The Hedyot Revealed

I've noticed that here is quite a bit of talk on the interwebs lately about how it can be proven from the bible that Barack Obama is Satan, or alternatively that he is the Messiah, or alternatively that he is the President of the United States (this has yet to be adequately proven according to many people). I have nothing to add to these useless prognostications, as I only concern myself here with matters of real importance.

However, once we're on the topic of finding hidden messages buried in words, I'll mention that one astute reader pointed out in the comments to my last post, that the pseudonym I used for my fake article, Shaya Oddet, was actually an anagram of Daas Hedyot.

Yes, it's cute, but it's not really anything special. Anyone who's learned a little ba'al haturim should be able to could come up with something like that. But aside from useless fake names, there are actually far deeper secrets hidden in the depths of this blogger's identity. Yes, indeed.

Probe a little deeper, look closer at the sacred glyphs of the Latin alphabet, rearrange the letters some more, and you can find an answer to one of life's deepest mysteries...

Daas Hedyot = Sod haYated!

Yes, it's true! I am the secret, the deep, inner, hidden part of the Yated! All this time, my chareidi readers considered me to be an enemy of their worldview, but finally my true purpose can be revealed! I am the real source of all chareidi propaganda. Somehow though, by the time my eternal truths reach the Yated editors they get all mangled up and distorted and turned into the boneheaded drivel they call chareidi journalism. But now you know from whence their power derives. And that's why you should drop that paper and only read this blog instead.

Naturally, people will find this claim to be entirely preposterous. The Hedyot has lost it, they'll insist. Delusions of grandeur, and such. I understand their ambivalence. My friends, you don't have to believe me. Trust me, I did not ask for this responsibility. But this is who I am, and there is no denying it. The letters do not lie. I am the source, the very foundation of all knowledge. Like all eternal truths, if you believe in it enough, it shall be revealed, and revealed it has been. If you rearrange the letters of my name some more, the indisputable proof of my eternal truthiness is revealed to one and all:

Daas Hedyot = Yesod Hadat!

Breaking News!

It seems like I was wrong for criticizing the Asifah last week. The following article someone just sent me from this week's Yated seems to indicate that serious changes are coming to the chareidi world. I can't believe they're really doing this! What's next? Allowing people to daven for the amud with no hat and jacket?

Jewish World in Shock as Ultra-Orthodox Admit to Wrongdoing

By Shaya Oddet

In a stunning reversal of a decades long policy, the ultra orthodox world has publicly declared that they will no longer deny, excuse, cover-up, minimize, whitewash, or rationalize the criminal indiscretions of their community. Beginning this coming Elul, community spokespeople have announced, chareidi society will be taking full responsibility for any and all transgressions by its members and leadership.

Ari Shamran, spokesman for the Nogudah, explained the change, "We decided it was best to stop pretending that Chareidim are so much better than everyone else, and finally admit what we've known all along, that we don't really behave any differently than the goyim. For many years, we were able to maintain that myth, but due to all the recent press coverage, we realize that such a story simply isn't plausible anymore, and we need to stop promoting it. It just makes us look foolish."

The head of the Nogudah, R' Shlomo Ferlow told the press, "What with a new scandal being exposed every few days, it's become far too difficult to attribute our misdeeds to a few rotten apples in the community. People just don't buy it anymore."

"We realize that many will find this decision difficult to accept," counseled Shamran, in the official press statement released earlier today. "But after weeks of agonizing deliberations by our gedolim, it was decided that this is the most da'as torah-ish course of action available to us."

As was feared, not everyone was supportive of the novel ruling. One Brooklyn resident, Chaim F. (not his real name) told us, "It's mamesh crazy that they're doing this. Can you imagine the chillul hashem that will come about when people hear about all the stuff going on?! And during Elul?! They really need to ask a rav before going ahead with this."

It seems that the change in policy was a result of not only the increased frequency of the crimes, but also due to the more severe nature of the acts themselves. "It's understandable if we have to whitewash a little tax evasion or the occasional Ponzi scheme," explained Shamran. "But do they really expect us to put a positive spin on trafficking in human organs? No, I'm sorry, but there are some things that even a Torah Jew just doesn't try to excuse."

Another critic, Yehuda R. of Monsey (not his real residence), was less than convinced by Shamran's explanation. "What's the big deal?! They can just say it was pikuach nefesh! Anyway," he said, wagging his finger in angry frustration, "I don't really believe he did it. It's all just a blood libel by the anti-Semitic media. It never happened. My cousin davens in the guy's shul. I'm telling you, there's just no way he could have done that. And besides, it was pikuach nefesh!"

But Shamran insisted the time had come for the community to face the facts. "It's one thing to cover up child molestation that's been going on for decades. It's quite another to refute a two year long undercover FBI investigation." He held up his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. "Yeah, looks like you finally got us," he said laughing. "What took you so long?"

"I think it's a good thing," remarked Mrs. Miriam L., a Lakewood housewife (not her real occupation). "It's about time. I found it much too confusing always having them tell us contradictory things. One day they'd give a speech at the Nogudah Convention exhorting us to always be careful never to make a chillul hashem, and then the next week, they'd be explaining why they don't think child molesters should be brought to justice. How's a da'as torah following person supposed to make sense of it all?"

Despite the many prominent rabbonim who declared their support for the new policy, some rabbis still urged caution. "It's important for people to understand that this is not a p'sak," said R' Moshe Richtig, head of Yeshivas Torah v'Tzedakah. "This is a very complex issue, and anyone who is faced with a situation where they might have to admit to something inappropriate should probably consult their posek first."

Most people in the media were unsure how to take the news. Bloggers in particular were a bit concerned. "I suppose it's a positive development," said the writer known as XGHRWMO. "But it's also a bit troubling. If they really adopt this policy it's going to have a drastic effect on the blogging community. What will we have left to mock? Fake interviews with ex-frum people? I really don't want to go back to writing about the documentary hypothesis," he said, clearly alarmed at the prospect.

Others expressed concern about how the policy would affect their day to day lives. "I know money laundering is a problem, but does this mean I'll have to start paying my workers on the books?" asked the owner of a plumbing supply store. "If I do that I'll probably only be able to afford sending my kids to camp for one month. Do you have any idea what that would do to their shidduch prospects?"

"Does this mean we can't cheat on the regents anymore?" a yeshiva bochur inquired. "They weren't referring to that kind of stuff, right? Mistumeh, that's not really stealing anyway."

But some in the community weren't at all worried how the new policy would affect them. "After all," one storeowner explained confidently. "They never said we have to start abiding by the rules. Just that we should stop denying that we're breaking them. As long as we're careful not to get caught, I don't really see why anything has to change."

Change We Can't Believe In

So in yesterday's rant, I made a passing reference to the recently indicted Spinka Rebbe, and how I found the idea that one of the goals of the symposium was "...to learn to distinguish between conduct that conforms with dina d’malchusa and conduct that does not," to be evidence of their disingenuousness in truly addressing the systemic problem in their community. After all, it’s not as if the Spinka Rebbe doesn’t know the halachos!

I also mentioned about how I thought it was ludicrous that one of their keynote speakers at the event was going to be a man who has proven to be a ruthless and dishonest thug. Well, leave it to the Agudah to outdo themselves. Not only did they have that fellow speak to the crowd, but they also had the Spinka Rebbe himself! Yes, barely two weeks after pleading guilty to a decade-long tax fraud and money laundering scheme, Rabbi Naftali Tzi Weisz is being presented as the opening speaker at an event meant to tackle the problem of fraud and corruption!

Now, I’m sure there are many people who will argue that this is not as bad it seems, and that he’s actually an appropriate choice, because firstly, he's done teshuva, and secondly, someone who has been guilty of such a crime is the best person to speak to the community of the problem, kind of like how convicted gang members talk to inner city high school kids. Yeah, well, sorry, but I don’t think it’s the same thing. He was up there on the dais as a respected leader of the community, not as a convicted felon. The unspoken message to that crowd was that you can commit these crimes but we will still respect and honor you as if nothing happened. Which we all know is par for the course - as far as I know, there hasn't been a single op-ed or article in the chareidi press criticizing the man for his indiscretions. And more importantly, if you look at what he said, it shows that he actually hasn’t owned up to the problem. From the Forward article:

Weisz spoke in great detail about the compliance program that the Spinka board has entered with the government and he said, "Our community, baruch hashem, is not lacking in smart experienced lawyers and accountants that are willing to teach the tzibur [community], how to conduct their communal affairs in a manner that is in compliance with the law in all respects."

And from the VIN article:

The Spinka Rebbe told the audience about a new organization founded with the help of prominent askonim. Members include experienced attorneys, accountants and other professionals. “A lot of effort has gone into this matter and the staff can help people set up tzedaka and chessed organizations. Little by little more and more mosdos are joining the program and we’re hoping that in the coming years there will no longer be any organizations that don’t keep proper accounting records.”

Please! What a bunch of unadulterated bulls#*it! He’s making it sound as if, nebach!, we just didn’t really understand that what we were doing was wrong. But thankfully, now we have people who will teach us how to do things right! He isn’t in the least bit owning up to what he did! Just like how Zwiebel explained the asifah, not as a moment of true self-reflection and an opportunity to acknowledge their misdeeds, but rather as a chance for people to learn right from wrong! Suuuure... it’s just a matter of educating people! As if no one really intended to cheat, deceive, and steal from the government (and the taxpayer)! Even Braffman, one of the attorneys who spoke, made it sound like these things are innocent mistakes (from VIN):

Later in his talk Atty. Braffman touched on day-to-day affairs. "People don’t learn how to run their day-to-day lives after getting married, when they’ll have to report income. You have to know how to write checks, how to buy a home. When today’s generation grows up we’ll be in a much bigger mess because young people know nothing about how to run their day-to-day lives. You have no idea how careful you have to be to avoid chilul Hashem."

What a bunch of horses#%t! This is not a mea culpa! This isn’t admitting wrongdoing! This is exactly the opposite! Focusing on people's (supposed) ignorance is not how you take responsibility!

This is why I think the Agudah and all the frum people who are talking about ‘addressing the issue’ are so full of crap. They aren’t really interested in looking at themselves in a mirror and admitting to any real wrongdoing. Instead, they’ll point to ‘flaws in the system’ that contributed to the problem. Already, we are seeing people pointing to the fact that secular education in the frum world is so poor as a cause for these kinds of problems. Yeah, it’s true, their secular education does suck, and that cultivates an environment where people are lacking skills to support themselves, which can often lead to such shady activities, but that’s not the real problem!!! Nor is the problem - as everyone seems to be focused on - because these sort of things cause a chillul hashem!

These are just side issues to deflect from the real issue that no one wants to face, that for the past few decades the chareidi world and its leaders have turned a blind eye to the widespread financial impropriety that is commonplace in their society. They don’t want to face the real issue that they have been complicit in cultivating this attitude, that its ok to take advantage of any loophole (legal or not) they can come up with, if the goal is to support their mosdos and their frum lifestyle. They don’t want to acknowledge the many shmuezzen and divrei torah from their rabbonim, roshei yeshiva, and gedolim, which have subtly (and sometimes explicitly) sent the message that the only rules in life that matter are the torah rules and what the goyim say and think doesn’t really matter at all. Anyone who had been in yeshiva has heard a shmuez or two where the rabbi stands up at the podium and thunderously exclaims to his flock, "It’s only wrong because the torah says it’s wrong!" Any proper yeshiva bochur knows that the whole notion of being an ethical person really doesn't matter at all to a torah yid. All that matters to such a person is being a halachic person. And while many will point out that according to halacha all these things are forbidden (well, according to some opinions), it doesn’t really matter. Because once you’ve disregarded the notion of ethics, and put all of life into the box of halacha, all it takes is one clever gemara-kup to come up with a legal loophole, or to find some obscure psak, or figure out some rationale as to why it’s not a problem according to halacha, and the frum people will do whatever the hell they want.

How many more incidents is it going to take before they acknowledge the real underlying issues? In fact, in the past 24 hours, two more incidents have come to light - one of a couple in Monsey that were arrested on welfare fraud, and another of two young guys stealing checks from people’s mailboxes. A few months ago a Monsey guy pled guilty to wire fraud. Before that it was Leib Pinter (an Artscroll author) getting busted for a $44 million fraud. Last year it was a Lakewood bochur scamming elderly people. These are all symptoms of a very deep and disturbing issue.

Like so many other problems in chareidi society (lack of education, poverty, sexual abuse, violence, and more), this is one more travesty that they themselves can proudly take credit for creating. I’m not saying that everyone in the chareidi world is a criminal. Absolutely not. Just like not every chareidi person is a sexual abuser. But just like with the problem of sexual abuse, the community as a whole has knowingly fostered an environment where this sort of thing is not just tolerated, but is allowed to flourish. They chose to look the other way when it went on in front of them, thereby allowing the problem to get ever worse. And as was so amply demonstrated last night, they have chosen to hastily forgive the misdeeds of those who have been guilty of these crimes.

If these people ever own up to the detrimental attitudes that are endemic to their value system, there may be hope for real improvement. But as long as they refuse to face the real issues, and instead distract themselves with every excuse they can come up with, I’m quite confident that nothing more than superficial changes will come of all this.

A Moment of Reflection

So, it seems that the Agudah is having an asifa (a communal gathering) to address the recent scandals that have come to light. Here’s the letter that got sent out by Chaim Zwiebel, the Agudah’s VP:

The asifa, which is being sponsored by community askonim, will be focusing on the timeless (but also all too timely) theme of "Vi’asisa hayashar vi’hatov." It will feature two distinguished rabbonim - Harav Avrohom Schorr, shlita, and Harav Dovid Ozieri, shlita; as well as two respected legal experts - Benjamin Brafman, Esq. and Jacob Laufer, Esq. I will be serving as the evening’s chairman. We will start with Mincha at 7:15 and then proceed with the program.

Introspection about how to better live our lives in consonance with Torah ideals is always timely. It is particularly timely during the days leading up to Tisha B’Av, when we mourn the fact that we remain in Golus, and the reasons why.

And in the wake of recent headlines and front-page photographs that made every feeling Jewish heart ache, it is even more timely for us to take a good, hard look at our obligations to our fellows, to our society, to our government.

I don’t think I can adequately convey how compelling this gathering should be to us all. But I am confident that you realize how vital it is that we hear words of mussar and chizuk, and that we learn to distinguish between conduct that conforms with dina d’malchusa and conduct that does not. I am also confident that you understand how important it is to demonstrate to the wider world how heartfelt and determined Jews respond to news like the tragic tidings of recent days. Tomorrow night’s symposium and our attendance are an important part of that response.

