“I just can’t understand it!’ my father said as he shook his handsome round face back and forth in bewilderment. He was in his mid 50’s and his luxurious full head of hair had been transformed from jet lack to distinguished salt and pepper. “We sent you to Temple Emanuel Hebrew school every Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday for years. ” He pointed his finger in the air to punctuate, ‘and you grew up to become religious!’ Dad sneered and shook his head in incredulity. ‘We tried to raise you right. I just don’t understand how this happened,’ he muttered as if defeated.
Even though I was sitting on in the living room couch of the large comfortable suburban family home I grew up in, I suddenly felt like an alien. Milling about were a dozen or so curious relatives peering at me as if I had grown horns.
‘I like the Lubavitchers,’ one of my aunts chimed in to defend me; ‘they gave us Chanukah candles last year with chocolate coins. That was sweet of them.”
‘I never dreamed that you of all people would become religious. Are you really religious? Come on! I remember you in high school!’ my younger sister could hardly contain her laughter.
‘Well, I think it’s wonderful that she found something that is meaningful for her.’ She spoke as if I weren’t in the room but at least I thought this cousin understood, until she added,’ after all, she was so mixed up and unhappy before, at least now she will do something with her life. I’m glad she found something that’s good for her.”
It was true that I had misspent my early 20’s drifting and wandering in and out of universities without direction, but why did she have to show me pity as if I were a hopeless nebach? None of them understood me.
How could I describe my spiritual epiphany? Could they ever imagine how it felt to discover the joys of Yiddishkite? Would I ever be able to explain that even though I missed the long lazy days at the beach club, my faded jeans, dancing in night clubs, and eating moo goo gai pan, that none of it could hold a candle to what if feels like when my neshoma soars. Suddenly I felt as if I spoke a different language from my family, was living in a different dimension in time and space than them.
“Uh, um….you should see the Rebbe, I mean he’s amazing, a genius…and keeping Shabbos is not a burden at all, in fact it is so relaxing…and I don’t really mind living in a dorm with only girls and not dating right now…..,” my voice sounded as if it was coming from someone else and as I looked at their blank faces I realized they were listening politely, almost condescendingly, without the slightest comprehension of what I had experienced.
That moment I experienced another realization. At that instant I knew an invisible curtain had fallen between me and the rest of my family. It was not an iron curtain of oppression, but impenetrable nonetheless, a result of my choosing to live a life on a different spiritual plane. We didn’t share any common language that could bridge the gap between their modernity and my traditionalism, between their values which were the ones I was raised with, and my new found values, as timeless as they may be. For my family, Torah values were new, foreign, strange and represented an unattractive lifestyle.
Knowing I would have to embark on my new journey without my family was made less daunting by my obsession with running after kedusha. For almost three years I pursued my singular goal of shedding the old and taking on the new. No sacrifice was too great, the materialism of this world become subsumed by my focus on Torah and mitzvos. Throw away my pants? No problem! Give up eating in non-kosher restaurants or my parents’ house! Easy! No more dating, TV, movies, theatre, secular novels, magazines, rock and roll, and even cigarettes. All of it was left behind on the heap of my past personal secular history, shed like a caterpillar sheds its skin to become a butterfly.
Admin’s note. Shoshanna from Melbourne, Austrailia was one of our earliest Beyond BT contributors and we want to wish her a big WELCOME BACK. You can read her earlier posts here.
all i can say that i feel like i could have written this myself…all the time I feel like I’m trying to describe fire to a fish. I guess sometimes things have to be experienced, not explained…
Bob, it’s sure wet when I get out of the water!
Jaded, I don’t read law books, I write them! I guess in terms of Rabbi Falk’s famed tome, though, I do believe I meet all his strictures as well.
Never wearing anything above would be skirting the issue and can possibly be classified under circuitous halachic infringement with the intent to override and undermine the spirits of the law. Letters , legal or otherwise are not everything. I believe this literal interpretation would infringe upon the kind óf law a rabbi falk is reportedly always preaching about in frowned upon English rules. According to I believe page 9613 óf the thick too long guide for modesty its 3 inches below the knee that should be a prerequisite for a certification approval and seal in modesty. Anything other than that would be cause for likelihood of whoredom and or confusion concerns and should be dealt with accordingly.
Do you swim in a wet suit?
Feh. I look great in a suit!
As to tzenius, however, I simply never wear anything above the knee. Casual or otherwise.
“I disagree that changing one’s clothing does not change one’s outlook. It is obvious that dressing in a tznios manner has a profound impact on one’s self perception and conduct.”
Well I couldn’t agree LESS. Or as they say in the negative tongue I couldn’t disagree more.
Also, Ron about a month ago Fridays WSJ had this whole write up on the less stiff more casual attire trend thing goin on with the younger lawyers in firms nowadays. So when I become a lawyer one day Gd willing óf course I won’t have to worry about stiff suits every morning.
I disagree that changing one’s clothing does not change one’s outlook.
Couldn’t agree more. I sure feel a lot better when I change my clothing every few days. I wonder how it would feel doing it every day! (Not ready for that “step” I guess.)
I disagree that changing one’s clothing does not change one’s outlook. It is obvious that dressing in a tznios manner has a profound impact on one’s self perception and conduct.
I completely agree!
