The Hebrew Roots Cult

I didn’t first encounter the Hebrew Roots Movement as an adult, but first as a child.

I didn't encounter the movement in a clearly defined or fully understood way, but it was there, right on the edges of my upbringing.

My parents were aligned with it for a period of time, before we eventually became involved in a different high-control religious group.

At the time, I didn’t have language for what I was seeing or experiencing. It just felt like things kept shifting. Rules and expectations constantly changed, and once something was labelled “truth,” it carried a weight that felt absolute.

Years later, I found my way back to it.

I didn't go back to the Hebrew Roots Movement because I was looking for something extreme, but because I was looking for something true. I was only 19 when I got married to my ex-husband who was involved in Hebrew Roots teachings.

Stepping into that world felt, at first, like stepping into clarity and safety. There was structure, there were answers for some of the questions I wasn't allowed to ask aloud about my faith; and at the time my ex-husband seemed like he would be less abusive than my father.

Looking back now, I can see exactly why it drew me in. Aside from the fact that in the world I lived in I was required to submit to my husband, I think there was a sense of certainty that felt grounding after years of instability.

What It Isn’t: Hebrew Roots vs Messianic Judaism

One of the biggest misconceptions I see is the assumption that the Hebrew Roots Movement is the same as Messianic Judaism.

Messianic Judaism, while diverse, generally exists within recognised structures. There are established congregations, identifiable leadership, and at least some level of theological accountability. While practices may include elements of Jewish tradition, most Messianic Jewish communities still hold to a framework of salvation by grace rather than strict law-keeping.

A lot of Messianic congregations are simply churches with a certain theology, and that provide a way for Jewish people to hold on to their identity while being Christian.

The Hebrew Roots Movement operates very differently. It is largely decentralised, often built around home fellowships, online teachings, or independent leaders who position themselves as rediscovering something the wider church has lost. That decentralisation can make it feel more accessible and less institutional, but it also means there is very little accountability, and it is very hard for abuse to be dealt with.

More importantly, the theological emphasis often shifts. What begins as an invitation to explore biblical practices can become something far more prescriptive. Observance is no longer simply meaningful; it becomes necessary. In some spaces, it becomes a requirement tied directly to whether you are seen as truly faithful.

The Slow Pull: How It Draws You In

People don't generally wake up and decide to join a cult, it's a slow process of love bombing and conditioning.

With the Hebrew Roots Movement there is also an element of people feeling like they are 'chosen'. Many of the people who join the HRM are evangelical Christians who start feeling something is wrong with their faith, and instead of deconstructing, they start looking for other faith-based answers...and then they find the HRM.

The Hebrew Roots Movement tells them that God has chosen to show them the knowledge of His truth as 'firstfruits', leading to a kind of religious enlightenment experience.

It began with ideas that felt reasonable and even enriching. There can be something compelling about honouring the Sabbath in a more intentional way, about questioning traditions that had always been taken for granted, about engaging with scripture as something living and historically grounded.

At first, it can feel like depth and a more genuine relationship with God.

However, over time, the tone begins to shift. What once felt like exploration started to feel like pressure, and there can be an increasing sense that there was a correct way to do things, and that getting it wrong had consequences- not just socially, but spiritually.

The questions become heavier, and carry an undercurrent that is hard to name but impossible to ignore.

It was no longer simply about learning; it was about whether you were aligned, whether you were obedient, whether you were truly right with God.

That is the point where something internal begins to change.

Because when belief becomes tied to that level of weight, it stops feeling optional.

When It Starts to Feel Like a Cult

I don’t use the word “cult” lightly; but I also don’t avoid it when it fits.

What stood out to me, both as a child on the edges of the HRM and later as someone inside it, was the way truth became singular. There was a sense that there was one correct interpretation, one correct way to live, and that anything outside of that was not just different, but wrong.

Questioning wasn’t always explicitly forbidden, but it was never truly safe. It carried consequences- social, relational, and often spiritual.

Leaving was never neutral, but rather framed as a personal decision or a change in belief. It was framed as turning away from truth, from obedience, from God.

When a system defines itself that way, it creates a kind of psychological enclosure. Your choices are no longer just choices; they are moral and eternal decisions.

That is where belief starts to function as control.

Not only that, leaving can be outrightly dangerous- especially for women.

The Quiet Ways Control Shows Up

What makes this kind of environment so difficult to recognise is that it doesn’t always look controlling from the outside.

There is no single leader of the movement, but rather small groups dotted around the globe. Officially, there is no hierarchy and obvious structure enforcing behaviour, but the reality is that every group has leadership that hold total authority over the members.