This is without a doubt the biggest load of crap I've heard since Shafran's contemptible defense of Madoff. "To distinguish between conduct that conforms with dina d’malchusa and conduct that does not?!" What the hell does that even mean? It sounds like he's saying that because people don't realize that these things are actually assur (forbidden) due to dina d'malchusa, unfortunately some bad mistakes have happened. Riiiiight... because without knowing that dina d'malchusa forbids it, it's understandable that someone would find it acceptable to cheat the government, launder millions through charities, bribe officials, and engage in illegal organ trafficking! (Not to mention sexually molest children, grant special treatment to prisoners, defend abusive parents, smuggle drugs, abuse immigrant workers, violently riot because of a parking lot opening on shabbos, and protect pedophiles - just some of the recent crimes that have been perpetrated by ultra-orthodox people in the past few months.) Sure, it's a lesson in conforming to dina d'malchusa dina that people need - people like the Spinka Rebbe, who was busted this past year for money laundering and tax evasion. If only he had known the halacha!

The hypocrisy of these people is utterly astounding! They can’t even acknowledge the problem they claim they want to address! Why can't they just say it like it is?! To admit what everyone knows is really going on?! Wouldn’t it be amazing if someone at the Agudah actually said the following: "We need to take a close look where it is we've gone wrong if every other week another rav or frum person is being busted with crime after crime. We need to consider how the view that we've promoted throughout the last few decades (sometimes subtly, sometimes overtly) - that the goyim don't really matter and that it's ok to disregard them, cheat them, and lie to them, as long as we don't get caught and cause a chillul hashem - might actually be responsible for all this awful behavior. We need to acknowledge that the fact that the Otisville prison looks like a heimishe bungalow colony says something very disturbing about our society. And that few frum people seem to be bothered by this is even more disturbing. We need to admit the painful, ugly truth, that - to paraphrase Shakespeare - something is truly, very rotten in the state of Chareidistan."

Of course, this would never be said in a million years. Why not? Because the attitudes and behaviors that have produced this dysfunctional rot have been taught to scores of frum people as part of the one True Torah Derech (TM). I guarantee you that every person who commits one of these crimes, or defends those who have done so, can find some rav or halachic source to justify his behavior. Just look at the recent debacle over R' Dovid Cohen's statement that it's ok to cheat on one's taxes. Although many in the MO world spoke up against this, the chareidi world was mostly silent, and in fact most of the discussion that I saw from those quarters was defending him. The fact that the Agudah doesn't even have the guts to openly refer to the problems which need addressing just proves how disingenuous they are about actually fixing them. The simple, yet disturbing, truth about all this is that they won't ever really address these issues because so many of their constituents, and their leaders, don't really see these attitudes as problematic.

And let's not forget this little gem:

I am also confident that you understand how important it is to demonstrate to the wider world how heartfelt and determined Jews respond to news like the tragic tidings of recent days.

Hahahahahaha! What a freaking joke! Yes, we have to make sure that the goyim know we’re very upset about all this. Damage control! We wouldn't want them to draw any conclusions from this tragedy about the disregard that our society has viewed them with these past few decades! You know, Rabbi Zwiebel, it's funny you should mention how Jews respond to these things, because until this week, whenever I heard a frum guy share with his yeshiva or shul buddies some ethically questionable shtick that would save them some money, all I heard in response was admiration of his clever yiddishe kup! (Who in the frum world hasn't knowingly winked at the ingenuity of the camp administrator who bussed in loads of kids on the day the inspectors were coming for a visit?) Where was the chareidi community's moral outrage when their criminals weren't being paraded in front of the whole world?

As usual, they profess an earnest sense of remorse and self-reflection:

Introspection about how to better live our lives in consonance with Torah ideals is always timely. It is particularly timely during the days leading up to Tisha B’Av, when we mourn the fact that we remain in Golus, and the reasons why.

As DovBear so eloquently put it, the reason the Temple was destroyed was because the leaders of Jerusalem were pious frauds, who used the Temple to justify their selfish behavior.... In the language of the Prophet, they did not "Seek justice, encourage the oppressed, defend the cause of the fatherless, [or] plead the case of the widow." They didn't protect the vulnerable or defend the rights of the innocent. Instead they just kept showing up on the Temple Mount, day after day, with their fat bulls and incense. While vulnerable people went exploited and unprotected, the leaders of Jerusalem gathered on a mountaintop to pay lip service to God.

They say they want to take a close look at themselves. Well, how about taking a look at this? One of the featured speakers at this asifah, Rabbi Avrohom Schorr, is one of the fundie nut jobs behind a lot of the banning thuggery that goes on in the chareidi community! Yes, the man who unjustly caused damages in excess of $500,000, and tried to ruin an innocent man’s reputation is going to lecture to them on the theme of "Vi’asisa hayashar vi’hatov!" The person who publicly humiliated Lipa Schmeltzer by rushing the stage at a wedding and grabbing the microphone away from the singer is going to speak "words of mussar and chizuk" to the community!

On Tuesday, these god-fearing people will gather to, in their words, "take a good, hard look at our obligations to our fellows, to our society, to our government."

I honestly can not wait to see what they discover.

Ulterior Motives

We were sitting at a sidewalk cafe, casually reminiscing on the frivolities of our lives, when my friend suddenly leaned over the table, and like a seedy peddler in a back alley, held his jacket slightly open, and said to me conspiratorially, "Hey, check it out."

My interest sufficiently piqued, I watched as he reached into his inside pocket and withdrew a highly polished pen of unique design. Holding it out in the palm of his hand, he looked at me expectantly, clearly wanting me to let him know how impressed I was.

"Ok," I said nonchalantly, refusing to play along, "So you got yourself a nice pen. What's the big deal? Why all the fuss?"

"No, no, " he said to me, nodding his head disapprovingly. "This isn't just any pen. It's a Mont Blanc. Retail price $700." His mangled attempt to pronounce it with the French accent made him appear pathetically condescending.

"Seriously?" I said, mildly impressed, despite myself. "How'd you get your hands on that?" There was no way my friend could afford anything that extravagant, let alone a mere pen.

"Hmmmm..." he replied mysteriously, pleased that I had taken the bait. "That isn't important. I've been using it for a week now. I love having this thing. It writes amazingly. Such an incredible piece of craftsmanship."

His pretentiousness was starting to grate on me. "Really?" I retorted sarcastically. "It writes so amazingly? That's why you enjoy carrying it around? For some reason, I suspect there might be some other motivation at work."

"What do you mean?" he answered defensively. "This really is one of the finest writing instruments ever produced. When writing with it, it smoothly flows along the paper. It sits perfectly balanced in your hand. It's elegantly sculpted. There's no doubt in my mind that this is a superior pen to the crap that everyone else uses!"

"Yeah, that may be true," I replied. "But it's still not why you enjoy using it. The real reason you like it is because it's a status symbol. It gives you cache. People look at you differently when they know you have a Mont Blanc. It may indeed be a far superior pen, but that's irrelevant to why you like using it."

Naturally, he vehemently disputed my allegations, insisting that it was the exceptional quality which earned the pen his unabashed adulation, but the begrudging tone in his voice told me I had indeed hit upon a sore point.

We kept going back and forth on this inane triviality until he insisted he had to take off, and left me alone to ruminate on our petty squabble. But even after he had been gone half an hour, the conversation was still repeating itself in my head. There was something oddly familiar about it to me, and I couldn't seem to put my finger on exactly why it felt that way. Finally, it came to me! I had had this conversation once before, a few weeks earlier! Only then I wasn't talking about luxury pens, but rather, about religion.

You see, every time there's something in the media about people leaving frumkeit (and lately there has been quite a bit about that topic - articles, books, movies, custody battles, documentaries, and more) people talk about the issue more and more. And inevitably I am approached by someone - a friend, a co-worker, a relative - and get asked the million dollar question: Why do people leave frumkeit?

There's many ways to approach this issue, but when the question is posed by a chareidi person, the conversation usually takes a very predictable turn. Chareidi people are ostensibly very bothered by this phenomenon, and when they ask it, they aren't just inquiring out of sheer curiosity, but rather because it's an immensely troubling issue to them. They ask because (so they say) they want to understand the issue better, and by better understanding it, they can work on figuring out a solution to what they see as a serious problem.

So in responding to their inquiry, I usually flip the question back around and ask my interlocutor to explain to me why people are frum. A variety of answers are usually presented in response, but the main one given is simply that... It's the truth! Frum people believe that god has revealed to them the proper way to live, he explains simply, and so observing those rules is the most correct and true lifestyle one can follow.

However, I always dispute that point. Yes, I fully acknowledge that they believe it's the truth. But I don't believe that this belief is the reason why they are frum. I maintain that most people are frum because it serves their own interests, and not because of some lofty devotion to truth. I don't dispute that they believe it. They can still believe it is true, and at the same time, they can be primarily motivated by something other than that truth. Just like my friend with the pen, he honestly believed that it was a truly superior pen (and was probably correct about that), but despite his claim to the contrary, that superiority was not really why he liked the pen so much. His real motivation in using that Mont Blanc was the fact that it brought some tangible benefit to his life (the newfound respect with which people viewed him). And it's the same thing with frumkeit, I say. Whether or not people believe it is true, that's not really why they're frum. They are frum primarily because it brings some tangible benefit to their life. The truth is mostly irrelevant.

Unsurprisingly, frum people staunchly resist attributing their motivations to such self-serving forces. They much prefer the notion that they are frum because they are fervent devotees of the truth and they therefore follow what they believe to be the truth of god's revealed word.

It doesn't bother me that they think this. I honestly don't have any interest in arguing with frum people about it, nor in trying to convince them that my perspective is correct. If my advice on how they can better solve their problem is too difficult for them to accept, I'm not going to force it on them. But despite their resistance, I oftentimes can't help bringing it up in discussion because I feel it satisfactorily resolves a question that is repeatedly raised by frum people in response to a very frequent occurrence, that of the pronouncement by someone (typically an ex-frum person) who, in response to some indiscretion, corruption or criminal activity by a visibly religious figure, will loudly exclaim, "You see?! That's why I am not religious! If that's how religious people behave, I don't want any part in it!"

Whenever they hear someone say this, chareidi people immediately reject it out of hand with what, at first glance, seems to be a very logical reply. "But that doesn't make any sense! Just because some people aren't behaving properly, doesn't disprove the truth of the religion! Their indiscretions do not invalidate God's truth! Why would you throw away something good and true just because of a few rotten apples?" It's a logical reply because they're absolutely right in making their point. Witnessing a religious person behave unethically doesn't have any bearing whatsoever on the truth of the religion. But nonetheless, it always frustrates me when I hear frum people responding this way, because they are entirely misunderstanding the subtext of what one is expressing when making that angry accusation!

When a person passionately declares that seeing a prominent religious figure act inappropriately makes him want to stop being frum, he's not saying that the religion per se has now been disproven. Rather, the primary incentive for him being religious has now been demonstrably refuted. Until that moment he believed that being religious improved the "quality" of a person, or that it genuinely enhanced one's morals somehow. But faced with this spiritual fraud, he now recognizes that religion, in fact, falls far short of achieving that goal. This, then, is what is being expressed in that moment of rejection. Not a statement about the truth of religion, but simply a newfound appreciation for what frumkeit can and can not do for a person's life. He understands now that the benefits he was hoping to accrue from frumkeit will not necessarily be granted to him. And if he isn't going to obtain those rewards, then why bother with it at all?

This is what I keep trying to make frum people understand, but they seem unwilling to accept it: Most people stop being frum for the same reason they choose to remain frum - because of how much they are or aren't benefiting from it. As long as they feel they are tangibly benefiting somehow, either because they genuinely enjoy torah and mitzvos, or because they trust that being frum somehow protects them from the evils of the outside world, or because they think it will guarantee them eternal reward, or because they think it ensures them a moral life, or because they think that they have a better chance at a happy life following those rules, or even simply because they enjoy the social aspects of frum life - for whatever reason it might be, as long as they feel they are prospering in some way from it, they will want to stay frum.

But as soon as the benefit is reduced sufficiently, either because the person doesn't get any significant enjoyment from it anymore, or because torah and mitzvos have become more of a burden, or because the promise of a world to come seems less certain, or because he sees that being frum doesn't guarantee a more moral life, or because he has come to realize that it doesn't shelter him from criminals, corruption, and the dangerous elements of 'the outside world', or for any of a variety of other reasons, then he will stop caring about being frum.

This mental calculus, which more often than not is an unconscious thought process, has very little to do with how much one believes in the truth of Judaism. It is almost entirely self-serving. No doubt on some level they genuinely believe in the truth of Judaism. But again, that belief plays only a very minor role in why they are frum.

Admittedly, if a person truly believes, with a firm conviction, that Judaism is true, he probably won't stop being religious even if he no longer benefits from it, but this is a moot point. The vast majority of frum people do not possess any such conviction. Their 'belief' in Judaism's truth, if it can even be called that, is a barely sustainable faith built upon a hodge-podge of gedolim stories, midrashim, gematrias, some degree of trust in their rabbinic leaders, a whole lot of superstitions, and a few poorly constructed arguments that they might have once heard from a kiruv rabbi. (Additionally, if a person really has a firm conviction that Judaism is true, then he presumably still believes in olam haba, so in effect, he still DOES believe that he is benefiting by being frum.)

"Why are so many people leaving yiddishkeit?", the frum world constantly asks. They can ask it as often as they want. They can hold conferences devoted to the topic, and every month print op-ed's in their publications about it. They can seek the advice of gedolim on the topic and hold tehillim gatherings for siyata d'shmaya in solving it. But all their efforts simply won't amount to much at all. Because until they put aside their inflated sense of spiritual devotion, and acknowledge the mundane truth of their society's self-interested motivations, they will never even begin to truly understand why so many people choose to leave that world behind.

Better Know a Kofer - Shoshana

Once again, I am very excited to present a new interview for the 'Better Know a Kofer' series (see the sidebar for the other interviews). Our kofer today - a 45 year old molecular biologist who stopped being Orthodox only a year ago - tells quite a different story from our past interviewees. In fact, in some ways it's almost the exact opposite of Sara's story. Please join me in welcoming Shoshana to the blog.

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Hello Shoshana, and thank you for agreeing to be interviewed. To begin, can you tell us a bit about the religious environment that you were raised in?

My background is a bit different from the other interviewees because I didn't grow up in an Orthodox home. I converted to Judaism as an adult. In fact, I was not raised in any sort of religious environment at all. My father was brought up Catholic and has a lot of negative feelings about the Catholic church. I don't know if my mother was raised with any religious upbringing; she certainly never spoke of one. When I was younger my parents did send me to Saturday morning Catholic education classes, which I think are probably the equivalent of afternoon Hebrew school. The teachers weren't very good, we didn't really learn anything, and even the nuns said the classes were a poor substitute for Catholic school. We rarely went to church and the classes ended at confirmation (age 12).

How did you get involved in Judaism?

I grew up in a predominantly Jewish suburb of Chicago and my dad was in the scrap metal business, so most of the people I knew were Jewish. I became attracted to Judaism because of them, particularly my best friend Robin. I liked the holidays, traditions and most of all the sense of being part of a community. When I got to college and began exploring different religions, I liked Judaism because I didn't have to believe in Jesus. I was never comfortable with the whole idea of Jesus.

