamentally different from other (non-religious) forms of animal killing in the meat industry (Grandin, 1988; Perlo, 2009; Serpell, 1986). Specifically, in the context of Jewish slaughter (shechitah), the act of slaughter for meat is strictly regulated by the relevant laws imposed by Judaism. Jewish slaughter is a complex act requiring precision. It is one of the oldest and most respected professions undertaken within the ultra-Orthodox religious Jewish communities, especially because of its close association with kosher food—a prominent facet of Judaism.
A Jewish slaughterer’s (shochet) work is considered sacred, similar to that performed by other religious practitioners, such as circumcisers. It requires comprehensive knowledge of religious commandments, laws, customs, and traditions and a special license that is granted only after a rigorous training.
Traditionally, only the shochets can slaughter animals, an activity that was largely community-centric before industrial slaughterhouses were institutionalized. However, modern meatpacking factories require additional staff to assist in slaughter-related tasks that are not directly related to kashrut (kosher) requirements. The slaughterers and the kashrut team, 1 who are necessarily Jewish religious men, often end up working alongside low-status, often Arab, workers who oversee aspects that require no special training (e.g. handling the animals and rushing them to the slaughter area). In livestock kosher slaughter, for example, the shochet encounters an animal that is already restrained by a worker or a special device and does not need to exercise physical force, except moving the knife against its neck.
Slaughterhouses worldwide are considered sites of ‘dirty work’ (Ashforth et al., 2007; Ashforth and Kreiner, 2014; Baran et al., 2016; Simpson et al., 2014), where workers regularly deal with the blood, secretions, and bodily remains of the slaughtered animals. Consequently, they are stigmatized as physically, socially, or morally tainted spaces (Ashforth and Kreiner, 1999, 2014; Hughes, 1964) that employ immigrants and marginalized people receiving low or minimum wages (Cudworth, 2011a, 2011b; Eisnitz, 2007; Hamilton and McCabe, 2016; Leduff, 2003; Pachirat, 2011). However, Israel’s Kosher slaughter industry is unique because of its a priori distinction between the Jewish kashrut team and other workers at the slaughter site. This distinction has further racio-ethnic, religious, and economic implications. For instance, the kosher slaughterers are Jewish and receive relatively high salaries (about three times the minimum wage in Israel) as they are considered highly skilled and trained experts. In contrast, most other workers are Arab (mainly Palestinians and Bedouins). Being non-unionized, contractual workers, they receive minimum wages and are considered more exploitable and inexpensive (Sharabi, 2010). Moreover, despite their internal diversity, they are often homogenized by their Jewish coworkers who simply call them ‘Arabs.’
Working in a profession that involves tainted aspects and bears stigma, workers often try to negotiate their identity and value, sometimes by relocating moral pollution (Ashforth et al., 2007). In the present context, Jewish slaughterers delegate moral taint to Arab workers while enhancing their moral status (following Graeber, 2011).
Scholars have extensively researched the ways in which ethnic groups construct, negotiate, and maintain their boundaries (Barth, 1969; Brubaker, 2009; Lamont, 1992, 2000; Wimmer, 2009). In Israeli slaughterhouses, the boundaries between Jewish and Arab groups are constructed based on differential practical categories (Khazoom, 1999, 2003) pertaining to religion (Ophir and Rosen-Zvi, 2018), nationality, and professional status (Nabil, 2005; Sharabi, 2010; Yaish, 2001). However, this study extends the discursive mechanisms of boundary work to include the role of organizational settings and material culture, namely, through spatial architecture, wage structure, and the tools of the trade that help negotiate and maintain morally laden boundaries.
The spatial architecture in slaughterhouses is distinct because of their geographical separation from their surroundings (Lee, 2008; Philol, 1995) and internal compartmentalization (Pachirat, 2011). The workers, who are already divided along racio-ethnic, national, and religious lines, perform distinct tasks, such that the use of force and violence is delegated to Arab workers, who end up carrying the moral taint of being cruel.
This perception of cruelty is further cemented by the wage structure. Unlike the Jewish slaughterers who operate on hourly rates, Arab workers receive daily wages. Thus, they wish to pace their work, which sometimes ends with impatience or use of force against the animals.
This study also examines the Jewish slaughterers’ slaughter knife as a boundary-maintaining object within the slaughterhouses’ material and organizational setting. When juxtaposed with the electrical rods and sticks used by the Arab workers, the knife takes the cultural significance as a ‘moral tool’ that further reproduces the workers’ ethnic boundaries (Hegeman, 1991).
Overall, this study contributes to the literature by elaborating how these settings and materials supplement the pre-existing racio-ethnic, national, religious, and status-oriented differentiations to construct and maintain moral boundaries between these groups.
Methods
This study draws from my research on Israeli slaughterers conducted at Bar-Ilan University, Israel, from 2014–2019. In-depth interviews and observations were used as primary sources of information; informal conversations and textual sources (such as canonical literature, pamphlets, and leaflets) constituted the secondary sources.
The findings presented in this article are mainly based on 35 in-depth, semi-structured interviews with Jewish workers from Israel’s animal slaughter industry. Thirty of them either practiced or still practice animal slaughter after being appropriately trained. The rest are also directly connected to the industry and profession (e.g. as slaughterhouse kashrut supervisors). The interlocutors were 24–80 years old, living in different parts of Israel, mainly in ultra-Orthodox communities. These communities comprise a distinctive population; hence, interviewing them requires cultural sensitivity and conformity to local cultural codes (Rier et al., 2008). As a woman conducting research among these people, I was often met with suspicion. I relied on previous connections to establish trust but still encountered many difficulties and considerable resistance to participate in the research. All the final participants provided informed consent to participate in the research, and the interviews were transcribed and thematically analyzed.
