Inside the Ultra-Orthodox Cult That Shunned Its Own Children

The phone call that shattered Rachel Szor's world came from a stranger. On the other end of the line was Yuval Abraham, an Israeli journalist she had never met, asking about her father. For Szor, a secular Tel Aviv woman in her thirties, her father had always been a vague, painful absence — a man who vanished into an ultra-Orthodox community when she was a child, leaving her and her mother behind. What Abraham told her next left her shaking: her father, now a prominent figure in the Haredi world, had built a second family, and Szor was not alone. She had siblings she had never known existed. That revelation is the beating heart of "Naza," the documentary co-directed by Abraham and Szor that has ignited a firestorm from Jerusalem to Jaffa. The film, whose title references a Hebrew acronym for women who leave ultra-Orthodox life, follows Szor's harrowing journey as she infiltrates the insular world that erased her — and confronts the father who chose God over his daughter. The result is a cinematic gut-punch that has left audiences reeling and critics scrambling for superlatives. Here's what makes "Naza" absolutely explosive: it doesn't just tell Szor's story. It rips the lid off a system that, according to the filmmakers, treats women and children as collateral damage in a relentless war for religious purity. Through hidden-camera footage and intimate interviews with women who fled their communities, the documentary paints a devastating portrait of an ultra-Orthodox establishment that shuns, silences, and in some cases outright abandons those who don't fit its rigid mold. Abraham, already a lightning rod for his outspoken politics, has found himself at the center of yet another controversy. Supporters call him a truth-teller. Detractors accuse him of exploiting personal trauma for political gain. But Szor, who risked everything to make this film, isn't backing down. In scene after scene, she demands answers from a father who refuses to acknowledge her as his daughter. The camera captures every flinch, every tear, every moment of devastating clarity. The documentary has become a cultural flashpoint in Israel, where tensions between secular and ultra-Orthodox communities are already at a boiling point. Women's rights groups have embraced "Naza" as a rallying cry. Ultra-Orthodox leaders have denounced it as a hatchet job. And audiences — packed into theaters night after night — have walked out in stunned silence. What makes "Naza" so powerful isn't just the personal betrayal at its core. It's the universal question it forces every viewer to confront: What happens when faith demands you abandon your own flesh and blood? Szor's answer, captured in the film's unforgettable final act, is as devastating as it is defiant. The film has already won awards on the festival circuit and is now streaming to a wider American audience hungry for stories that pull back the curtain on worlds we rarely see. But for Szor, the journey was never about accolades. It was about finding the family she lost — and discovering, in the wreckage of her father's choices, a new kind of family built on truth, courage, and the refusal to stay silent. **Our Take:** "Naza" is not an easy watch, nor should it be. It's a raw, unflinching look at what happens when religious extremism meets human frailty — and a reminder that some stories, no matter how painful, simply must be told. Watch it. Then call your father.