After college, I hung around different synagogues for a couple of years. I had picked up enough Hebrew along the way that I could follow a service. For the holidays, I would usually go to a synagogue that didn't require tickets, so I never became a member anywhere. When I met my husband he belonged to a large Conservative congregation (800+ families). After he brought me as a guest on the High Holidays, the rabbi called to welcome me. The rabbi was a bit surprised that I hadn't converted, and invited me to come in and discuss it. I spent a few months studying. I had a pretty good Jewish background already, so there wasn't a lot to learn. It was during this process that I started asking fundamental questions, such as "Where did we get the Torah?" At the time, I didn't realize that that was such a politically charged question. I was disappointed that the rabbi didn't have a better answer. He told me that the Orthodox believed in Torah m'Sinai, but wasn't able to give me a coherent alternative to TMS.

So what brought you to Orthodoxy?

After about a year as a member of the Conservative synagogue, I really became dissatisfied. It was a large congregation and I didn't find it to be very welcoming or personal. I met an Aish HaTorah rabbi at a funeral and started talking to him. He invited me to attend some classes. I'm pretty sure he didn't realize I had already converted to Conservative Judaism. When it later came up, there was a very awkward conversation with his wife which ended with her suggesting that I break up with the man I would eventually marry. I don't recall who, or if anyone, suggested an Orthodox conversion, but I eventually called an Orthodox rabbi on my own to talk about converting.

My Orthodox conversion was very different from my Conservative one. I was living with my future husband at the time and obviously had to move out. I moved in with a wonderful family and lived with them for over a year. I live in a medium sized city with a small Orthodox community (100 or so shomer shabbos families). Over the years the Orthodox community has become much more yeshivish due to an influx of families from New York, but at the time, there were a handful of kollel families and the rest were BTs. Some people were incredibly welcoming, others weren't; I had a mix of good and bad experiences. I remained Orthodox for 18 years.

What was the impetus for your transition out of Orthodoxy?

My move out of Orthodoxy was due to a combination of intellectual and social factors. While I always had certain intellectual issues with some of the things the Kiruv folks said, e.g. I had some reservations about the Kuzari "proof", I was willing to push my intellectual doubts to the back of my mind in order to obtain the social benefits of being frum. Those social benefits began to decline when my son started having trouble in school. Against the advice of the school’s principal and our rabbi, my husband and I opted to pull our son out of the day school. After that, we became marginalized in the frum community - we stopped getting invitations for meals, frum kids wouldn’t associate with our son, I was virtually ignored at shul and eventually stopped going. After my husband passed away and I became a widow, I was even more marginalized.

Was it primarily the unpleasant social dynamic that was causing you to feel more distant from Judaism or were there also ideological/philosophical difficulties arising?

I think there are three parts to my answer to this question. First, there was just the general social difficulties of widows, particularly young widows. Orthodox women my age are busy with children and grandchildren; we did not have a lot of common ground. Secondly, my husband was the only person I could talk to about how I honestly felt about things. After a few years in Orthodoxy the luster began to wear off and we started to see problems in the community. We often talked about how we felt we were in the story "The Emperor's New Clothes," i.e. there were problems that everyone pretended didn't exist. Without having my husband to talk to, I found it harder to live in this kind of environment. Finally, my husband's cancer diagnosis and eventual death did cause me to have questions about my faith and belief in God and I didn't find Orthodoxy's answers satisfying. For example, shortly after my husband was diagnosed, a rabbi suggested that we have our mezzuzahs checked. I understand that the rabbi meant well, but I find it hard to believe that God would give someone cancer because their mezzuzah's weren't kosher.

When I first started looking outside of Orthodoxy, I needed to address my original question of "Where did we get the Torah?" This was the question that got me into Orthodoxy. If the Torah was from Sinai, then, at least according to my thinking, I had to follow it. When I was involved with Aish HaTorah I heard the Kuzari argument and I am now embarrassed to say that I believed it. All it took was a quick internet search to find lots of counter-arguments, perhaps not enough to convince someone that it isn't true, but at least enough to introduce doubt. I am embarrassed to say that I didn't do this research earlier and that I bought into the Kiruv arguments. I should have been more skeptical and less trusting. I feel like I got taken by a con man.

Can you highlight one of the very first ways you crossed the halachic line?

My first acts were for convenience rather than to make a statement, e.g. if I forgot to turn off my alarm before Shabbos, I would turn it off on Shabbos. My thoughts were that it was ridiculous to spend all of Shabbos listening to the alarm because I wasn’t allowed to flip the switch. Later, when I started doing more public things, such as driving, I felt guilty when I was in the frum neighborhood; if I wasn’t in the frum neighborhood, it didn’t bother me. I think the first time I drove on Shabbos was when I was out of town. My son got sick and we decided to come home early, rather than stay through the weekend. I didn’t give it a second thought when I loaded up the car and drove off on Shabbos, but I was concerned about getting home before dark and having someone see me.

How has your family reacted to the changes you've instituted in your life?

My family has always been wonderfully supportive in everything I’ve done. They didn’t object to me converting or becoming frum and they haven’t said anything about my going OTD, other than to ask if I would be joining them when they went out for dinner.

How have the Orthodox people from your past reacted? Has it affected your relationship with them in a significant way?

At this point I do not have any contact with my Orthodox friends. I have been avoiding them because I'm not ready to explain my decision to go OTD. I don't want to hurt them and I don't want to fight with them. It would be nice if they could see that I am happy and accept my decision, but I'm afraid that they won't.

What connection do you currently have to Jewish identity, religion, or culture?

I currently belong to a wonderful Jewish Renewal congregation and am actively involved.

Can you elaborate on what Jewish Renewal is?

I don't know that I'm the best person to do this, as I'm still trying to figure out what it is myself. Basically, the synagogue I attend now is very free flowing, do what feels meaningful for you. Very 60s. There is a lot of singing and talking about individual spirituality, not a lot of structure. Also a lot of emphasis on building community. Every service is different.

What is something from your religious past that you miss in your life now?

I really miss Shabbos. I always attend Shabbat services and come out feeling wonderful and refreshed, but then I get in my car, some idiot cuts me off in traffic, and the whole mood is spoiled.

Are there other aspects of shabbos which you observe besides going to services?

I try to do things that are "shabbosdik", e.g. read, meditate. I don't go shopping, do chores, check my email or do other things I would do during the week. I prefer that my son not watch television or play video games, but that's not a battle I want to fight.

How old is your son? How has he adapted to changing his lifestyle and living without halacha ruling his life?

My son is 14. He never liked being Orthodox, never fit well in the Orthodox community, so he is thrilled with all of the changes. We talk a lot about things I consider important, e.g. be honest, kind, etc. and things I don't consider important, e.g. dressing like a penguin.

Are there any behaviors or perspectives from your past religious life that are still dominant in your life now?

I like to think that being frum taught me about ethical behavior. I am still very conscious of shmiras ha lashon. In fact, I still read the Chofetz Chaim's "Lesson a Day." My husband was also very careful about what he said. When we decided to pull our son out of the day school we spent hours discussing what we would and would not tell people because we didn't want to say anything negative about the school or people involved in the school.

How do you currently view the religious community you were a part of?

Although I can understand why some OTDers might have very negative feelings about the frum world, I don’t. My son still has a lot of anger and I am trying to help him work through it so he can let go of it. I think it takes a lot of energy to be angry and I don’t want to waste energy on the people who hurt me. I miss some of my friends and being able to have some of the experiences; other people I don’t miss at all.

Do you still believe in some form of God or in some version of Judaism?

Yes, though I am still working out what it is.

What are some of the drawbacks of your decision to leave? Do you regret it at all? Is there any guilt?

As I said, I miss Shabbos. I don’t regret leaving; I think it’s one of the best decisions I ever made. If anything, I regret not leaving sooner.

Do you think that becoming frum was also a good decision?

That's a question I've given a lot of thought to. At this point, I regret becoming frum, though I do see some positive things came out of it. If I hadn't become frum I probably would not have gotten married and wouldn't have my son. Additionally, I learned a lot. When I first started going to the synagogue I attend the rabbi commented that I might be frustrated because I am far more knowledgeable than most of the membership.

Are there any particular struggles or challenges that you find especially difficult in the transition?

It has been hard losing my Orthodox friends. At some point I am going to need to talk to a few of them and let them know what's going on with me. It would be nice if they could accept my decision, but I've heard the way they talk about the synagogue I now attend, so I don't think they will.

Being OTD is still very new for me. I've landed in a Jewish Renewal synagogue, but I don't know if that's where I will stay. It's a comfortable place for me to be right now while I figure out what I believe and what I want.

What helped you get through the challenges of leaving Orthodoxy?

The people at my new synagogue have been tremendously welcoming and supportive. At first, I was afraid to tell them that I had been Orthodox, but no one has held it against me.

Can you name something significant which you are currently doing in your life, or that you’ve experienced, which would have been difficult, if not impossible, in your former life?

Not really, but I never totally conformed to the frum code of behavior anyway. I just completed my first marathon, but I would have done that anyway. I want to do some serious mountain climbing and through hike the Appalachian trail. My son’s life has been much more affected than mine. He has been in plays and traveled with the school chess team, which he wouldn’t have been able to do because of Shabbos.

What surprised you most about the world outside ultra-orthodoxy?

Nothing really, but I never totally left it. I guess the one thing that surprises me is that no one has held it against me that I used to be frum.

What led you to believe that they would?

I've heard non-frum Jews make negative statements about Orthodoxy, just as Orthodox Jews make negative statements about other movements.

What is one misconception or stereotype about ex-frum people that you’d like to correct?

That we’re all angry, lonely, bitter drug addicts. We’re not.

When you were frum, what was your reaction when you heard some of the stereotypes that were expressed by frum people about general society?

At first, when I heard some of the outrageous stereotypes I just kept quiet. During my conversion I didn't want to do or say anything that I thought would jeopardize my conversion. My husband and I would talk about things, particularly later when we started to see flaws in the Orthodox community, but I didn't discuss it with anyone else. After he died, I lost the one person I could talk to about how I honestly felt about some things which made it harder for me to stay in the Orthodox community.

How does your life now compare to when you were frum?

Much, much better.

Care to elaborate?

I think what's better is that I'm living honestly. When I was frum I felt like I couldn't always say what I was thinking or I wasn't free to disagree with things I disagree with. There was a lot of pressure to conform. Now I'm not afraid to speak up when I disagree.

Are there any societal and/or cultural experiences which have significantly shaped your worldview?

Watching my husband die of cancer has definitely changed the way I look at things. I have less tolerance for BS and I am less concerned about other people’s expectations. I refuse to live my life just "going through the motions."

How did being frum play a role in how you dealt with that ordeal?

Being frum was both helpful and not helpful during the ordeal. It was helpful in that many people in the community were tremendously supportive of my physical needs. People brought me meals, helped with rides to doctor's appointments, etc. I will always be grateful for their help. However, I did not find much psychological support. Being a caregiver is emotionally and psychologically exhausting, but the frum perspective seems to be "suck it up" because "it's a mitzvah." I also tired of people trying to link my husband's illness to a behavior, e.g. check your mezzuzahs, don't speak loshon hara, etc.

After my husband was diagnosed with lung cancer somebody called me to tell me that different ailments are associated with certain types of aveiros and lung ailments are associated with loshon hara. I'm sure the person thought she was being helpful, but the implication was that my husband's lung cancer was a punishment for speaking loshon hara. I understand that because frum people believe that everything happens for a reason they have a real need to find a cause for every bad thing that happens. But, I can't tell you how upsetting it is to be in the midst of trying to cope with a fatal illness and getting calls from people who think they have ruach hakodesh.

By the way, from my conversations with other widows I know that kind of behavior isn't limited to frum Jews. But it did kind of surprise me. A lot of frum Jews like to claim moral superiority, but when it comes to helping people in crisis, my experience with frum Jews is mixed. Some people I knew were great, but some weren't. And it was my non-Jewish neighbors who noticed that my grass needed cutting and came over and cut it.

Is there anything positive in your life that you would attribute to having gotten from the frum world?

I learned a lot about Judaism by being frum. My Hebrew is better than almost anyone I know outside of the frum world.

What’s the best thing about not being frum?

I don’t have to put up with judgmental, holier than thou attitudes.

What’s the best thing that you recall about being frum?

Shabbos. I miss the peace and calmness I used to feel on Shabbos. When I go to services now I do get into a peaceful state, but then I have to drive home and as soon as I get in traffic I get tense again. I try to create the Shabbos feeling as much as I can. Recently I started making Shabbos dinner again and then I go to services afterward (services don't start until 8) which is nice, but it's not the same.

Do you have a favorite character or incident from the Bible?

I've always been intrigued by Orpah. Even when I was frum, I wondered what it was that made Ruth stay with Naomi and Orpah return home. I wonder if it's just that she missed her family or if she saw something in Judaism that she didn't like.

If you could change one thing about the community you left, what would it be?

I would like it to be more tolerant and accepting, less judgmental. I would like people to be a little less sure of themselves and more aware of the gray areas of life.

Do you think there’s anything that the frum world could have done to keep you "on the derech"?

Not unless they were willing to change their entire mindset.

Are there any parting words you’d like to tell the frum world?

There is a lot of good in the frum world, but the frum world does not have a monopoly on goodness. The frum world is not as good as it thinks it is; the outside world is not as bad as the frum world thinks it is.

Coming and Going

Although much of my focus here on the blog tends to focus on the chareidi world's attitudes towards people who leave the frum world, the other day I had an encounter that made me think about their attitude towards certain other people in the community - baalei teshuva (aka "born again religious Jews", or 'BT's') and converts.

Although they won't usually admit it, the chareidi world has always had a very conflicted attitude towards such people. Most of the time, when the issue arises, what you'll typically hear a born-and-bred chareidi person (aka FFB) express about a BT is unabashed admiration. Baalei teshuva and converts are often minor celebrities in those circles, frequently called upon to speak to the masses, and held up as "proof" that frumkeit is better than a non-religious lifestyle. And every frum person will eagerly pull out the quote from the gemara that heaps unequivocal praise on such people: "In the place where baalei teshuva stand, even the perfectly righteous cannot stand." And to their credit, frum people want to make sure that newcomers to religion are made to feel at home and welcome so they do their utmost to treat them with the greatest respect and sensitivity, trying their best to be as accommodating as they can to the newcomers often clumsy adoptions of the norms of frum life.