You begin to realise that someone is always watching, and so you begin to monitor yourself in ways you didn’t before. Everyday decisions take on spiritual significance. There is a constant awareness of whether you are doing things “correctly,” whether you might be unintentionally stepping outside what is acceptable.

Over time, this creates a subtle but persistent pressure and it becomes harder to relax, harder to trust your own instincts, harder to engage with the world in the same way you once did.

Relationships often shift alongside this. Connections with people outside the movement can feel strained or distant, not necessarily because of conflict, but because of difference. There is a growing sense of being set apart, of belonging to something distinct.

And while that can feel meaningful, it can also become isolating.

At the same time, language begins to change. Concepts become more defined, more absolute. Things are framed in binaries- truth and deception, obedience and rebellion, clean and unclean. The space for nuance narrows, and with it, the space for questioning.

Part of the danger in this is that many people who join the HRM come from high control evangelical churches, meaning that they are already primed for this kind of control and abuse.

The Harder Truth: Marriage, Power, and What I Saw

This is the part that is often left out of conversations about movements like this, but it matters.

Not every Hebrew Roots group teaches or practices these things. But many do, and I encountered enough of it to know how real the impact can be.

Within the HRM, Old Testament law is not just studied symbolically or historically- it is applied directly to modern life. That application can extend into deeply personal areas, including marriage and family structure.

There are teachings that support arranged marriages, sometimes framed as spiritually guided decisions rather than personal choice. There are contexts where underage marriage is justified through appeals to biblical precedent, and groups where polygamy is presented as permissible, even desirable, and where that structure reinforces a clear imbalance of power. This is what I lived in.

While my ex-husband didn't take multiple wives or official concubines during our marriage, he voiced to me that he was considering it, and I didn't have the ability to say no. Honestly, the wives in the group were often abused by our husbands, and so sister wives could hold an appeal in that it might keep him happier, or at least lessen the abuse.

Within all of this, there is a strong emphasis on male authority.

When I was married at 19, I was stepping into a framework that already had very defined expectations about gender, submission, and hierarchy. These expectations shaped decisions, interactions, and the way relationships functioned.

What made it particularly difficult was the way these dynamics were framed. They weren’t presented as cultural or interpretive, they were presented as biblical. As truth. As something ordained.

And when something is framed that way, challenging it becomes incredibly difficult.

Because it no longer feels like you are questioning a system.

It feels like you are questioning God.

We were taught that to suffer because of submission to our husband and his abuse was to honour Christ, because we were suffering as He suffered. When it's framed in that way, questioning is not only a sin, but dishonouring Christ.

Why It’s So Hard to Leave

From the outside, it can be hard to understand why someone wouldn’t simply walk away, but leaving is rarely that simple.

By the time someone is deeply involved, the movement is not just a set of beliefs. It is a community, a structure, a way of understanding the world. It shapes identity in ways that are both visible and invisible.

Walking away often means losing more than just theology, it can mean losing relationships, stability, and a sense of belonging. It can mean stepping into uncertainty without a clear framework to replace what has been left behind.

And beneath all of that, there is often fear.

Not just social fear, but something deeper and harder to untangle. The fear that maybe the group was right. That leaving might have consequences that are spiritual, not just practical.

That kind of fear does not disappear immediately. Even after someone leaves, it can linger, shaping thoughts and reactions long after the environment itself is gone.

Why This Matters- Especially Here

In Australia, conversations about high-control religious environments are becoming more visible, particularly in relation to coercive control and conversion practices. There is a growing recognition that harm does not always look like physical restriction or overt abuse.

Sometimes, it looks like belief systems that quietly reshape autonomy.

Movements like the Hebrew Roots Movement often remain under the radar because they do not fit easily into existing categories. They are small, decentralised, and often embedded within ordinary-looking communities, and when harm occurs within something that looks familiar or benign, it becomes much harder to identify, name, and address.

If This Feels Familiar

If you’re reading this and something resonates- something feels uncomfortable or difficult to name- you don’t need to resolve it all at once.

You can start by paying attention to your own experience- what feels heavy, what feels restrictive, what feels driven by fear rather than choice.

And equally, to what feels open, grounded, and safe.

You are allowed to question. You are allowed to pause. You are allowed to leave.

Not because you’ve failed.

But because your life, your autonomy, and your sense of self matter.

References

• Lalich, J. – Bounded Choice

• Lifton, R. J. – Thought Reform and the Psychology of Totalism

• Hassan, S. – Combating Cult Mind Control

• Winell, M. – Religious Trauma Syndrome

• Weber, M. – Charismatic Authority