Additional data were collected through four ethnographic observations at the slaughter sites. As in many places around the world, access to slaughter sites in Israel is limited. The few observations I made were facilitated by my past connections with key informants who worked on-site and provided me with access. Secondary sources of information—mainly video recordings obtained from animal rights activists, who recorded various aspects of the slaughterhouses - provided more insights regarding slaughter practices. I watched approximately 12 hours of footage that mainly reinforced what I gathered from the interviews and observations.
As Carter and Fenton (2010) claim, ethnographic methods help us observe how boundaries are delineated in personal interactions. Rather than characterizing Arab workers themselves, this study illustrates the discursive and symbolic resources utilized by Jewish slaughterers to define themselves in opposition to others. The interviews disclose the slaughterers’ conceptualizations of the Arab workers, as a nation, religion, and ethnos and a symbolic other, which have moral implications (following Edgell et al., 2006).
Ethnicity, identities, and intersectionalities at the slaughter site
This study focuses on boundary work among two groups of workers in Israeli slaughterhouses: one comprising the kashrut team’s ultra-Orthodox Jewish members, particularly the slaughterers; the other comprising Arab workers, mostly Israeli citizens, working as manual, unskilled laborers. This study avoids categorizing the two groups solely along racio-ethnic lines, as such categorizations are oversimplistic and hide additional complexities and multiplicities of identities. However, while many identity aspects affect the Jewish slaughterers and Arab workers’ relationship, this study will dissect the intersection of nationality and racio-ethnicity, while other aspects (e.g. religious and economic) will receive relatively modest attention.
Contemporary studies claim that ethnicity is not an entity in the world, but rather a perspective on it (Brubaker et al., 2004). These studies emphasize cognitive structures, which contain knowledge, beliefs, and expectations about social groups that influence the culturally specific ways in which people, institutions, organizations, and discourses interpret their experiences and perceive the social world (Brubaker et al., 2004; Brubaker, 2009).
Ethnic identities are relational (Anthias, 2001; Eriksen, 1993), and relate to specific social contexts while drawing on available identities (Carter and Fenton, 2010). According to Carter and Fenton (following Ruane and Todd, 2004), these identities are implicated in broad systems of social action, involving social privileges, competitions for resources, and commitments to symbolic forms. As such, they are ‘practical categories’ (Ruane and Todd, 2004) existing within systems of power and resources (Carter and Fenton, 2010).
Indeed, individuals can enhance their identities and change their access to power through strategies (Wimmer, 2013) that often involve boundary work or boundary making (Lamont, 1992; Lyman et al., 1973; Wimmer, 2013). Several studies have explored the ways in which social groups draw distinctions between themselves and others in their interactions to construct, maintain, and negotiate their ethnic boundaries (Barth, 1969; Brubaker, 2004; Wimmer, 2008, 2009).
Wimmer (2008) cites various strategies and markers used by groups to distinguish between stigmatized and symbolic identities. However, these markers can be arbitrary and play up various differences (e.g. social, political, and religious), depending on the context. Thus, ultimately, the resulting group boundaries are situational and fluid (Brubaker, 2004; Eriksen, 1993; Wimmer, 2009).
Therefore, this study explores the boundary making and identity formation processes in slaughterhouses by outlining the strategies used by Jewish slaughterers to accentuate diverse markers while negotiating their differences with other workers. In fact, such strategies exist in the first place because identity constructions involve multiple fluid identities (Hall, 1995, 2000; Lawler, 2008; Lemke, 2008; and following Haraway, 1991). The boundaries constructed between the groups in the slaughterhouses pertain to various ‘practical categories’: ethnic, religious, national, and class-related.
The overlap between these categories is neither accidental nor an unintended product of social mechanisms. Rather, it emerged in specific historical, political, and economic conditions in the Israeli context. Khazzoom (1999, 2003) explored the local processes and strategies that encourage and preserve ethnic segregation in Israel. Adopting Said’s (1978) approach to the Israeli context, she illustrated how Orientalist structures are reproduced among Israel’s ethnic groups, separating them symbolically and discursively. Since Israel’s establishment, its Jewish population has comprised multiple ethnicities from across the world. However, as Khazzoom claims, Arabs are further categorized as the ‘oriental other’ and polarized from Jewish-Israelis, who view themselves as symbols of Western progress in the Middle East.
From a religious perspective, the Jew–Arab segregation is embedded in the historical separation between Jewish people and the gentiles. Ophir and Rosen-Zvi’s (2018) study traced the emergence and historical development of the gentile (Goy), a discursive category, and the ways in which relations and attitudes toward non-Jews were formulated. The ‘pragmatic’ modes of othering include, ‘stigmatization, acts of separation, discrimination, and exclusion [that] may rely on elaborate technologies of separation that involve many parties…’ (Ophir and Rosen-Zvi, 2018: 16). The authors also note that when group differences in specific cases are considered, for example, ‘some Jewish cultures with respect to “Arabs” versus other others’ (2018: 17), a certain group is differentiated from the broader category of ‘the gentile,’ and is granted a special status. In the current case, this special status is granted mainly on national grounds, which adds a scent of enmity toward the Arabs who are already othered as gentiles. Interestingly, however, my interviews revealed a clear distinction in the discourse of moral taint, between the ‘Arabs’ and ‘gentiles’ working beside the slaughterers in slaughter sites inside and outside Israel, respectively. 2 Therefore, the religious aspect alone cannot explain the formation of this boundary work, by which Jewish slaughterers attributed violence towards nonhuman animals to Arab workers.
