By Leah Anderson

Recently, there was an interesting letter to the editor in the Yated (newspaper I get weekly). The woman (a BT) went to a wedding and someone at her table mentioned that she could tell a mile away that she is a BT, even though she has been frum for 15 years. The BT was very upset and hurt, she thought that her shaitel and outfit fit in very well with the “look” that everyone else was wearing, but this stranger was able to tell she was a BT. And she so desperately wants to fit into the community!

This got me to thinking, that although many times BTs are made to feel welcome in the communities we live in, sometimes grave mistakes are made that are very insensitive and hurtful.

My husband (let’s call him Dovid) told me what happened to him once, and has given me permission to relay this here.

When Dovid was first becoming religious, he davened in the way he was taught in Hebrew school, with a havarah sfardit. All the sofs were tofs. Anyways, he went to a friend for shabbos and they went to shul, and no one wanted to daven Mincha (everyone too tired) so they asked my husband to daven. When davening was over a man went over to Dovid and asked him if he was looking for a shidduch! Dovid, who was single at the time, told him “Yes”. So the man said “well, don’t expect to find anyone around here!” My husband walked away in shock, but didn’t answer him. What a callous thing to say, my husband was this new Baal Teshuvah and got such a warm welcome. There is nothing wrong with davening in havarah sfardit, and our shul is very happy to have Dovid daven at the amud, Bli Ayin Horah.

Anyways, I thought that we could all share on this topic some things that have happened that were unpleasant and get support from each other.

By “Shifra”

As an (as-of-yet) childless BT, who married much later than most, I’m finding myself at the periphery of not only the FFB community, but also the BT community. It’s hard to find a safe place; it is the primary topic throughout the frum velt. The discussion at the tables at simchas inevitably comes around to children and grandchildren; shiurim more than often deal with the same.

I keep telling myself that it is not a Yid’s purpose to raise children, but to raise him/herself.

It feels like the galus of galus and I wonder if there are other “landsman” who have thoughts to share about this issue or who I could talk to about this isolating place.

Seems like I’m frequently sending in the “warning” story. While it’s not, G-d forbid, my intention to be negative on interactions between BT’s and the frum community, it seems I run across my share of people who have, well lets just say, misunderstood peoples intentions or perspectives, to their personal detriment. This story is one of those, from first hand knowledge, and happened in the last year. Names have been changed, loshon hara is not the objective…

— Leah’s Story —

Leah was a young woman in her early twenties when she first encountered a Jewish outreach organization. She spent some months with them and her soul was ignited. She burned to learn more. The organization encouraged her to attend their women’s yeshiva in New York, and she worked hard to arrange to be able to do so. With great joy she learned for about a year and half, and took an apartment with some of the other young women students in Boro Park (NY City very-frum community). As she learned, she looked around her neighborhood and idolized her neighbors. The women with 4 or 5 or 7 young children moving organized down the street in and out of the stores, walking regally with their husbands and children on Shabbat, this was her goal, and a worthy goal it was.

And her neighbors were warm, helpful, inviting. The children, as children almost always are, were engaging, and a large table covered with a white tablecloth, Shabbos finery and the warm smells of Shabbos food, oh, she ached for such beauty in the norm in her life.

One day, after she’d been there a year, a neighbor invited her in for a cup of tea. The neighbor asked, “what would you think of a shidduch offer (a marriage proposal)?” Well, she was thrilled! She could be the one regally walking on Shabbat, and preparing the fine Shabbos table, it was all within reach! The neighbor continued, “there’s a young man in Williamsburg, he’s a Michlov chossid (fictional chassidus name replacing the real one), who would make a nice match.”

Now we pause a moment for some explanation. There are some frum groups that are heavily involved in outreach, and their communities are full of BTs. There are some that are lightly involved, and their communities have some BTs. And there are those who are not involved at all and are, frankly, pretty darn insular. Among those, well I guess the word sects is appropriate, that are involved in outreach, some in those communities greatly appreciate the BT fervor and zest for Torah and Hashem, but there are those who don’t… because it’s different, because it shows a family problem, because it creates lots of relationship complications. Those that don’t would have concerns about their children marrying a BT (straight up, they would discourage it).

Most living in Williamsburg, a wonderful place full of Torah, are in the insular category. Let’s just say when it comes to having their children marry a BT, it wouldn’t normally be considered. And with that, back to our story…

So Leah consulted her Rosh Yeshiva. He expressed strong concerns and advised her against considering it. She spoke with her rav, same answer. But, this was her dream and she was chasing it…so she went on a date. He was a nice looking young man, had an income, and his family was extremely, extremely, welcoming. Another 2 dates and the match was agreed. But why? Why would a nice looking young man from an insular chassid group with a good family and parnosa be looking so far outside his community for a match? I mean, Leah is a nice young woman of average looks, no special job skills, and from an average family (no special wealth)?

