Where's the line?

I was at a meal on Shavuos at some religious friends of mine, the kind that are open-minded enough to not really care that I'm not religious; the kind of people for whom I don't ever have to pretend to be something I'm not. Unlike some of my ex-frum compatriots, I don't have any problem hanging around religious environments (well, certain religious environments), and I really don't think less of people just because they subscribe to religious ideas which I disagree with (again, certain religious ideas). But at the meal, something happened which prompted me to look a bit more closely at that fine line between what I consider normal religious behavior and the kind which I think is just short of crazy.

This particular group of people were a typically varied crowd of single men and women from the Upper West Side, most of whom were Modern Orthodox, some only nominally frum, some - like myself - not religious at all. At one point one of them launched into a classic Shavous dvar torah, and began expounding on the tradition of why people stay up learning on Shavuos night.

When it comes to shabbos meal divrei torah, my typical reaction is to just tune out entirely, as in most cases, such divrei torah usually fall into one of two categories, both of which I find utterly mind-numbing: There's the sort where some obscure textual inconsistency is reconciled by dredging up some even more obscure textual reference. And there's the kind where the inconsistency is reconciled by anachronistically inserting the persons ideological worldview into the text. Neither of which I (and to my cynical eye, anyone else at the table) have any interest in really listening to.

But this dvar torah was of a different sort. The guy was not content with simply reconciling an inconsistency, but he chose to invent a new one out of whole cloth, just so he could make his point when trying to address it. Ok, so I've seen this style too, it wasn't really new to me, but what started to grate on my nerves was that he was solving the problem he created by imposing some new-agey pop-psychology ideas onto the mental state of the Jewish People at Sinai. And it was at this point that I started to get annoyed at what I was hearing. Things only got worse when the rest of the table - people who I thought were of a more sophisticated intellectual bent regarding Jewish tradition - started seriously debating the merits of applying Gladwellian quasi-scientific ideas onto the midrashic narrative.

The same feelings surfaced when the conversation turned to why dairy products are traditionally eaten on Shavuos. As I heard supposedly intelligent people seriously explaining how the reason we don't eat meat is due to the dearth of kosher dishes after the giving of the torah, I found myself looking around in amazement, and thinking to myself, "Am I the only sane person here?"

But upon further reflection, I couldn't help wondering, why was hearing these ideas so particularly infuriating to me? I wasn't troubled by other things going on around me. It didn't bother me that they were commemorating the most dubious of historical events - that a nomadic tribe received a set of laws from a heavenly deity who transcribed them to a man who spoke to the being on a mountaintop for 40 days. It didn't vex me that they felt it necessary to make a blessing over a cup of wine before eating the meal or that they found turning on a light switch to be deserving of death. So many of the behaviors and beliefs of the frum person don't bother me at all, yet in this case, and in so many others, when I look at what's happening in front of me, or what's being said by seemingly intelligent people, I can't help wondering, "What the hell is wrong with these people?!"

Where is the line? Why do some things seem acceptable, normal, even possibly healthy, and others seem preposterous, foolish, and naïve?

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Photo Credit: Flickr user Norah M

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Holiday Insights

Over the recent holiday I spent some time with my relatives. Like most ex-chareidi people, amongst my decent sized family, I have some relatives which are the kind of frum that I find incredibly annoying, but others are really not so bad. This particular family is really quite easygoing, and so I tend to enjoy my visits with them. That being said, they are still pretty strictly frum, probably placed somewhere in the moderate-chareidi camp, and consequently there arises all sorts of situations with them that remind me just how different my worldview is to theirs. (As an aside, when I spend time with any of my family, I maintain an outwardly respectfully frum demeanor, even though most of them are aware that I'm not at all frum.)

One such incident occurred pretty soon into my visit. I arrived wearing dress pants and a blue dress shirt, which I planned on wearing when yom tov started. While I was well aware that a blue shirt is not the accepted style in their community, I was pretty sure that they'd find it to still be respectful enough that it wouldn't pose a problem. And it didn't, at least for the adults. But the kids... they just didn't know how to handle it! Here's how the conversation went as yom tov was approaching, and they were hanging out with me:
Kids (aged 8 - 10): When are you going to get dressed for yuntif?
Me: I am dressed.
Kids: Very funny!
Me (laughing at their incredulity): Seriously, this is what I'm going to wear.
Kid: Stop it. I know you're not serious. You're not going to wear a blue shirt to shul.
Me: Ok, you don't have to believe me if you don't want to. It doesn't really matter.
Kids: But, but... how could you...? It's a blue shirt…!

What could I possibly say to help them understand? To their minds, it was just totally inconceivable that someone would do something so outrageous as wearing a blue shirt on shabbos. Impossible! It reminded me of the incident when I was still frum where my Israeli 8-year-old nephew saw me for the first time wearing a kipa sruga (a knitted yarmulke, of the style that are typically worn by those affiliated with the Religious-Zionist community). His reaction? "Why would you wear that? Rak chilonim lovshim kipot k'eilu!" ("Only non-religious people wear those kinds of yarmulkes!")

(By the way, the next day, my cousin told me that her 7-year-old wanted to wear a blue shirt too. It's amazing what a corrupting influence I am!)

Another incident: I was sitting in the kitchen, and my uncle was about to have a bite of some pesach cake. He turned to his wife and asked her if he should make a mezonos or shahakol before eating it. (On pesach, some baked goods are made with ingredients that require a shehakol bracha, so the baker (my aunt) would know what bracha it required). She thought for a moment, and then replied, "I'm not sure. I can't remember how I made that one." My uncle immediately declared, "You don't know? Then how can it be eaten?! We have to throw it out!"

