Better Know a Kofer - Sara

The first kofer we're meeting in our new series, Better Know a Kofer, is Sara, a third year law student who lives in Michigan with her husband of five years, together with their young daughter and two pets. Sara is a former Bais Yaakov girl from a moderate yeshivish family who stopped being frum in her early twenties. She currently practices Elder Law in a free clinic and has worked in the past as a middle and high school teacher at Bais Yaakov.

Here is my interview with Sara.

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Hello, Sara. I'd like to thank you for allowing me to perform this interview. To start off, can you describe the religious environment that you came from?

Yeshivish. A smaller community, not the mega-jumble of New York/New Jersey. I had classmates who were somewhat modern, lubavitch, and yeshivish. I definitely came from the yeshivish neighborhood though, and tended to spend the most time with girls from yeshivish families. My own family did have a few more modern tendencies, like limited tv/computer use, and I was encouraged to read some secular books.

Is there any experience that you can relate which captures the religious tone of your upbringing?

It's a tough question to answer. I can't really think of one experience or incident that expresses the atmosphere of my parents' home. I did always value that my parents didn't just do things the way everyone else did them. For example, instead of using a succah kit or building a flimsy one out of particle board, they bought heavy duty tarps and used metal tubing for a frame, with custom-welded corner pieces. It was a very nice succah, and much more durable than most. Yet, they applied the desire to do things well to a pretty conservative approach to halacha.

My mother is well known in the community for her skills in checking vegetables for bugs. Instead of taking the more typical yeshivish approach and simply not using bug-prone or difficult to check vegetable, she learned the different kinds of bugs and their life cycles and habits. She will get out a microscope from time to time in checking lettuce. She often teaches other women how to check vegetables better. I remember astonishing the wife of my halacha teacher in seminary by pointing out to her the the small worms that had bored into her carrots. She thought that carrots couldn't get buggy.

My mother never cooked only typical ashkenazi food. She learned to cook sephardi dishes and she also incorporated world cuisine into her shabbos menus. A special shabbos treat was ground-nut stew, an african dish that she made with chicken, beef, vegetables, and peanuts. Another was a southern-style beef stew served over grits. Most frum kids don't even know what grits are--for us they were a special shabbos treat.

There were some conflicts. My parents often chafed against the common frum attitude of "why bother figuring out the halacha, we don't really need that anyway." My mother threw herself into a fight to get updated textbooks for her students, even excising the "inappropriate" illustrations and chapters by hand. My parents kept an extensive secular library, and my parents refused to discourage their kids from getting an education, even when that meant using university libraries and then going to secular colleges. My parents also had a hard time from time to time with people who had a problem with BTs and geirim (they themselves were BTs). Sometimes it seemed like they didn't have much good to say of "FFBs"--which sure felt awkward for me, an FFB. A major point of guilt when I left was that I was now somewhat corroborating so many of the off-hand comments they'd endured over the years from people who criticized non-FFBs.

My parents also refused to keep their affection for each other hidden, especially in their own home. Unlike a lot of frum kids, I witnessed my parents being openly affectionate. They were not shy about talking about the ways in which they thought the frum community tended towards foolishness, and the wariness of open marital affection was one of those things, as well as the reluctance to eat anything that wasn't from Poland by way of New York, and the insistence that an ever-growing number of vegetables really aren't kosher enough, and other bits of foolishness. They didn't have much use for things like chalav yisrael, and they regarded chumrahs as mostly useless things. My parents found their own chumrahs, and they never coincided with the chumrah-of-the-month. It is a little funny that some people will find their spiritual solace in banning delicious, nutritious fruits, but my mother learned how to ensure that it was completely kosher. Which is the more beneficial chumrah, refusing to partake of a food, or learning how, and then teaching others how, to partake of both additional knowledge and the fruit in question?

So, I have a lot admiration for the religious atmosphere in my parents' home. I do think though, that their thoughtfulness is in small part one of the contributing factors to my having left. My upbringing gave me permission to think. And so, I thought.

I'm glad at the conclusions I came to. My parents aren't. I think that that is a risk one assumes when one has children. My parents and their community disagree.

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

I was once working on a paper having to do with the history of Jewish communities in fifteenth century Italy. In doing that work, I came across a shailah/tshuvah about mixed-gender dancing. I was shocked that in a fairly orthodox setting of several hundred years ago, mixed social dancing was widely accepted, for the purposes of encouraging suitable matches. This led me to other reading and eventually to question the system of halacha.

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

I think it was all of the above. Intellectual issues were a huge part of it. My early concerns about halacha led into learning more about legal systems and ultimately the realization that halacha is simply not a workable system of law. People manage to live within it, but the system of denying that change exists has led to a law that is more burdensome than I can believe God intended it to be.

Emotionally, the community was mostly good for me, and I deliberately recreated some of that community structure in my life. I did leave the community in a time of extreme emotional turmoil, as is to be expected when someone makes a major life decision that she does not take lightly. I find that the emotional benefits of being able to live as I choose outweigh even the very strong positives of living within a tight and (mostly) supportive community.

Hmmm, speaking of supportiveness, there’s also the control issue. I guess that might fall under an emotional reason for leaving. I didn’t fit very well into the community and I never really was able to come up with a life plan that would garner the full support of the community. It’s important to me to not be constantly apologizing for, or facing people who expect me to apologize for, my life’s work.

Socially? Well, it seemed like in the community, everyone had someplace they fit--except me. Partly, that may have been my erroneous perceptions of the modern orthodox community. I was never very impressed with the more modern girls in my class, but I had too many outside interests to fit in well with the yeshivish girls.

Culturally? I think God has chosen everyone, or at least offered an invitation. I don’t like the approach to non-Jews in Jewish law, in Jewish culture, in daily interactions. No, I more than don’t like it. I disapprove of it and I think it is wrong. All people have an equal opportunity to do good, that opportunity is pretty what makes us human. National, racial or cultural boundaries have nothing to do with it.

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

I was on my way for a long Sunday afternoon somewhere, perhaps visiting my grandparents, or maybe going to another university to use the library. I was hungry, and so I stopped at the kosher pizza shop to get a couple of slices. As I took the first bite, I remembered that I had eaten some shabbos leftovers earlier in the day and was fleishig for several more hours. I ate the pizza anyway.

How did you feel at the time about violating that halacha?

It didn't feel like anything. No, that isn't accurate. It felt like I was no longer hungry, and I no longer needed to feel hungry all afternoon. One of the ways in which I dislike halacha is the heavy reliance on clocks--do we really, really think that two or three or seven hundred years ago people counted 18 minutes before sundown, and 45 or 52 or 72 or 90 minutes after? Do we really think that people counted six hours after eating meat or poultry? That's just implausible. Historically, people did not become nit-picky about time until the Industrial Revolution, when factory schedules and shifts that run counter to normal human cycles intruded on people's lives on a vast scale. This is one of the reasons why people from areas like the Northeast US tend to condemn people from many other cultures as lazy--other cultures tend to care less about clocks. Even less than chassidim, in some cases. :-)

And so, it was easy for me to first break a time-related rule. Frum Jews are too quick to confuse culture with objective reality, and time is one of the first ways I noticed this.

So, I cared a lot less than my upbringing suggested I should.

In retrospect, it felt very good. At the time, the good and the guilt pretty much canceled each other out, and it didn't feel like much of anything.

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

I was no longer a part of the family. I was allowed to talk to them, but would receive no financial support. I would also receive little emotional support. We have had periods where there was very little contact, once for nearly a year. For a long time I tolerated slights and subtle insults. I figured that I was the one who chose to leave, and so it was their prerogative.

Then I had a child. Suddenly, insulting my marriage was a slight to my daughter’s parentage. I also became stronger in my own life and newly-formed identity, and realized that I am as worthy of respect as anyone else. That resulted in simply having no contact for a while. Eventually, we slowly reached a partial reconciliation, with much help from my brother. I have two other siblings who have nothing to do with me, and that is acutely painful. It is, however, their choice, and I can’t do much about it. We make do with the family that is willing and happy to have us.

So, my relationship with my family is limited to my parents, one brother, and his wife and child. We visit my parents every couple of weeks for a couple of hours, and are planning more contact for the future.

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

A few books. Christianity, which some may consider a connection, and others may not. (I don’t, incidentally.) Contemporary frum Orthodoxy bears little resemblance to the common ancestor of modern Catholicism and modern Judaism.