Economically, the Muslim–Israeli market relies on the Jewish-Israeli one, and many Israeli Muslims depend on the Jewish-Israeli economy to make a living as their occupations are limited to mostly inferior, low-wage jobs (Sharabi, 2010). In addition, Palestinians and Jews are largely segregated: residentially, educationally, and occupationally; extreme distrust and social conflict exist between the groups (Nabil, 2005; Yaish, 2001).
Ultra-Orthodox Jews mainly live in segregated communities in Israel (often by their own choice) and maintain minimal contact with the secular world. Although ultra-Orthodox men strive to dedicate their lives to religious studies, economic hardships often push them to work to support their families. The Israeli slaughterhouse context is unique in that the shochet’s work can be only performed by specifically trained religious Jews, thereby highlighting the centrality of religious slaughter.
Slaughterhouses employ diverse religious, ethnic, national, and professional groups for slaughtering meat, which often leads to discrimination and intolerance (Emerson and Murphy, 2014). Power relations between different identity groups in organizations often reflect power relations at the social level (Wharton, 1992). Social exchanges in these organizations often involve contemporary modes of prejudices, which are fluid and sporadic (Green, 2003). In the present case, organizational mechanisms reinforce and affirm hierarchical categorical divisions.
Additionally, the slaughter industry is sex-segregated (Paulson, 2017) in which women are mostly unwelcome. It is male-oriented dirty work designed for men (unlike childcare; see for example, Duffy, 2007)—particularly in the Jewish religious slaughter contexts, as ultra-Orthodox men do not work alogside women. Hence, despite its significance, this study omits gender identity while discussing other intersecting aspects of identity, as all the workers on site were men and the boundaries drawn between the occupational groups did not concern gender differences.
Integrating holy but morally tainted work through kosher slaughter
All societies slaughter animals for meat and delineate cultural-specific methods and tools for this task. However, the cultural taboos, rituals, and laws concerning animal slaughter indicate that this task generates cultural ambivalence (Arluke and Sanders, 1996; DeMello, 2012; Tuan, 1984) through contradictory, but simultaneous notions of compassion and violence toward animals (see Friedland, 2011 for elaboration on the philosophical roots of reconciling killing and compassion toward animals; see Ben-Yonatan, 2021 for an elaborate discussion on ambivalence and its resolution among Jewish slaughterers). While processes of cultural refinement may increase the discomfort toward killing animals for food (Elias, 1939), meat consumption continues to grow worldwide (OECD/FAO, 2021; Sans and Combris, 2015).
Workers in this field, who deal with blood and animal secretions and routinely participate in the killing of animals are often stigmatized as being physically, socially, or morally contaminated (Ashforth and Kreiner, 1999, 2014; Hughes, 1964). Consequently, the slaughter site is often considered a site of ‘dirty work’ (Ashforth et al., 2007; Ashforth and Kreiner, 2014; Baran et al., 2016; Simpson et al., 2014). 3
This stigma can take its toll on field workers. For example, studies have recorded butchers expressing both pleasure and pride in their work and disgust and shame when dealing with its challenging aspects (Meara, 1974; Simpson et al., 2011). Slaughterhouse workers use different strategies to cope with professional hardships, including emotional distancing (Hamilton and McCabe, 2016; Pachirat, 2011; Wilkie, 2005) and justifying their profession by highlighting the necessity of killing animals in the meat industry (Vialles, 1994).
Slaughterers also negotiate their identities and values concerning the location of moral pollution to deal with their profession’s morally tainted aspects. For example, in my fieldwork, the Jewish slaughterers’ construction of their profession as that entailing special expertise and personal characteristics and animal slaughter as a part of their religious practices, can be interpreted as a form of resistance to the formulations of slaughter as morally suspect. Jewish scriptures and commandments provide moral justifications that validate and encourage the killing of animals through kosher slaughter. Thus, slaughterers are not only given tools to help subside the guilt; they, in fact, feel satisfaction in their work.
As I was told, concerning the practice of slaughter, the shochet gives meaning and purpose to the animals’ lives while the energy produced by eating meat provides Jewish people with the means to study the Torah. Through Kosher slaughter and with Jewish people consuming animal meat and absorbing it into their (human) bodies, the slaughtered animal gets spiritually elevated to the status of ‘human.’
However, such religious interpretations do not eschew the moral taint associated with slaughter. In contemporary Israel, undercover investigations of slaughterhouses by the media led to public scrutiny of slaughter sites. The vegan movement has also become popular in Israel over the last decade, forcing the slaughterers to defend their status and justify their actions. The Jewish slaughterers delineate themselves as morally ‘clean’’ professionals by reallocating the moral taint to the other workers at the slaughter site—those who are unskilled, untrained, and belong to a separate national, ethnic, and religious group. This reallocation demands constant boundary work on their side, which not only aims to separate the two groups, but also to elevate the Jewish slaughterers’ virtue (following Graeber, 2011). This boundary work is unique as it incorporates both organizational–workplace and religious–ritualistic categorizations.