As soon as he said that, my aunt seemed to have a very sudden recollection of what ingredients went into the cake, so the crisis was averted, but I was just struck how incredibly absurd his reaction was. To be honest, I'm not really sure how serious he was when suggesting that it be trashed, since it really doesn't take much halachic imagination to figure out ways to eat an item even when you aren't sure what bracha to make on it (e.g. have it after motzi, have it 'in mind' when making a mezonos and shehakol on something else, or he even could have simply asked her to check her recipe!), but just hearing his first instinctive response to some tiny halachic quandary to be such an extreme black-and-white overreaction really highlighted for me the craziness of how halacha makes some people see the world.

Another moment of contrast: At dinner, during some point in the conversation I was telling them about some of my experiences at school, and some of the friends I've made there. I mentioned how I got to know some Iranian students, and how interesting it was to hear their perspectives on current events, and their interaction with American society. When I remarked how I was surprised to learn that they, as loyal Iranians, still find Ahmadinejad to be an absolute nutjob, I was quite amazed when my relatives nodded in agreement. "Of course!" they responded. Wow, I thought to myself. That's not the reaction I was expecting. Have my chareidi relatives really developed the subtlety to not paint all Muslims with the same brush? "Of course," my uncle explained. "He's made life terrible for the Jews there. They can't stand him!"

I was unsure how to respond to his remark, momentarily confused by what he meant, but then it dawned on me what had just transpired: When I spoke about befriending Iranian students, they had automatically assumed that I was talking about Iranian Jews! Realizing this, I just sat there in utter disbelief at what I was hearing. My family were all frum professionals, some of them even having attended college (one even a doctorate), and most having worked in the secular world for decades. How in the world does someone who has all those years of interaction, however tangential it may be to their primary frum life, maintain such a narrow ethnocentric worldview?! Honestly, I was just flabbergasted.

At another point, the inevitable political topic arose, and like every other situation where I've heard chareidim comment on current events, the right-wing tirade against how Obama is such a terrible person, a socialist who is destroying the country, how he's overtaxing them and giving away their money to the poor shvartzes on welfare, etc., blah, blah, was expressed. This wasn't surprising to me at all, but what was amazing was the total lack of awareness of how hypocritical they were in their position. In other conversations, these same relatives had absolutely no qualms expressing exactly the opposite opinion when it came to how the Israeli government is so terrible for always trying to cut back on the welfare allowances that they give chareidi families. I know, it's totally not the same thing at all.

I'm very appreciative of my family. They're all very kind and wonderful, and I'm most grateful that, for the most part, they've never at any time given me a hard time about my decision to stop being frum. But I never cease to be reminded that no matter how 'normal' and accepting a chareidi person is, there will always be a vast and seemingly insurmountable gulf between the worldview of the committed chareidi and my own personal outlook on the world.

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Photo Credit: Flickr user barb

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Silent Prayers

"Lechu neranena ladonai, nariah letzur yeshainu…"

The loud voice of the chazan startles me just as I step into the shul; all around me, the bustling, erev-shabbos crowd of boys and men break off from their mingling and make their way to their seats as the davening slowly commences. As I awkwardly find myself an empty seat along the wall, I survey the crowd, pleasantly surprised at the makeup of this congregation. There seems to be faint expressions of what passes for diversity in this group. Although the overwhelming majority of the congregants are decked out in the typical yeshivish shabbos dress – dark suit, large black hat – I can still spot a fair number of them standing out in their distinctiveness: a leather kipa here, a light grey suit there, a colored shirt in the back. Impressive, I think to myself. Maybe things have gotten a bit more open-minded since I’ve left.

As I sit at the table, siddur open in front of me, I stare blankly at the words on the page, refusing to grant my lips permission to participate. Next to me, a heavyset fellow is earnestly swaying back and forth to the chazan’s rendition of kabalas shabbos. It’s been a while since I heard them, but the tunes and prayers are all familiar to me; the words instinctively form in my mind, eager to be granted expression. Yet I stubbornly refuse to give them life. As it often does when I find myself in these situations, irrational paranoia starts to kick in, and I imagine that my blasphemy is being noticed by everyone around me. I feel their stares, their disapproving gaze burning into my back. Why aren’t you davening? I hear them ask accusingly. Would it hurt you to shuckle a little bit? 

Why do I insist on doing this, I wonder. Is it so hard for me to pretend for just a few minutes? What difference would it make if I just said the words like everyone else? Still, I refuse to comply. For some inexplicable reason, I can’t bring myself to do it. I remind myself - it’s all a lie, that I don’t believe in what these words mean, and that I’m not willing to participate in something that I don’t believe in.

But somewhere in the back of my mind, I know I’m deceiving myself. I pretend all the time. The mere fact that I’m in this shul, looking for the most part like one of them, is indicative of that. So why can’t I just bring myself to answer “amein yehei sh'mei raba” like everyone else? What’s the big deal if I just go along with it and let them think that I’m one of them?

And then it dawns on me - that is the reason. That’s why I can’t pretend. I don’t want them to think I’m one of them.

That’s the real truth. I don’t want to be thought of as part of their group. I don’t want them to consider me as one of their own. If I play along with this theatrical performance, it means that I care enough to want them to accept me. And I don’t. I don’t want them, for a second, to think that I am like them, in their thoughts, their practices, their lifestyles, their goals, their relationships, or their values. I refuse to play along with their game because I don’t want to ever be mistaken as one of them.

And so I sit there, silently.