I don’t feel much kinship with the more modern movements in Judaism, like Reform or Conservative. I experimented for a bit, but they had some of the same problems that I felt about Orthodoxy, and I wasn’t really comfortable. I do however, tend to feel a kinship with Jews, especially Jews who are Reform or Conservative, because they have a strong sense of Jewish identity but don’t seem to feel obligated to pass harsh judgment on me.

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

The songs! I do miss the community as well, but I am more ambivalent about that. I think everyone who has ever lived in a close community realizes that there are some drawbacks, and I tended to feel those rather keenly, but on the whole I liked belonging. But I definitely miss the singing—on shabbos and yom tov, in shul, etc. Of course, now I am actually allowed to participate in the singing, whereas before it was mostly a vicarious pleasure.

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

Well, at some point my analytical thinking started being more the product of law school than anything else, but it is definitely still there, and it got started learning halacha.

I do still often say brachos over food, although I am deliberately less than punctilious about all the laws of doing so. I still tend to sing or say psalm 39 (aka Mizmor L’Dovid) on all kinds of occasions, including when an ambulance passes by—a habit I picked up in seminary.

I often prefer to wear skirts, and tend to dress pretty modestly. It did take me a while to get comfortable dressing appropriately for running, and I still prefer to run indoors or after dark.

Most importantly, I still usually remember to judge people favorably. I’ve had to learn to look at all possibilities frankly when working with clients or legal issues, but I still remember the importance of judging favorably or not at all. It makes life more pleasant, and it makes the world a better place.

One of my current religious observances is to enjoy any food that is good. I try to appreciate the bounty of the earth, both in the foods themselves and in the innumerable ways of preparing them. These are gifts. To shun them based on a few amorphous words blown up into tomes full of nit-picky details is just silly. That's my current chumrah. Of course, another of my current chumrahs is to touch anyone when the situation warrants; there are inevitable commonalities between people and the occasional light touch on the hand or shoulder helps people relax and realize those commonalities. When one works in law and dispute resolution, putting people at ease and comforting them in tough situations is important. Touch is another gift from God with incredible powers. It would be foolish and mean of me to not use it.

How do you currently view the religious community you came from? Is there hostility? Fondness? Indifference?

All of the above. I am mostly very cautious. I taught in Bais Yaakov for a few years, and so for a long time maintained a distance from the community for that reason. I felt that even though I had left, that couldn’t destroy the obligation I’d taken on to lead those girls in a certain direction. Once I could no longer do that in good conscience, I felt obligated to stay away. I was pretty wary of running into anyone. However, now that my students are all pretty close to adulthood and my own life is more firmly established, I am getting more comfortable being around the community. I don’t really enjoy it though.

One thing the community doesn’t seem to get is that it is entirely possible for me to be happy, fulfilled, busy, successful, etc. I don’t hate the community and I certainly don’t hate myself. It’s difficult to be around someone who operates from a position of assuming certain very negative things about my personality. It just wastes some time. I had one friend who tried to stay in touch, but every other message was about kiruv. Seriously now, I studied kiruv training methods. I didn’t instantly drop forty IQ points and forget where I came from when I picked up that first cheeseburger. It’s just frustrating trying to deal with those preconceptions. They get in the way of maintaining meaningful, positive relationships.

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

Yes, I still believe in God. I have chosen a somewhat unusual path: I’ve become a Roman Catholic. That was mostly an intellectual decision. I felt that I wanted to belong to a structured religion, a religion with some sense of tradition, but I wanted a religion that accepted that change happens. And so, I ended up in a religion where the concept of time and laws and their interactions is more closely aligned with my own. Those ideas go beyond time, too. I like that Christianity is inclusive. I was never comfortable with the idea of being a race apart, it seems inherently unjust to me.

It was also an emotional decision, but I’m not really comfortable talking about that.

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

I regret how much it hurt my family. At the time, I was very worried about how it would affect my brother’s chances of a good shidduch. Since then, he has married a wonderful woman and they’ve had their first child, and they have been enormously helpful in helping rebuild some bridges with my parents.

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

Everything. Leaving frumkeit was hands down the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and I include four years of law school in that tally. It took me a year to get comfortable ordering fast food. Learning how pants fit was a whole ‘nother adventure. Learning how to build in spiritual and personal renewal time when it is less strongly mandated is a challenge I am still working on, as is building a community for myself and my family.

I still have not found a way to pray that I am comfortable with. Often, I revert to a few Hebrew prayers of specific meaning to me, ones that aren’t anti-Christian. Praying in the vernacular is not comfortable for me and Latin is a foreign language.

When I left the community, I lost most of my family. I lost my job, and I lost my career expectations (I had planned on teaching long term in Bais Yaakov). Cut adrift with unpaid debts to the university, I had to leave and take an apartment and a job. I had a very hard time learning to make it in the world. It took me about three years to get reasonably stable and another year to get ready for the next step: moving forward with my dreams. Now, eight years out, I’m pretty happy where I am, although a closer community would sure be a comfort as I face a difficult job market ahead.

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

Well, I’m about to participate in an American Bar Association-sponsored competition in client interviewing and counseling. The competition is on a Saturday.

In the larger sense, I’ve married someone who fits me and my personality and my goals, and we are very happy. I had little chance of finding someone like him in the community. I’ve been able to take on more responsibilities and obligations within school and the local legal community than would be possible for someone keeping shabbos. I’ve been able to channel my financial resources where I choose. I was able to move closer to the school of my choice, and out of the large metro area that I never liked. Large urban centers are not for me. I love living in a smaller city, something not really feasible for most yeshivish families.

I also love to run, several times a week, and hope to run a marathon within the next few years. I love camping and backpacking (I fantasize about thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail), but would not be able to find time to fit those pursuits into the work-week. I did try for a while, but it’s certainly pleasant to have weekends.

Oh, and then there’s law school. Sure, a frum girl can go to law school. But it would not be encouraged or condoned.

As for the future, I am on the cusp of a promising career in which I have ambitions of promoting and expanding the use of certain alternative dispute resolution techniques into various legal areas where they are underused or could be used more effectively. Part of my ambition includes expanding into small towns.

Above all though, the thing I treasure most about my life that wasn’t possible in the frum community is that the schemes and plans and ambitions I formulate are not viewed with suspicion. I don’t have to worry about balancing everything against religion. My religion recognizes a greater diversity of human activity than frumkeit allows itself to recognize. So does my community of friends and associates. My uniqueness in these ways is treasured.

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

They are totally clueless about Judaism. It is kind of humbling to say “I used to be an Orthodox Jew” and they neither know nor care what that means. It was a big shock how much the world is unaware of Judaism.

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

That we have unstable relationships. I have worked steadily for eight years at finding a happy medium between respect for my parents and respect for my husband and our family. I’ve been in a total of two relationships, one of which broke up quickly after several dates and the other one is with my husband. I also went on one shidduch date. That gives me a grand total of three dating experiences, the last of which resulted in a very happy marriage. My husband and I have had a lot of stresses placed on our relationship-family, cultural differences, illnesses, miscarriages, law school, lack of money, etc.—we’ve had a few difficulties in our marriage as a result, but those we have had we settled lovingly and with understanding. I don’t have very much time for lots of outside friends, but I have close collegial relationships and one very close friend that I’ve known for a decade now. My life is all about stable relationships. We’ve been married five years now, and together for a couple more.

It's ludicrous for the frum world to condemn us as being unable to sustain relationships and then use our broken relationships with family and friends as evidence. It is they who will not permit those relationships to continue normally, not us. I can and I do sustain relationships—when they are not toxic to me and my family. I chose to leave frumkeit. My family chose to let that impede our relationship. I’m very thankful that things with some of them are better, but it didn’t happen without a lot of dedication and love from all of us.

Are there any stereotypes about general society that you found to be true?

There is a dearth of community generally, and there is a lot of hypersexuality. However, that is generally speaking. When it comes to individuals, there are always ways to build community and maintain decency in sexual matters. It is even possible to be restrained and decent in sexual matters without keeping them totally hidden in virtually every way. I enjoy being able to choose my own comfort level with these things. Oh, and most people are hugely stressed out by Christmas. Many enjoy it, but most are also quite stressed out by it. Me too, by the way.