One of the main reasons that FFB's love baalei teshuva so much is that the BT confirms for them that they are living the right kind of life. In the back of every FFB's mind there are always some niggling doubts haunting his thoughts: Am I really sure that we are so right believing what we do? Do I really have a better life with all these restrictions? How can I be certain that Judaism is the more logical path to follow if I never really investigated the alternatives? The BT's decision to adopt a frum lifestyle lays to rest all these troublesome questions. After all, thinks the FFB, if this guy who had a chance to live on the outside chose to give it up for Torah, then obviously it's right! All those questions that supposedly challenge the truth of Yiddishkeit don't have to concern him anymore, because if this formerly secular guy - who doesn't have the bias of being born frum and who most probably looked into Judaism very thoroughly - feels that Torah stands up to scrutiny, then clearly Mr. FFB doesn't have to worry that they are of any consequence!

But if you listen closely, and look a bit more carefully at how FFB's interact with BT's and speak about them when they are in private company, one can sense more than a little ambivalence and skepticism mixed in among all the adulation. BT's are admired... but still thought of as a bit odd. They are welcomed... but still kept at a distance. Their devotion to god and truth earns them endless praise... but no one really wants to be too much like them.

I think that if one examines the reasons for this conflicted relationship, it reveals a number of very interesting things about how Orthodox Jews look at their Judaism.

One of the explanations sometimes pointed to for the ambivalence towards BT's is the atypical zeal that BT's often bring to their religious life. It's not uncommon to find in newcomers to religion an enthusiasm for religious practices that is almost entirely absent in those who were raised frum. For the FFB, some of this religious lassitude can obviously be explained as the result of a lifetime of habituation combined with the sad reality that many frum people never really think much about their frumkeit in the first place, but the undeniable fact is that the passion that the BT brings to his religious service often makes the FFB very uneasy.

This is actually highly ironic because it is often this almost childlike eagerness to serve god that earns them such high accolades in religious society. But when the FFB sees the BT davening with such fervor, and being super meticulous in his halachic observance, it raises all sorts of awkward and uncomfortable questions in his mind: On the one hand, he acknowledges that the excitement with which the BT is performing his duties is admirable, even in some way ideal, yet at the back of his mind, he can't help wondering, do I really want to be like that? Is it normal to really be so medakdek about serving hashem and halacha?

When I was learning in Israel, there was this one BT in the yeshiva who I was friendly with. He was a very sweet guy, but he had the habit of treating every single minor religious rule with the most extreme attentiveness. His benching was like a yom kippur neila. He was fastidious about lashon hara. He would never walk in front of someone davening shemone esrei, even if it meant he was trapped in his seat for an extra 30 minutes. And I was told by the fellow who would go around the rooms in the morning to wake up the bochurim for shachris, that when he woke this guy up, as soon as his eyes opened, he would immediately leap out of his bed, because he wanted to follow the halacha that said "one should arise in the morning like a lion to serve god."

Now, on the one hand, such people are usually dismissed as odd or out of touch, but on the other hand, aren't these people living up to the ideals that all torah true Jews supposedly aspire to? Don't chazal teach that one should treat every halacha, no matter how seemingly trivial, as if it is of the utmost importance? Don't they impress upon people not to care about how people may look at you as 'weird' for keeping halacha? This fellow might be a bit unusual, but only because everyone else's standards have fallen so low! In god's eyes, there's nothing at all wrong with him. It's everyone else who has the problem!

So I think that when the FFB witnesses the BT recite asher yatzar with such devout sincerity, even as he admires the fresh faced eagerness, he is also a bit unnerved. Both by how this new adherent's worship highlights the inadequacy of his own divine service, and also by the fact that despite his professed admiration for the BT's devotion, the FFB doesn't really want to be as frum (read: weird) as the BT is. He likes his communally accepted religious standards where he can practice halacha in a way that isn't overly burdensome to his lifestyle and that doesn't make him seem fanatical or out of place. He doesn't want this version of Judaism that the BT keeps holding up to his face and reminding him is how he should be living.

Aside from the atypical religious excitement of the newly religious, I think there's another significant reason why FFB's are uncomfortable with BT's. I've always suspected that despite the professed admiration for the BT, there is actually an unspoken suspicion that the FFB always harbors to the BT. This mistrust is rooted in the very nature of the journey that brought the BT to religion, a nature which directly conflicts with the accepted thinking in the chareidi world of how a Torah Jew's mind should work.

You see, according to the chareidi perspective, a proper Torah Jew serves god by putting aside one's own ideas of what's best and commits himself to only following what god has deemed proper, as expressed in halacha. And by unequivocally embracing this philosophy, the BT (and even more so the convert) has proven how committed he is to this ideal.

Now, generally this aspect of the BT's life is greatly admired by frum people. That someone came to this conclusion on his own is incredibly inspiring to them. Invariably, they find the decision to voluntarily reject the more permissive life of general society and instead take on the responsibilities of Orthodoxy to be a far more impressive type of religious allegiance than the FFB who was raised with this lifestyle being the norm. But despite that admiration, there's a subtle implication of the BT's act of social defiance which troubles many chareidi people. Because unlike the FFB who has always shown that he is loyal to what his society tells him to do, the BT has revealed a dangerous streak of independence.

So on the one hand, by fully accepting halacha, and demonstrating that he is fully committed to the idea that god's word is more important than his own judgment, the BT has earned his stripes in frum society. But on the other hand, the undeniable fact is that the BT only came to this approach by following his own mind and making his own choice to join this lifestyle. So if his dedication to Torah and mitzvos is really rooted, not in a status quo devotion to god, but in his own mind's judgment that this is the correct path, then what's to stop him from coming to a different conclusion about what's right sometime later down the line? How can we really be certain of his absolute loyalty?! Maybe five years down the line, the same independent thinking that made him realize that Judaism is true, might make him think that Islam is true?

While probably most are unaware of this thought process, I think it's part of what underlies the FFB's uneasiness about the BT. And I think this sentiment actually leaks out a bit at times, such as when FFB's express disapproval at BT's who retain some of their unique character and don't entirely conform to the social expectations of the chareidi community that they live in.

Of course, there are also more prosaic reasons that BT's are often treated as second-class citizens by FFB's. It could simply be the same as any close-knit social group that has to deal with newcomers to their community. Outsiders are rarely granted the same legitimacy as a true-blue member who was raised in the club from his very youth.

I actually think that all these issues are simply part of human nature, and it's understandable that the community is not truly as welcoming as they profess to be. But it's quite sad that a society that prides itself upon its devotion to god's word, has no problem with such a widespread and systemic violation of the biblical commandment to wholeheartedly welcome the stranger without any prejudice (Exodus 22:20).

I wonder how many baalei teshuva would actually decide to be frum if they knew that they would forever be held at arms length by the people they so much want to become like?

Better Know a Kofer - Abandoning Eden

I'm very excited to have been given a chance to interview another well-known blogger for the "Better Know a Kofer" series (see the sidebar for other interviews). Today we get a chance to meet the author of Abandoning Eden. Much of her story might already be familiar to those who follow her blog, but here she's been kind enough to share with us even more detail about her unique journey.

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Can you describe the religious environment that you came from?

I grew up in a right wing modern orthodox household, in a community in Northern New Jersey. We kept strict kosher and shabbas, my mom covered her hair whenever she left the house (but not when inside), I was not allowed to wear pants and neither did she. We were more modern in that we had a tv and a computer with the internet, although my parents were very restrictive in the type of shows I was allowed to watch, the types of websites I could visit - no chat rooms - and the amount of time we could watch tv or spend on the internet.

My father ran a gemarah shiur out of our dining room every shabbas afternoon and we all went to shul every shabbas, usually on both Saturday morning and Friday night (and sometimes Saturday afternoon too). My dad would daven at home during the week. My parents were very upset when as a 15 year old I started dating someone, because they expected me to “only date for tachlis.” I went to a modern orthodox all girls yeshiva high school.

Can you highlight an example of an incident, experience, or idea you encountered that made you question your upbringing?

Well I questioned Judaism throughout my childhood - one question that came up for me time and again was that Jewish people believe that they are the chosen people and that their religion is the right one - but so does every other religion. So how can we know that Judaism is the ‘right’ religion? I spent a lot of time trying to come up with an answer to that, but never could.

Then, the night before my 15th birthday, I was spending shabbas at the house of a friend of mine from school, and we were hanging out with some friends of hers. One of her friends told me about how he likes to write poetry, and somehow it came up that he keeps strict shabbas - unless he has a really good idea for a poem, and then he would write it down so that he wouldn’t forget it. I knew non-Jewish people, and I even knew non-religious Jews (including some distant cousins), but that was the first time I was aware of the possibility of growing up orthodox and then not being strictly orthodox anymore. Once I thought about that, it was like all my doubts kinda clicked into place, and I realized that if I didn’t think Judaism was the right religion, I had the choice to not follow it anymore! By that summer (my birthday is in May) I was breaking both kosher and shabbas laws to some degree, although it took years before I was completely "off the derech."

Can you highlight one of the very first ways you crossed the halachic line?

One of the first things I remember transgressing in is tearing toilet paper on shabbas. We usually kept tissues in the bathroom, and I hadn’t noticed that there wasn’t any left before using the bathroom. I felt guilty about it and kept waiting for something to happen to me to indicate that god was angry at me for tearing the toilet paper… but it never happened.

How did you family react to your leaving? What is your relationship like with them now?

As those who read my blog know, they have not reacted very well. I first told my parents that I wasn’t religious anymore at the age of 17. My parents initially reacted by being in complete denial about it. When I first told them my dad asked if that meant I ate shrimp now - and I didn’t - so he took that to mean that I was just “going through a teenage rebellion phase.” I had to tell them about 5 times over the course of that year before it really ‘stuck’ with my dad, and I don’t think it ever really stuck with my mother until about 2 years ago.

When I was in college my parents agreed to pay my tuition and dorm fees under the condition that I come home every weekend for shabbas so that they could be sure I was still keeping it. After college, when I moved away to grad school (and obtained financial independence), my mother continued to act as if I was religious (always asking where I was going for shabbas meals and holidays), while I continued to remind her that I wasn’t religious, and then the same thing would happen the next week.

A little over two years ago I started dating my husband, who is not Jewish (he grew up Catholic and is now an atheist like myself). I told my parents about him around 2 months after we started dating, since I already knew at that time that my relationship with him was heading in a pretty serious direction. My parents initially tried to convince me not to date him by sending me all sorts of letters and giving me all sorts of speeches. When we got engaged last year in July, my mother reacted by not saying anything at all (I called her on the phone to tell her), and then saying “I have nothing to say, you know how I feel.” We talked about 3 more times on the phone after that, and the last time she told me that if I wanted to talk to her I could never mention my husband (then my fiancé) or anything about him or our life together. I haven’t called her since then. In January she sent me an email saying that if I choose to get married to my fiancé we can no longer have a relationship with each other. My dad has been a little less extreme, but neither of them came to the wedding and neither of them have met my husband (by their choice, not mine). About 6 weeks before my wedding I attended a cousin's wedding, and my mom saw me and said hello and then did not acknowledge me at all for the rest of the night. My dad tried to get us to talk to each other, which resulted in two minutes of awkward conversation about where we had parked our cars.

I also have 2 brothers - one is very religious and lives in a yeshiva where he learns all day - he did not come to the wedding either and he called me up a few months ago to tell me that a rabbi had told him that if I got married to my husband, either “we would break up, he would convert to Judaism, or he would be dead within the year.” My other brother is not religious either, and he came to the wedding, and was the ring bearer and one of our official legal witnesses.

As for the rest of the family... I haven't told many people in my parents' and grandparents' generation that I am married, just because we don't normally have a very close relationship, and hardly talk at all except at family events. I told one of my aunts, and she never responded to my email. An uncle of mine called me up the morning of my wedding to tell me “Even though we don't agree with your decision, we still love you, you're still a part of our family, and we wish you the best.” My cousins on the other hand have all been really cool about it - surprisingly so. I have now heard many stories of people in my family secretly dating non-Jewish people and not telling anyone else about it. Even my charedi cousin who got married through a shidduch at the age of 18 (and now at 22 has 3 kids because she believes using birth control is against halacha) was very cool about it - we still keep in touch via email on a semi-regular basis, and she sends me pictures of her kids and I sent her pictures of the wedding.

What connection do you currently have to Jewish identity, religion, or culture?

Not much. Many of my close friends are also lapsed orthodox Jews like myself, but that’s not really an identity or culture or religion. I haven’t kept any religious aspects of Judaism since I moved to graduate school 5 years ago. I will sometimes have some Jewish holiday-related food (like latkes on Chanukah or challah with honey and pomegranates on rosh hashana), but I don’t go out of my way to get that stuff- usually it’s because I’ve been invited to a party somewhere or a chabadnick on my campus is giving out food. Lately me and my husband have been talking about our future theoretical children and what we would teach them about our backgrounds - I think I would teach them the historical stuff (like that my grandparents are holocaust survivors, and a little about Jewish history), but not the religion or anything about the culture. We will probably continue to celebrate secular Christmas (gift giving and a big meal, no church or talk of religion) and rosh hashana in our non-religious meal eating way. If I have a boy we do not plan to have him circumcised.

You know, many people would find that, the decision to not circumcise a child, the ultimate act of turning your back on your tradition.

Well, my family has a whole lot of traditions I have turned my back on - for instance, my family has the 'tradition' that men get high-paying jobs (we have a lot of medical doctors and lawyers in my family) while women go to college, then get married, and become a stay at home mom. I've turned away from that tradition, along with all their other religious traditions. Why would circumcision be different?

Personally, I have read and thought a LOT about the circumcision issue, and after much discussion with my husband, we have decided that cutting off part of our future theoretical son's penis is an irreversible decision, and not one we feel comfortable making on behalf of our future children. If they want to be circumcised once they grow up, we would happily pay for the procedure at that point.

But circumcision is characteristically THE mark of a Jew (even for those who are not observant). Isn't it important that your child have that part of Jewish identity?

Well, no, it's not very important to me that my children identify themselves as Jews. I don't even identify myself as a Jew anymore - on surveys when they ask "religion" I now put "atheist." Although most people who know me know I grew up orthodox Jewish... kinda like the way I know one of my friends grew up fundamentalist Christian, but she isn't anymore.

And besides, why can't kids identify themselves as Jewish if they aren't circumcised? It's not like people are going to pull down their pants and do a penis check :)

How do you currently view the religious community you came from?

Probably something close to hostility, but I think that’s because I assume that people in that community will be hostile to me (and most have been), so I am preemptively hostile. I guess a better word would be ‘defensive.’

Do you still believe in some form of God or in some version of Judaism?

No and no.

What are some of the drawbacks of your decision to leave? Do you regret it at all? Is there any guilt?

Well I guess the major drawback is that I no longer have parents that I can call on in times of need, although I have awesome in-laws, and a great community of friends that have been a better family to me then my actual family has ever been. I don’t regret leaving at all, and I don’t feel any guilt at this point in my life, although I can’t say that has always been true (about the guilt, not the regret).

Can you name something significant which you are currently doing in your life, or that you’ve experienced, which would have been difficult, if not impossible, in your former life?