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Buildup

I was watching this incredible video of an underwater volcano explosion, and it reminded me of an incident that occurred to me a few years ago, one chol hamoed, back when I was still pretty frum. I had gone to visit the Soreq Caves near Jerusalem. These are caverns with incredible stalagmite and stalactite formations that have built up over hundreds of thousands of years from the slowly dripping minerals. (According to wikipedia, the drip rate is approximately .005 inches / year. At that rate, it would take around 2,400 years for just one foot to build up!)

One nice thing that the frum world does is that people are always encouraged to seek out the natural beauty in the world, being that they consider it a testament to the handiwork of the creator. So witnessing this magnificent natural beauty really moved me. It truly was an awe-inspiring sight. But then the guide told us an interesting tidbit: up until only a few years ago, no human had ever laid eyes on these caves because they were entirely sealed off to the world. They were only discovered because of excavation blasting that was being done for a construction project. Surprisingly, hearing this detail had an unexpected effect upon me. It just made no sense whatsoever - if god wants us to marvel in his beautiful creation, why would he have kept this treasure hidden away from the world all this time? I was really thrown off by this piece of information.

This issue continued to bother me as I saw more and more of these fantastic formations, each more stunning than the last, and I tried coming up with some plausible resolution to my dilemma. The best answer I could muster was that god had chosen to save this cave for our generation, and I should be grateful for this 'gift' that was denied to everyone but us. Kind of like getting exclusive entry to a prestigious art gallery. It was an answer, but it didn't really satisfy my discontent.

I'm not saying that this incident caused me to stop believing in god, or that as result of it, any dramatic changes occurred in my life. I probably went home, forgot about it within a short time, and my life continued pretty much the same way.

But it did definitely affect me. Like so many other similar incidents that I encountered. Every one of those experiences, regardless of how trivial they were, caused another chink in the armor of my faith. When people ask me what caused me to stop believing it all (an entirely different, though not unrelated, question than 'why did I leave frumkeit?'), I usually have a hard time answering that well. This partly explains why - it's hard to pinpoint any one specific idea that thoroughly changed my view. In fact, I don't think that there really ever was one. Rather, like the accretion of minerals that formed these amazing structures, it was a slow and steady accumulation of countless small experiences, incidents, conversations, and personal revelations that finally tipped the scale of my belief towards a more skeptical worldview.

It's kind of ironic though, how seeing god's beauty can contribute to losing faith in him.

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Photo credit: flickr user Sagipolley

Who is Your God?

Pen Tivokeish recently wrote a great post describing his idea of what god is like in his mind. It reminded me of how I used to think about god years ago. When I was old enough to articulate it, I realized that my perception of God was akin to how I thought of all my principals in yeshiva: If you were a good kid who did what you were supposed to, followed the rules, got decent grades, and stayed on his good side, then he was always happy with you, and you'd probably even get some sort of reward every once in a while. But if you were the sort of kid who didn't always do as he was expected to, then the relationship was totally different. You always had to be on the lookout to make sure he wasn't around the corner, looking to catch you doing something you weren't allowed to. If he busted you messing around, you knew that you were in some serious trouble. You probably were often called to his office every once in a while for some infraction that he would berate you for. Usually when that happened, you knew you had broken some rule, but oftentimes you probably really had no idea what the big deal was that you had done. And of course, between all the reprimands, there would be a punishment or two meted out.

That's pretty much how I thought of god. The Principal in the Sky. Who was going to eventually bust you for every single violation of the rules you ever committed.

What persona was your god?

Finding Religion in College

The other day I was sitting in the library at college, trying to get my mind to focus on the poly-sci textbook in my lap, but as usual, being far more inclined to space out and let my mind wander wherever it pleased. As I watched the myriad students passing all around me, one particular student caught my eye. I vaguely recognized him from a class we had shared some semesters ago, but that wasn't what had grabbed my attention. From the distance where I was sitting, it seemed that he was carrying something unusual. As I looked closer, my suspicions were confirmed. He was carrying something, something totally unexpected.

A brick.

Not just any ordinary normal-sized brick, but a large, cinderblock-sized one, heavy enough that he had to carry it with his arm raised up, hoisted over his shoulder. In the library. On its side was painted a purple symbol I didn't recognize.

I was dying to know what the deal was here, so I approached him, and inquired as to the unusual behavior I was observing.

"It's a fraternity initiation rite," he explained sheepishly. "I have to carry this thing around for a week, everywhere I go, never entirely letting go of it."

I sat back down, pondering the absurdity I had just witnessed. Why would anyone subject themselves to such a pointless exercise, I thought to myself? And what's with these crazy fraternities that they make people go through these idiotic rituals?

Eventually, the obvious answer became all too clear to me. I realized that it's simply a loyalty thing. The guy is doing this to prove to the fraternity how loyal he is willing to be for them. By fulfilling this meaningless ritual, he's demonstrating to the group that not only does he want to be a part of their group, but that he is willing to subject himself to their demands, even when those demands go against his own self interest. They're not asking him to perform 30 hours of community service, or maintain a certain GPA, or score a certain number of foul shots. They're asking him to do something that has absolutely no sensible rationale whatsoever; something which no sane person would ever agree to doing. And why? Why perform a pointless task? Only because they told him to do so. It's an act of pure obedience. By agreeing to perform this task, he's implicitly acknowledging that their authority takes precedence over his own moral and logical sense. Although this act might indeed seem harmless enough, by his willingness to surrender his interests to those of the wider group, he's proving to them that, in the future, if need be, they can rely on him to protect the welfare of the collective over his own needs. They can rest assured that if he is ever faced with a choice between doing what his own mind tells him is right, and doing what the group tells him is right, he will act appropriately. In appreciation of this compliance, the person will no doubt be amply rewarded. He'll be granted entry to a select group of people, and be provided countless benefits that outsiders are denied. But his access to these privileges will be contingent on his continuous and unyielding submission to the demands of the greater group.