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

Gender. The nature of gender, the nature of relationship between people of the same and of different genders. Mostly, I have learned that stereotypes and generalizations almost never apply, at least not totally, and often don’t apply at all.

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

Did I mention law school?

What's the best thing about not being frum?

Just one? Probably, I would have to sum it up as having options. There are so many things I can do without worrying about halacha, from martial arts to riding horses to law school to shaking hands to dressing however I want—which is generally pretty restrained, by the way. As for the best thing, I’d have to go with my marriage.

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

Succos and Pesach. Oops, that’s two things. Seriously, the seasons of holidays, especially the longer holidays. It's awesome having a physical, spiritual and emotional retreat from the world for a week a couple of times a year.

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

Well, I don’t really see the community as having traits. I do wish the quality of education was better. My mother is an educator and sometimes it seemed that she faced an impossible task. The students, and all too often, the parents, have the attitude that Jews are smarter, and so they don’t need to work as hard, and why bother anyway? It’s only English! Of course, this actually goes for limudei kodesh too, because not much is demanded in terms of teacher qualifications other than decent grades and a decent seminary. Teaching ability doesn’t seem to matter, and I recall some really great and some really not so great teachers from middle and high school. Mostly though, they were just young women supremely unqualified for what they were doing. One or two stumbled into a great talent, but most did not. I include myself in this, by the way. I taught for almost two years and was not, to be honest, very good at it.

Perhaps a strange choice of criticism, but I can’t really think of anything else that is a feature of the community as a whole. Certainly, as in every community, there are some individuals’ behaviors I found off-putting or upsetting, but not much that’s really systemic.

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

Yes. I have experienced mental illness. I have this in common with a huge proportion of the population of the world. It’s neither a good thing or a bad thing, it’s just a fact. It doesn’t mean that I’m an “at risk youth”--I’m thirty, for goodness’ sake. In fact, I wasn’t an at-risk youth when I left. I was a Bais Yaakov teacher, a remarkably good girl with an odd insistence on attending a secular university.

Now, this is the part where frum people tend to say “Aha! See, normal people don’t go off the derech! There’s something wrong with her!” The thing is that occasional mental illness is about as normal as it gets. That makes about as much sense as saying “Aha! She’s a diabetic! No wonder she left!”. Sure, people can do rash things unthinkingly, but leaving frumkeit is rarely one of them. Mental illness rarely removes one’s ability to think.

To the rest of the world, I’m an intelligent woman in a happy marriage with one kiddo and another on the way, with a good record in law school and a good career ahead of me. To the frum world, I’ll always be “that crazy kid who left, who's got something wrong with her”.

Now, we all have myths we gotta cling to, but that particular one—that everyone who leaves is too crazy to make up her own mind, that we somehow need help to see the light—is more worthy of the Soviet Union than of Orthodox Jewry. I remember hearing stories of how the Soviets would label people who wanted to leave as crazy. It seemed horrifying. I never dreamed it would happen to me, but from the frum community. That’s just wrong.

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

You gave me a good start, too bad it didn’t work out. I’ve moved on, you’ve moved on. Truce?

Better Know a Kofer

As someone who hasn't been frum for a number of years, one of the issues that really irritates me are the myriad stereotypes that chareidi people have about individuals who are no longer religious. Whether it’s misconceptions about why people stopped being religious, or distortions about how we live our lives now, or even fabrications about our current relationship to Judaism, there are so many warped views about the lives of those who have chosen to stop being observant. For example, at some point or another I've heard all of the following ideas put forward by well-meaning individuals.

• We are deeply unhappy and unfulfilled.
• We have no morals.
• All we do with our lives is eat cheeseburgers, have sex, and do drugs.
• The main reason we left is because we wanted to have sex.
• We intensely despise religious Jews and Judaism.
• The whole purpose of our lives is just to make money.

As absurd as it may sound, these claims, and so many others like them, happen to be wholeheartedly believed by many chareidi Jews. I know this not just because I hear them said now, but because I used to be one of those believers. Back when I wore the black hat of my youth I heard my rabbeim frequently make such comments, and like everything else I was told then, I had no reason to doubt them. It made sense, after all. I mean, if you don’t have torah, then what do you have? If you don’t think god told you to be honest, then why would you bother? In fact, not only did I believe this when I was religious, I also believed it when I first became non-religious. Even after I had discarded most of my frum beliefs, they still had me convinced that I was risking a life of moral decay and personal ruin by taking that step of leaving religion. The possibility of that happening truly terrified me. Even after I was no longer observing halacha in any way, I would constantly find myself questioning my actions, asking myself, “Does doing this mean I’m now the degenerate they warned me I would become?”

As anyone who has bothered to get to know us knows, the notion that our lives are nothing more than miserable cesspools of decadence and materialism is really quite a far fetched thing to believe. Although there are some exceptions, most of the people I've met who have left frumkeit behind are really not that different from any other person who is trying to live a decent and fulfilling life. They try to instill their lives with meaningful experiences. They strive to better themselves. They struggle to reconcile their past lives with their current ones. They still care about having meaningful and committed relationships. They try hard to live their lives with integrity. They endeavor to help other people. And they do all this even though they may not believe that doing so will earn them heavenly brownie points.

The simplistic explanations that are often given for why people leave religion are also an endless source of frustration. Very rarely do any of the pat explanations offered (“he ended up with a bad crowd”, “he read the wrong books”, “he discovered porn”, “he hung around with girls”, "he couldn't control his yetzer hara", "he came from a troubled home", etc.) give a realistic picture of the dynamics that are going through the persons head and heart when they are experiencing those changes in their lives. (And FYI, if any frum person wants to have sex, there are plenty of easier ways to go about getting it than having to give up your entire social support structure of family, friends, and community.)

Despite this unpleasant situation, I can’t really blame a chareidi person for believing much of this nonsense. After all, there usually are a few notable examples that can be pointed to which supposedly prove their assertions. And even if it is totally untrue, how many frum people ever have a chance to genuinely get to know any ex-frum people? Such people are shunned from the community, thereby precluding any chance of getting to know what their lives are really like, or what really motivated their decision to leave. In the few circumstances where contact is maintained, the topic of the person's transformation is usually verboten. So a typical chareidi person really has no basis on which to question the commonly accepted claims he hears all around him.

For this very reason, because chareidi people currently have no way of overcoming the stereotypes to which they are subjected, I’ve decided to launch a new initiative. I’m excited to announce the start of a new series on this blog, called, “Better Know a Kofer”*. Every few weeks I will be posting an interview with a person who grew up frum (preferably chareidi, but we won’t exclude anyone) and no longer is. I’ll try to explore as many areas as possible, from why he chose to leave, to how she lives her life now, to what their current relationship with Judaism is like, to anything else that can shed some light on this terribly misunderstood topic.

If you would like to be interviewed for the series, feel free to email me (daashedyot at the gmail), and I’ll be happy to arrange it.

Stay tuned for the first installment, which I hope to post in just a few days!


*Yes, DovBear, you inspired me.

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Update - Here are direct links to all the interviews:

• Sara
• Gaius Octavius
• Natalie
• The Hedyot (Parts I & II)
• Elisheva
• Little Foxling
• Shaya Getzel
• Abandoning Eden
  
• Shoshana
• Derech Acheret (Parts I & II)
• Adrienne
• Tova
• Sam
• Devorah

Be Honest With Us Already

In a recent discussion with an acquaintance, the issue of the Zev Brenner interview with the founders of Footsteps came up. Unsurprisingly, my friend expressed his disapproval of the organization and its goals. The objections he raised are ones I've heard many times in the past, and I'd like to publicly share what I told him in response.

While I find it entirely understandable that most chareidi people would be opposed to an organization which has as its mission the goal of assisting people who no longer want to be religious, I think that there is a very fundamental issue that needs to be addressed in regards to the chareidi world's attitude towards people who are no longer frum, and by extension towards the organization of Footsteps itself.

In my opinion, the chareidi world has refused to directly address the important question of "How should we deal with people who do not want to be frum?" I'm not referring here to the issue of people who are "questioning," but rather those who have clearly made a decision that they no longer want to practice Orthodox Judaism. The typical approach that one finds towards this predicament is for the frum person to reach out and make efforts to get the person to come back to being frum, or at the very least, to try to stanch the person's progress in that direction. But rather than concretely addressing the question, this approach simply avoids the issue, because ex-frum people don't want that kind of "help". The've consciously made a decision that they don't want to have anything to do with frumkeit, or with those who think it imperative that they follow halacha. They have no interest in being "helped" by someone with an agenda of trying to keep them from pursuing the life they want. Most formerly frum people would abruptly end all contact with a frum person "helping" them once they detect the ulterior motive at work. Offering support that is in any way tinged with kiruv is not an answer.

