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The Israel Exception
Why Israelis continue to have babies and defy the collapse in fertility that has swept Western societies
by Yannay Spitzer
September 25, 2026
Over the past two generations, something remarkable has happened across the developed world: People have stopped having children. In the United States today, the average woman is expected to give birth to about 1.6 children over her lifetime—far below the level needed for a population to replace itself, and the lowest figure ever recorded. Sixty years ago, at the end of the baby boom, that number was more than twice as high.
The details differ from country to country, but the direction is the same almost everywhere. French fertility has fallen from nearly three children per woman to fewer than two; Italy’s from about 2.4 to close to one. The most extreme case is South Korea, where fertility has collapsed from six to well below one child per woman. At the same time, people are living much longer—roughly 13 additional years in high-income countries. We are producing fewer children while extending the span of life, a combination bound to make our society older than any in history.
A recent paper by University of Pennsylvania economist Jesús Fernández-Villaverde and researcher Patrick Norrick stresses that fertility collapse is now a global phenomenon, encompassing nearly every country, with particularly striking declines in low- and middle-income economies. The authors predict that the point at which the world’s population begins to shrink (for the first time in modern history) may arrive in the 2050s, decades earlier than projected by the United Nations’ World Population Prospects (WPP). Their prognosis is unsettling: We are rapidly entering a demographic state so different from modern experience that its economic and political consequences are extraordinarily difficult to predict. Demographers often refer to this broad shift as the “Second Demographic Transition.” Its causes are widely debated, and how it can be reversed—if at all—remains a mystery.
One country, however, stands out against this global trend. Israel—in particular its Jewish population, as Fernández-Villaverde and Norrick point out—is “the only clear exception.”
The Israeli anomaly raises three obvious questions: Why did Israel defy the Second Demographic Transition? If, as the pessimistic view goes, very low fertility is indeed one of the greatest social ailments of the West in the 21st century, does Israel’s example offer any kind of cure? And finally, will that divergence persist, or is Israel merely following the same path as other Western societies, only delayed?
A good way to see the global trend and the contrast posed by the Israel exception is to plot fertility rates two generations ago against the change in fertility rates during those two generations.
Change in total fertility rate (TFR) 1960-2024, OECD countries
Yannay Spitzer
What stands out immediately is how tightly most countries cluster along a single downward path. The strong, uniform negative slope indicates that countries that began the postwar period with higher fertility experienced the steepest declines, while those that started lower fell by less. Over time, these trajectories converged toward a narrow band of very low fertility, leaving most advanced economies today with remarkably similar rates despite very different social and cultural histories. Measured by the total fertility rate (TFR)—the average number of children a woman is expected to bear over her lifetime—fertility across today’s Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) countries ranged from roughly two to more than four in 1960, and even higher in some later-joining members. But it now falls between about 1.1 and 1.7 in almost every country. That is far below the replacement level—about 2.1 children per woman—for each generation to merely replace itself.
In 1960, Israel did not stand apart from this group. Its total fertility rate was just under four—higher than in much of Europe, but similar to levels prevailing across the Anglosphere, including those of the United States, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand. At the end of the baby boom, Israel looked broadly comparable to other high-fertility OECD countries.
Israel would still lead the OECD even if its entire population were Jewish and secular.
https://www.tabletmag.com/sections/israel-middle-east/articles/israel-exception-fertility-rate?utm_source=nl&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=rcp-today-2026-09-27&mc_cid=ffc7d3b956&mc_eid=9accce4efb
That similarity, however, did not last. Over the next two decades, fertility in Israel declined only modestly, settling at around three children per woman by the 1980s. For all intents and purposes, Israel’s fertility has barely changed since. In 2024, Israel’s total fertility rate was 2.87—the only TFR of a Western country above replacement level, and by a wide margin. Mexico, at roughly 1.9, according to the U.N. WPP data, was a very distant second. But even this figure may be a gross overestimate: A recent survey by Mexico’s National Institute of Statistics and Geography suggests that the true 2024 rate may have been as low as 1.2. Israel stands apart because it broke ranks with the rest of the developed world, resisting the otherwise uniform downward convergence in fertility.