As I sat there contemplating this incredibly brilliant system that the inventors of the fraternity came up with, it suddenly occurred to me that I had actually just been deconstructing one of the key aspects of religious society. After all, hadn't I just described so much of what religion is about? Doing things that in ordinary circumstances you'd find ridiculous and pointless, but because some authority figure deems them necessary, you acquiesce to their demands? Isn't so much of religion about subverting your will to a greater interest?

The parallels were uncanny.

• Religion often (not always, but often) asks people to live their lives by a set of rules that doesn't make any sense whatsoever to a rational person. And why? Because the religious authority (god, the rabbis, the talmud, etc.) says so.
• Religion often says to its adherents, "Don't trust your own moral sense of right and wrong. It's only right or wrong because we say so."
• Isn't it common to find religion highly averse to independent thought?
• Doesn't religion grant its adherents countless benefits denied to outsiders, in exchange for its members' continued loyalty and devotion?

It's amazing the things you learn in college.

Am I Happy?

There is an almost predictable routine that occurs when people first discover that I am not religious. Once the initial shock wears off, and they have reconciled themselves to this new reality (at times arriving at this recognition only after endless debate), they inevitably inquire about my emotional well being. Am I happy?, they want to know.

Although it's quite understandable to me why they are asking me this, the question still irritates me quite a bit. I recognize that their inquiry stems from their assumption that the primary motivation for my abandoning observance was because I was unhappy in my old life, and they want to know if my newfound lifestyle has granted me that elusory state. But the question grates on me terribly. Because I know that when they are asking me that, the subtext of their query is really the following: "Deep down, are you really happy living like this? Of course not! You can't possibly be happy living without the beauty of Yiddishkeit; without shabbos; without Torah; without mitzvos. So you might as well just come back to being frum! After all, if you're not happy like this, why stay here?"

Putting aside for now the faulty assumption that pursuing some elusive emotional state is the root of my shift, and ignoring the condescending belief that a person who isn't frum couldn't possibly be truly happy, what particularly infuriates me about this exchange is the hypocrisy of their position: NOW you think that if I'm unhappy I should leave? What about the countless years when I was unhappy being frum?!! Why didn't you suggest it then that I leave because I was unhappy?! It's a load of crap what you're saying. You don't for one second believe that happiness (or its absence) is a valid basis for choosing a path in life. The only reason you're presenting such a notion is because it suits your purposes. Please! Spare me your bullsh*t concern for my happiness.

However, ignoring their unspoken implications, the question still remains in front of me. Am I happy? Truly, I want to know it as much as - nay, more so than they do. Am I happier living my life the way I am now than when I was frum?

When I examine that question under closer scrutiny, I realize that it seems to be a mostly irrelevant one. Yes, being happy is important to me. But comparing how happy I am now to how I might have felt back then is irrelevant because finding happiness is not the reason that I chose this path. It simply wasn't. True, at times, I admit that I may have actually articulated that it was what I was looking for, that I was just so unhappy in that world, so I had to leave, but actually when we examine the situation closer, it becomes obvious that although I expressed it in those terms, there was so much more going on which was directing me towards a different path.

Although it was something I definitely wanted, finding happiness wasn't the goal of my decision to leave ultra-Orthodoxy. The reason I left was to get away from all the sources of misery that were an integral part of my life as a chareidi person: The restrictive environment, the demanding (and often meaningless) rituals, the endless gemara learning, the lack of opportunities to feel good about myself, the hypocrisy that I was beginning to detect, the insistence that my life be shaped in a way that I didn't feel right for me, the constraints placed on my relationships, the intellectual dishonesty, the persistent religious one-upmanship, the intense insularity, the requirement to believe so many disproved ideas, the questionable leaders, and on and on. Conversely, my departure from the community was also intended to be able to increase the opportunities where I would have positive experiences and encounters in my life.

The point I want to make is that the reason I left was not because I wanted happiness. It was because I wanted more of those positive things in my life, and less of those negative things. Happiness is a logical byproduct of taking such a step, but it wasn't the goal.

(In looking at the larger picture, although that explains some of the reasons why I left, it's important to consider the circumstances that allowed me to leave: It was only when certain societal pressures were removed that the door opened for me to actually step out of that world. And it was only when I came to understand the deficiencies in the intellectual underpinnings and ideologies of ultra-Orthodoxy that I lost the motivation to endure that unhappy way of life I was previously committed to. I hope to explore the nature of this trifecta in greater depth some time soon.)

Getting back to the question that my interlocutor posed to me, "Am I happy?" my answer would be as follows:

"Am I happy? I hope so, although I admit that I can't be sure of it. Happiness is a difficult thing to gauge. However, more importantly to me, is the fact that in my life as I am currently living it, I have much less of those negative experiences and emotions that were a part and parcel of my life in your world. And at the same time, I am able to partake of so many wonderful and enriching opportunities that your lifestyle prevented me from experiencing. Am I happy? I'm not absolutely sure. But I am sure that I'm glad my life is no longer shaped by the dictates of your world."

What It's All About

I was recently informed that I had an honorable mention in Gil's recent presentation at the RCA convention. He spoke about the effect of blogs and how important it is for rabbinic figures to be aware of the issues related to them. You can see a PowerPoint slide here. In line with what I saw Ben Avuya and Godol Hador do, I'd like to give a little introduction to any newcomers to my blog, and explain to you a bit about who I am and what this little endeavor is all about.