The fact is though that many of the people who decide to abandon religious life are wholly unprepared to step out of their protective shtetl and into the wider world. They desperately need assistance so that they don't end up falling into a degenerate and unhealthy lifestyle. So what does the chareidi world propose should be done about these Jews, those who have no interest in being frum, yet are in desperate need of assistance?

As far as I know, they don't have any practical and real answer for this dilemma. The chareidi world will never support, let alone encourage, a person in a path that leads them further from torah observance. By helping the person in any way they would be tacitly approving of the persons actions, and they couldn't ever condone such a choice. Yet, by not providing any assistance they are, in effect, condemning the person to face all the dangers that stepping out unprepared into general society brings with it. By their inaction they are, in effect, saying that they prefer such people be left to fend for themselves, and whatever may happen as a result... well, that's their problem. When a frum person expresses his indignation at the very existence of a venture which is dedicated to assisting people in their pursuit of a non-frum lifestyle, they are basically making the following statement: They prefer that ex-frum people struggle alone with all the challenges of leaving the frum world and of building a new life, and thereby inviting into their lives all the attendant risks that come with that path, rather than possibly succeeding on their journey out of the frum world and developing a healthy, independent non-frum life.

This is where Footsteps steps in (no pun intended). Footsteps exists to help and support a person who wants to pursue a path in the wider world, irrespective of where it may lead religiously, as long as it is based on some sort of healthy idea of self-development and growth. They take no position on the validity of those choices, as long as they are within the range of a healthy lifestyle. They just want to help the person get to where they'd like to be, and to do so with a minimum of pain and frustration. If the person wants to go to college, they can help with that. If the person wants to stop feeling guilty about driving on shabbos, they'll try to help with that. If the person is struggling to redefine his relationship with Judaism, they'll try to help with that. They don't ever make a judgement about the person's choice. They only say "if we are able to, we'd like to help you pursue your goal."

The chareidi world can wail and cry about how terrible Footsteps is - and I truly understand their ambivalence - but the fact remains that Footsteps is filling a need which the frum world refuses to address. There are people out there that desperately need help, and would love someone to offer it. That the chareidi world might be diametrically opposed to what it is that these people want assistance with is something that they have to deal with. But don't blame other people who see someone in trouble and try to lend a hand to ease their suffering. Unless of course, you'd like them to be suffering. Do you?

I really think this is a fundamental problem with the chareidi world's position towards Footsteps. Either they step up to help these people or they let Footsteps do the work. But if they aren't doing either of those then they should just be honest and openly state what their actions are implying: We don't want you to succeed in life if you're not going to be frum. That even though we do in some sense care about you, as long as you are pursuing a path contrary to torah, we will oppose anything which helps you succeed in the life you are choosing. And if this means objecting to something which helps you get your life on track so that you don't end up homeless, on drugs, and depressed that you made a horrible choice in life, we will be against that too, because if your life would have failed in that way it would have made you realize that you never should have left the torah path.

This is really what the chareidi world is saying by their opposition to Footsteps. That if the person is not going to be frum, they'd prefer if his life ended up a flaming wreck of despair, rather than him growing into a healthy, independent, successful, and confident person.

For the sake of Sholom Bayis

I don't usually post about political issues, but there's something about this latest legal campaign against homosexuals which really rankles me. Although I don't agree with people who are opposed to gay marriage, I can understand why they feel the way they do. But this latest proposal to actually BREAK UP people (18,000 couples!) who are already in committed monogamous relationships and invalidate their marriages is so disgusting that it makes me want to stand up and do something for a change. Please head on over to their site and sign the petition.

Dispelling some myths about Footsteps

Last night on the radio (and online) was a talkshow in which Zev Brenner interviewed Malkie Schwartz, the founder of Footsteps. Also present was Michael Jenkins, director of programming at Footsteps. Footsteps is an organization designed to assist people who have left the ultra-orthodox world and are trying to integrate into the general mainstream society. They provide educational resources, such as GED and college tutoring, scholarships, assistance with the college application process, and more. Another area they help people with is employment assistance (interview workshops, resume writing assistance, job placements, etc.). They also provide social services, such as support groups, counseling, mentoring, referrals, etc. Most importantly, what Footsteps provides is a new support structure that helps people whose traditional familial and communal network no longer exists to assist them in undergoing what can be a most traumatic and trying time in their lives. The list of services they provide is too long to go through here; you can check out their website at www.footstepsorg.org, or give them a call to find out more. If you'd like to listen to the entire interview with Brenner, it is available to be downloaded here.

At the start of the interview, Brenner immediately asked them the commonly heard question of "Why don’t you have someone on staff who is presenting the religious argument to the people who come to you? Why only have non-religious people?" Although Malkie tried explaining that Footsteps does not push any agenda either way, neither to leave religion or to stay, Brenner kept getting all hung up on that, repeatedly harping on the fact that if they are truly neutral then people should be presented with a religious perspective when coming to discuss their situation with Footsteps.

What Brenner, and the frum callers (and I imagine, most of the frum world), seem unable to appreciate is that while Footsteps does have a clear agenda (which is to assist those who are trying to leave religiosity), it can still be, and most definitely is, neutral in regards to whether people should leave or stay in the first place. Frum people need to understand that unlike kiruv organizations that attempt to persuade people to become (or stay) frum, Footsteps simply does not take a position on that issue. They do not encourage people to leave. Nor do they encourage people to stay. What Footsteps is designed to do is to try to help those people who have already decided to leave get whatever help they need to achieve that. So if the person is seeking to leave, then Footsteps has a whole host of resources that are there to help the person achieve this successfully. However, if the person wants something else, something Footsteps isn’t designed to do, then they will help the person find the right resources to achieve that goal, wherever that may be. The primary goal of Footsteps is that, if you have already made the decision to leave, then there is an organization designed to assist you in accomplishing just that. But they will not advise you one way or another to take that step. Therefore there is no need for any kind of rabbi or religious figure to be present in order to present the "other" side. There simply is no need for an "other" side because there is no "initial" side being foisted on anyone.

I think that frum people have a particular hard time comprehending that because in the frum world everyone is actively, and unabashedly, trying to win over converts all the time (yes, I know, not actual non-Jewish converts). Aish Hatorah, Ohr Somayach, and all the countless other kiruv programs out there all go to great lengths to win people over. All the "kids at risk" programs (by the way, we hate that appellation) don't ever present the option of being non-religious to the individuals they are reaching out to. Although they might at times be tactful enough not to say it outright, everyone knows that there is ultimately an unambiguous agenda at these institutions, which is to make as many people as they possibly can frum (preferably the black-hat, yeshivish kind). So it’s understandable that a frum person would think that an organization that helps people leave frumkeit is operating under the same assumptions, just in the other direction. But this notion is simply wrong.

That being said, there are admittedly people who come to Footsteps who may not yet have come to an absolute decision that they will permanently leave the community. They may feel they want to leave but are wracked with guilt about how it will affect their family. Or they may face social pressures which obligate them to stay. It may simply be that they believe a lot of the propaganda that they have been told about how anyone who leaves is destined for a life of unhappiness (this sentiment was echoed by a number of the callers). Even in such situations, Footsteps does not encourage the person to leave, but what they instead do is to try to help the person come to a clearer decision if this is what is right for them. Obviously, there is no denying that the atmosphere at Footsteps is going to be more conducive towards leaving the community, but this is not because of any overt pressure or coercion to choose that path. There is in fact effort made to do just the opposite, to ensure that the atmosphere at their programs is not overtly hostile towards those who have not fully committed to the path that most of the participants have already embarked on. Admittedly, sometimes it may be difficult to maintain this tone (considering the feelings and experiences of most of the participants), but it is always something that they as an organization strive for. Indeed, as Malkie mentioned in the interview, there are a small number of people who have decided to return to (or remain in) the religious community after being involved with Footsteps, and I can attest to this fact. For those people who want to maintain aspects of religiosity in their life, Footsteps is more than happy to help them do so. For example, I have a friend from Footsteps that expressed an interest in finding a nice shabbos meal to go to, and efforts were made to set them up at a nice, "open-minded", frum family that would be ok with their level of religiosity.