Boundary work and becoming ‘clean’ in a morally tainted workplace
As in other countries, most of the unskilled workers in Israeli slaughterhouses belong to specific racio-ethnic groups, in this case, the Arabs. However, while all workers associated with animal slaughter deal with comparable challenges, the skilled and higher-paying positions are mostly occupied by Jews. This economic aspect further intensifies group differences.
Conversely, these group differences are difficult to bridge as their rivalry is not limited to the workplace but has a much broader political and historical background. Maoz (2011) claims that the numerous programs intended to reduce prejudice between Jews and Arabs in Israel assume that increasing inter-group interactions can reduce antagonism. However, my research shows that the proximity between the groups was actually a source for tension, resulting in boundary work and a constant need to differentiate between ‘us’ and ‘them’.
While the ethnicization of work and occupational segregation are quite common, many studies have focused on the strategies implemented by the most vulnerable workers to gain leverage vis-a-vis employers who perceive them as cost-cutting tools (Schwartzman, 2013). Similar strategies are also utilized by those ranked higher in the labor chain (following Kaufman, 2002; Lee, 2019). The slaughterers practice ‘ethnic groupism’ (Calhoun, 2003) by creating a shared solidarity and producing meaning that differentiates them from other workers. This can also be seen as ethnic socialization, a strategic ethnicization to amass cultural capital. Despite having the upper hand in their workplace, the slaughterers feel the need to constantly maintain their positions and affirm their superiority before their coworkers, ethnically, religiously and, mostly, morally.
Ashforth and Kreiner (2014) claimed that morally stigmatized occupations are perceived as more polluted than physically and socially stigmatized ones. In such situations, engaging in social comparison with those who are supposedly in an even worse state is a common defense tactic to enhance one’s self-esteem (Lamont, 2000; Stacey, 2011).
In this study, the Jewish slaughterers’ comparison of their actions and morality to those of other workers—to make themselves appear more moral—does not place both groups on the spectrum of morality. Rather, this comparison demarcates people between those who are moral and those who are not.
In fact, through all the comparisons and boundaries created between the groups, regarding both identity (ethnic, national, religious) and organizational conceptualizations (for example, prestige and professionalism), morality emerges as a significant attribute that concerns the slaughterers. Their narratives are meant to stigmatize Arab workers from accessing morality (following Graeber, 2011).
The differences between the two groups are both discursive and material and are created through the organization’s structural settings and the everyday behaviors and interactions through which the slaughterers reinforce boundary demarcations. Thus, intersectional identities further converge with organizational mechanisms, including the spatial architecture, salary structure, and the implementation of tools and technologies.
Organizational mechanisms and the demarcation of moral boundaries
Spatial architecture
Spatially, contemporary slaughterhouses are built separately from the surrounding environment (Lee, 2008; Philol, 1995) and general landscape. The slaughter site’s architecture compartmentalizes various processes of animal slaughter to increase efficiency while concealing the potentially troubling aspects of the work from the general public and even from the workers themselves (Pachirat, 2011).
In Israel, particularly within livestock slaughterhouses, both the workers’ groups are spatially segregated, so that each racio-ethnic–national–religious group works in a separate area, performing different tasks.
In December 2015, I visited a cattle and sheep slaughterhouse located in northern Israel, owned by a large Israeli company. During my visit, when I went out to smoke on the patio, I saw several picnic benches and chairs scattered in the paved courtyard, with ashtrays lying around. It was here that I understood what the Arab–Jew separation meant.
The Arab workers sat together, reluctantly gazing at me every now and then. This period was during one of the tensest in Israeli history, with the introduction of a new reality termed the ‘Intifada of the Individuals’. 4 Outside the patio, a noticeboard contained two separate memoranda in Hebrew and Arabic, asking the workers to exercise restraint during these difficult times. As if things were not complicated enough, four workers from this slaughterhouse, including one Jew and three Arabs, had been recently indicted following a media investigation by animal rights organizations.
These observations reflected what the slaughterers described as an ethnic segregation. The slaughterers mostly stayed in a separate staff room, where they honed and inspected their slaughter knives, conversed, and read the scriptures. Meanwhile, the other workers, who were also responsible for ‘disassembling’ the animals, walked around in their blood-stained shirts, with sharp cleavers in their hands. Most of the interactions I witnessed had an ethnic component: Jews spoke with Jews, usually inside the staff room, while the Arab workers talked to the other Arab workers—as if they inhabited two separate realms. The laborer who called the shochet to the slaughtering area after the animal was restrained, was the sole link between the two groups.
Indeed, it is the Arab workers who ‘unpack’ the trucks carrying animals and move them to the slaughterhouse. In cattle slaughterhouses, unskilled workers transport the animals to a slaughter box (a special restraining device) and wait for the slaughterer; thus, the direct contact between the slaughterer and the worker is minimized. Poultry slaughterhouses require a direct contact between the two groups as the Arab laborers must take out the chickens one by one and deliver them to the Jewish slaughterer. Consequently, the slaughterers often feel discontent, as was expressed in the interviews.
Arab workers are thus in charge of transferring the often-reluctant animals, frequently using force to do so. In contrast, Jewish slaughterers slaughtering cattle do not confront the entire animal but only its neck. Unlike other workers, the shochet does not need to confine the animal or exert physical force other than the swift motion of the knife. The spatial arrangement and the delegation of the tasks prescribes the use of force and violence only by a certain group, although ultimately, it is the slaughterers who take the animals’ lives.