I myself am no longer a religious Jew, at least in the traditional meaning of the term (which I consider being a halachically observant person). I grew up in an Orthodox home, not one which would be classified as Chareidi, but also not what would be termed Modern Orthodox (MO). We were strictly halachic, but with connections to all the various frum communities and groups that existed, and I don't recall us subscribing to any practices or views which I considered too extreme. Maybe I was just too young and ignorant to know how we identified ourselves, but that's how I remember it. In any case, after childhood, my formative teen years were spent in black-hat yeshivas, and throughout high school I became increasingly more right-wing in my thinking and practice, which closely paralleled a similar change that was occurring in my overall family. After high school I discovered a more moderate form of Orthodoxy, which greatly appealed to me on certain levels, but which also triggered a serious crisis in my views of what it means to be a frum Jew. That crisis was averted and eventually I adopted that more moderate approach and spent a few years in a yeshiva which helped me integrate that philosophy into my life. I stayed that way for some time even after leaving the yeshiva, but soon after leaving the confines of that closed world, I found myself in a new environment, one consisting of many Jews of a much more MO background. Despite an initial ambivalence, I found myself feeling much more comfortable in their company than my old society. Over time, I gradually shifted to living in that more MO world, and remained there for around 4 years. That period was a very eye-opening experience for me, one which I learned much about things I was never exposed to, and which shattered many stereotypes that I had previously considered to be sacred truths of life and Judaism. Eventually, as a result of a variety of changes that were occurring within myself, my commitment to halacha began to wane, and in due course, different aspects of frumkeit were abandoned. At this point in time, I can no longer honestly consider myself a halachically observant person.

To better understand my motivations here, a more in-depth background of my transition is necessary, but it will take too much time to explore for now. Suffice it to say that over the course of my high school years I became a very committed right-wing/yeshivish/chareidi/black-hat kind of person. I completely and totally subscribed to the views they taught me. On issues of secular studies, modernity, interacting with MOTOS, halacha, the primacy of learning torah, Zionism, Modern Orthodoxy, listening to gedolim, and all the other issues upon which lines have been drawn in the Orthodox community, I had fully adopted their views. I implicitly believed all they taught me as absolute and objective truth. I believed what the gedolim said was da'as torah. I knew that the yeshivish/chareidi view of how one should live their life represented the one true derech of Avodas Hashem, and that everything else that considered itself a version of Orthodoxy was just a compromise at best, and a corrupted distortion at worst. I believed all this fully and wholeheartedly.

That was all many years ago and since that time much has changed for me. Although at one time I firmly believed in the goodness and rightness of all aspects of my chareidi lifestyle, eventually, after much honest deliberation, exploration, self-reflection, meeting many different sort of people, and learning new ways to think about and view the world and Judaism, I became aware of many deficiencies in my life, my thinking, and my self. I discovered how weak many of the pillars of my faith really were. I discovered how poorly my religious upbringing met any of my most important and basic needs. I found gaping intellectual breaches in what I had previously thought were strongholds of logic. I discovered glaring holes in our tradition.

After allowing myself to step onto this alternative path which was so different from the one I had initially been following, I encountered other issues which had nothing to do with me personally, but which sowed further doubt in my mind as to the rightness of that former derech. I was shocked to discover how so many of the foundations of my identity were based on lies. I became aware of how people who were charged with my best interests ignored them to pursue their own agendas. I came to understand how so much of what I thought was a divinely inspired way of life was a combination of half-truths, distortions, cover-ups, deliberately maintained ignorance, normal societal development, and sometimes even outright lies. I found hypocrisy and inconsistency. I came to see just how lacking those who I trusted as paragons of virtue, honesty, and spirituality, really were.

That's what this blog is about. It is my voice and my feelings about how I think the Orthodox life that I came from is inadequate. Many of the ideas I express here are personal and subjective. You will generally not find logical arguments disproving the existence of God, or showing how the Bible was written by man. That's not to say that those issues don't play a part in my transition. They do to some extent. But my focus here is rather on how for certain people, for people such as myself, the Orthodoxy that I was raised with can simply no longer work for me.

When reading my entries you will see that I point to many different factors that contributed to who I am now. Family upbringing, personal experiences, societal difficulties, intellectual arguments, communal issues, and many other factors have all played a part in my development. One day I hope to develop all these disparate ideas into a coherent presentation that can clearly show the buildup and breakdown of how these issues affected me. Another day perhaps.

For now, you're welcome to read my incohernet ramblings in their original and contradictory form. Read about my experiences in yeshiva and how they adversely affected my perceptions of Judaism and Torah (link, link). See the manner in which many of the sacred ideas of my former lifestyle deteriorated (link, link, link). Later on I explore the realization of discovering how inadequate my upbringing was in preparing me for real life (link, link). I discuss my efforts to undo the flawed manner in which my mind was trained to think (link, link, link). I share some of the ways my family deals with my change (link). I explain why I don't like certain yomim tovim (link, link). I speak about my struggle to construct a new way of practicing Judaism that is devoid of the painful relics of my past (link). At times I also focus on certain specific and common issues which plague the frum world (link, link).

This blog was originally intended as a personal project to give myself an outlet. It was never meant to be a soapbox. Despite that, at this point in the process, I feel that I want others to hear the things I have to say. The things I'm writing about are not just about me. The experiences I relate are those of thousands of others who feel the same. The dissatisfaction I express is widespread. The frustrations, resentments, and discontent of those like me is a festering sore that the frum community has ignored for far too long. (Just one more unpleasant fact they prefer to deny and consequently sweep under the carpet.)