Shoshana: Nice to hear from you again. As I was reading your first paragraph, I was reminded of something I read this week in an article about the emergence of kollels in places where Judaism was absent. There was a quote from Reb Shneur Kotler, addressing the anxiety about how to get balabatim involved in a new community kollel, when many seemed opposed. He said “The balabatim who are in opposition to the kollel, the misnagdim, will pose no problem to you; they will become your biggest chasidim. The problems will come from those who are indifferent, the ones who don’t care whether you come or not. Apathy is worse than resistance”.
Maybe this is true in kiruv as well. In Some cases the loudest objections come from those who are, by virtue of expressing their opinion, willing to expose themselves to criticism and hear opposing arguments. Perhaps there is less hope in those who quietly and determinedly refuse to open up to other possibilities?
Welcome back Shoshana. I really liked the open, personal style of this essay.
I relate to the sense of a curtain between my family and me. I am close to my non-observant and non-Jewish relatives. Although we share many values, my outlook has transformed significantly since becoming observant eight years ago. In many ways, this is more significant than the shift in my lifestyle and behavior.
Ben-David:
To me, the following:
We didn’t share any common language that could bridge the gap between their modernity and my traditionalism, between their values which were the ones I was raised with, and my new found values
doesn’t mean that Shoshana could not see anything *valuable* in the lifestyle her parents lived, but that she could not find any point of reference to explain to them her decision to become observant.
Commonality is not ‘something learned’, or shared values. I am certain her parents do not steal, but that is not a significant place in which to start a discussion about the whys of becoming BT. Many people do not steal.
It sounds to me like Shoshana is just clarifying the lack of shared perspective on life – do we look at the world through ‘it is a good thing to be honest and nice to people’ glasses, or ‘Hashem gave me mitzvot to define my interactions with people and Gd’ glasses. It doesn’t say the actions and behaviors are always different, but that the viewpoints are radically and essentially at a tangent to each other.
quote:
That moment I experienced another realization. At that instant I knew an invisible curtain had fallen between me and the rest of my family. It was not an iron curtain of oppression, but impenetrable nonetheless, a result of my choosing to live a life on a different spiritual plane. We didn’t share any common language that could bridge the gap between their modernity and my traditionalism, between their values which were the ones I was raised with, and my new found values, as timeless as they may be. For my family, Torah values were new, foreign, strange and represented an unattractive lifestyle.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
… were there REALLY no points of commonality? You report that you were given some form of Jewish education – was there really no common ground, no continuity with the Orthodox presentation of the same texts and history?
You do not report enough for us to judge what “spiritual plane” your parents were holding at – for example, Sarah Rigler movingly writes about the integrity and tzidkus of her non-religious father, a pharmacist who went out of his way to help people. And we all know – as Jaded Topaz has pointed out – that many frum Jews are pursuing materialistic goals.
So: was there really no commonality, nothing learned from your parents? You say this post describes the early stages of your teshuva. Had you really attained a significantly higher “spiritual plane” by then?
I’d be insulted at such an assertion by a formerly drifing kid – or at least see it as a choice still tinged with adolescent rebellion.
In this article I described the early stages of my teshuvah journey.
The teshuvah process progresses in stages. Those first few years are usually the stage where one becomes very extreme. Later on, as Yiddishkite becomes more confortable and familiar, the baal teshuvah will often become less intense and will integrate many things they initally gave up into their new frum life.
Certain things can never be integrated into a frum lifestyle. For each person these things may differ, but in general we can all agree that most frum people do not dance in night clubs or sunbathe on mixed beaches. Partying at mixed social events, TV, movies, and secular novels, may theoretically be things that one can keep and still be frum but, in my journey most of the baalei teshuvah I have met have given all those up and more. I didn’t have a career that I had to change, a spouse, or any real committments at the time, but there are baalei teshuvah who have those things and often have to make painful difficult decsions.
I disagree that changing one’s clothing does not change one’s outlook. It is obvious that dressing in a tznios manner has a profound impact on one’s self perception and conduct.
My email address is sdsilcove@gmail.com
When you say “running after kedusha” , and “materialism subsumed by focus on torah and mitzvos” its not clear how this focus subsequently became the main components of your spiritual career.my focus on torah and gd has no affect on my material needs. Not in the “material girl” sense though I firmly believe that the material outfits one puts on themselves have nothing to do with the outlooks they are trying to uphold. (your pants reference, in my mind however small it is, is hard to understand ).
I think everything you left behind in a heap could also be integrated into lifestyle changes for torah true living.except for the non kosher food I guess.
I’m not sayin this from a mediocre works best for me kind óf halachic standards.I grew up religious my father is a hardcore oldschool RJJ kind óf guy who eventually became more right wing and ended up sending me to the wrong school. But deep inside I do have this love for hardcore halacha no matter how much óf halacha I left behind in a heap for a while. But I think that hardcore halacha is often dressed up and presented wrong.
in any case I’m happy you’ve figured out what works for you. I found that religious observance based on emotions from breslov to chabad was not the kind óf emphasis I needed to stay structured and torah loving. Neither is the litvak way óf teaching stuff.
I was just wondering what jewish texts you focused on in your quest for kedusha. Thanks.
What a great description of the alienation process! Mine came not only with my parents’ bafflement, anger, and a sense that they had failed, but also with insults and the suggestion that there was something previously undetected, a “psychological need,” for which I obviously needed a “crutch” which was “extreme” Judaism.
To this day (20 years later) they still don’t understand, and despite the mellowing of the years, there is still a curtain in my heart between them and me, a result of the alienation of both sides, one to the other.
I so envy those whose parents were willing and able to open themselves to understanding their children’s choices.