This is also true for poultry slaughter, where the work rate is high, and a slaughterer slaughters an average of 12 chickens per minute. The laborers are forced to adapt to physically difficult working conditions—to bend down frequently, pick up the cages, and pull the animals out, all under significant time pressure. In a 2013 media investigation by animal rights activists, workers were seen tearing off organs of birds that were wedged in the bars of the cages, sometimes a leg, and sometimes even the whole head.
The slaughterers themselves contribute to this organizational setting that differentiates the two groups by further distancing themselves from other workers. During the interviews, the slaughterers often emphasized the negative effects of being in non-Jewish workers’ proximity and the importance of maintaining clear and distinct social categories by preserving well-defined physical boundaries.
Dror, a 35-year-old cattle slaughterer stated: We spend most of our days surrounded by the Arabs. Did you notice? […] Their profanities, the way they speak, and the way they curse? A person must be very strong to not assimilate with them. After all, if you spend time in the presence of a bad company, you will become bad yourself.
Jonah, a 32-year-old poultry slaughterer, further described the extent of distance between the employees: Sure, we talk about how much merchandise is left, when to go home […] Other than that, there can be no connection. It is as if we are from two different worlds: we are separate. More separate than the two worlds.
When I asked whether he felt that the distance stemmed from the political state in the country, he replies: ‘Yes, sure. They hate you like any Arab hates you.’ Mully, a 33-year-old poultry slaughterer, concludes: ‘The truth is that I do not want anything to do with them. I prefer to work and not talk to them.’
Ostensibly, the ultra-Orthodox communities tend to distance themselves from external influences. However, in this case, the risk of ‘contagion’ is further enhanced by the pre-existing national rivalries and cultural narratives depicting the Arabs as violent and abusive.
During the interviews, I asked my interlocutors about the (then) recent media reports that depicted animal abuse in Israeli slaughterhouses. The slaughterers did not repudiate the findings, but rather delegated the responsibility to the Arab workers, and their so-called ‘violent nature.’ For example, when I asked Zinger (a rabbi in a poultry slaughterhouse) about the origin of this abuse, he replied: First, it’s not the slaughterers [who do these things]. These are the Ishmaels. The Arabs. Mostly it’s the Arabs. They throw the chickens, abuse animals […] it is written [in the Torah] that Ishmael is a savage [smirks]. Second, they abuse people in the same way, let alone animals. They have no mercy. We see it ... I don’t mean every one of them, but in general, those who work in these jobs have no bible. They are considered secular even within their own religion.
Zinger’s claim that Arabs could endanger other people, not only animals, relates to the broader discourse in Israel, in which Arabs are always suspected as potential terrorists. Associating Palestinian violence against Israelis with the Arab workers’ violence toward animals in slaughterhouses is a recurring motif in the slaughterers’ discourse and illustrates how ‘animal practices’ are cultural resources used in processes of racialization (following Elder et al., 1998).
But beyond these identity categorizations that demarcate the ‘others’ as callous, the interviews revealed that the slaughter site’s very spatial structure contributes to this demarcation and relieves the shochet from any accountability: What is being filmed is true. The question should be where does it come from? It is simple. How should I say it? Feebleminded people and poor work ethics, let us call it that. And ... bullies [gibor al halashim, literally: ‘hero over the weak.’]. Q: Who are you talking about? Who are you referring to? A: Those who abuse animals. Q: Which are? A: There can be all kinds, let’s say. Q: Could the slaughterers be like that as well? A: They have no access [to the path from where the animals are dragged], no. They have no access to it. Q: So, who, then? A: The ones who spur the animals to the kill floor. Basically, on the path where they are still alive. When they reach the kill floor, what can the slaughterer do to them [besides slaughtering them]? Q: Do you mean that violence towards animals is performed on that path? A: Yes (Haim, a 62-year-old inspection rabbi in a livestock slaughterhouse).
Haim argued that Jewish slaughterers have no access to violence against animals. From their perspective, the slaughter itself is technical and swift and is often not recognized as violent at all. 5 In contrast, the slaughterers perceive the violence exerted by other workers as uninhibited violence, attributed to the brutal nature of the Arabs.
The spatial partitioning of the slaughter site places one group of workers in a space that demands direct contact with resisting animals, and therefore, the use of forcible actions that occasionally become aggressive. The other group encounters an already confined animal and can quickly and easily perform their tasks. The spatial demarcation within slaughterhouses thus has implications concerning violence, tainting Arab workers with the moral burden of cruelty while extricating the Jewish slaughterers from the same.
The physical architecture of Israeli slaughterhouses contains wider racio-ethnic, national, and religious arrangements that are saturated with power. According to Prior (1988), a space does not merely reflect social practices and categories but is an external projection of human consciousness. Delineating boundaries using space transforms it into a domain of control (Hillier and Hanson, 1989). As such, the spatial allocation in these slaughterhouses forces Arab workers to be indifferent and brutal while constantly maintaining ethnic groupism.
Salary structure
Differences between the slaughterers’ and the Arab workers’ wage structure and work conditions constitute a structural mechanism that supports moral differentiation and boundaries between the two employee groups.
