Lily Allen’s revenge against a cheating partner was accompanied by musical notes. Her pricey and much-discussed divorce resulted in an acclaimed album, but it was also confirmation that, today, infidelity has different faces and meanings.

Social media, messaging apps and dating apps have opened up a parallel universe for virtual indiscretions that (for some) can be more damaging than physical ones. Spanish journalist Manuel Jabois addressed this in a column for EL PAÍS, which he wrote after a friend told him that he’d been messaging a woman every day for months. “But we didn’t sleep together, no way… I respect my girlfriend,” the friend clarified.

What other situations can involve cheating? When the avenues for contacting others — be they acquaintances or strangers — are endless, and when we have direct access to countless photos and videos of other people (whether they’re normal, suggestive, or explicit) how is the concept of fidelity altered in 2025?

Infidelity 3.0

In a conversation with EL PAÍS, sexologist and writer Valérie Tasso explains that infidelity has always been more of a social concept, rather than a biological or legal one. Its definition changes with the culture. “The digital world has accelerated this transformation. [Today], we’re seeing scenarios that didn’t exist before. These new digital spaces — such as OnlyFans or ChatGPT — add new problems and nuances: there isn’t always another human being on the other end [of the screen], there isn’t always reciprocity… and there isn’t always a romantic intention,” she explains.

The body isn’t betrayed. [But] emotional intimacy [is violated], which is the deepest, most vulnerable and most significant part of the bond

“In content like [what can be found on] OnlyFans, for example, the act itself is passive consumption… but it can become more personal if there are private messages, or if a virtual relationship is taking place. But can we talk about infidelity even if there isn’t genital contact?”

“I don’t believe that technology defines the concept of infidelity,” Tasso clarifies. “It’s the couples who do, and they must define their boundaries.” Indeed, conversation is key to assessing what each person understands to be an act of infidelity.

“With OnlyFans making the viewer-creator relationship so immediate, there are difficult new questions for partners to consider, from whether your beau is directly messaging the [content] creator, to how much money they spend [on the site],” Magdalene J. Taylor writes in The Cut. “Perhaps all of [this] sounds complicated, but it’s precisely these types of nuances that have come to define an ultra-contemporary relationship conundrum and its lack of a conclusive answer: is using OnlyFans ‘cheating’?”

Since OnlyFans uses chatbots to impersonate its most famous content creators when they can’t keep up with responding to fans, engaging with the platform could already be considered a form of chatting with artificial intelligence (AI). But let’s go beyond this particular platform: is a conversation with someone your partner doesn’t know, an exchange that becomes too intimate, infidelity? Does watching pornography regularly count? Or exchanging photos that, while not explicit, are suggestive?

Is it an infidelity to share secrets or relationship matters that should remain private? Is it cheating if you find yourself thinking more than you should about the person on the other side of a screen?

That harmless ‘like’

Iratxe López, a general health psychologist, believes that communication is essential to avoiding misunderstandings and hurt feelings. She gives an example: maintaining contact with an ex on social media. “For some people, following an ex-partner and staying in touch with them is insignificant; for others, it’s disrespectful and crosses an emotional boundary. This isn’t about control, but about nurturing the relationship. Talking about boundaries is a sign of emotional maturity: ‘This hurts me,’ ‘This makes me feel insecure,’ ‘This is a betrayal.’ And these agreements need to be reviewed over time, because relationships change, needs change… and the ways in which we connect with others change,” she explains.

“Today, you can build an intimate bond without leaving your couch. [This could involve] sending emotionally-charged private messages and giving intentional ‘likes’ — not neutral likes, but those that seek connection and impact, or are intended to be seen by a specific person — to having conversations that become an emotional refuge. Technology facilitates parallel relationships that don’t seem so serious, because there’s no sex. But emotionally, they break the pact of the bond just as much as, or even more than, a physical indiscretion. The body isn’t betrayed, but emotional intimacy [is violated], which is the deepest, most vulnerable and most significant part of the bond.”

When part of your intimacy, your attention, or your need for connection begins to slip out of the relationship, even subtly, the emotional pact is already eroding

Privacy is a matter of respect within a relationship. And it’s within this context that the issue of respecting what each person does with their mobile phone arises, since the device is a direct gateway to countless conversations and connections. In some countries, government campaigns have reminded young people that giving your partner control of your mobile phone isn’t only a form of control, but can also constitute a form of abuse.