For myself, the issues I explore no longer hold such significance. I have left the community and have very little interest in returning to it. But I want you all to hear it because it's about you. You are the ones who are causing all these problems. You are the ones that are forcing scores of youth to grow up unhappy and miserable, feeling they are worthless. You're the ones that believe that your lifestyle is the path to the most happy and fulfilled life that a person can wish for. And you need to hear just how wrong you really are. Judaism might indeed be beautiful, but what you're giving us is damn ugly. It isn't fulfilling, it isn't enjoyable, and it sure isn't something we're going to put up with when we finally have an opportunity to escape it. It isn't the outside world, or the Internet, or movies, or striped shirts, or chalav stam, or Rav Kook, that make us want to get out. It's you. You need to hear that loud and clear. You are what's making us hate Judaism.

Yes, I am biased, and subjective, and at times quite bitter. But I am a product of your society. And I am not an aberration. I'm not alone. There are plenty of people out there who have left just like I have. And there are plenty more who would love to get out if they could find a way. And I believe that there are many more that are not yet at that point, but who are on the inevitable path which will eventually bring them to that sad realization.

Ignore me if you wish. Marginalize me. Reject my ideas as the angry rantings of a cynical and irrational individual. I don't claim to always be entirely objective. But what I do say, absolutely and unequivocally, is that even if my views are subjective, they are worth listening to. Even if they are biased. Because your system is failing. Whether or not it's objectively the best, the most true, the most holy, the most whatever, on a subjective level, it's failing dismally. Objectively or subjectively, the fact of the matter is, it's not working for far too many. Emotions might not be rational, but they are real. And in the calculus of what shapes our commitments and attitudes about our religion, they are as important - if not more so - than cold, hard logical arguments.

Positive Hazards

I consider myself a positive person. I tend not to let unpleasant things get to me, and even when in a less than ideal situation I try to stay focused on any positive aspects that may be present. It's not that I'll be ignorant of the whole picture. Even while remaining optimistic I'll usually be well aware of the negative issues involved, but I'll refrain from letting them bring me down. I think I picked up this quality from my yeshiva days where the concept of "Aizeh hu ashir? Hasameach b'chelko" was emphasized (Pirkei Avot 4:1). (Who is the happy man? He who is satisfied with his lot.) I've always been glad to have such a personality, and have considered it a great asset to have through life. But recently I realized that being a positive person can have it's down-sides too. Staying focused on the positive can actually have detrimental effects on a person too.

I came to this realization when I recently examined my life and saw that I wasn't doing anything significant to achieve what I really wanted in life. There is so much that I want to accomplish and to be, and I've had specific and concrete ideas of some of those things for some time now. Yet, I haven't been doing much to reach those goals. Why is this? Is it due to laziness? Possibly. But I think a better explanation is that I'm quite happy with my life as it is now. Even though I'm not achieving my goals, I usually feel good enough about my life that it kind of takes away the drive to work towards other things. After all, if you're happy with what you have, why pursue other things? It sounds like a pathetic excuse, but I think it explains well why I haven't been trying as hard as I should be to achieve certain things. Despite my aspiration to be more than I am now, I haven't been bothered enough by my situation to want to work towards achieving those goals. And why haven't I been bothered by it? Because I don't ever let myself take a good look at the negative aspects of my situation and how it's preventing me from growing the way I want to.

Lesson #1: There's a fine line between being happy with one's life and settling for mediocrity.

Another issue which raised this awareness in my life was in regard to relationships. Relationships are never easy to succeed at, and there are innumerable pitfalls that can ruin a potentially meaningful one. Any mature person understands that it's inevitable that even someone who is liked a lot will still have certain qualities that may be less than endearing. The trick is not to let those bothersome aspects get in the way of all the good that the relationship has to offer. You need to focus on the positive. I suppose I'm pretty good at doing that. In fact, I know I'm way too good at it. I can't think of a single time that I ended a relationship because of any specific disturbing or annoying characteristic of the other person. I'm very forgiving of most things and can put up with a lot if I feel the payoff is worth the price. And this also I've always considered an asset that I can be proud of. But it too has a serious downside that shouldn't be ignored.

If you don't admit to yourself that there are troubling aspects to a person - or even if you admit there are, but not acknowledge just how troubling these aspects are to you - it will come back to bite you in the ass later on in the relationship. Issues that really bother you shouldn't be ignored, even if they do seem to be outweighed by many more positive characteristics of the person. If you only focus on the positive and not let yourself feel just how much those issues affect you, you aren't doing anyone any favors.

Of course, this does have to be balanced with the other factor that obviously not everyone is perfect and one must be prepared to accept certain flaws in the other person. But those "flaws" need to be carefully examined and determined how much they truly bother you.

Lesson #2: There's a fine line between being forgiving and giving up on something that you really shouldn't.

Having a positive outlook is a wonderful quality that I wish we all had. But as with all things, one needs to understand that this wonderful quality should be used with discretion and that there are situations where a more critical and unforgiving attitude would definitely serve one better than being sameach with one's chelek.

Dance Dance Revolution

I went dancing the other night!

Over the past couple of years, I've had some measure of success in overcoming a lot of the psychological and sociological remnants of my previous life, including many of those related to male/female interactions, but being able to freely dance in a mixed crowd was something I hadn't been able to muster up the courage to do. The one time I did do it, I was very uncomfortable with myself the entire time, and have avoided it ever since. There's a variety of issues playing out in my head that's holding me back, but for some time I've been making efforts to overcome them, and so last week when I found myself near an establishment that hosts a bi-weekly dance night, I decided to step in and see what it was like. I had heard about it from a number of friends who had encouraged me to try it out, and knew it wasn't anything I'd find objectionable (no bump-and-grind, inappropriate provocative stuff, etc.), but I still had been pushing it off for a while. Now that I was right there, I figured I'd just step in briefly, take a look around, feel the atmosphere, enjoy a little music, and leave. But as I was sitting there on the side, watching everyone just let themselves go so freely, I decided that I had to at least try it a little bit. So I did, feeling awkward and uncomfortable, sure that everyone was watching me make a fool of myself. Maybe they were, maybe not, I don't know, but after a while, I felt myself gradually escaping the constricting limitations of my mind that were preventing me from enjoying myself. I don't really know how to dance, and I probably looked kind of silly to anyone that really cared to notice, but everyone there was just so free about it all, moving in any which way they pleased, that I found myself getting caught up in it all, just letting my body express what the music was doing to my heart.