In Israel, following the unionization of slaughterers and their demand for improved wages in 2013, most slaughterers started getting paid on an hourly basis
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while the other workers’ wages continue to be calculated on a daily basis. This structure results in conflicting interests: while the slaughterers are compensated for longer workdays, the other workers prefer to finish the tasks as quickly as possible, as they would receive the same pay either way. If something goes wrong in the factory and work comes to a halt, the non-Jewish workers are not compensated until the malfunction is fixed and the animals waiting on site are slaughtered. Thus, while slaughterers remain calm during such delays, the other workers become stressed and agitated. As Haim describes: They do not have much freedom; they are hotheaded. This is the way they express themselves. I tell him, one of the workers who works here, he screams all the time—tell me, what is the pressure? They want to slaughter them quickly. Guys, another minute or two, let us keep it tidy.
The salary structure and the kashrut-related constructions imply that the slaughterers get to control the amount of time needed to complete the slaughter (while considering the Rabbinate’s dictates and the slaughter factories’ demands). The other workers’ desire to expedite the work, which leads to frustration, and sometimes demonstrations of cruelty toward the animals, is attributed to their nature and their ethnic and national background. In fact, as Arie and Jonah’s statements indicate, the slaughterers consider the Arab workers’ perceived cruel nature, upbringing, and low wages as interconnected: Arabs, I tell you…minorities that are uneducated, have no[t] [gone to] schools, and come to work at the slaughterhouse when they are thirteen […] Because they have no education, they do not get anything […] Not all of them, yes? However, some act as animals. (Jonah)
In Russia, they have Gypsies […] They are cheap workforce and they act exactly like Arabs, because they are […] cruel by nature, there is nothing you can do about it. (Arie)
Thus, their behavior is considered to be an inherent aspect of their racio-ethnic identity and character rather than something brought upon by organizational conditions. That is, while the salary structure is determined by institutional decision-makers, it was the slaughterers who worked to change their conditions by employing their special status and expertise. However, despite being involved with determining the other workers’ work pace, the slaughterers did not recognize these workers' inferior working conditions.
Slaughter knife
Apart from symbolic and cognitive constructions, certain material objects can also serve to reproduce ethnic identities and boundaries (Hegeman, 1991). My interviews with the slaughterers revealed that their work’s ritualistic aspects helped them find meaning in their work and develop their sense of self-worth as moral professionals. The slaughter knife, the main tool of their trade, was frequently brought up by the slaughterers, indicating its value in their identity formation.
Shechitah, or Jewish slaughter, involves the use of a special slaughter knife (sakin/halaf). Special stones are used to sharpen and smoothen the knife. After each slaughter, the knife examiner or the shochet inspects the knife by running their fingernail along its edge to ensure that the cut it makes is precise and as painless as possible. Only a knife that passes careful scrutiny and is operated by a highly qualified and proficient slaughterer will produce kosher meat.
In non-Jewish traditions, slaughter knives have been the primary tool of slaughter trade and a symbolic capital under the workers’ control, despite being a basic form of technology (Paulson, 2017; Reinert, 2012).
Within Judaism, the slaughter knife has a ritualistic significance, although it is not a sacred object per se. Judaism recognizes two categories of ritual instruments: objects that bear sacred attributes, and objects that are not intrinsically holy but are important for executing a ritual or commandment (Greene, 1992). The slaughter knife constitutes the latter, and therefore acquires meaning only through ritualistic slaughter.
Beyond being the occupation’s defining technology, the knife’s cultural significance lies in constructing Jewish slaughter as a non-violent act. According to the slaughterers, the whetting of the slaughter knife is significant and goes well beyond instrumental aspects. In fact, it is an integral part of their training, as Enav (a turkey breeder and a trained slaughterer) notes: The training itself, the main course of learning how to slaughter, deals with the knowledge of how to put forth [le’ha’amid] a sharp knife. A shochet whose knife is not sharp and smooth, can be God-fearing and know all the laws, but once his knife is not…then he
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cannot be a shochet.
I had a chance to observe the slaughterers meticulously examine the knife. Azriel, a former poultry slaughterer, emphasized the importance of being able to feel the nicks and imperfections of the knife using the back of the fingernail. For him, being sensitive and attentive enough was a primary requirement for the job. As I showed an interest in the process, Azriel brought a poultry slaughter knife from the drawer to show me how the knife should be examined: You just have to move your fingernail from the top to the bottom slowly. Here, this is another way. Then again, three times on this side, three times in the middle, and three times here. I think you will be able to feel it too. The knife is slightly faulty. Not kosher now, for sure.
He handed me the knife and walked me through the process. He was surprised when I could identify both the faults. ‘Did I pass the test?’ I smiled. ‘You are not hired,’ he replied, ‘but you do have a rare talent.’
Kassif’s statements further reveal the knife’s allure and the strong connection between the tool and the perception of the trade: From a very young age, I was interested in [my father’s] trade […] I even remember myself taking […]there was an old knife that he did not use […]and a grinding stone, and I would play […] I would do the same action, as I saw him do with the knife. I even cut myself once, and I did not tell him because I was afraid that he would take it away.