Another important point that was only touched on in their discussion was that the people who come to Footsteps are not kids. They are all adults, at least 18 years of age, and most are probably in their twenties. More importantly, almost all these people have already extensively been through the exercise that Brenner is suggesting Footsteps provide. These people didn’t just wake up one day and decide to suddenly call Footsteps because they were having a particular frustrating day in yeshiva. They have already been through months, if not years, of agonizing deliberations on this decision. They’ve had heartfelt talks with friends and family, been brought to top rabbis who were supposed to enlighten them to the truth, been sent to Israel to be "fixed up", been forced to sit through Discovery programs and other kiruv efforts. They've been threatened, cajoled, and even bribed. They’ve already had countless discussions with religious figures presenting "the frum side" of this choice. There is nothing to be gained by having them go through another frustrating, demoralizing experience of being told that they should still try to remain religious.

Amazingly, Brenner spent almost 20 minutes obsessing about the fact that Footsteps provides non-kosher food, even claiming that it would be more neutral to provide only kosher food than to give people a choice. I’m not sure why he thinks that presenting only one of two options is more fair than presenting both options but it seems clear that he’s missing the point: people who come to Footsteps don’t come because there’s kosher or non-kosher food. They come mainly because they are seeking an environment which will allow them to freely explore the option of leaving frumkeit, free of any judgmental attitudes towards that choice, and likewise free of any pressure to necessarily take that route. Providing kosher food at their venues allows people to feel comfortable that they are not being pressured to do something that they are not yet ok with. (Also, they didn’t get to address it in the discussion but the email which mentioned the pork and matzah thing was absolutely wrong. That "event" is NOT a Footsteps thing. Although there is some such gathering every year among certain people, Footsteps has nothing to do with that whatsoever.)

Another detail which was not fairly addressed was that a caller took them to task for coming on to a frum station, saying that an organization such as theirs has no place reaching out to the frum community. The truth is that Malkie was asked by Brenner to come on the show and not the other way around. Brenner should have corrected this misconception instead of letting Malkie take the brunt of it.

Just for the record, I want to clarify that I am speaking here as a private individual and not in any way as a representative of Footsteps, so if I have misrepresented something about Footsteps here it is my own error. I do not work for Footsteps in any official capacity and do not pretend to speak on their behalf in any way. All of the above is merely my opinion, from the perspective of a long-time, and immensely grateful, participant in the organization.

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Update: Here are two related posts which provide a counterpoint to some of the misconceptions that Brenner and the frum callers seem to subscribe to: Pen Tivokeish, Chassidic Whistleblower.

It's Not Just Individuals - It's The Community

Oftentimes in my life, when people discover that I used to be religious, they inquire as to why I chose to leave that lifestyle behind me. When I first encountered people asking me this, I would try to explain that the choice I made was a very personal one, based on what I concluded was right for me specifically, and that my decision wasn't intended to make a statement about the objective truth of Judaism in general. It's not that theological and ideological arguments didn't play a contributing part - they most definitely did, in that they significantly loosened the grip which my fundamentalist upbringing had held me in. And it's not that I was oblivious to all the scholarship (from science, history, biblical scholarship, and other fields) which challenged the veracity of Orthodox Judaism. While I never did get too involved in those discussions, I was well aware of how powerfully they undermined many of the foundations of Orthodoxy. But more importantly, I knew myself, and I knew that what was really motivating me was the particular social and psychological needs which I was facing in my life. Orthodoxy was doing nothing for me (intellectually, spiritually, socially, emotionally, and in other ways) and even worse, I felt it was actively crippling me, by forcing me to subscribe to a lifestyle and value system which I didn't believe in at all.

So when someone would assume from my decision that it was an indictment of Orthodoxy as a whole, I would go out of my way to correct the mistaken impression. I would try to make it clear that while I was most definitely critical of aspects of that world, the community as a whole was not deserving of condemnation and that there were still many Orthodox people who I wholeheartedly respected (well, maybe "a few" is more accurate). But to presume that I was critical of Orthodoxy as a whole was an assumption that was not justified.

However, these days, when faced with this question of "Why am I not religious?" I find myself frequently questioning this approach I had previously settled upon. While it's obvious that the motivations for my choice couldn't have retroactively changed, the simple fact is that I am finding myself less and less able to look at the chareidi community that I came from and be able to describe it as anything other than a corrupt, dysfunctional, and totally unhealthy environment to be a part of.

The many recent indiscretions, dysfunctions, and outright misdeeds of individuals within the Orthodox community have been well documented in the media: Hundreds of sexual abuse cases being reported, including many by rabbis and principals (Kolko, Mondrowitz, Weingarten, Beis Yakov Principal, Satmar Principal in Williamsburg, West Bank Rabbi, Baltimore Rabbi), acid and bleach thrown at those not dressing modestly enough, beatings by modesty squads, attacking women who sit in the front of the bus, tax fraud by Hassidic Rebbes, infants killed by abusive fathers, indictments at glatt kosher slaughterhouses, eviction threats because of not being frum enough, etc., etc. I can keep on going, but I think the picture is clear. There's a lot of ugliness to be found within the chareidi community. A hell of a lot. This is way more than just a few isolated incidents.

However, despite the fact that these stories are appearing with ever increasing frequency, I don't think that these incidents are truly representative of the entire community. They are unfortunately more than just a few people, but I don't think that these sorts of extremely awful behaviors are actually widespread in the frum community. And I honestly don't think it's fair to tar the whole community with the transgressions of a small minority who make the rest of the community look bad.

The thing is though, that small minority of deviants aren't the reason that I think so negatively of the community as a whole. If it was only these incidents, I probably wouldn't be as critical as I am of the frum world. Rather, what fills me with such a repugnance is the behavior of the entire community itself, specifically in how it reacts to the many truly awful crimes happening in their midst.

For example, let's look at the child molestation issue: It's not just that there are child molesters in the community. Yes, that's awful, but as bad as it is, I'd concede that it's not more than a tiny percentage of the community, and I wouldn't judge the whole community based on just that. But what isn't a tiny percentage is the number of people who willfully and knowingly hamper efforts to bring these molesters to justice. What isn't a small number is the amount of people who would prefer to let these criminals remain free rather than risk sullying the reputation of their venerated institutions. When a community as a whole allows such crimes to go unpunished and penalizes those who are trying to help innocent children, they can no longer hide behind the defense of "it's just a few lone individuals". At that point the community is also guilty. When the leadership (both rabbinic and lay) which the community looks up to is continuously silent on such a grave matter, it is a clear indication of where the community's priorities are. When a community leader publicly admits that he has knowledge of hundreds of abuse cases, and yet his constituents prefer him to keep it all away from the police, the community has then become complicit in the crimes. When everyone cares more about what their neighbor is going to say about them, or their children's shidduch chances, or what yeshiva their kids will get into, or about being shunned by their friends (all commonly heard excuses for why no one wants to step up to the plate on any of these issues) - when they care more about all that than they do actually solving the problem, they're saying that they care more about maintaining the community's standards than doing what is right and just. That it's better to keep these things quiet. This is why I can no longer look at the chareidi world with even a modicum of respect. The community as a whole has clearly expressed that they place the reputation of their society, and their place in that society, above the well being of their own children. How can anyone not be disgusted by such a society?

If the community truly cared, then it wouldn't ostracize people who try to bring the criminals to justice. If the community cared, a chassidish family wouldn't be afraid to tell the police who raped their 14 year old daughter. If the community cared it wouldn't stand behind and support a man convicted of killing his own baby (UTJ Knesset member Meir Porush called him a "good, quiet and disciplined" young man). If the community really cared, people wouldn't have to continuously be ashamed to report abuse to the police.

When last year, a chassidish man was found to be selling the Monsey community non-kosher chicken, the community showed how much they cared. The man and his family were run out of the community, in shame and in fear for his life. The community showed what they cared about then. And when the community allows accused child molesters to peaceably remain a part of their community, but those who try to help victims are harassed and attacked, they make it even clearer to the world what they care about. When a frum politician is able to back down on a promise to stop a molester from teaching kids, and no one demands that he keep his word, it shows where the community's concerns lie. When the rabbonim get more worked up about "illicit" music and "heretical" books than they do about yeshivas harboring molesters they reveal to us just what matters most to them.