Tasso believes that the boundary in this murky area should be established through agreements, not suspicions. “From there, it’s important to understand that, in a healthy relationship, each person maintains a private space, even when they’re deeply connected. And, if you don’t have one, I encourage you to start creating it, because it’s fundamental for the good of the relationship,” she emphasizes. “The line is crossed when the attempt to protect the relationship ends up invading the other person’s autonomy and privacy.”

“The key is how you manage your feelings about your relationship together. It’s legitimate to feel insecure if your partner flirts on Instagram, likes someone’s posts, or leaves suggestive comments on a girl or guy’s Instagram… but insecurity doesn’t justify spying,” she warns.

Lara Ferreiro, a psychologist and expert in couples therapy, believes that digital agreements become essential. This is the act of defining together what constitutes privacy, what you want to share and what belongs to each person’s private space. “Transparency doesn’t mean unlimited access, and love isn’t demonstrated by exposing every [single] message or online activity. Respecting these boundaries is what provides emotional stability and reduces unnecessary tension,” she asserts.

Ferreiro points out that it’s also important to understand that digital activity doesn’t automatically equate to infidelity. “Following someone, interacting on social media, or consuming content doesn’t always imply disloyalty. Oftentimes, it’s about curiosity, fantasy, or simply habit. Ultimately, the difference between interest and control is defined by trust: allowing the other person to have their own space, even online, strengthens the relationship.”

Ferreiro emphasizes that, instead of using technology as a surveillance tool, couples need to have honest conversations about boundaries, fears and expectations. “When that balance is established, intimacy becomes stronger and the connection is more authentic, even in the digital age,” she adds.

Christoph Kraemer, managing director for Europe at Ashley Madison, refers to a study that was conducted by the dating app. “For the vast majority of members, having intimate relations with someone outside the relationship constitutes infidelity (85%)… [but] the definition of infidelity becomes less clear when it comes to flirting. Only 28% consider flirting in person to be unfaithful, compared to 42% who do feel cheated on when it happens virtually. This is an example that demonstrates how the boundaries of what’s considered acceptable in the real world and the virtual environment have changed,” he explains.

“Another surprising finding of the study is that, while 51% [of those surveyed] say that falling in love with someone else is infidelity, 45% think that simply having a profile on a dating app constitutes infidelity,” Kraemer points out.

An introduction to micro-cheating

Some consider “liking” photos of someone you find attractive or direct-messaging them to be micro-cheating, a term that doesn’t convince Iratxe López at all.

“Using the prefix ‘micro’ can minimize the act itself and the damage it causes. If it hurts you and breaks trust, it’s not ‘micro.’ When we talk about ‘micro-cheating,’ we’re not referring to small, insignificant infidelities, but to behaviors that involve a displacement of intimacy,” she explains.

These behaviors, the psychologist clarifies, would involve having private, emotionally-charged conversations that are hidden from your partner, or sharing vulnerabilities or problems with someone else rather than your partner. Other behaviors may include investing more enthusiasm into certain chats than in a real relationship; responding quickly (and with selective affection) to a stranger, while neglecting messages from your primary relationship; actively following someone online who you find attractive, in order to seek their attention; or creating parallel emotional spaces such as accounts, chats, or digital interactions that your partner is unaware of.

“Essentially, micro-cheating isn’t about specific acts, but about intention: when part of your intimacy, your attention, or your need for connection begins to drift away from the relationship, even subtly, the emotional bond is already eroding. That’s not innocent and it violates the relational pact,” Iratxe López warns.

Viki Morandeira, a couples coach, believes that what’s considered to be infidelity varies depending on gender. “For women, emotional intimacy — their partner opening up emotionally to another woman — is usually equated with infidelity. [But] this isn’t usually the case for men. And they’ll defend themselves if their partner discovers and accuses them of infidelity, because, in general, men only consider infidelity to have occurred if there has been sexual contact,” she explains.

Morandeira adds that most infidelities that break up a couple don’t begin with a search for sex. “They start with innocent conversations, when the brain receives validation, [or] when a person displays a more exciting personality than the one [they have] at home. Online flirting is the perfect breeding ground for infidelity, fueled by hormonal and cognitive factors,” she comments.