So I danced and danced and danced. For three hours. It felt good. And it felt good to finally be able to be there, past that point that was holding me back.

Most of the crowd was fairly young, mid to late 20's, and there was a fair number of kipa's (which I realized later might not accurately reflect the actual demographic, as I eventually stuffed mine in my pocket after it kept flying off), but there was one girl there that was distinctly different from the rest of the group. She was dressed in a way that suggested she was probably quite a bit more religious than the rest of the crowd (or rather, that she typically associated with a more religious society), both by the style she wore and the fact that she had a long skirt and sleeves that extended past her elbows. She didn't seem to be there with anyone. But most noticeable was the fact that as she moved, her demeanor was not like the rest of the dancers. She was stiff, not as uninhibited as the regulars, and somewhat self-conscious, glancing around at the others around her every so often. I had never seen this girl before in my life, and had very little to base it on, but I was willing to bet anything that what was going in that girl's head was an exact reflection of what was occurring that very same moment in mine. I so wanted to go over to her and just tell her, "I know exactly how you feel. So let's dance together!" I didn't do that, figuring it probably would have done way more harm than good. Thankfully, just like I managed to do, she eventually seemed to loosen up and let herself go appropriately. I couldn't help wondering how the night's experience affected her, and if it was as significant a breakthrough for her as it was for me.

There was one other amazing thing that happened that night. At one point in the dancing, I noticed a guy in a wheelchair wheel himself into the room, and as he got closer I was able to see that he was missing both his legs. Such a thing is a heartbreaking sight to see, and I felt it stir in me that rare emotion of appreciation people sometimes feel for the good health they may be fortunate to have. But he seemed to know a number of people there, and was in good spirits, so it wasn't putting too much of a damper on my mood. The guy then rolled his wheelchair to the periphery of the dance area, and all of a sudden just started swinging his arms and head around in every direction, wildly, uncontrollably! And for a second I thought to myself, "What the hell is wrong with that guy?", until a moment later, it dawned on me: He was dancing! This was the only way he could do it; to let himself go like we were able to; to let himself just be carried away by the music. It was such a moving sight that I had to stop and just let myself take it in for a few minutes. As I watched him flail about with complete and total utter abandon, I felt tears welling up in my eyes. The guy had no legs, and he was dancing his heart out. Unbelievable.

Why I Don't Write

Things have been kind of slow here recently. Some people have complained to me about that, saying that they are eager to hear more of my thoughts. As much as I'd always like to please my loyal readers, sometimes I just don't have anything substantive to write about. As any reader of this blog knows, most of my rants here focus on the various stupidities that are rampant in chareidi society. That's the society that I came from, and it's about those issues that I feel I have worthwhile ideas to express. Although I'm not a part of that community anymore, I try to stay informed of the trends and issues of that world, watching it all closely, and trying to find indications of all those much denied, yet horribly widespread dysfunctions which afflict chareidi society.

The obvious question that I'm often asked is, Why do I still bother with that world? If I've left it behind, why do I concern myself with it so much? I've already dealt a bit with this question in various prior posts, but one aspect that I have to admit to is that, psychologically, I simply haven't fully left that world. There's a part of me that still is there in some sense. I still have, if not one foot still stuck in that world, at least a toe testing those waters, or an eye looking over my shoulder.

However, the more time I spend out of that world, the less and less I find myself caring about all that stuff. All the inanities, the hypocrisies, the shallowness, the misplaced priorities, the whitewashing, the denial, the petty frumkeit-ness, the halachic one-upmanship, the distorted Torah, all the craziness that there is to focus on of my former world, is just mattering less and less to me each passing day.

The inevitable result of my waning interest in such matters is that I find myself with so much less to ruminate (and fulminate) about, which obviously translates into less to blog about. Despite the fact that there are quite a few issues going on that catch my attention, and I often do have my own personal experiences to draw upon that relate to these issues, I'm just not bothered enough by it all to put in the effort and get all worked up about it like I used to.

Occasionally I hear about something which touches on an issue very close to me and it drags me right back into that world, full force, and I find myself getting all agitated and upset, but by the time I've gathered up my few thoughts on the matter, and am ready to put them down on paper, I'm thinking to myself, "Why bother?"

Overall, I think this is a good thing. It seems I'm making progress in finally getting past it all. Although a part of me does feel bad about it in some way. Not having an issue that captures my attention so completely makes me feel a bit empty, dull. Thankfully, I still have much in my life to think about, but I never intended this blog to be just an outlet for my own personal issues. I'm not interested in rambling on about the various figures, experiences, and activities of my life. What I intended this blog for was to say things that I thought people needed to hear. I didn't just want to kvetch about things I didn't like. I tried to clearly make a case of how wrong, damaging, and screwed up the system is. Half a year after I started, it's still pretty much just as screwed up as when I started, and now I care so much less about making it any better.

