By Charlotte Friedland
Itâ€™s a little embarrassing to admit, but Iâ€™m not a baâ€™alas teshuvah (BT). As I was born to observant Jewish parents, the outreach networks dismiss me as an â€œFFBâ€â€”a â€œfrum from birthâ€ specimen, not worthy of attention. The term itself suggests staleness. After all, an FFB arrives in a world where traditions and education are clearly outlined, and from that moment on, itâ€™s same olâ€™, same olâ€™.
So there are no special Shabbatons, no charismatic rabbis seeking me out, no books written about my kindâ€”except those describing us as smug, spoiled and spiritually indolent. But thatâ€™s not all: the fact that our families held onto religious Judaism renders us likely to indulge in excessive triumphant bleating. And nobody invites a triumphalist to parties.
Thus it is written, and thus it is believed. Lord knows, Iâ€™ve tried not to be triumphant, curbed my pride in rabbinic ancestors, lowered my voice in shul. Yet the image persists. To remedy the situation, Iâ€™ve been hanging out at outreach events, skulking around, trying my best to look lost. One must appear to be searching, thatâ€™s the key.
Usually, in fact, I am searching for my keys, but no one seems to care about the small stuff. Everyone is so busy describing their personal epiphanies, so full of that glowing exuberance over critical life choices, that they canâ€™t hide their disappointment when I confess my lineage. â€œOh, an FFB,â€ they mouth politely, â€œhow nice,â€ and then move on to that fascinating individual who just entered the room, fresh from an ashram.
No, I donâ€™t remember my first Shabbos. I never struggled over reading Hebrew, nor had a defining moment of truth. But Iâ€™ve had a few good cries on Yom Kippur, really, and once in awhile I think to myself, â€œIf I werenâ€™t born religious, would I be doing this?â€ And then my mind clicks off, unable to fathom the question.
Trained to think in Biblical terms, I look for guidance to the first FFB in historyâ€”Yitzchak. After all, his father and mother had grown up â€œout there.â€ He was born after they had mastered Shabbos zemiros and correct hemlines, and he was raised to be a perfect Jew from day one. Granted, it appears that he has no trace of his folksâ€™ flair for convincing people of an invisible God. Kind of withdrawn and sullen, he seemsâ€”and I think I know why. He probably felt out of place at his parentsâ€™ â€œJudaism 101â€ weekends. There he is, the first FFB, standing awkwardly among all those repentant pagans, struggling to empathize with their turmoil, while his father works the tent, cheerfully spreading his light.
He nods dumbly as the caravan driver describes to him his disillusion with idols, his attempts to find meaning in camel racing, his sixteen failed marriages, his forty-three children who â€œjust donâ€™t seem to have any values, no values at all. Thatâ€™s why, Iâ€™m here. Iâ€™m told that Abraham is onto something big, something that could change my life. You know what I mean? Did you ever wonder â€˜whatâ€™s it all about?â€™â€ Abrahamâ€™s son shifts uneasily. â€œYeah, sure. I know. I have a brother like that….â€ But his voice sounds hollow, his tone unconvincing. Better to leave kiruv to the professionals.
The outreach pros in my life have told me how lucky I am. I should be part of their army, they say, marching (but not too triumphantly) along with them. I should be descending upon the secular world with the light of heritage glowing in my eyes. Dunno. Like most FFBs, Iâ€™m scared silly that someone will ask a basic question that I canâ€™t answer. Iâ€™m not an authority, just a plain Jew.
At least I could invite somebody for Shabbos now and then, thatâ€™s true. And the fact is that whenever we do have â€œlate startersâ€ at the table, I always learn something from them. They ask questions that never entered my mind; they marvel at the easy-going confidence with which we roll through the ritualsâ€”â€“to the point that even I take notice. And they make me feel blessed because I have never been without a hearty, meaningful Jewish life, the kind of life they want so badly it hurts.
I think it was the Bluzhover Rebbeâ€”who so valiantly led others through the Holocaustâ€”who once commented that the â€œruach teshuvah,â€ the spirit of awakening rippling across our world today, is the spiritual outcome of the horrific war years. The problem, he mused, is that only secular Jews are taking advantage of it, though it is meant for all of us.
Imagine that. Spiritual growth is not limited to those born on the outskirts of Jewland. You can live your entire life as an Orthodox Jew and still have room to emerge as a baâ€™al teshuvah. Could that be the challenge? I wonder if there are other people like meâ€”BT wannabes who are beginning to think that maybe being an FFB is deceptively simple, that our goals have been set too low.
Are there enough of us to launch a new era? Dare we raise our banner as FFBBTs, create our own chat room, gather at conventions?
Who am I kidding? In my heart of hearts, this generic Jew knows that the title doesnâ€™t matter and never did. Itâ€™s a question of direction. Letâ€™s face it: clawing your way up from being 85 percent frum to 86 percent is a real struggle, even if it doesnâ€™t earn accolades, even if it has no name. Thereâ€™s no dramatic story, but you have the quiet satisfaction of knowing that you live your Judaism as genuinely as the BT next door.
I suspect that itâ€™s time for us all to drop the labels and move on.
â€œReprinted with permission from Jewish Action â€“ Winter 2007, the magazine of the Orthodox Union. “
Â© 2007 Charlotte Friedland
Charlotte Friedland is a former editor of Jewish Action and also served as book editor at Mesorah Publications, Ltd.