Getting a PhD! Because I was not religious, I did not want to go to Stern college, to which my parents were very adamant about me going (especially since I outright refused to go to Israel for a year of seminary). I lied to my parents and told them that I sent in an application, and didn’t tell them that I hadn’t sent one in until it was too late to apply. I then ended up at a CUNY college, that I originally told my parents I was applying to as a “backup.” If I hadn’t gone to that college, I wouldn’t have taken Sociology 101 with an awesome professor who encouraged me to go to graduate school, I wouldn’t have started doing research with another professor who is still my mentor and close friend, and I doubt I would have ended up on the path that led me to pursue a PhD.

Even if I had ended up here, I doubt I would have gotten through my first 3 years of grad school if I couldn’t work on Friday nights and Saturdays - at that point I was working 7 days a week, 10+ hours a day, and there literally wasn’t any other day on which I could have gotten that work done. I still usually work on Saturdays for at least a few hours. Additionally, there is a lot of networking opportunities I would have missed out on - some of my best professional contacts have been people I have met at dinners with my professors and their friends, and I couldn’t have gone to these dinners if I kept kosher - or at least it would have been awkward and I would be the weird person not eating anything. A lot of conferences I have presented at have been on Saturdays, or have involved travel on Saturdays.

Also, obviously, it would be impossible to have married my husband. And he is pretty awesome. And this summer we are going on a cruise around the Mediterranean sea for our honeymoon, and I don’t think if I was religious I would be doing a lot of traveling to exotic places with no kosher food.

What surprised you most about the world outside ultra-orthodoxy?

Well I was never ‘ultra-orthodox’ but what surprised me most about non-Jewish people and non-religious Jews is how nice people can be! Growing up I was always told that non-Jewish people hate Jews, and that anyone who wasn’t orthodox didn’t have morals and was just interested in materialistic things, anyone who wasn’t Jewish was never really my friends, even if they were friendly they would eventually turn their back on me, etc. And not a single one of those things have been the case.

What is one misconception or stereotype about ex-frum people that you’d like to correct?

That we are all ‘teenage rebels’ who will eventually grow out of it, or ‘bums’ who stop being religious because we are lazy or we are just failures at life. This is not a teenage rebellion - I’ve been living this way for 12 years, and it is impossible for me to imagine circumstances in which I would ever become orthodox again. I didn’t stop being religious because it was too hard to keep religion and I was lazy, I stopped being religious because I stopped believing it was the right way to live. And I only have a year left until I have a PhD from a top 10 university, so I think that qualifies me as NOT a failure in life. :)

Can you give an example of something that has completely changed in your way of thinking since you left?

Gender; growing up I pretty much always expected that I would go to college and get a degree, but that I would then get married and become a housewife/stay at home mom. Pretty much every woman in my family is a stay at home mom, and I never thought that I (or any woman) really had the capability to have a career that would be more fulfilling then staying at home with my kids. This was likely due to the attitude I saw amongst family and community members that girls weren’t as smart as boys, women didn’t have careers and men did, etc.

Now I am married and if all goes as planned, I will be the primary breadwinner while my husband will be a stay at home dad/part time worker. I love my career, and while I will make the time to spend time with my kids, the thought of leaving my career is not even in the realm of possibilities.

What’s the best thing about not being frum?

Well, in general the freedom to do pretty much whatever I want, whenever I want, as long as I’m not hurting other people. Also the food is pretty great - I’m a big foodie, and there are so many foods/restaurants I would never have been able to try if I kept kosher.

If you could change one thing about the community you left, what would it be?

The xenophobia, and the attitude that anyone who diverges from the path of their parents has to be ostracized.

Is there anything else about your life you’d like to elaborate on?

I guess part of the point of this series is to show that people who go OTD are not all failures at life/drug addicts/miserable/whatever, so I’d like to elaborate a little more about my achievements:

Although I almost flunked out of my modern orthodox high school because in my senior year I stopped going to any of the religion-related courses (and I had to retake hashkafa, chumash, and navi finals over the summer before they let me have my diploma), I flourished in college, and graduated summa cum laude from my college’s honors program with a whole stack of awards and honors. I then went on to a top 10 university in sociology, where I have been working on a joint PhD in Sociology and Demography for about 5 years. I am ABD (which means I’ve completed all my program requirements except my dissertation) and I expect to defend my dissertation in January 2010. I have a masters degree as well as 3 publications in peer-reviewed journals, and a few other publications in less prestigious places. I won a major national-level fellowship competition, which included over $100,000 in funds for my PhD program. I’ve taught my own college level course several times, and received excellent teaching reviews. If the academic job market doesn’t fall apart next year, I expect to move on to a tenure-track assistant professorship position beginning in Fall 2010; if it does fall apart, I’ve already been offered a post-doctorate position for 2010-2011.

On top of that I’m in a wonderful relationship with a wonderful man who completely supports my career and who takes care of all the housework when I need to work 70 hour weeks (which I do occasionally). I am generally very very happy with my life. When people complain about getting older, I don’t really get it - because for me, every year I’ve gotten older, my life has been better.

Well, that does sound really wonderful! Are there any parting words you’d like to tell the frum world?

Lighten up, and quit worrying about how other people live their lives so much! It’ll make you happier, I promise!

Freely Enslaved

The other day, a rabbinical acquaintance and I were having a discussion about a young fellow we knew who was having trouble in yeshiva. It was clear to both of us that the kid was reasonably bright, yet no matter what enticements were offered to him, he didn't seem to have much success in the part of the curriculum that was devoted to torah studies. I kept trying to explain to my well-meaning friend that he should stop trying to force the poor kid to do something he wasn't interested in, but the guy was determined not to give up, insisting that if only the kid was made to appreciate the beauty of what he was missing, he would have a change of heart. As the conversation wore on, getting ever more argumentative, I could feel anger and resentment bubbling to the surface of my emotions. This exchange was starting to sound all too familiar. I knew it was taking me to a place I shouldn't go, but at the same time a part of me was eager to step into the fray, desperately wanting to tell this person something he needed to hear.

But the conversation ended unexpectedly, he had to leave abruptly, and I lost the opportunity to express something that I had wanted to say to someone like him for a very long time.

Unfortunately, I missed the chance to tell him what it's like to be kept trapped in a box where your mind, body and all your energy is supposed to be devoted to something that doesn't interest you in the slightest.

To make him understand what it must be like for that kid, what it was like for me, to be stuck in a shiur for three consecutive hours, granted only a 15 minute reprieve in the middle; to have to sit silently, doing nothing, not understanding a word; imagine how much I try to keep my mind occupied in some way, but of course the rebbe keeps pulling me back from my mental excursions, figuratively putting his hand on my neck and forcing me to look into the gemara, to pay attention to something which I find utterly incomprehensible. And even when I manage to escape to my own world, what good does it really do me? How much tic-tac-toe and daydreaming can a person distract themselves with already? I can't sneak anything into the class to keep busy with. Although at times I was indeed tempted to smuggle in some such contraband, it always brought with it an attendant risk. If I was unlucky enough to have my rebbe catch me with such a thing, not only would it be summarily confiscated (never to be seen again in my lifetime), but he would always make sure to accompany the inevitable spectacle created specifically to highlight the infraction with an accompanying moral lesson in how terribly disappointing it was that a yeshiva bochur such as myself would consider such a meaningless diversion more worth his attention than the lofty words of Rashi and Tosfos. So I just sit there, frustrated and bored, hour after hour, day after day after day.

There are some moments when I actually do attempt the occasional escape. I take every bathroom break I can possibly get away with. Yet, upon gaining my freedom, I am faced with the disappointing reality that life on the outside is hardly more exciting than what I've just left behind. Usually there's nothing much for me to do other than wander the halls, reading the bulletins on the boards, the losts, the founds, noting the suits, shtenders, and sefarim for sale, hunting for something that even remotely piques my interest. Typically, nothing of any consequence. Still, I relish the fleeting sensation of being unshackled. Until my time runs out and I must return to my taskmaster. Eventually, after carelessly over-utilizing this tactic of gastrointestinal subterfuge, my rebbe catches on to my deception and decides to not allow me out of my cage even for that. Trapped again.

But it's not just shiur that is so wearying for me. Outside of class, among my peers, the day's sugya continues to be the primary focus of what the rest of them are preoccupied with, into the afternoon seder, and inexorably continuing into night seder too. And so I wander the halls of the yeshiva trying to find something, anything! to distract me and provide some entertainment. But of course, in the hallowed environs of the yeshiva they make every effort to ensure that there is nothing distracting you from Torah - no magazines, no Internet, no secular studies, nothing. Despite my ambivalence, I have to admit that the beis medrash is usually the best option there is to keep me preoccupied.

At times, I recall how, despite their best efforts, there are still some distractions the hanhalah is unable to eliminate from the environment, however dull they may be - there is still the daily goings-on of any large institution, the steady hum of its workers and staff persistently going about their daily routines. So I head to the kitchen to see if they need any help, maybe I could peel some vegetables, or watch the giant mixer in action. Or I'll stop off at the administrative office, hoping they have a mailing which they need help with. I'll even look out for the maintenance workers, curious to see if they're busy fixing anything interesting today. This is how pathetically desperate I am. I would rather find any sort of menial tasks to keep my mind focused than to have to dazedly sit through another minute of that mind-numbing gemara. But when they find out that I am doing this - and they inevitably do, because after all, how long can I keep up this charade? - my overseers sternly remind me: "This is not for you. You belong in the beis medrash." They do their best to impress upon me again, making sure I fully understand, just how wrong it is for me to prefer wallowing in the trivialities of olam hazeh than to be swimming in the heavenly waters of nitzchius. I understand. The pitiful looks of my classmates remind me how thoughtlessly I have behaved.

And I believe them. I understand how right they are. How I have to work harder to correct this flaw in my character - that I would rather choose playing with worthless trinkets than to be involved in the greatest undertaking a person could ever participate in! What is wrong with me? Why am I such a lowlife?! I'm being given the opportunity of a lifetime! And I would rather squander it to watch the janitor mop the floors! I disgust myself!

This is what I would like to make my friend understand. To hopefully make him recognize what being in yeshiva is like for those not fortunate to have the desire to spend their time buried in a gemara. To make him appreciate the awful self-loathing that being in such an environment creates in such a person. To make him realize the harm he is doing by forcing this kid to sit through another gemara shiur.

But would it even matter?

"Ain Ben Chorin Ela Mi She'osek Batorah" (Avos 6:2)
"There is no greater ‘free person’ than one who is involved in Torah study."

A Kofer Among 8 Million

Many people in the blogosphere have already posted links to this touching piece, but since it is somewhat in line with the "Better Know a Kofer" series, I figured it would be nice to add it here also, just in case some of my readers might not have seen it.

The link is to an audio/visual slideshow narrated by a former Lubavitcher who talks about her feelings of leaving the frum world of Crown Heights. It's part of a series from the New York Times called 'One In 8 Million ', which briefly profiles all sorts of different kinds of people that are living in New York City.

Make sure to also see the comment thread on the piece, which has many additional worthwhile perspectives.

If anyone is interested in meeting Rivkah, I happen to know of an art exhibition that she will be putting on this week. You can email me privately for details.

Echoes

After writing up my answers to my own 'kofer interview', it got me thinking about the past a lot, and the experiences that I went through all those years ago when I was still frum. Back when I was younger, and struggling with the challenges of making sense of the frum world I wasn't fitting into, I actually wrote down a lot of the thoughts that were going through my head at the time. My purpose in writing them was not because I ever intended to share them, but simply because attempting to transcribe all the confusing ideas onto paper helped me make sense of it all, however slightly. It helped me clarify and untangle the disjointed mess of new ideas, old beliefs, personal biases, and unclear motivations that were constantly battling each other in my mind. So, after thinking about all the things I had shared in the interview, I figured it might be worthwhile to take a look at some of those writings, and see how they appear to the very different person I am now.

It was a surprising, but quite pleasant, discovery. Because, amazingly, so many of the journal entries seemed to express exactly the sentiments that I had described in my interview, and in many of my previous posts. It's been almost a decade since I wrote some of those things down, and the pain of that period has indeed subsided, but my memory of that difficult time has not let me down. The doubt and confusion that wracked my thoughts were indeed very real to me.

I thought that it might be interesting to share some of those emotional/intellectual battles I was trying to work through back then. Below is one brief stream of consciousness that I committed to writing. I'm not absolutely certain, but I believe that it was written when I still had both feet firmly planted in the yeshivish world, but was probably a few years out of high school already. I've decided to reproduce it here without changing it in any way from the original. Please keep in mind that this was never intended to be read by anyone other than myself (in fact, I didn't really intend to read it myself. The act of writing itself was the point!) so it isn't entirely grammatically correct or even totally coherent at some points. It isn't meant to be an eloquent essay, or some articulate statement of skepticism. It is just a very fleeting glimpse into the mind of a pained and confused young man.

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Somewhere in the last five to seven years of my life when I was in yeshiva and hearing the message of "learning is the most important thing in life" etc.. I somehow became antagonistic towards that idea because somehow I felt that it was putting me down, disregarding me, and those who encouraged that idea were stepping on me. Consequently I became antagonistic towards those people. Nowadays, it seems that anyone who is a self respecting Torah Jew (and G-d, who most definitely is a Torah Jew!) subscribes to that idea and if I am against that idea then, in effect, I'm against a Torah philosophy, which brands me a heretic. I don't like to be a heretic. (Although I don't particularly mind seeming like a heretic.) Therefore I want to find out and figure out exactly where the tension of this idea and my personal feelings lies.
This is how I feel it is. It's like this: They're yelling at me "you're wrong! you're wrong!"
And I'm saying "No! Stop it! Stop hurting me!
And their saying back: "We're not hurting you, you're hurting yourself by not agreeing to us, by not joining us."
I'm in this world and I'm constantly hearing things which I feel are putting me down. And I want to distance myself from these things because it hurts me. But the problem is that it seems that this is a Torah-true idea and if I want to distance myself from it and not accept it then I'm somehow a traitor and a heretic.
So I want to figure this out once and for all because I can't go on living like this where I have to be part of a society that I feel hurts me and if I break off from that society I'm not able to live with myself (both from myself and from outside myself)
It could be put like this. There seems to be an idea - from what I have been taught and instilled with is the Truth - that I am somehow something which is to be somehow disregarded. And it's not a simple matter for me to ignore it and say "Na, probably not, it's probably only someone's personal idea.", because it seems to be that everyone who is someone seems to be saying it. And I also can't somehow say that all these people who are saying it are a bunch of fanatics, because it's been driven into me - very, very deeply - that these are the people who are speaking the truth.
Is it true that I have to associate and be a part of that which I feel hurts me?
To answer that I don't have to associate with it - isn't an alternative. Because it's something which has been driven into me is part of the fabric of my existence.
The only other answer is to redefine it into something which doesn't hurt me (and remain consistent with what everyone seems to be saying it is).
And that's somehow what I've been doing this past while. I've been saying that learning isn't the most important thing and that it's only an aspect of a larger picture. But it doesn't seem to be working because I'm still hearing these messages, quite often too, that it's really learning, learning, learning.