This is why I have become so absolutely and utterly disgusted with the frum community as a whole. It is no longer just individuals committing these crimes. It is also the general public, and the leadership, which is responsible for allowing these horrible injustices to be perpetrated. It is the community and rabbis which turn a blind eye (or worse) towards these indiscretions. Their inaction, and relative silence (aside from a few vocal and brave activists), is a shocking admission of where their priorities truly lie. Their unwillingness to step up, and yes - risk condemnation and possible political fallout - is a clear indication of what the community values. If your community is going to condemn you for bringing a criminal to justice, isn't the community unambiguously saying that they prefer to protect criminals? Aren't they also then complicit in their crimes?

Admittedly, I know that there are many individuals in the community who are as horrified and sickened by all this as much as I am. Probably more so. But then why don't you speak up? I know the answer to that - because it's too costly for you. You will be shunned, ostracized, maybe even worse. I understand that. But how can you not be ashamed of yourself? With your silence, you are making a choice, a choice to be part of a society that prefers to let some of the very worst crimes of humanity - rape, violence, murder, abuse - go unpunished.

How can any self-respecting person - let alone one who considers themselves spiritual and religiously principled - stand to be a part of this world?

Some interesting links tying together science and religion

I'm too lazy to write up a whole post, so I'm giving you some interesting articles (tangentially related to religion) to read over instead. Enjoy!

• Research indicates that people who find themselves losing control tend to develop superstitions and to find patterns in random things (think images of deities in grilled cheese). It's a subscriber-only article, but you can read a synopsis here.
  
  
• A biologist reviews an evolution textbook from the Intelligent Design camp. I wonder if evolution can still be considered "only" a theory if it is actually witnessed. Because that's what this article discusses actually happened recently - evolution caught in action!
  

• For many people, facts don't matter as much as ideology (PDF article). You can read a summary of that here. This should be fairly obvious to anyone who followed the discussions at XGH, no?
  
  
• This research examines the developmental roots of fairness and altruism. Summary here. On the other hand, here's a study which show that those who believe in an all-seeing god might be nicer than those who don't.
  
  
• These guys demonstrate that the concept of a dirty sin might not just be metaphorical.
  
  
• Researchers at Oxford University have discovered that believers in religion can draw upon their faith to endure suffering. Interestingly, while googling this topic, I found an old article that mentions this research before they actually began the tests.
  
  
• And finally, in this great TED video, psychologist Jonathan Haidt studies the five moral values that form the basis of our political choices, whether we're left, right or center.
  
  
• Update - Just found out about this: Can virgin births be real? A female shark that had been in captivity for eight years with no contact with any males of her species gave birth to a single shark pup this past week.
  

The Evolution Of My Disbelief - Part II

When I last left off discussing this topic, I had described that I had been going through a tumultuous period in my life. Many long established ideas and perspectives were being challenged in fundamental ways, and as a result, my belief in the veracity of chareidi Judaism was being drastically affected. Before I continue on, I’d like to step back briefly and expand on that period a bit further.

Although I described some of the challenges which I encountered as primarily intellectual in nature, it’s important to recognize that although the challenges were rooted in intellectual issues, they didn’t just affect me intellectually. Like any other seriously committed chareidi Jew, the ideas that I believed in were directly expressed in my behavior and psyche. When I subscribed to ideas such as the notion that secular studies held nothing of any lasting value, or that people who owned TV’s didn’t really care about halacha, or that people who interacted with the opposite sex were licentious and immoral, it wasn’t just an abstract notion of no practical relevance to real life. No, it was a very real and tangible concept that translated directly into how I acted, what I valued, what I believed, and how I thought about the world. For example, when my rabbeim explained how dressing stylishly was an obsequious attempt to fit in with the goyim, I stopped wearing any kind of brand name clothes, and even let myself dress kind of shabbily (which was the accepted style among the yeshivish crowd I was in at the time). I even lost much respect for people I previously admired, simply because by caring about dressing nicely, they had proven themselves to be too materialistic for me to emulate. These numerous ideological perspectives had direct effects on my actions and thought. But even more critical than my behavior and beliefs though, was how the ideas they taught me directly affected my emotional state. Because even though on the outside I might have been going along with all these new ideas and adopting all these strict new ways of behaving, inside, a part of me still felt some connection with all these now-forbidden practices. And this tension often caused me quite a bit of guilt:

That I still did in fact care about my appearance clearly demonstrated how, inside, I was just a vain and self-absorbed person. The fact that I would rather be studying math than learning gemara was a painful reminder of how I wasn’t really a true ben torah. That I tended to not be super careful with every little halacha was one more sign of how spiritually deficient I was. That I let myself sometimes sneak a little Entenmann's donuts despite my vow to only eat chalav yisrael just proved that in my heart I really was just another "oisvorf".

All my time in yeshiva, I sincerely did want to become what they taught me was the only kind of person who really mattered - a proper ben torah. But throughout it all, I knew that a part of me just wasn’t really trying as hard as it should. And despite the fact that in many ways I was truly striving to become that ideal person, the subconscious awareness that I was never really going to become that ben torah, that person who had any true worth, filled me with a deep unhappiness.

So when I started having the intellectual challenges that I described previously, the effect was not limited to a purely cerebral debate of how to reconcile an intellectual quandary. It disturbed me on a multitude of levels. Yes, it was a theoretical puzzler to me - how could something which all my rabbeim had told me was bad actually not be so? But more fundamentally, it raised extremely upsetting questions with more practical ramifications - if it really wasn’t bad, then couldn’t I have it in my life? And if I can have it in my life, then I didn’t have to feel bad about it! And if I didn’t have to feel bad about it, why had my life been shaped in a way which had caused me so much guilt?

The most fundamental example of this crisis was, unsurprisingly, in regards to the idea of learning torah. As I’ve mentioned here many times, I had been through many years of indoctrination where I was told that there is nothing more important in my life than learning torah; that learning torah should be the prime focus of my life; that learning torah is so great that it outweighs all the other mitzvos of the torah; that people who don’t devote their lives to torah are wasting their lives; that every spare moment of my life I should be trying to squeeze in another pasuk, another daf, another halacha, another Rashi. The messages were endless, and they were very effective - I knew what my life was supposed to be about and that I should desire nothing more than to be able to sit in the beis medrash for as long as possible and imbibe the wisdom of the sages. The only problem with this lofty goal was that I actually sucked at this learning thing. I didn’t have a clue how to do it right, and after years of banging my head in frustration, I absolutely abhorred gemara. (Truth is, I wasn’t too fond of the other yeshivish areas of study either (halacha, chumash, mussar, etc.), but those I could get through with a modicum of competency.) But the very notion that my ultimate purpose in life was meant to revolve around something that I could barely stand caused me a fair bit of cognitive dissonance.

As a loyal devotee of the yeshivish hashkafa, I fully believed that this message of torah learning primacy was the truth, yet I also couldn’t deny that it clearly wasn’t working for me. I lived with this tension for many years, struggling to succeed at what I knew to be my divine mission in life, but all along knowing that my heart wasn’t really into it. Somewhere along the way I resigned myself to the idea that I would never be the kind of person god really wanted me to. As difficult as this was to admit, I knew that I had no one else to blame but myself. After all, the gemara teaches "If a person doesn’t succeed, it’s because they haven’t tried" (Megillah 6b). I obviously hadn’t tried hard enough. Yeshiva lore was filled with tales of students who had overcome insurmountable obstacles through the sheer determination of their commitment. Despite my extra kavana when davening the words of, "v’sen chelkeinu b’sorasecha," I was quite clearly not meriting the divine blessing I so desperately needed. I knew that this didn’t make me a bad person, but I also knew that my place in heaven (and society) would never really amount to much, that I could never call myself a real ben torah, and that I would have to answer for my failure in the world to come.

So when I was first exposed to the idea that I actually didn’t have to devote my life to torah learning, aside from the disbelief that such a concept could actually be true, what hit me was a tremendous emotional upheaval: If I didn’t have to be a learner, then why had everyone told me I did? Why had so much of my energy been wasted in that objective? Why had people who were supposed to be bastions of truth lied to me about something so essential? Why had people who had claimed to act in my best interests discouraged me from succeeding in other areas? Most importantly, if this idea was true, then I didn’t have to feel that I was a failure; that my life didn’t have to focus on something I didn’t enjoy. If this was actually true, I didn’t have to feel ashamed for who I was.