It’s worth remembering Jabois’ words: “[The notion] that these kinds of relationships — 200 messages a day, photo exchanges and addictive attachments to another person, without ever touching them — are maintained to avoid actual cheating is the ultimate joke: there’s more infidelity in a ‘goodnight’ from bed while watching a show with your partner, that a quickie or two with a stranger in an elevator.”

The problem is that, today — in addition to the “goodnight” — we must add the endless and explicit offerings of platforms such as OnlyFans, likes with opaque intentions and, ultimately, a digital landscape that facilitates infidelity, without it actually having a clear definition.

In the end, there’s more infidelity taking place on your phone than at the bar.

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In 1987, Bruque sang “heavy metal is not violence.” Now, so many years later, some voices are wondering if that type of music—a hellish noise for many—hides a luminous mission within its core.

One thing is certain: when faced with life’s desolate landscape of hardship, misery, and unanswered death, millions find solace in the fury of a guitar riff. “Metal is an existential transgression,” explains sociologist and philosopher Hartmut Rosa, author of Angels Sing, Monsters Roar: A Brief Sociology of Heavy Metal, over the phone. “It delves into the abyssal darkness, unleashes the monsters, and carries within it a yearning for redemption. Its music actively seeks a genuine and profound experience.”

It’s a rock to cling to in a sea of nonsense. “It’s more than music; it’s a way of looking at the world with clarity and rebellion, of finding meaning and brotherhood amidst the chaos,” reflects David Alayon, consultant and host of the podcast Heavy Mental, along with comedian Miguel Miguel and engineer Javier Recuenco, in an email. “A heavy metal fan’s way of seeing the world stems from a mix of skepticism, intensity, and brutal honesty. It’s not about denying the darkness, but about facing it head-on, transforming it into strength, and turning pain, rage, or despair into something creative and collective.”

Some people link metal songs to existentialist thought. Journalist Flor Guzzanti writes in Rock-Art magazine that what Black Sabbath or Judas Priest express through distortion isn’t so different from what Albert Camus and Jean-Paul Sartre wrote about: the confrontation with the absurd, alienation, and freedom. Dismissing metal is dismissing philosophy made sound. Alayon agrees. “We share an existentialist vision, accepting that the world is harsh and that the only authentic thing is to stay true to yourself and your people.” And the voice of the recently deceased Ozzy Osbourne singing Electric Funeral comes to mind, encouraging us not to get trapped in a burning cell.

For Andrés Carmona, author of Philosophy and Heavy Metal, the sonic universe of heavy metal culture (in its proto-heavy, thrash, death, grunge, and also hard rock forms, although we’ll leave its definition and limits to the purists) is a valuable tool for philosophical learning. “Even if we don’t realize it, we spend all day thinking about what is good, what is just, what is beautiful. We can’t help but philosophize, and music helps,” he says over the phone. Carmona, a philosophy teacher at a high school in Spain’s city of Ciudad Real, uses the song Gaia, by the Spanish heavy metal band Mägo de Oz, to introduce students to Lynn Margulis and her theory on the importance of cooperation in evolution, and explains the concept of freedom using Ama, ama y ensancha el alma, a song by another Spanish band, Extremoduro, that contains verses such as “we must leave the tarred social path / I prefer to be an Indian than an important lawyer” (by the poet Manolo Chinato).

In an article in Crawdaddy magazine, William Burroughs wrote that rock was an attempt to escape this dead, soulless universe and return magic to the world. If that’s the case, its heavier side seeks collective catharsis through physical experience. Music has the power to transform, and, in the case of heavy metal, “some bands act as a resonating unit that moves the audience, who want to be called upon in search of contact and transformation alongside others,” according to Hartmut Rosa. Because while the present and future are moving toward the abstractions of the digital world, in heavy metal culture, physical ritual is fundamental. There’s the journey, the attire, the pre-show gathering, the explosion of live music experienced in community, and the warm memory afterward when listening to those same songs again alone. “A concert combines feelings, emotions, singing a song with other people at the same time. And there’s also the record, on vinyl or CD, the importance of its covers, its lyrics… I don’t like playlists,” laughs the German sociologist.