We can see how unusual this is by comparing Israel’s experience to what the broader trend would predict. Extrapolating from the overall downward slope, Israel’s fertility should have fallen by about 2.5 births per woman between 1960 and 2024. In reality, it declined by just over one. Israeli women today are therefore having about 1.5 more children than the convergence pattern would suggest—a deviation unmatched among OECD countries. South Korea stands out in the opposite direction, though by a smaller margin.
An animated version of the same data shows how this process unfolded over time. Countries began from different starting points and moved at different speeds, but over time nearly all converged downward, eventually crossing below replacement level. Israel initially moved, reluctantly, with the group—and then peeled away.
A natural place to look for answers to why Israel has bucked this trend is the composition of its population. Among its Jewish majority, fertility rises sharply with religiosity: Secular Jews have the lowest birth rates, while ultra-Orthodox Jews have the highest—among the highest recorded for any large population in the world. The same is true for the Muslim minority, among which the more religiously devout tend to have more children. This suggests a straightforward possibility: Israel stands out simply because Orthodox and ultra-Orthodox Jews, as well as devout Muslims, follow religiously driven fertility patterns that are not shared by other Western societies.
This is certainly part of the explanation. The data, however, suggest that there is more to Israel’s fertility story than religiosity alone. The next two figures, drawing on data from 1980 onward, distinguish between five levels of self-reported religiosity among Israeli Jews: secular, traditional-secular, traditional-religious, religious, and ultra-Orthodox. In 1980 (more precisely, 1979-81), the fertility of secular Israeli Jews closely resembled that of countries such as Greece, Spain, Portugal, and New Zealand—and was well below Ireland’s.
TFR in OECD countries and among Israeli Jews by degree of religiosity, 1979-1981
Yannay Spitzer
Today, this is no longer true. According to the most recent data (2021-23), Israel would still lead the OECD even if its entire population were Jewish and secular. In other words, although secular Israeli Jews are indeed closer to other Westerners than religious ones—and behaved no differently more than four decades ago—they now stand out as well, having effectively come to lead the pack. Moreover, every Western society—not least the United States—still has sizable religious populations, and religiosity is everywhere associated with higher fertility. A true apples-to-apples comparison would therefore pair secular Israelis with secular Americans or Canadians and would only accentuate Israel’s fertility advantage.
TFR in OECD countries in 2022 and among Israeli Jews by degree of religiosity, 2021-2023
Yannay Spitzer
Another place to look for an explanation is the timing of childbearing. A central feature of the Second Demographic Transition has been the steady shift toward later ages at first birth. As women postpone having children, they tend to have fewer of them over their lifetimes, driving fertility rates down. The standard explanations for this trend are the growing availability of effective and affordable contraception, together with the expansion of women’s education and labor-market opportunities. What economist Claudia Goldin has dubbed “the Quiet Revolution” captures this shift: Western women increasingly invest in academic degrees and career building early in adulthood, before marrying and having their first children.
Secular Israeli women experienced their own Quiet Revolution as well. Between 1994 and 2016, the average age at first birth among Jewish women rose by nearly three years—much the same increase seen in other Western countries. And yet the outcome has been strikingly different. Nonreligious Israeli women delay childbearing by many years, but unlike their counterparts elsewhere in the West, they do not end up with fewer children. Instead, they fully compensate for having fewer children at younger ages by having more children later in life.
Demographer Alex Weinreb recently examined this phenomenon in a paper published in December as part of the Taub Center’s annual “State of the Nation Report.” Weinreb estimated how the number of children already born to nonreligious Jewish women aged 30 to 34 has changed over time. In 2004, the average woman in this age group had already given birth to 1.42 children; in 2019 the number fell to 1.17, and by 2024 it had dropped to 0.87. That’s a total decline of more than half a child on average. Yet these births did not disappear; they were postponed. Until recently, the postponement was one-for-one: For each birth that disappeared at younger ages, roughly one additional birth appeared at older ages—35 to 39 and even 40 to 44. This is a remarkable phenomenon, especially given that nothing similar has occurred in any other Western country.