Better Know a Kofer - Shaya Getzel

Today's kofer hails from one of the established and well-known chassidish sects. He also happens to occasionally blog at Confessions of a Koifer. We'll skip the intro and jump right in.

Can you describe the religious environment that you came from?

Chassidish. Beard, Peyes, Shtreimel, Williamsburg, Monsey. You know, Chassidish.

Yeah, I think we know what you mean. What can you tell us about the religious tone in your home?

As a kid I wanted to join the Miami Boys Choir, but they were deemed too “modern”.

Can you highlight an example of an experience you encountered that made you question your upbringing?

My fathers brother - who is not frum - is married to a non-Jewish woman, when he came to visit us for a family simcha, he was informed that his wife was not welcome. In theory it was not a new concept to me, but to see that upfront really bothered me.

Was the impetus for your transition primarily intellectual, emotional, social, cultural, or some other factor?

A combination of a few of those, as I told one the “experts” sent to talk sense back into me: I don’t believe, I don’t care, I don’t want, I don’t like. At first it was the extremism that bothered me, but as I started to dig deeper, everything I grew up believing in started crumbling before my eyes.

In what way did you dig deeper? And what were some of the things that started falling apart?

I read books, spoke to "professionals" aka Rabbonim, and researched matters of faith, religion, God, nature, etc. to death. The more I looked though, the less proof I found for the things I grew up believing. Everything from the truth and/or infallibility of the Torah, to general claims of the supernatural, all the way to the belief in god, came up short in the evidence department. When my father confronted me, I asked him the questions I was having, and after yelling and screaming for a while, he basically said there are certain places he won't go (figuratively)...

Can you highlight one of the very first ways you crossed the halachic line?

Probably the first thing was not putting on tefillin, and at first I felt very guilty, but over time it stopped bothering me. Aside from that I remember the first time I ate gebrucks, heard “goyishe music”, and ate a cheeseburger, but by then I didn’t care anymore.

How old were you then?

About fifteen. It started out as indifference, and the feeling spread.

Was this period accompanied by intellectual challenges?

No. I wasn't having any big theological thoughts at the time. I believed in all of it, I was just cutting corners and feeling (at times) slightly guilty. When I got married, I was a perfectly content Chasidishe Yungerman. The intellectual issues that I mentioned all came after I was married.

How did your wife react to all these changes going on, and how did you get her on board?

At first she thought I had gone crazy, but eventually she came around. We had a lot of discussions and I made it very clear to her what I felt, but I didn't force her to agree with me, and eventually she got it. At the time, it took a serious toll on our marriage, but we pulled through, and we're happier than ever.

How did you family react to your leaving?

Surprise ("You, out of everyone?!"), sadness ("What are people gonna say?!"), anger ("You loser!"). At first they wouldn’t talk to me, but they slowly came around, and we are pretty close to normal now. I still love my family, warts and all.

What connection do you currently have to Jewish identity, religion, or culture?

My dog-tags say Jewish on them. When people ask I say I’m Jewish, but I don’t really do anything overly Jewish. On the other hand I keep track obsessively with news and gossip from back home. Oh, and I’m hopelessly in love with Jewish music.

What is something from your religious past that you miss in your life now?

Yamim Tovim with family, some of the food, but mostly the assuredness. Ignorance is definitely bliss.

Are there any behaviors or perspectives from your past religious life that are still dominant in your life now?

I am no prude, but I do think the outside is a little over sexualized, but who am I to complain about that? In addition, my eating habits are definitely influenced by my past. I don’t like bacon, seafood, pepperoni pizza, or cheese on my burgers.

How do you currently view the religious community you came from? (Hostility, fondness, indifference, etc.)

Again, a mix of the above. While I disagree categorically with everything they stand for, I still am a bit jealous of the naivete and innocence of most of the people I grew up around. Plus, I still have many good friends there.

Do you still believe in some form of God or in some version of Judaism?

Absolutely not. I am a 100%, flaming atheist. And not because of any experience I had growing up, but rather through years of studying and trying to reconcile what I believed growing up, with science and nature.

What are some of the drawbacks of your decision to leave?

Not being as close to my family as I once was bothers me. Hurting them through my actions as well, but the alternative was for me to have had a nervous break-down. I chose the former.

Are there any particular struggles or challenges that you find especially difficult in the transition?

Leaving the community was by far the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. It was gut wrenching, and took years to actually go through with. I basically lost all my friends and family, and had to restart my life from scratch.

What are some things that helped you get through those difficult times?

My grandparents - who are not frum - and my wife, who wasn’t far behind me in our journey. Also getting up and leaving the area entirely. I got on a plane and flew across the country just to get away.

Can you name something significant which you are currently doing in your life, or that you've experienced, which would have been difficult, if not impossible, in your former life?

The very way I make a living. I’m in the Army. There’s no way I could have joined before. I wanted to serve my country, I was looking for an adventure, and excitement, and I wanted to prove to myself that I had it (whatever it is) in me, and I was able to do that by joining the Army. I have a job satisfaction I never had before, even in jobs where I made many time more than what I make now. None of this would have been possible before.

Is there anything that you hope to achieve now which wouldn't have been possible when you were frum?

Get my PH.D. (working on it), run a marathon (working on it), and most of all blend in with society (done).

What surprised you most about the world outside ultra-orthodoxy?

How regular and mundane it is, we were told growing up that the outside world is like a scene out of Mad Max, just death, destruction, crime, and rape (it's not). Another thing is the reaction I get all the time from people, “You’re Jewish?!” Yeah, uh what did you expect - horns?

What is one misconception or stereotype about ex-frum people that you'd like to correct?

Well the obvious, we’re not all miserable, drug addicts, sex-hungry, or crazy. I was happily married, doing well financially, had many friends, and happy, but I still chose to do what I did.

How does your life now compare to when you were frum?

I am by far a much happier fulfilled person now, and as I said I was a perfectly happy, adjusted person before.

Can you give an example of something that has completely changed in your way of thinking since you left?

Before leaving, I was very conservative (I voted for Bush twice), since leaving I’ve become a lot more liberal in my thinking (not only did I vote for Obama, I cried when he won), which is one more thing I don’t discuss with my family.

Are there any societal and/or cultural experiences which have significantly shaped your worldview?

Being stationed in Korea (great Chabad House), and just by studying society and culture, through books, the internet movies, and so on.

What's the best thing about not being frum?

FREEDOM OF CHOICE. And the fact that when I finally stopped believing in God, it was a huge burden off my shoulders. People say religion is comforting, I see it quite the opposite. Aside from the constant guilt, unattainable goals, and illogic, religion tells you there is somebody to blame when things go wrong. How is that comforting? (I know all the arguments, don’t waste your time) Nature on the other hand is organized chaos, who are gonna blame for that? By the way, I did not set out looking for the conclusions I found. At first I genuinely thought I could find a way to make my beliefs jive with what I was learning about science. But alas, it didn't work out that way.

What's the best thing that you recall about being frum?

Like I said, yomim tovim, simchas, family and friend gatherings, etc.

If you could change one thing about the community you left, what would it be?

To be more open-minded. But then they wouldn’t be the same community I left.

Do you think there's anything that the frum world could have done to keep you "on the derech"?

No. I tried all different level of Orthodoxy, even Conservative, and Reform Judaism, they all have the same fundamental flaws.

What flaws are you referring to? Aren’t there fundamental differences to the three branches?

They all believe in the supernatural, to one extent or another.

Is there anything else about your life you'd like to elaborate on?

Sure. Check out my blog: http://heathenhassid.blogspot.com/

Are there any parting words you'd like to tell the frum world?

Don’t hate the player, hate the game.

Better Know a Kofer - Little Foxling

One of the more popular skeptic bloggers some time ago was a fellow by the name of Little Foxling. In November 2007 he posted a five-part series on his blog that traced the progression of the breakdown of his faith. Instead of completely interviewing Little Foxling, I've asked him permission to reprise those old blog posts for the series. Although I prefer that the profiles I share tell a larger story than just the part of "why I left OJ", I'm choosing to publish this as part of my series because I think LF's tale will appeal to many of the readers here who have been clamoring for a more intellectually rigorous story to be told. Also, it's freaking long, so adding even more detail to it would be overkill.

Here is his entire essay, reprinted verbatim, aside from a few minor grammatical changes. I've also added some links to help people out with some of the ideas and figures he mentions that may be a bit unfamiliar.

-----

Part I

I frequently receive e-mails with questions of a personal nature. How did it happen? What made you go OTD? I usually respond to each question and end up writing the same story again and again. XGH’s recent post, which I thoroughly enjoyed, has inspired me to put down my own story, to the best I can recollect it. I’ve written it out in great detail and so the story is quite long. It’s too long for a post and so it will be a miniseries. This will be part I.

So, how did it happen? How did a nice eirchlich temimisdick kid become an evil atheist rushu kofer?

To me, the journey off always began back in September 2003 with my friend Moshe. Back then. I was Modern Orthodox and proud of it. I took pride in the fact that I was open minded, but frum and successfully fused the worlds of Torah and madah, of tradition and modernity.

Part of my great pride was in my ability to deal with the issue of evolution. The world was divided into 3 categories on this issue. Those who stuck their head in the sand and didn’t care to learn about science, those who were intellectually weak, and couldn’t see that evolution didn’t refute the Torah, and me. I knew that there were three resolutions to the evolution problem:

1. Evolution is a conspiracy made by scientists and isn’t true.
2. Gosse theory
3. Genesis 1 is a mushul.

One day, Moshe mentioned to me that he had attended a shiur by a certain YU rosh yeshiva. The topic was the historicity of the mabul. The rosh yeshiva had said that there was scientific evidence against the mabul. It’s obvious to everyone that answers 1 & 2 above don’t help you with the mabul. And, so, this rosh yeshiva had gone with approach 3. He said it was muttur to say the mabul was a mushul. I, however, was uncomfortable with this approach. The mabul doesn’t seem like a mushul. The issue began to grow and we would talk about it often and I also began to speak about it to other friends. Moshe also introduced me to blogs and I discovered that this issue was one that actually troubled many people.

Anyway, in August of 2004 I met a girl named Sorah. Sorah was also interested in this issue and so she and I got to talking about it. In addition to all the scientific arguments, Sorah also introduced me to parallel ancient mythologies like Enuma Elish. This only added to my aggravation.

One day, Sorah brought up the issue of the Documentary Hypothesis. I had heard of DH before in chumash class. I knew all about it. DH was when you went through the Torah and you took every passuk with YHWH and said "This is J" and every passuk with Elohim and said "This is E" and then when you were done you looked back and said "Poof! All the YHWH’s are in J." my chumash teachers had made fun of it incessantly. Also, it was humanities, not sciences. And, I knew from college that the humanities were crap. I was very glad to have the discussion switch to an area I was on firmer ground in and so I started to make fun of the DH.

As the conversation continued though, I realized that whether DH was true or not, I knew pathetically little about what it actually said and was really not in a position to talk about it. This bothered me and so I went to the library and got a few books out on DH.

The first one I read was Richard Elliot Friedman’s Who Wrote the Bible?. It confirmed everything my rebbeim had said about DH. The book was basically a migdal poreach baavir. He had maybe 5 or 6 good contradictions and this YHWH/Elohim thing and from that he concocted this complex conspiracy theory of how the Torah was written. It was complete crap and I knew better. I got a few other books out of the library and they were all the same.

So, what happened next? How did I go from being a mini RJM to a mini mis-nagid? Tune in next time when Littlefoxling faces some problems he wasn’t prepared for.

Part II

I continued along this path. I took book after book out of the library but found each one to be worst than the last. Each just asserted DH was true but none actually proved it.

One day, a thought occurred to me. REF and all the other authors I was reading generally had some kind of line about how the DH was already established and they weren’t going to spend time proving it since it was already unanimously accepted. I wondered if perhaps the problem was that these books just took it for granted and didn’t bother to present the evidence.

I had this idea. Maybe if I looked at some older books I would get more of the evidence. I stumbled upon S. R. Driver’s "Introduction to the Literature of the Old Testament," which was published in 1913.

I was mortified. The book was absolutely chock full of completely irrefutable proof for the DH. For weeks and weeks I struggled with him, Driver and I locked in epic battle. But I could not defeat him. Everything I threw at him, my best apologetics and sevorahs were no match for him.

I saw that I could not overcome him, but I was unwilling to concede defeat. The kofrim couldn’t be right. Anyway, I wasn’t scared. I knew from chumash class and from reading frum blogs that now the DH was debunked. No one actually believed in it anymore. Driver was outdated. Although I personally didn’t know what the answers to his questions were, I knew that if I looked hard enough, I’d find it – since nobody actually believed in the DH anymore.

I began to read the apologists. Cassuto, Hoffman, David Gottlieb, Breuer. I was mortified once again. They were all complete crap. Me, a freakin finance guy who was doing this all on the subway to and from work could see how stupid everything they wrote was.

But, it didn’t phase me. I knew from frum blogs and chumash class that today even the modern secular scholars didn’t hold of DH. So, I reasoned that sometime between 1913 and today there must have been someone who wrote a book showing that DH wasn’t true. So, I started reading more modern secular books. From what I had read, there were two camps of modern scholars that had both succeeded in undermining the DH.

The first was a camp of scholars that had underminded it not by directly refuting its arguments, but instead by focusing on other aspects of analysis which had underminded the DH. This included the literary school, the archaeological school, Noth’s school, and many others.

So, I began to read books from these various schools. I found pretty soon that there was actually very little in any of these schools that was even remotely relevant to DH. Yeah, maybe DH had fallen out of favor in terms of if people were interested in studying it. But, that had nothing to do with if it was true. That just meant people weren’t interested in it. And, I found that many of the members of these schools, such as Noth and his talmidim or Robert Alter, actually held of DH. They just weren’t interested in studying it but they still thought it was true.

The other camp was the camp that dealt with DH directly. I started reading books from this camp. Most of the books I read seemed to actually support the DH and hold of it. And, as I went through this camp I stumbled on some arguments that were even more compelling than those I had read by Driver. In fact, I reread many of the more modern books that I had read originally on DH (like REF's "Who Wrote the Bible?") and realized that they weren’t crap after all. They were actually quite good. It was just that when I had read them the first time I didn’t have the background to understand all of their arguments. Now that I had read Driver, I saw their arguments in a whole new light.

I did find some books that didn’t agree with the DH. But, they were in the minority. Also, none of them actually responded to the DH’s arguments. They just said the DH wasn’t true. But, no one had any real responses to the arguments. Also, none of them held the Torah was from Moshe, they just held of a different way to break it up and that didn’t do me much good as an OJ.