The perspective of how to view torah learning is just one example, but so many more of the beliefs which were being challenged were not just abstract ideological principles, but concepts which had direct, practical consequences to how I viewed my life and myself:

• The idea that secular studies were of no value had always been difficult for me to swallow, considering that the only classes I ever did well at were in those subjects. They had, by negating the value of secular studies, in essence, deprived me of the one activity that could provide me a sense of accomplishment. If it was true what I was now discovering that secular studies indeed had value, then I could be proud of my accomplishments in those areas (instead of hiding that fact, as those of us who did well in secular studies were often mocked for focusing on such "worthless" activities). Maybe I didn’t have to feel like I was totally useless.
  
• If wanting to dress nicely wasn’t really so terrible, then I didn’t have to feel like I was betraying my heritage (by imitating the goyim!) when dressing more contemporarily.
• If being super medakdek about every single halachic issue was not absolutely crucial, then I wouldn’t have to feel so guilty for being resentful that God was making my life crazy with the endless halachic inanities invading my life.
• If not everything a gadol said had to be followed unquestioningly as the word of god, then...well, I couldn’t even bring myself to conceive of what that would mean.

So when I started realizing all the ways in which my chareidi upbringing were untrue, my life really started changing. It changed in many external ways, such as how I dressed, activities I allowed myself, and people I hung out with. And it began to change in internal ways too, such as my values and priorities shifting considerably. But more importantly, it changed how I viewed myself. I no longer felt a need to hide who I was. I could be open about my true nature and not have to be ashamed of it. When my rebbe asked why I wasn’t paying attention in shiur, I could be honest and say, "Because this stuff doesn’t interest me!" (Not that I would be openly disrespectful, but privately I could admit this to him.) When I’d sleep late and miss the minyan, I wouldn’t feel it necessary to apologize for it. When someone would demand of me why I wasn’t following a certain chumra, I’d just shrug and say I didn’t feel it was necessary. When some big rabbi made a new pronouncement, I no longer felt it necessary to go along with it like everyone else.

And so, for the first time ever, I allowed myself to step off of the chareidi path I had been traveling upon all my adult life. I had begun to escape the restrictive mindset of my past and now understood that there were other legitimate ways to be a halachic Jew. But I had no inkling of just how significant this step would prove to my life down the road. Because even though this transition didn’t cause me to challenge the underlying foundations of Judaism, it had opened the door for me to question principles which I had previously thought unassailable. And once that door had been opened for me, nothing would ever be the same again.

Role Models

You know how every time there is some new crazy tznius policy in the frum world, there are people who get all up in arms about it and compare the extremist chareidim to the Taliban? And of course, there are those who take offense at the comparison and consider it totally unfair?

For example, everyone got all worked up a few weeks ago when it was reported that some guy in Beitar had thrown acid on a teenage girl because she wasn't dressed properly (in his opinion).

Well, it turns out that the comparison is not as far off as some people would imagine. In this US News article about Afghan Warlords, there is mention of one Gulbuddin Hekmatyar, who is at the top of America's Most Wanted list. The article mentions that in his early days, Mr. Hekmatyar, "distinguished himself by throwing acid in the faces of unveiled women."

The Atheist Questionnaire

I've been tagged by Shtreimel to answer the Atheist Questionnaire which has been making its way through the intertubes lately. Before I even start this questionnaire, I have to express some ambivalence at the very outset since I don't actually classify myself as an atheist. That caveat being said, let's answer the questions.

Q1. How would you define "atheism"?

Don't have a good answer for this, and as I don't consider myself an atheist, the question has never concerned me enough to figure one out. I'll pass on this.

Q2. Was your upbringing religious? If so, what tradition?

I was raised religious, in what could best be described as a yeshivish (a version of ultra-orthodoxy slightly less extreme than chassidish) environment. As a very young child, we were actually much more moderate (we had a TV until I was around nine), but over the years, the nature of my family's religiosity has only become more extreme. I once came home to discover that when I washed the dishes, I had to place a plexiglass cover over the second sink to prevent any splashing from the milchig side getting into the fleishig one. Don't ask.

Q3. How would you describe "Intelligent Design", using only one word?

Desperation. (To be honest, I don't know enough about it to really express any opinion on it, but judging from other examples where religious people utilize pseudo-scientific arguments to reconcile their faith with the facts, it seems apt.)

Q4. What scientific endeavor really excites you?

Cellular Biology. Proteinomics.

Q5. If you could change one thing about the "atheist community", what would it be and why?

I think that some of the more militant voices of that group (community might be too strong a word) could do well to be a little less disrespectful of those who don't see things their way. Christopher Hitchens might well make some brilliant points, but he won't be changing anyone's mind when he speaks like a pompous jackass. They'd all do well to read a little Dale Carnegie once in a while.

Q6. If your child came up to you and said "I'm joining the clergy", what would be your first response?

My first response? "Uh… I have a child?"

Seriously though, I would try to ascertain exactly what is motivating my son or daughter to make such a decision. If the rationale for such a path is sensible and responsible I'd like to believe that I would support it. But if the child was doing it for the wrong reasons, I don't think I'd be able to give my blessing. In any case, I'd like to believe that no matter the motivation, my child wouldn't be rejected or made to feel horrible for their choice.

Q7. What's your favorite theistic argument, and how do you usually refute it?

Well, my favorites are the really dumb ones, and they don't really need much in the way of refuting. Like when someone says, "Well if you believe that the world couldn't have just magically gotten here from nowhere then obviously you should be following the torah!" Do I really need to refute that?

What I find really fun is to show the inconsistencies of thought common to religious people. For instance, when they say that halacha never changes, I demonstrate just how often it actually does. Or when they say that the torah is timeless and should be our moral compass forever; I then show them something in the torah which runs contrary to their moral standards and they use the line of "Well, it was written for that era." Or when they point to prior torah leaders as role models for how we should conduct ourselves; I then point out that there are countless things these figures did which are not acceptable today, then they respond with "Well, they were great enough to do (or believe) such things. We simply aren't!" And the amazing thing is that they don't see themselves as being inconsistent in the least!

As for serious theistic arguments, one of my favorites is when a religious person will respond to the observation that so many atrocities have been perpetrated in the name of religion, with the answer that plenty of godless, atheist societies (Communist Russia, North Korea etc.) have done plenty of damage too. Harris answers this objection really well. He eloquently explains that these aren't actually atheist societies. A genuinely atheist society would allow for exploration of ideas and be based on reason and common sense, and not be bound by any dogmas, whether they be religious, political or scientific. These are simply authoritarian dictatorships which have rejected the tenets of science and discovery as much as they have the teachings of Christianity. None of the perpetrators of such atrocities ever seriously claimed that they were acting in the name of discovery and skepticism. (I don't think I did his explanation justice. You've got to hear it from him directly.)

Q8. What's your most "controversial" (as far as general attitudes amongst other atheists goes) viewpoint?

Probably that I'm not actually an atheist.

Q9. Of the "Four Horsemen" (Dawkins, Dennett, Hitchens and Harris) who is your favorite, and why?

That would be Harris. I think he approaches the issues with a certain humility and respect that is lacking in some of the other figures. Hitchens just sounds like an angry buffoon talking down to everyone. Dawkins often reminds me of an impatient professor that is just totally dumbfounded why his students can't see the obviousness of what he's trying to tell them. And Dennett I only heard a long time ago so I'm not familiar enough with him to comment on.

Q10. If you could convince just one theistic person to abandon their beliefs, who would it be?

Any majorly respected black-hat rosh yeshiva or gadol. Someone like Rav Elyashuv would be just awesome. It's not that I care one way or another what view any particular man subscribes to, but the effect on the frum world of such a figure defecting would be so much fun to watch. You know what? He doesn't even have to abandon all his beliefs. If he would just renounce any commonly held frum ideology it would be incredible. Can you imagine how freaked out they'd all get if he publicly announced that mixed seating in shuls is allowed?

Now name three other atheist blogs that you'd like to see take up the Atheist Thirteen gauntlet:

I'd actually love to hear from Enigma4U and Mis-Nagid, but since they don't have blogs, I'll pass this on to Little Foxling, Orthoprax, and Spinoza.