Knife whetting involves a certain hexis, bodily capital (following Bourdieu, 1977, 1986), which helps group members identify with each other. However, the knife symbolizes more than proficiency, and is considered a means to prevent animal suffering (tza’ar Ba’alei chaim) or pain while being slaughtered, provided that it is sharpened properly. This point was frequently repeated during the interviews, as can be seen in the following excerpts: The Jewish perspective, the Torah […] if you see the laws, [they mention] how much you need to scrutinize the knife—so that nothing will cause the beast sorrow [...] The act of the slaughter itself, lasts a second and a half, or 2 seconds, if the beast is held properly and the knife is sharp. I felt what a sharp knife is, it hit my leg, you do not feel, I did not feel pain. I did not feel pain. (Arie) The only difficulty is in knowing how to sharpen the knife so that the animal does not suffer. She probably suffers only for a second, but if you slaughter it properly
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, she will not even suffer even a fraction of this second. It all depends on the sharpening of the knives. (Zvi) She feels no pain because the knife, maybe you want to feel it, is very sharp. The Halacha [Jewish law] commands us to make the knife very sharp and smooth, so that she feels nothing […] She feels no pain, not during the slaughter, and not after it. (Kobby)
Thus, the slaughterers’ knife becomes more than the tool that defines them. It becomes the ‘right’ tool, the ‘moral’ tool that enables them to perform the sacred task given to them by God, fulfilling the animal’s purpose, and serving Jewish people. The tool then becomes an extension of not only their hands, but also their hearts. First, you need to work with [a candidate] on his ability to use the knife. Whether he knows [how to use it], [whether] he is sensitive. Because the heart […] the knife needs the intention of the heart. (Yotam) One day, I came across a calf that was extremely resistant. I spoke into his ear; I grabbed his ear like so. And I told him: You are facing kosher slaughter, with a tested blade [sakin bduka] [knocks on the table]. I went away and the calf proceeded to walk right automatically. Stopped resisting. What can I tell you? This was neither an imagination nor a vision. (Lior)
Therefore, the slaughter knife plays a significant role in constructing slaughter as a moral act. The knife itself is merely a tool, but when it is in the hands of a skilled, knowledgeable shochet, it enables cruelty-free slaughter, in their perception, with purpose and meaning. The knife then becomes an instrument of compassion, connecting group members through shared meaning.
Slaughter knife as a boundary-maintaining object
The slaughter knife serves another role besides connecting the slaughterers and moralizing their actions. Its ethnic, professional, and moral meanings makes it an instrument of boundary work through which the slaughterers distinguish themselves from others. Ethnically, it is related to kosher slaughter, performed by Jews; professionally, it is their primary tool of trade; and morally, it is constructed as an instrument that makes kosher slaughter what they see as the most humane form of slaughter in the world. Therefore, the slaughter knife is used to mark the Jewish slaughter group as an ethnically superior and fundamentally moral and professional group at the slaughter site.
Moreover, the distinction between the materials used by the different groups at the slaughter site helps establish group boundaries and maintain the moral distinction between them. For example, unlike the slaughterers, the Arab workers primarily use sticks and electric rods to control the animals, which, according to the slaughterers, are instruments that inflict pain and suffering (as opposed to the slaughter knife). Discussing the media reports on cruelty in the slaughter industry, Azriel comments: The scene with the electric rods was unnecessary because the beast could not get up anyway […] so just drag him and that’s it, why make him suffer with all those electric rods? It is something that the Arabs do.
Erez (a former cattle slaughterer) continues to stress the differences between the tools and, consequently, between the quality of work and morality of kosher slaughter versus non-kosher slaughter methods: Blessed is he who created the world; he created the beasts, and he knows how to take their life in the best way. By the way, when you stun them with an electric rod, they suffer more. Giving them a blow, it is [...] all their blood gets clotted in the flesh. It is well-known that their flesh becomes redder because the blood is absorbed by bones. When a knife is used to slit the throat during slaughtering, all the blood oozes out. The meat is bloodless. Thus, Blessed is he who knows the process. He knows the exact process and how it works. He taught us and we follow his commands. Once there is a higher power that knows exactly what is good for us [...] our lives are easy.
Because the tools are an extension of the men and their ‘heart’s intention’ (in Yotam’s words), the Arabs’ tools are not the only instruments that induce cruelty towards animals, but their very identity itself. Zinger, for example, describes how working with Arabs always involves some form of tension: ‘They are all Arabs, and they all have knives.’ Asher stresses: ‘Sometimes the fingernails of the chicken are caught inside the holes in the cage. The worker, he wants to work fast; he uses force; he sees it will not […] snap with force. He breaks it; he tears off its finger.’ Their statements illustrate that the use of an electric rod (or a knife, or their hands) as an ‘instrument of cruelty’ is directly linked to those who implement the tools.
Barth (2000) claims that (in European tradition, at least) humans use tools to determine the specific form of boundaries between them. Tools, he adds, are an extension of the ‘self’.
Studies have found that the construction of materials as part of one’s self-definition is an important technical facet of the organization (Clarke and Fujimura, 2014). Boundary objects have been extensively studied within research on organizations’ material culture. The concept of boundary objects was originally proposed to explore scientific communities and organizations (Star, 1989; Star and Griesemer, 1989). Boundary objects are artifacts that bridge (Lee, 2007; Star, 1989) groups and enhance the coordination or collaboration between them (such as communities of practice or knowledge) across boundaries (Brown and Duguid, 1991; Wenger, 1999).
Fox (2011) questions the actual extent of translation capabilities that boundary objects embody and calls for an assessment of their significance for different groups. He argues that depending on the ideological meanings entrenched in technologies and artifacts, boundary objects can be both positive and negative— that they can both increase and hinder the spread of technology.
Interestingly, the ritualistic Jewish slaughter knife is both a religious object and trade tool, which acquires value through the practices in which it is used. In fact, although it is not intended to be a boundary object, rather than bridging various groups in the organization (Lee, 2007; Star and Griesemer, 1989: 393), it does the exact opposite—sets them apart, both professionally and morally.