But, I knew the proof against the DH had to be out there. My rebbeim and the frum blogs had all said so. I started to ask my rebbeim where all this proof against the DH was. They told me to read Hoffman and Cassuto. I was mortified yet again. Cassuto and Hoffman were crap. Not my knight in shining armour.

So, I began to look at the frum blogs to try to find where all this evidence against the DH was. Most of the time they would either point you to some apologist like Breuer or to some guy’s unpublished dissertation that you could only get by going to his university’s archives or something. I started to get very annoyed. I knew the answers were out there. Everyone had told me that nobody believed in the DH. But, why couldn’t I just find one guy who wrote a book with all the answers. Why was this information that was so important to my life kept so secret in a hidden locked away university vault?

So, how did the search end? Did I find my knight in shining armour that refuted the DH? Tune in next time to hear the surprising twist I had never expected.

Part III

And, so I was waging a battle on two fronts. On the one hand, I was getting barraged daily by the blogs. GH was now in full force and I was reading him regularly and it was seeming less and less likely that the mabul had happened. On the other hand, the DH was seeming harder to answer.

Those were dark times. The one ray of light, ironically, was that I was so busy at work that I didn’t have that much time to think about it. I was doing most of my readings on the subway to and from work and didn’t really have time to reflect on it.

And then came sukkos of 2005. I was off from work and so I had the time to really think. I spent a lot of time reading thinking, and looking up verses. Driver udeimei were killing me. So, I started to think about what my options were. Of course, I was holding out to find the scholars that underminded DH. But, what if I couldn’t find them? What did that mean? I started to wonder if maybe I could reconcile DH with Yahadus. DH wasn’t too far off from Halivni’s continual revelation. Maybe I could believe in DH and still be a frum yid.

I had a number of options I was considering. This Halivni option was one. Breur's methodology seemed to be to adopt the DH but argue that it was one author writing from two point of views. Cassuto basically said that the whole DH was deceptive and faulty reasoning. And then there was Hoffman. Hoffman argued that one could use the DH's reasoning and come up with authors and divisions even the DH didn't hold of which showed even scholars didn't hold of the reasoning really.

But then something occured to me. On my list of possibilities, the possibility of "The Torah is not divine" didn't even appear. But that seemed strange given that that possibility was winning soundly in my research.

And, then, it hit me. It hit me like a bag of bricks. The moment that would forever change my life. There was a realization. It wasn’t about it the DH, the mabul, or the Kuzari proof. It was about me. I looked in the mirror and said to myself "What am I doing?" I realized that I was not trying to find the truth. I wasn’t looking for the answers. I was looking to prove that OJ was true. I realized that in all my inquires, if it was DH, KP, mabul, Enuma Elish, I was always trying to figure out how to answer for OJ, not how to find the truth.

Since I was a boy I have always been troubled by one theological question: OJ clearly views OJ’s as being on a higher spiritual plain than non OJ’s. YHWH cares about them more. Their life has more meaning. YHWH looks after them both in this world and the next. But, it seemed unfair to me. Why were all the saintly OJ’s coincidently born into the same tribe? Why were three of the saintliest people ever coincidently Avraham Yitzchak and Yaakov, father, son, and grandson? I had struggled with this question since my youth. But, in that moment the question took on new meaning. I realized that it wasn’t that all the saintly people who realized that YHWH existed were all coincidently born into OJ. It was the other way around. Everyone who was born into OJ was brainwashed to believe in YHWH. I realized that 99% of the religious people in any religion were religious for the same reason: they were brainwashed. And, I realized that not only was I an OJ because I was brainwashed, but that I was a Zionist MO with a chareidi tinge and that I could totally account for that ideology based on sociological factors and that reason and intellect had nothing to do with it.

I was devastated; my soul blackened to the core. I sat there despondent, devoid of all energy. I’ve always cared about honesty a lot. If there is one word I could use to describe myself it would be honest. And, so, this realization horrified me. I started to look at things in a whole new light. I realized that the mabul issue pretty much disproved OJ. And, so did the DH. And, so did 1,000 other things. Once I started to look at it honestly, there was no question anymore. It wasn’t just about any one particular thing. But, the totality of the evidence, once you looked at it fairly, was so conclusive that there was absolutely no other way to go about it.

But I didn’t know what else to do. OJ couldn’t be wrong. If it was, it would mean that I had spent 20 years of my life on total crap. It would mean that I would either have to continue with that crap and pass it down to the next generation or else anger my family and friends. It would mean that the minutia of my life would no longer have cosmic significance, that I was no longer immortal. And, besides, if I became a kofer I would go to Hell. And, worst of all was the loneliness. I had spent every waking moment of my life believing someone was with me. Feeling now for the first time in my life alone chilled me to the bone. I couldn’t leave OJ. But, what to do? It was so obviously crap! I couldn’t bear to lie to myself. I am a very honest person.

Luckily, I’m also a clever person, so I found myself an out. I told myself the following. I said that OJ could not be proven rationally and that I recognized that a fair analysis of the facts led one away from OJ but that I was choosing to ignore that fair and rational analysis of the facts and believe anyway. A leap of faith if you will.

This resolution restored my sanity. I was being honest, since I admitted that OJ wasn’t rational, but I was still being OJ.

Sadly, it was only a temporary solution. I felt uncomfortable with it and my religiosity gradually began to slip. I stopped davening with kavanah. Stopped going to minyan etc.

A few months later I went out with a girl. We only dated for a few months and I came clean with her about my religiosity. She was very troubled by it and it was a huge strain on the relationship. The relationship was probably doomed to failure anyway, but, the religious issue certainly didn’t help. It made me realize that the compromise I had struck might not have been the most feasible. But I didn’t know what else to do. I was really stumped and confused.

So, how did I leave this hazy and dark confused state and enter into the clarity and light of atheism? More on that in the next post.

Part IV

And, so, I was very confused. I started getting very desperate to find a solution but none presented itself. I despaired.

Luckily, with time the emotional issues dissipated. Even with the death of a loved one, time heals all wounds. And, the realization that I was mortal and that no one cared about the minutia of my day to day life, while painful at first, eventually stopped bothering me.

But, the practical issues were still of a great concern. What was I going to do?

Over the past few years I had generally kept all this stuff to myself. But, I had a few friends that I spoke to about it. Sorah from above, some rabbis, the blogger lamedzayin (who, of all the believers I have ever debated, I find to consistently be the most intelligent, open minded, articulate, and most successful at convincing me) and a few others. I was also reading blogs now, especially XGH. I found all this to be very helpful. Not for what I necessarily got out of them but just because I wasn’t alone. I was unwilling to come out of the closet and so couldn’t discuss the matter with my friends, but I wanted a chance to expand my circle of anonymous friends. And so the blog was born.

I had been reading blogs for years but I had never commented and never had my own blog. This was a whole new experience. I started to post my own stuff and comment on Dovbear, XGH, and Baal Habos. But, basically, I was totally ignored. No one ever came to my blog. When I commented on Baal Habos, nobody would ever respond except for Baal Habos and when I commented on XGH nobody responded except for Rabban Gamliel. (I didn’t understand why at the time, though in retrospect it’s kind of obvious). I was going to cancel the blog, but that gradually began to change. Mis-nagid, baalhabos, happywithhislot, Spinoza, rjm, and josh Waxman all started to comment on my blog occasionally. People stopped ignoring my comments on other blogs as well. And, in December of 2006, I got into a huge fight with Dovbear about the DH in which I met a large number of bloggers. So, I decided not to cancel the blog.

The blog helped clarify a lot of things for me. The first thing it did, almost immediately was make me realize how stupid my "leap of faith" sevorah was. That works when you are thinking about things yourself, but try explaining that to someone else and you realize how dumb it is. In the very first few posts, I tried convincing people that I really believed in YHWH despite the fact that I was arguing vehemently for the anti OJ position. This confused all my commentors and I realised how dumb it was.

The blog also helped me move away from OJ because:

1. I became exposed to even more evidence against OJ. I found out about archaeology, about Hume, Spinoza, about comparative religion, about the DNA evidence against YHWH, about scientism, about other national revelations.

2. Seeing the way the frum people responded to our questions on the blogs, and engaging them in debate, confirmed that there were no answers. Before I did all this blogging I always thought - maybe there are answers out there. But once I saw the best the frum crowd could put up was Rav Elchanen Wasserman, telling the skeptics they hadn’t read enough medieval philosophy, and saying that skeptics think with their penises, I realized there were none.

3. People are always affected by their peers. Before I was blogging, my peers were all OJ’s so I couldn’t go against that. Seeing likeminded people reinforced my views.

But the biggest thing the blogs did was something totally different. It rephrased the question. When I started my blog, I was asking the question: Is OJ true? Go back to the earlier posts and see how I obsessed with this question. The blogs exposed me to the general atheist chevra: Dawkins, Hitchens, Dennet, Harris v’siyatam. I realized that the question isn’t "Is OJ true?", but “Which, if any, of the religions are true?" That makes a world of difference.

Before the blog, I had my doubts. Are we really just a bunch of random particles? Why does the universe exist? Is there no purpose to our life? But, when I heard Christian apologists make the very same arguments, I realized that even if these concerns were valid, they had nothing to do with OJ.

When I started, the argument “But it just can’t be wrong," worked. How could so many people believe it if it’s crap held a lot of water. But, when I heard Christian apologists make the very same arguments, I realized that even if these concerns were valid, they had nothing to do with OJ.

When I started, Pascal’s wager meant a lot to me. But, when I heard Christian apologists make the very same arguments, I realized that even if these concerns were valid, they had nothing to do with OJ.

And so, I became a committed skeptic. But, what about the issue of practice? How did that play out? And, what is my current status and what will happen in the future? Tune in next time for the thrilling conclusion of this series.

Part V

So, where we last left off our hero had just discovered that YHWH doesn't actually exist. This was an emotional strife of course, dealing with the loss of my BFF. But, it also raised some questions. What was I going to do about practice? On the one hand, keeping orthodox Judaism, or any Judaism for that matter, seemed nonsensible for an atheist. On the other hand, how could I go OTD? What would it do to my family and friends? What would it do to me? What would it do to my shidduch chances? I had spent my whole life in this world. Could I survive outside of it? Would life be empty, devoid of meaning?

This question was very troubling. When I found the blogs, and started connecting with people in similar circumstances, it helped me feel better as I knew I wasn't alone. But, it didn't really help resolve anything.

I really didn't have a solution. But, I realized that my approach of putting up a pious exterior but being secretly a kofer was unhealthy and unlikely to yield any results. So, I began to allow my exterior to slip.

Of course, I wasn't about to start being mechalel shabbos bifarhesya. But, I started becoming publicly lax in some of the more public displays of Judaism. Also, I started sharing my views with some very close friends. Of course, I didn't make a public speech about it. But, I had some conversations sharing various degrees of information with different friends.

I was actually quite surprised by the reaction I got. A very small number of friends were shocked and horrified. But, the vast majority expressed approval, jealousy, admiration, agreement, respect, and empathy. Many said they too were in the closet atheists. Some said they were not atheists but they had very nonconventional views about Judaism. Others admitted that they too had some very serious questions about emunah and wished that they had the courage to make the leap towards atheism but were afraid to do so. Others said they were not atheists but admitted they were simply biased and admired my honesty.

This warm reception was welcome, but it also got me thinking. If so many orthodox Jews are actually kofrim, what does that mean?

I came to realize that religious life isn't just about YHWH. It's so much more than that. It's also an ethos, a culture, a heritage, a community, and family. Just because I don't think it's true doesn't mean I don't value all of these aspects. I don't want to go into the whole theory of it here as this isn't the place. But see my post on dovbear if you are interested.

To put it this way: Spinoza recently asked me, "Isn’t your state a sad one? You are frum even though you don’t believe in YHWH just for these social/cultural reasons?" I replied, "Could you not ask the question on all frum Jews?" It's clear that OJ's believe in YHWH in a two stage process:

First: they want the Jewish heritage, community, culture and ethos, so they stay part of the frum community.

Second: Since they are part of the community anyway, being part of the community and not believing in YHWH is for them a hard thing. So, they believe in YHWH as well.

That this is the direction, and not the other way around can plainly seen by statistics. If people really picked their communities based on their beliefs and not the other way around, you wouldn’t see 99% of Jews being born Jewish and the 1% who aren’t being complete whack jobs like Jacob Stein.

So what if stage 2, the cognitive dissonance stage, where one starts believing in YHWH has broken down for me? The first stage, of family/community is still in force for me.

I’ve been experimenting with some different forms of Judaism. Specifically, I’ve been looking into the egalitarian wing of the Orthodox community. Though, honestly, it doesn’t do much for me. Just because we are now pretending that halacha thinks women are not inferior to men doesn’t make it anymore meaningful, at least not for me anyway.

What about the future? That’s the question everyone always wants to know about. Unfortunately, I myself don’t have the answer so I have nothing to report. I haven't thought about it much. Right now I'm orthoprax. I don't see it as such a profound decision in either direction. It's not that hard and it's not that important. I don't see any reason I need to leave. But, who knows?

So, that’s where I am now. It was a long, hard, but also meaningful and enlightening journey. If we didn’t have these challenges, life wouldn’t be worth living.

Where will I go from here? That, only YHWH knows.

The Reality of Ideals

A few weeks ago Harry Maryles wrote a blog post that ruffled quite a few feathers. His post seemed to be a personal rant of all the negative qualities he sees in the chareidi community. He mentioned their extreme obsession with tznius, their tendency towards apologetics, their reluctance to report criminals from their community, their negative views of those outside their community (especially towards non-Jews), their unhealthy fixation on super strict rituals, their focus on maintaining external conformity, and other various problematic issues. Naturally, a lot of people got upset with his characterization of chareidim and took him to task for such a negative portrayal. They claimed that these practices are not actually part of the chareidi community and that he was misrepresenting the true nature of that society. One commenter wrote:

One thing is clear [sic] evident is that you know very little about what chareidim are and stand for.

The next day Harry put up another post which presented a totally different perspective. In this one, he wrote in glowing terms about all the positive qualities he sees in the chareidi community: Their dedication to god, their single-minded commitment to learning torah, their countless chesed projects, their efforts to do every mitzvah in the nicest way. These and other various examples demonstrate the positive side of chareidi life. Unsurprisingly, this post garnered appreciation from those who had taken issue with the first post, and earned him praise for painting such an accurate picture of who they really were.

But you have to wonder - how can one group elicit such dramatically different portrayals? Which of these depictions truly represents the chareidi community? Are they really a bunch of superficial, xenophobic fundamentalists? Or are they a group of spiritually sensitive, kindhearted and generous scholars? Which is it?

As I read these pieces, I found myself somewhat agreeing with both pictures that he painted. As odd as it might seem, they're both true. Both these sets of qualities can be found to a large degree throughout these communities. One simple explanation for this discrepancy is the obvious fact that no community, not even one that preaches conformity like the chareidi community does, is entirely monolithic. Although they all like to place themselves within the expansive tent of 'chareidi' ideology, there is actually a broad spectrum in which one can find a wide range of behaviors and perspectives. But although this is true, I think there's an even more key issue to understand. When looking at these contrasting perspectives it's imperative to realize that one is an expression of the ideal chareidi community and the other is the actual reality of what you find in the community.