Halachic Choices

There's a well known, yet unpopular saying in the Orthodox world: "Where there's a rabbinic will, there's a halachic way." It's unpopular because it implies two very unpalatable things:

a) The halachic system itself doesn't rest upon any concrete and lasting principles; that they can be adjusted and modified to meet the popular demands of the day

b) That rabbis can essentially rule in whatever direction they want, and if they don't address certain issues, it's because they just don't care enough about the issue to deal with it

Strictly observant types consider this idea practically sacrilegious. I've always (well, in the past decade or so) believed the aphorism to be quite apt. Once upon a time I also found it to be offensive, but the more I learned about how things operate in the real world (as opposed to the idealized portrayals we are given in yeshiva), and the more I learned about Jewish history (and other areas of knowledge which the average yeshiva guy is ignorant of), the more I realized how true it was. There are so many examples of rabbis responding to cultural and societal needs, and bending the rules to meet the needs of the populace that it's hard to believe anyone can actually think otherwise. Whether it's pruzbul, or mechiras chometz, or eruv, or some previously forbidden activity now being permitted, or some previously permitted activity (or person, or idea, or practice) now being forbidden, the rules often change to suit the popular mood (or need). Sometimes it's just an original and novel heter, sometimes it's a convoluted workaround or legal ficiton, sometimes it's a reliance on an obscure opinion, but whatever methods they employ, it's just too common to deny that the unbending rules of halacha can be quite flexible when the right pressure is applied. Sometimes this flexibility can be used positively, like when it's used to help people out of overly burdensome situations (eruv and mechiras chometz). Other times, and this is what's most common nowadays, the strategy is employed less charitably, and we see it often used to impose stricter standards on the community.

In our contemporary era, one of the most egregious violations of justice that is allowed to be perpetrated in the name of halacha is the problem of the aguna - a woman whose husband will not grant a divorce and who (according to halacha) is forbidden to marry another. There have been countless efforts to address this problem, but overall none of them have seemed to make much headway. One of the solutions that I recall hearing about was to retroactively annul the marriage so that no divorce is even necessary, and the woman would then be free. There was, of course, much opposition to this proposal, with one of the objections to this solution being that it would then mean that the children of such a marriage would then be considered to have been born out of wedlock. In any case, like so many of the others plans, this idea was never implemented, and to this day very little has changed in regards to the general situation of agunos, with the rabbis continuing to insist that their hands are tied by the dictates of halacha.

I was recently reminded of this issue as I was reading the latest reports of the wholesale and retroactive nullification of thousands of Jewish converts by the beis din in Israel. For those who aren't up to date on the latest brouhaha, the Jerusalem Supreme Rabbinical Court (not to be confused with the Israeli Supreme Court) has nullified all the conversions from a particular rabbi, thereby revoking the Jewish status of all the people he has converted (and presumably also the children of the women he converted). Now, I'm not going to get into the ramifications and implications of this decision (there's been more than enough of that in the print and blog media), but I can't help comparing the two situations (aguna and conversion). They seem to be using the exact same methodology: retroactively declaring a halachically approved commitment null and void. In one situation, the rabbis don't want to employ the tactic even though it would have a positive result (the aguna being freed). In the other situation, they are willing to employ the strategy, even though it would have disastrous consequences for thousands of people.

To me, this discrepancy highlights a crucial element of what I find so troublesome about Chareidi Judaism. The goal for them is never about trying to improve things, to be inclusive, to create allowances, to use their talmudic ingenuity in order to produce something positive. It is instead always negatively oriented, to exclude people, to keep ideas out, to place further restrictions and create further divisions. I can't recall the last time I heard a p'sak which made me think, "Wow, halacha really enhances people's lives!"

That this attitude is so ingrained is disturbing enough, but what bothers me even more is when I see the law itself being used in exactly the opposite way which I think it was intended for. Sure, we can use our brilliant halachic minds to figure out a way to write out hundreds of sincere and committed Jews from the community, breaking up countless relationships, possibly delegitimizing their children, and causing untold heartache. But to use that very same logic to help out a suffering woman who is being tormented by a malicious bastard who is himself abusing the halachic system - no, that would be unacceptable according to halacha!

Shidduch Shams

A short while ago I posted about how I think that people in the chareidi world approach the whole issue of shidduchim wrong. It's not just that they get caught up with stupidities (which they definitely do), but that the very basis for their getting married is founded on idiotic and superficial reasons. To be precise, I said that it's not that I think people in religious marriages don't love each other and have healthy stable homes. I'm sure even in situations where the marriage was entered into for the wrong reasons, many of them eventually do. It's just that that's not why they get married. And it's irresponsible and reckless to enter into something like marriage for the wrong reasons, regardless of if there's a chance that it might turn out ok.

Various people took issue with my position and said that my portrayal isn't quite true. Well, sadly, I now have some more first-hand anecdotal experience to corroborate what I wrote. A relative of mine is now engaged at the ripe old age of 17 (and a young 17 at that). Now, the obvious problem with this is simply that the person is just a bit too young and way too immature to be getting married. But putting that aside, what really bothers me about it is that the sole purpose of this marriage is because the person is not in a yeshiva and does not have a job and basically has been drifting aimlessly for the recent past. So the parents evidently feel that it's important to have them enter in some sort of structured arrangement rather than possibly get involved in even riskier behavior than has already been done (which hasn't really been anything too terrible AFAIK).

I expressed my misgivings to a different relative, someone who I thought would share my reservations with this arrangement. He is a respected talmid chacham in the yeshivish world, and someone who I usually consider to have a broader view of things than the typical yeshiva graduate. Well, it turns out I don't know some people as well as I thought. He actually thought it was a good idea. Here's what he said:

"Look, now he may be young and immature, but after a little time married, he'll adapt and become more responsible. It's better that he get married now than continue to be involved with the crowd he's been hanging out with and then who knows where that might lead.... I've seen this been done many times. It'll be fine."

Well, there you have it folks. Unless you think that "preventing someone from hanging out with the wrong crowd" is a valid justification for marriage, please don't tell me that chareidim don't marry people off for the wrong reasons. Yes, I know, this is just one anecdotal case, and doesn't prove anything. It might not, but my friend's attitude about it does prove something. If this is his view, then it is more than acceptable in his mainstream black-hat world. Whether or not it happens often, I wouldn't say, but the fact that people look at marriage this way says a lot.

When you think about it, it's also pretty hypocritical. Chareidim are the ones who extol the importance of marriage over everything else, saying how it's the most sacred and central component of Jewish life, how the institution of the Jewish family must be treated with the utmost reverence, you know, all that "bayis neman b'yisrael" crap.

Really? Is this how you treat something so sacred? By just using it as an excuse to avoid properly dealing with a totally unrelated problem? You consider it responsible to put someone immature and flighty in charge of one of your most venerated institutions? Gimme a break! This kind of attitude shows that to you marriage is actually nothing special at all; it's merely a tool; a tactic to be utilized when the need arises.

Mazal Tov!

Based on Trust

Many people have disputed my analysis in the previous post where I assert that trust is the key underlying factor for many frum people's belief in the truth of frumkeit. Here's another way of making my point:

Consider two scenarios: First one, you go over to a frum woman and tell her that her son, who she has raised all her life, is not her son. How would she react? "You're crazy! Of course he's my son."

"Well," you reply, "what about if all the roshei yeshiva and gedolim came over to you and told you that he wasn't your son. Would that change your mind at all?"

"Of course not!" she'd laugh. "I know my son is my son, and no one can change my mind about that!"

Now consider the second scenario:

Go over to a frum person and tell them that frumkeit is not true. The reaction? "You're nuts! Of course it's true!"

Now follow up with the same remark: "Well, what about if all the roshei yeshiva and gedolim came over to you and told you that it's not. That actually they don't believe in it themselves. Would that change your mind?"

The parent doesn't doubt what they know about their child, because it's solidly based on their own firm belief, and no one else's uncertainty about that idea has any bearing on that conviction.

Does anyone honestly think that a frum person would remain convinced of their belief if faced with the same challenge?

My point here is not to say that frumkeit is true or false, but rather to point out that most people's belief in its truth is based more on a trust of others than a solid recognition of its own inherent trueness.