Although the slaughter knife acts as a tool that separates workers and allows the slaughterers to gain racio-ethnic, professional, and moral powers, I argue against treating it as a negative boundary object, as it was never intended to be used across worker groups or to have translating capabilities.
Instead, I claim that the kosher slaughter knife in Israeli slaughterhouses, functions as a boundary-maintaining object—or the material aids that help people delineate boundaries and make groups conceptually distinct. The knife, as a material object, is a part of the institutional organization, whose effectiveness in boundary marking is largely derived from its symbolic cultural significance. These objects are therefore not neutral but embody cultural meanings that define the identities of various social actors.
Perceived as neutral organizational dimensions, the various instruments, spatial division of the premises, and wage structure are used by slaughterers as mechanisms to delineate and reinforce boundaries between themselves and other workers but also to construct themselves as morally superior. This illustrates how moral boundary work can be grounded in material aspects, while highlighting the importance of their exploration in various settings.
Conclusion
This study examined boundary work’s multifaceted nature and intersectionalities at the Israeli kosher slaughterhouse. Its processes were observed in Jewish slaughterers’ discourse regarding their own role versus the other workers’ role while engaging in morally suspect work. This boundary work extends beyond the discursive realm, and pervades the day-to-day interactions between various groups in Israel, as workers from different communities do not necessarily come together in the workplace.
According to Alba (2005, 2006), and Zolberg and Woon’s (1999) boundary change typology, the processes described in this article can be considered a form of boundary shifting: the relocation of boundaries to exclude newcomers. This is because, the boundaries demarcated by the slaughterers bypassed organizational membership to emphasize the ethnic and religious aspects of the workers’ identities. However, following Wimmer’s (2008) expansion of boundary-making typology, these processes can be further categorized as boundary contraction: a shifting and narrowing of boundaries to become more exclusive. Through boundary contraction, people can disidentify themselves using categories assigned by others by dividing a larger category (i.e. contracting a previous boundary) into two narrower ones to emphasize a more selective level of categorical distinction. In the present case, the general category of slaughterhouse workers was split into ‘Jews’ and ‘Arabs’, and replaced by a more exclusive differentiation based on ethnic, religious, professional, and moral considerations. Consequently, the slaughterers could deflect their categorization as ‘unclean’ or tainted and ascribe moral suspicion to others.
Wimmer (2008) describes contraction as especially attractive to those with a limited range of action. However, this case illustrates that these strategies also benefit those who have access to higher pay and benefits and symbolic cultural capital. Thus, the more advantaged ethnic and professional groups can employ various repertoires to avoid stigmatization.
This study offers additional insight into the importance of material culture in the negotiation of the social self. Examining material aspects can reveal how people convey, consolidate, and symbolize the facets of social relationships associated with economic and political strategies, especially when these relations are tense. These organizational mechanisms and artifacts can express group membership, demarcate the in- and out-group boundaries (Hodder, 1979), and acquire and reflect a self-identity (Dant, 1999). As this study illustrates, organizational mechanisms are important devices for negotiating discursive boundaries and cultural conceptualizations. Furthermore, they can serve as boundary maintainers and demarcate central aspects of group identity.
This study traced the various forms of segregation prevalent within a site of physically and morally dirty work, where Jewish slaughterers are continuously struggling to protect their access to moral superiority. In this process, the stigma involved in the daily killing of animals is delegated to the group that the wider discourse of Jewish–Arab relations in Israel has already established as violent and cruel.
Acknowledging the role of nationality-based differentiation in the slaughterers’ boundary work, this study explored the material aspect of the widening moral fissure between Jewish slaughterers and Arab workers through organizational mechanisms such as the spatial architecture, salary structure, and the objects used to execute the work. The spatial segregation of the Israeli slaughter site allocates different spaces for different racio-ethnic, national, religious groups, saturated with moral meanings. While the Arab workers were relegated to a space requiring violence, the Jewish slaughterers only needed to apply a swift movement of a sharp knife on an already restrained animal. The little force that this requires is often not even recognized as violence.
Difference in wage structures is another aspect that contributes to the Arab workers’ moral taint. The hourly rates received by Jewish slaughterers (versus the Arab workers’ daily wages) made them indifferent to the workday’s length, unlike their Arab counterparts who are incentivized to hasten their work. This causes stress, intolerance, and occasionally violence toward the animals awaiting slaughter, but was attributed to their inherent inclinations as a cruel ethnic group, rather than their work conditions. The third frontier of the moral boundary was the use of the slaughter knife as a boundary-maintaining object, constructed as an instrument of compassion, as opposed to the tools used by the Arab workers, which were dubbed as instruments of cruelty. Hence, once again, the tools of trade were treated as a moral extension of those implementing them.
Altogether, organizational mechanisms and material culture were utilized to delineate the boundaries between racio-ethnic, national, and religious groups. The wider discourse that dubbed the Arab as inherently violent and cruel was reproduced at the slaughter site, and the violence inflicted on the animals served as another proof of the Arabs’ violent nature, as a racio-ethnic and national category.
The Israeli slaughter site thus presents a unique case that amalgamates organizational aspects of the workplace with religious/ritualistic practices. Thus, it combines theoretical insights from organizational research and religious and cultural sociology and anthropology. The resulting study hopes to inspire scholars to merge conceptualizations such as moral boundaries, ethical boundary work, boundary and ritualistic objects, and communities of practice to understand interactions between various religious, ethnic, and other kinds of communities.
Footnotes
Declaration of conflicting interests
The author declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
Funding
The author received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