Chareidi society is a very idealistic place. The standards in that culture are set incredibly high. So it's true, in a sense, that they are all about serving god, doing good, and learning torah. If you asked any person in the chareidi world, he would tell you that these ideals are in fact exactly what the chareidi community is all about.

But if you look just a little bit closer at that world, you'll find that although they have these wonderfully admirable ideals, the actual day-to-day norms which are prevalent among its members are so unbelievably far from those ideals, one would be hard pressed to draw any plausible connection between the two. The reality falls very short of the ideal. Yes, the ideal is that they encourage people to devote themselves to pure torah study. But the reality is that that policy translates into vast numbers of people spinning their wheels unproductively, and wasting years of their lives on something they have no inclination for. Only a very select few have the mettle to live up to the ideal in the way it should be done. The vast majority find themselves frustrated and bitter, and the consequences are an economically crippled society. Yes, they have an admirable ideal of promoting Jewish continuity by raising large families, but the reality is that hardly any have the practical, financial, and psychological wherewithal to properly undertake such a responsibility. Instead, as a result of a misguided effort to live up to that ideal, far too many families struggle with high levels of dysfunction and family instability, which consequently causes all sorts of other problems in their society.

When those people took offense at Harry's depiction of the chareidi community, they were partly right. Those aren't the sort of practices the community defines itself with. But the sad reality is that those sorts of attitudes and practices are actually very commonplace in the community.

So I guess the question is - how should a community be defined? By its ideals, or by its adherents?

Better Know a Kofer - Elisheva

Today I'm pleased to bring you an interview which will differ slightly from the previous profiles. Until now, I've only highlighted individuals who hail from strictly chareidi backgrounds. Today, we will be getting to know someone who comes from a different kind of Orthodox upbringing. Elisheva is a former Modern Orthodox Jew who grew up in the Tri-State area. She began to question her faith during her high school years. In her early twenties, she married a man from an Orthodox background and together they gradually became less and less observant until they ultimately left the Orthodox Jewish community altogether. Here is Elisheva's story.

Can you describe the religious environment that you came from?

I came from a centrist Modern Orthodox home. My family were members of a local Young Israel, I attended coed Modern Orthodox day schools, studied in a Modern Orthodox seminary for a year post high school and attended Modern Orthodox summer camps throughout my life. I was also involved in youth groups such as NCSY and B'nei Akiva. My family has a "Torah U'Mada" philosophy and are very Zionistic.

What was the impetus for your transition out of that world?

My transition out of Orthodoxy had a solely intellectual basis. But I did not have any earth shattering epiphanies. Starting in high school I started to question even the basics of the "Ani Ma'amins" and stopped davening when I felt like all I was doing was faking it anyway. In college, with the help of courses in religion, political science, anthropology, psychology and philosophy, it became apparent to me that all religions were human creations and that one could lead a productive and moral life outside of a religious structure.

Did you try to reconcile these conflicts with any religious figures?

Throughout high school and especially during my year studying at a seminary in Israel I was constantly questioning my teachers and rabbis. Constantly. Some of my teachers grew so impatient with me that though I had earned a Salutatorian spot in High School for Judaic Studies based on my grades, my teachers chose to skip over me to the student ranked below me for this honor as they had concerns about my commitment to Yiddishkeit.

There was one particular rabbi in high school that had more patience for my skepticism than most. We often met one-on-one and we would talk religion and he would allow me to ask anything I wanted. He even gave me a set of books on Musar at graduation, something he didn't give any other student. I am sure his concerns for my religious future were behind the gift.

I sought out the same types of relationship with teachers and rabbis in seminary. I really wanted to believe. Life would have been much easier if I could have remained a believer. For many years I walked the walk, hoping "me'toch she' lo l'shma ba l'shma"- basically, I hoped that if I kept doing it, I would believe.

My teachers and rabbis tried. I tried. But I was always a big reader and the more I read, the more alternative ways to look at life and the world there seemed to be. I am not saying that I have all or even any of the answers, I am just saying that the Judaic version of god is no less a fairy tale to me than the FSM or the tooth fairy. Hashem is no less mythological than Zeus or Athena.

Can you highlight one of the very first ways you crossed the halachic line?

Even as a "frum" Jew, like all frum Jews, I messed up. But the first time I actively made the choice to cross a line was when I was about 21 and I had my first slice of non-kosher pizza. It was no big deal.

Were there any lines that were a big deal to cross?

I'll never forget the first time I drove on Shabbat. I had stayed at a hotel on a Friday night and there was a mistake with my reservation. They did not have space for me for Saturday night and I needed to find another hotel to stay at. It was summer and a million degrees outside. Because it was camp Visiting Day Weekend in the area, I was concerned that I would have trouble finding a place for Saturday night. I decided to get in the car and drive to look for an available hotel room for Saturday night. I wasn't a believer anymore, but I hadn't crossed that line yet. Incidentally, I stopped at an antique store on my route and when I returned to the car, I had discovered that I had locked my keys in the car. I had to call AAA from the store (these were days before cell phones). Every time I tell this story, I am asked if I wondered if god was punishing me. I didn't. And when I realized that I didn't, I knew for certain that I really didn't believe anymore.

On the other hand, I still don't eat pork or shell fish. I bit into shrimp once when having lunch with a friend. We ordered a "box lunch" which came with a variety of food. I didn't know what it was and it tasted weird. When my friend told me it was shrimp, I started to gag and had to spit it out. Some things are just still ingrained. I can't learn to think of pork or shell fish as food choices any more than I can imagine eating dog or cat.

How did you family react to your leaving?

I remember one specific day when I was about 24 and already married with a child. I had gone with my father to visit my ailing grandfather. Afterwards, I sat him down at a Dunkin' Donuts (a kosher one of course) and told him, "daddy, we (my husband and I) are not shomer shabbos." He didn't say much in response or argue with me. I don't know what he took away from that conversation and I did not bring up the status of my religious observance again and neither did he. Years later he found out from a sibling that I had met my non-frum aunt and uncle for lunch on a Shabbat when they were visiting from out of town. My father called me seemingly shocked that I would meet someone at a non-kosher resturant on a Shabbat. I was shocked that he was shocked. I thought I had made myself clear many years before that I was no longer an observant Jew and I didn't understand his reaction. This led to some intense verbal conflicts. Basically my father told me that he simply expected that "the pendulum would eventually swing the other way." He was shocked that it hadn't. After a handful of heated discussions, things quieted down.

Both my husband and I are ex-OJ Jews. We celebrate many religious holidays with our parents and siblings at their homes and do our best to be respectful of the their beliefs and practices. Our children have been raised to follow their family members' more stringent observances when we are with them as to respect their way of life. We mostly actively avoid talking about religion as it is an uncomfortable subject. I think that our families love us but are hurting because they believe that we are not living life as Hashem intended.

What connection do you currently have to Jewish identity, religion, or culture?

Though I consider myself an atheist, I am a member of a Conservative Jewish shul and send my children to a CJ day school. In shul, however, I do not participate in the services. I avoid the High Holidays but on many Shabbatot, I am a member of the "lobby minyan," which is basically a whole bunch of us who come to shul solely for the sake of community. I do not consider myself a Conservative Jew because I neither believe in the tenets of Conservative Judaism nor do I observe halacha to CJ standards.

I don't like everything that my children are taught in school. However, I am focused on the fact that they are getting a good education and being provided with an avenue to develop a solid Jewish identity and understanding of their heritage. They are learning to speak Hebrew and are being taught to love Israel, and they are being provided with a values based education. The values are certainly Judaic derived, but the school is egalitarian, includes children of gay parents and invites Jews of any denomination to attend. So the values that I value are included in the curriculum and the ones that I find aversive are (for the most part) not there.

I have mixed feelings about the fact that my children are being taught to believe in God, but I am finding that with this particular school, the benefits outweigh the discomfort I might feel on this issue.

How do you handle it when your children come home from school and want to celebrate a Jewish holiday or ceremony?

There are whole Jewish movements, such as the Reconstructionist movement, in which Jews celebrate holidays and traditional rituals but do not believe in the concept of god in the OJ sense. I don't think of myself as a representitive of any particular Jewish movement but I am no different than many of the Reconstructionists in this way. My family eats matzah on Passover, builds a sukkah for sukkot and gives Mishloach Manot on Purim. We often share Shabbat meals with friends and when we do, we light candles, make kiddush and eat challah. Like the millions of non-OJ Jews who participated in a seder this year, we do this for the sake of tradition, not halachic observance.

How do you currently view the religious community you came from?

At first it was just a place that I didn't fit into anymore and for a very long time there was no hostility at all.

I discovered the J-Blog world about 2 years ago. Since then, I have to admit, I have been exposed to a number of Orthodox people, who, when free to anonymously spout what is on their minds, have shared some thoughts and beliefs in the name of Orthodox Judaism that I have found deeply offensive. I have found some of their notions so offensive, that I am finding myself developing an "anti" point of view. I wonder sometimes if I really understood what I was being taught growing up in the Orthodox world, and I feel like I am seeing some things completely differently now that I am both an adult and an outsider.

Do you still believe in some form of God or in some version of Judaism?

No. I don't believe in God. I do believe, however, that the evolution of Judaism (like all religions) derived out of the nature of human beings to want to develop civilized societies in which prosocial behavior is promoted and anti-social behavior is discouraged. Human beings are social animals always in search of ways to successfully coexist and share resources. I have a lot of respect for where the evolution of Judaism has taken human beings and recognize that Judaism has had a major role in civilizing the modern world.

What are some of the drawbacks of your decision to leave?

I miss some of the people with whom I grew up. There has always been a part of me that found it easier to make friends with other people from MO backgrounds, because of the common culture and upbringing. That, however, has gotten easier over time.

I kept my kitchen kosher for many years. However, my family would not eat my cooking or on my dishes because I am not Shomer Shabbos. Though I accept my family's reasons, I find it painful that I can never host Shabbat, Yom Tov or even Thanksgiving at my home unless the food is ordered from a kosher place and eaten on paper. I cook for friends all the time. I wish that I could cook for my family.

I have no regrets about leaving, but I wish I had done a better job of involving my family in the process. I thought I was protecting their feelings and treating them with respect when I kept my lack of observance quiet, but I found out later that the way I went about it hurt them and they felt that I had been keeping secrets from them.

There is no guilt. Leaving OJ was the right decision for me. I am living a life that I am proud of. I try to be a good person in a humanistic sense and aside from people who might cast me off because of my lack of belief in god, I really don't think that there are too many people who would disapprove of how I lead my life. I only feel sorry that my decisions have hurt some of my family, making them wonder if they have failed in some way.

Are there any particular struggles or challenges that you find especially difficult in the transition?

I found it overwhelmingly difficult to transition and I did it a little bit at a time. When I started, I had no idea where I would land and for a while it felt like I was in some sort of free fall. For a long time, as I became less and less observant, I still socialized primarily with the OJs. The process of leaving the OJ world was very lonely and I felt lost and disconnected from what had been my whole world. I was afraid that I would never again feel like I could fit in anywhere.

And how long did it take for you to feel like you did fit in again?

When my husband and I first got married, we lived in an apartment building that can best be described as being like a YU dorm for young married couples. We stayed for 7 years while we finished graduate school, started our careers, and saved money to buy a house. We had a lot of OJ friends there and it was wonderful when we had young children to always have someone's door to knock on when the kids needed a change of scenery. We had a lot in common with the people we lived around, we were in our twenties, we had young children, we were all saving up for houses, many of us were in graduate school or in the early stages of careers and almost all of us came from MO backgrounds. It was only with regards to religious observance that we didn't fit in.

We knew a lot of what we had in the apartments was good and wanted to retain some of the positives of living in a tight knit, supportive community where there is a focus on family life. A somewhat distant cousin suggested that we look into his neighborhood and the school where he sent his children. An ex-OJ himself, he related to us not wanting to "throw out the baby with the bath water." We wanted to be a part of a close knit community as we were accustomed to. My husband felt very strongly about sending our children to a Jewish Day School but did not want an OJ one. After spending some time in our cousin's neighborhood, we decided to buy a house there. I fit in pretty well in my current community. Though many of my friends are more observant CJs than we are, in our community, there are many like us as well and there is no pressure to hide what we do and do not observe or what we believe.

Is there anything that you hope to achieve now which wouldn't have been possible when you were frum?

No. I never felt that being frum held me back from any of my dreams. I wanted to have a family. I wanted to earn a graduate degree and build a meaningful career. I wanted to be a part of a close knit community. I am fortunate to have fulfilled these dreams. All of this would have been just as possible if I had stayed in the Modern Orthodox world.

What is one misconception or stereotype about ex-frum people that you'd like to correct?

Well, there are a few that come to mind. I want people to understand that my parents, teachers, youth leaders and community did nothing "wrong." I didn't leave the frum world because I was traumatized, angry or rebellious. It was a gradual process for me and I Ieft because I lost my belief in god and no longer believed Orthodox Judaism to have a monopoly on life's "truth."

How does your life now compare to when you were frum?

It is not as different as one might expect. I dress a little differently, eat in non-kosher restaurants and am not Shomer Shabbos. But I am a family woman, involved in chesed, and am an active member of my Jewish community. I care about Jewish causes, I often have Shabbat meals with friends and share Yom Tovim with friends and family. We may drive on Friday night to get to the meal, but it still has that community building feeling. I have fewer OJ friends (though a couple of my dearest friends are practicing Orthodox Jews), but still primarily socialize with Jews.

What's the best thing about not being frum?

Being frum was never a hardship when I believed in what I was doing. When I was a believer, I had no complaints. When my beliefs changed, my way of life changed, so I guess I am just glad that I never felt trapped into continuing in an OJ life past the time that I believed it to be truth.

What's the best thing that you recall about being frum?

It was great to believe that I had all the answers to life's questions. It was comforting to have a belief that there was a purpose to my life, that there was a reason that I was here and that there was some "right" way to be.

Is there anything that provides you with purpose and meaning in life now that you no longer believe in Orthodox Judaism?

I work in a helping profession and knowing that I am making a difference in people's lives is very meaningful to me. I also found that since becoming a mother, I certainly haven't lacked for purpose. I am not really all that bothered by existential angst anymore. I just try to live my life as a good person (by Humanist definitions), live up to my responsibilities and find joy where ever I can.

Do you think there's anything that the frum world could have done to keep you "on the derech"?

No. I don't think so. My siblings remain Orthodox as did almost every one of my childhood friends. I can't point to any specific reason or something that happened or didn't happen with me that was so different. The only thing that I could imagine that could have kept me "on the derech" is if I was kept from getting a higher education. But I am not sure that would have kept me "on the derech" either.