In the world of heavy metal, there is light and darkness, angels and demons, heaven and hell, fairies and monsters—a spectacle fueled by an imagination that plays with a certain romantic irony, taking things half-jokingly, half-seriously. But one thing is certain: whether in Germany, Spain, Norway, Japan, Iran, Argentina, or Australia, for the metalhead brotherhood, music is fundamental. According to a study by psychologist Nico Rose—author of Hard, Heavy & Happy, a bestseller in Germany—almost 40% of the 6,000 people surveyed agreed that metal kept them away from dark thoughts, with the feeling that it had “saved their lives at least once.”

The embryo of heavy metal lies in Birmingham, one of the epicenters of the English Industrial Revolution (and with a rich musical tradition in the 1960s). Its leading heavy metal representatives in the early 1970s, Black Sabbath—with Ozzy Osbourne at the helm—and Judas Priest, came from working-class backgrounds or were practically marginalized. And other bands from elsewhere, such as Saxon, Iron Maiden, Slayer, Anthrax, and Metallica, were too. Perhaps that’s why their songs are anthems against the social order, control, and the lack of freedom, and their followers are a vast “community of voluntary outsiders who find in the riffs, the concerts, and the aesthetics of metal a form of belonging without submission. Nobody demands you believe in anything, only feel and resist,” according to Alayon.

But does this community accept everyone equally? Some consider the heavy metal universe to be sexist and heteronormative to the extreme. However, it’s been over 25 years since Rob Halford, the singer of Judas Priest—considered the God of Metal—came out as gay, and artists like Girlschool, Thundermother, Doro Pesch, and Arch Enemy disprove this macho uniformity. But there’s still work to be done. As Guzzanti reflects, “Today, feminist collectives are claiming spaces at festivals, in fanzines, and on online platforms, asserting that resistance must be intersectional. The survival of metal depends on embracing this inclusivity.”

Nietzsche said that life without music is a mistake, a weariness, an exile. We must keep searching, and perhaps it’s not a bad idea to do so through the raw power of heavy metal. “We must fearlessly endure the dance on the existential chasm: this, it seems to me, is the achievement of heavy metal,” declares Hartmut Rosa. As AC/DC sings, “For those about to rock (we salute you).”

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Andrés Orrego saved the man’s number in his cell phone under American Friend. Orrego, who runs a small supermarket in the heart of the northern Colombian town of Yarumal, had liked the foreign stranger’s manners. He made an effort to speak Spanish well, paid in cash with new bills, and was almost always on time. Plus, he bought on a large scale, as if for a crowd: 22 pounds of peanuts, 55 of oranges, 22 of eggplant, 220 of potatoes, 50 coconuts, 75 limes… And then, sure, odder things: a hard-to-find fish, organic wheat flour, pure honey from a specific bloom.

A week after meeting this mysterious man, an incredulous Orrego had to bring his face close to the television screen to believe what it was showing him: that his American friend was the main suspect arrested in an operation carried out against Lev Tahor, the ultra-radical Judaic sect whose leaders have been convicted of abuse and child marriage in the United States. The “Jewish Taliban,” as the group is known, had been looking to settle down in Antioquia, the Colombian department. In Orrego’s town. Next to his supermarket. Colombia, the seventh country through which the group had passed in the last decade, has run into the same difficulties as Mexico and Guatemala once did: it does not know what to do with the sect, nor how to stop it.

The American Friend — whose name has not been disclosed — was the head of a commune with eight other adults and 17 minors. They lived in a truck stop hotel on the outskirts of town. The little girls wore a tunic that covered them from head to foot, similar to a burqa that only revealed their face. Orrego is one of the few residents of Yarumal who got to know the adults, or at least the four who came to his store to shop for groceries. To the rest of the 45,000 inhabitants, they had gone unnoticed. Neither the neighboring merchants, local youth, nor street vendors had seen them in person before the images of the veiled girls and boys with payot were viewed around the world. Though, in reality, they were being watched by many.

Cristian David Céspedes, the mayor of this farming and cattle town, says that ever since they arrived on October 22 from New York, the seven Jewish families had been under investigation by the Attorney General’s Office. Their history had set off alarms. The sect makes children marry each other in order to have the best bloodline possible, to grow the community, the faithful. Though the mayor says they were merely passing through Yarumal, EL PAÍS had access to audiotapes in which two of the group’s leaders asked for help from a merchant to rent a property where they could set up a community.