Still, this accounts only for the how, not the why. What is it about Israeli women—particularly secular Israeli women—that leads them to compensate for delayed childbearing by having as many children later in life?
One possible explanation would point to economic incentives. Welfare policy and labor-market penalties for childbearing shape fertility decisions and might, in principle, explain Israel’s divergence. Historically, Israel’s welfare state was supportive of large families, but that is no longer true. In recent decades, its retrenchment has mirrored broader trends across the developed world; Israel has not preserved a uniquely generous pronatalist regime.
Israel’s pronatalist orientation may have roots in Jewish religious tradition, but it is widely shared by secular Jews as well.
https://www.tabletmag.com/sections/israel-middle-east/articles/israel-exception-fertility-rate?utm_source=nl&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=rcp-today-2026-09-27&mc_cid=ffc7d3b956&mc_eid=9accce4efb
There is, however, one important exception worth keeping in mind: Israel’s Assisted Reproductive Technology (ART) policy is jaw-droppingly generous. Treatments such as in vitro fertilization (IVF) and intracytoplasmic sperm injection are cheaper and more accessible in Israel than anywhere else in the world. Public funding is available regardless of previous birth history or marital status—including for single women and same-sex couples—and is not limited by prior treatment history. Age limits are comparatively high: Debate continues over whether the maximum age for own-egg IVF should be raised from 45 to 47, and donor-egg IVF is already publicly funded, subject to medical approval, up to age 54(!). As a result, Israel performs more ART cycles per capita than any other country: 5,265 per million people annually, roughly four times the European average and six times the North American one.
The ubiquity of ART treatments matters because, as we have seen, a key feature of Israel’s exceptionality is the postponement of births into the late 30s and even early 40s, when fertility increasingly becomes a biological challenge. But ART cannot be the decisive factor. Although perfectly comparable measures are difficult to obtain, the share of births resulting from such treatments in Israel appears to be only a little over 5%—no higher than in several low-fertility European countries such as Spain or Denmark. In other words, Israel’s exceptional use of ART is better understood as a consequence of its preference for high fertility than as its cause. Still, it is highly indicative that such generous public funding of private family decisions goes uncontested.
That consensus may point toward where the deeper explanation lies: culture. Israel is, in a deep and measurable sense, a pronatalist society. This orientation may have roots in Jewish religious tradition, but it is widely shared by secular Jews as well. When asked about their ideal family size, 81% of secular Jewish women aged 25 to 39 report wanting three or more children—an average higher than that recorded in any other Western country.
However, children are not simply the concern of nuclear families; the wider family still plays a crucial role. Grandparents both expect and are expected to chip in—and they do. They assist with childcare and financial support. Geography reinforces this pattern: Israel is small and densely populated, making frequent contact with extended family relatively easy. Whereas a typical extended American family—even an American Jewish one—may gather mainly on holidays, Israeli families often do so weekly. Shabbat dinners regularly bring together multiple generations, preferably along with a large crowd of rowdy children.
There is also an ideological component that favors pronatalist values. Part of it can be understood as a second-, third-, and now even fourth-generation response to the Holocaust. National revival, in this context, is intertwined with private goals such as personal fulfillment and the pursuit of happiness, whether consciously or not. Declarations by survivors that their personal “victory over Hitler” lies in having many grandchildren and great-grandchildren living in a Jewish state—and serving in its army—have become familiar motifs in public discourse. For example, Irene Shashar, a survivor of the Warsaw Ghetto, expressed this sentiment in her speech at the United Nations during the 2020 International Holocaust Remembrance Day ceremony:
I was victorious over Hitler […] I was blessed with the opportunity to have children and grandchildren. Because I sowed my family tree. Hitler did not win. I did the very thing he tried so hard to prevent.