In one of my earliest postings, I elaborated on the reasons why I bother blogging. I wrote there that even though I am not actively part of the chareidi community many of the issues still concern me. Well, I guess now I can say the same reason applies to why I'm not blogging so much lately. The issues just don't concern me too much anymore. And since that was a big part of what motivated me to write here, unless I change the focus or format of this blog, I don't think you should expect to see too much significant writing here in the future. I still will write, but it'll probably be shorter blurbs than is typical for me.

Or maybe not. Now that I'm done writing this piece, a whole bunch of issues are flashing through my head that I know I want to elaborate on. Oh well. We'll see what happens.

True Growth

Ben Chorin has a great piece explaining his fondness for people (and blogs) that challenge the status quo in the frum world. He writes:

"The yiddishkeit taught in cheder, or the more modern equivalent, is filled with simple-minded myths designed to give meaning to our traditions."

If I could expand on that idea a bit, I’d say that the problem isn’t just that people retain these juvenile perspectives. It’s that we’re expected to! True, no one frowns upon a person that studies more and develops a "greater appreciation" of these narratives and teachings, but that’s only if the person is still spouting the original idea as truth and only using his newfound appreciation as a way of expanding on the original concept. However, if a person were to study anything which could (chas v’shalom!) cause him or her to reject any of those original ideas... well, that’s already stepping over the line.

Basically, in the frum world, when you reach adulthood you’re expected to have essentially the same views on Yiddishkeit that you had when you were in 3rd grade. And probably nothing would make our rabbeim prouder if when we died at a ripe old age we still thought everything we read in The Midrash Says really happened.

This idea of being frozen in one’s intellectual development (or better said, it being a one-way street) can also be seen in the more general idea of overall religious development: No one has a problem with a person that adopts a new chumra. No one sees that as illegitimate. (Although some might rightfully have a problem with chumras because they are often just superficialities, most often, a sincerely and properly done chumra isn’t considered inappropriate.) But if a person takes a good look at themselves and decides that something they’ve been doing for the past ten years is just not right for them, that they’d be much better served using their time or energies in a manner that’s not stipulated by the mishna berura, then it’s something that’s got to be opposed.

It seems to me that there is no real concept of growth in the frum world. Yes, there is some sort of notion that is often spoken about called “growth in frumkeit”. And of course, “growth in learning”. When people talk about “growth in frumkeit” what they really are saying is that the person has developed an increased tolerance for the annoyances of halacha. Either he has adopted some practice that’s even more restrictive and frustrating than previously or he has just learned to accept the aggravation quietly.

Sorry, but that's not real growth. As Ben Chorin says: “This process of rebellion and return can repeat itself many times in a person's lifetime.” True growth can be in any direction. That terrible moment of confusion when you sadly realize that you don’t have a clue as to how things are, when moments earlier you thought you had it all figured out – that’s real growth. Gaining a better sense of self-awareness - that's real growth. Even if that awareness is something which frightens you. (Oh my gosh! Does this mean I don't want to stay in kollel the rest of my life? Nooooooooo!!!)

Why I Write

Over the years, I've written a lot of personal stuff regarding the various issues in the frum community that has bothered me. None of it has ever been released publicly, and I figured that I'd look it over to see if any of it would be appropriate for this forum. While much of it is still relevant and quite on the mark, I realized that the person who wrote those pieces is not the same person I am now. In fact, it's a voice only vaguely familiar. Those essays are mainly private dialogues, where I'm battling my inner yeshivish demons and often defending myself, arguing, and trying to show those powers that be how they're screwing everything up (in the name of Torah, of course).

But today, I'm not like that. I've left that society and don't have any need to defend myself. No one's accusing me of anything (except on occasion associates from my former society). I'm respected, appreciated, and valued for who I am, not how long my shemona esrei is. And I have no need to convince anyone of those positions. Because those arguments are all attempts to change their society into one where someone like myself could be at ease with themselves, not being constantly eaten up by guilt and shame. And I no longer have any desire to be a part of that society.

So why do I bother concerning myself at all with the goings-on of dysfunctional yeshivish/black-hat culture? A few reasons: Firstly, because it hurts me to see people that I know and care about being ruined in the same way that I was. No, I don't really care if you insist on having your life revolve around necklines, sheitels, water filters, learning torah 24/7, hashgacha pratis, tehillim groups, assering cellphones or the Internet, or why unmarried 20-year-olds are a "crisis", but please keep in mind that these views and stupidities are making your children more and more miserable every day. For their sake, please, get a clue.

Additionally, the fact of the matter seems to be that the influence of yeshivish society is spreading far beyond their local communities. This is quite unfortunate, yet indisputable. It's been discussed quite a bit in many recent articles, and is often referred to as "the shift to the right". And while my particular community hasn't been affected in any noticeable way, it's probably only a matter of time until I find myself having to walk on a different side of the street than my wife.

Most importantly, deep inside I really would love to like Judaism more. It is my religion. It is my heritage. And it probably has a lot to offer that would enrich my life in many ways. Once upon a time I was interested in all that. But these last few years my feelings about yiddishkeit have turned much more grim. As long as I have to keep dealing with idiots and extremists, who only know how to make my life more unpleasant than I could ever dream of, and who insist on imparting dogmatic and obnoxious "Torah" teachings and pronouncements whose goal is to scare me or guilt me, I just want to get away from anything that has to do with yiddishkeit, torah, halacha, rabbis, or the god that supposedly insists on it all.

I want to enjoy my life. To live a fulfilling, meaningful, enjoyable, productive, sincere existence. And the popular Judaism that is being peddled nowadays seems to offer anything but that.

So I write, partly to help others, partly to stave off the encroaching menace that threatens my last unspoiled refuge, and partly to save myself from turning into something I don't want to.

Have a Good Shabbos and a Happy New Year