But those plans fell apart. In a joint operation, authorities from Migration Colombia — the country’s national immigration agency — and the army raided the hotel on the night of November 23, as the group prayed. They had U.S., Guatemalan and Canadian passports, and five of the minors had been subjects of Interpol Yellow Notices, an alert that warns of the disappearance of people who are possible victims of trafficking and kidnapping.

On Monday this week, Colombia expelled nine members of Lev Tahor, who were “handed over to U.S. authorities” according to Gloria Arriero, director of Migration Colombia. The 17 children, who had been staying in a state-run child welfare center since their rescue in November, were placed on the same flight to New York, escorted by Colombian authorities. They were then handed over to child protection services in the United States.

Lev Tahor’s path to Yarumal had been a long one. The sect, with its extensive record of violations of children’s rights, is originally from Israel. Its members emigrated to the United States in the 1980s and continued their journey through Canada, Guatemala and Mexico. They later moved to Iran, where they sought asylum, before crossing the Atlantic again to Colombia. They are not nomads — they are fugitives.

In 2010, two of its leaders were convicted in New York for kidnapping minors, and forcing them to have sex. From then on, they have removed themselves from the rest of the world, and those who have followed their trail say that some members are currently in Turkey, Romania, Moldavia and North Macedonia. No one knows how they pay for their travel, housing, or the dozens of pounds of peanuts and eggplant. They have always accused their detractors of religious persecution. EL PAÍS reached out to two of their leaders, to no response.

An immortal sect

Despite the criminal trail the sect has left across the globe, the Colombian Attorney’s Office has not opened any investigation against them. “[The minors] entered through a normal immigration point, registered, and are with their parents. There are no signs that they were going to be made to have sex for money or enter into a forced marriage, nor did it seem like human trafficking,” say representatives from the Attorney General’s Office.

For 15 years, Orit Cohen has been warning authorities in Israel, Canada and Guatemala that the sect has little to do with Judaism and that it has “destroyed” her family and those of dozens of acquaintance. “It changed our life. There’s proof, there are charges and convictions, but no one has been able to stop them. It’s very painful for me,” she says in a video call from Rishon LeZion in Israel. “They’re a group of pedophiles. What more do they need to stop them?”

Cohen hasn’t been able to see her brother since 2010, when he joined Lev Tahor. Her brother fathered six children, who in turn had five more during the years they spent in Guatemala. Three of Cohen’s nieces and nephews have managed to leave, carrying emotional scars and testimonies of horror: forced marriages, sexual abuse, and psychological manipulation.

“I had a son there, and they don’t let me have any contact with him. When I escaped, I couldn’t save him,” says Israel Amir, one of Cohen’s nephews who spent nearly nine years under the sect’s control in Guatemala. “There was no possible opposition: if someone didn’t agree, they beat them, isolated them or shut them in a kind of cell where no one could speak to them,” Amir recalls. “If anyone tried to go or even think differently, they punished them until they broke.”

Cohen has become the most visible face in the fight against the elusive organization. It’s David and Goliath battle. Although she says she doesn’t trust authorities or those who claim to defend children’s rights in any country, she hopes Israeli courts will grant her custody of her nieces and nephews still under Lev Tahor’s control.

“It’s impossible to guarantee their safety with their parents, no matter what they say, no matter what they regret doing,” she says. “They are Jewish children and the State of Israel is waiting for them.”

Many minors come under control of authorities, but eventually wind up with their parents, as recently happened in Guatemala. In December 2024, the Central American country’s officials rescued 160 children from a settlement, where they found evidence of multiple acts of violence. A year later, only two of the minors remain in the custody of authorities. The others were returned to their parents or to their extended family by court order, despite warnings from Lucrecia Prera, head of the Children’s Ombudsman’s Office. “Many factors kept us from having a clear picture of what we were dealing with. We don’t know if minors died or if there were abortions or children were buried,” she says.

Prera was deeply impacted by the case of a woman in the community who, at 43 years of age, had 17 children. She also remembers the 29 kids with fake names, and the children with malnutrition who had been coached to not say a word, and a box of bones whose origins were never made clear.

“I’m very sorry to say it, but they always look for countries with weak legislation,” says Prera, who continues to wonder who pays for the group’s lawyers and its dozens of trips from one country to another. Those interviewed for this report share the same suspicion: that Lev Tahor is kept afloat by donations from fundamentalist groups.

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