Another example is Michael and Marion Mittwoch, of Kibbutz Lavi, who fled Germany in the 1930s. In 2015, they celebrated the birth of their 100th great-grandchild. “This is our answer to Hitler, damn him,” said Michael. Their son Eli added that “[t]his is the essence of Zionism.” While it is difficult to quantify, it is equally difficult to overstate how deep this sentiment runs.
Cultural factors, then, clearly play a central role in Israel’s demographic exceptionalism—but their role is not straightforward. Cultural traits are long lived, whereas Israel’s fertility became exceptional only in the final decades of the 20th century. A generations-old Jewish pronatalist tradition could explain why Jewish or Israeli fertility has been persistently high, but not why it diverged from that of other countries only recently. The ideological currents rooted in the legacy of the Holocaust and the struggle for statehood are modern, but they too were already present by the 1960s. Yet in 1960, Israeli Jews did not differ from Americans, Canadians, Australians, Irish, or New Zealanders in their fertility levels. If there was a strong preference for large families, it was not unique to Israel at the time.
The question, therefore, is why pronatalist traditions in other Western countries, such as Ireland, faded while in Israel they endured. The crucial difference may lie in the modern layer of the cultural sediment: the legacy of the Holocaust and the fresh experience of collective national vulnerability and renewal. Indeed, these forces were already present before Israel’s fertility became exceptional. Yet unlike inherited religious traditions, they operate not through cultural inertia alone, but through continuing personal and collective memory and lived experience—renewed across generations rather than simply preserved from the past. In that sense, Israel may indeed be different.
If this account is correct, it implies that drawing lessons from Israel’s experience to cure the West’s demographic decline may be an exercise in futility. Absent a comparable collective history of trauma and ongoing national struggle, it is difficult—perhaps impossible—to engineer the norms and preferences that appear to distinguish Israel. Nor are major national cataclysms guaranteed to reverse demographic decline. In Ukraine, fertility has continued to fall amid war, and in Russia the same war did not induce a demographic rebound.
Moreover, it is possible that Israel—or at least its secular Jewish population—may yet follow the global trend. As Weinreb shows, while the average age at first birth continues to rise, the question is whether this postponement will continue to be fully compensated by increased fertility in later ages, as in the past, allowing completed fertility to remain high by Western standards.
Weinreb thinks it will not. His conclusion is based on a statistical forecast extrapolating current trends, but at its core the logic is simple: There is a limit to how much childbearing can be postponed. One can delay births from age 25 to 30 and then from 30 to 35. But as women approach 40 and beyond, constraints, in part biological, begin to bind. The leeway to postpone births is narrowing. According to Weinreb’s projections, secular Jewish women reaching ages 40 to 44 by the end of the current decade will still have an average completed fertility of about two children, as it is today. But as Israel enters the 2030s, that figure is likely to fall to around 1.5. The cohorts currently in their late 20s and early 30s are postponing childbearing even further; however, unlike in the past, if trends persist, they may no longer fully compensate for the delay later in life.
Even if this prediction proves correct, Israel is likely to remain the highest-fertility country in the Western world well into the 2030s and beyond. This time, however, the distinction would increasingly reflect the growing share of Orthodox and ultra-Orthodox Jews in the population. Their fertility rates have declined in recent years, while those of secular Israelis have remained relatively stable or fallen only modestly. Yet the ultra-Orthodox starting point—around six children per woman—is so high that convergence with other groups is nowhere in sight.
In the long run, demographic projections suggest that the ultra-Orthodox share of Israel’s population will continue to grow, possibly becoming a majority at some point in the future. If that happens, overall fertility may remain relatively high even as fertility declines within every group. Israel’s demographic exceptionalism, in other words, may persist—but in a very different form, and for different reasons.
Yannay Spitzer is an economist based in Jerusalem and the Boston area. From 2015 to 2026, he was a faculty member in the Department of Economics at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. He is a research affiliate at the Economic History Programme of The Centre for Economic Policy Research.