The Rebbe of the chassidus gave a bracha, but also strangely went on about how he was there should she every have a problem, she shouldn’t hesitate to come right over and discuss it.

The wedding was nice, the kallah was beautiful, the music was good. The Get, the divorce, came 6 weeks later. See, he had dropped out of the community (so he no longer was considered an acceptable match for anyone in it) and, supposedly, returned. But in reality, Leah was headed up, he was headed down, she was burning for Torah and Hashem, he was burning with other, less savory, desires. To the shadchun, the matchmaker, it looked like they were in a similar place. But their ships were headed in opposite directions, and when they arrived in the same house, this became apparent very quickly.

— Zahava’s Story —

Zahava’s story starts similar. Her father passed away when she was young, and her mother was part of a marginal community but moderately religious. Full religious education was not available in her area, but in college she became interested and starting looking to learn more. She actually ended up in the same women’s yeshiva as Leah, at the same time. For Zahava, the whole family picture was the draw. Ah, look at the couples lovingly walking together and making their life together. She didn’t grow up with that, and she desired it.

The story from here is similar. A neighbor, a shadchan (matchmaker), a chossid of Memlachta from a Williamsburg family (though living in Flatbush, a bit odd right there). This one takes some interesting twists though… The chasan’s family (groom’s family) wanted to make sure it was properly kosher for their son. So, first, prove you’re Jewish. Well, the mother doesn’t have actual paperwork (do you?). So they push her to go through a geiurus safek (a conversion of doubt). Then, what kind of properly chassidic name is Zahava? So they make her take on an additional name, now she’s Fraida Zahava. They took her to the store and set her up with the right wardrobe (according to their Williamsburg chassidic standards), right down to the type of underwear.

The wedding just occurred, all proper. But again, the question of why an insular chassidic family is taking a BT for their son stands out. A few tidbits have leaked out, and indeed, there’s a reason he was living in Flatbush and not in his chassidic community. Perhaps, G-d willing, it will work out, yet it would seem that again, they are headed in opposite directions.

—
My dear friends, there are many who greatly appreciate the zeal and drive BTs bring. Yet others don’t appreciate the background BTs bring. Whether this is fair or not is not the point. If those that are known for not appreciating that zeal are suddenly involving themselves with you (as a “BT”), just keep your eyes open and try to recognize why.

We are winding up z’man simchateinu, the season of our joy. For me as a BT, being joyous at this time of the year can be a special challenge.

We’ve just gotten through with Yom Kippur and repenting for our sins – including bad character traits. My particular challenge is envy – not of material things, but of other people’s having observant close relatives of their own age (mainly spouses, but also brothers and sisters). Other people’s families come to visit them for the holidays, while I am essentially alone. My husband is not observant, and my only brother has not spoken to me in years though I have tried and tried to make up with him. I have no parents or parents-in-law – so I’m sort of an island. In this community, my friends are like family; but then, when their real families come to visit, I’m on the outside looking in. Well, it isn’t even fair to say that, because I’m invited for Shemini Atzeret to someone whose family is visiting, and I had plenty of other invitations. I guess it’s just a feeling of being on the outside looking in.

And as a woman, it’s not like I’m going to get to dance with the Torah. I can watch the guys doing that (everyone is there but my husband) but I have to say, I feel left out that way, too. It isn’t that I myself want to dance with the Torah; it’s that I want to see someone who belongs to me doing that.

My own children are all observant (thank G-d!) and all have their own households, but all of them live far away. I hesitate to go to them for the holidays; they are dutiful kids, but I feel like a fifth wheel, and there’s no place like home.

So am I right to say that I’ll be glad when the holidays are over and things get back to normal? Am I even allowed to say that? It’s hard not to think it.

I’ve heard many times that a Jew is obligated to serve G-d with joy. But I don’t know how to really get into that frame of mind at this time.

Am I more judgmental of the non-observant since becoming a BT?

This was a question posted by David & Mark to BeyondBT contributors. It’s a good question. One that I constantly ask myself. I feel especially sensitive to this question because before I started becoming more observant, there were several people (both BTs and FFBs) who I felt were judgmental towards me and it was a definite turn off. At one point I even sent in a letter of resignation to an organization I was working with when the coordinators sent me what I felt was an extremely insulting e-mail about my eating at a non-kosher restaurant after an event was over. After that incident, and a few other interactions with people in an orthodox environment who questioned me and put me on the defensive, I pretty much ruled out becoming more observant, in fact, I became almost non-practicing (e.g. High Holidays and Passover only). I didn’t want to be in an environment where I always felt judged.

It wasn’t until years later when I began dating the woman who would become my wife, and being welcomed by her Modern Orthodox family that I again thought of being more observant. This time most of the reaction was positive. Her family never flinched when I made a mistake, or when I spoke of things I did that were not things an observant person does. I also began going to my local Chabad and was welcomed with no questions asked, and no patronizing lectures directed at me. I was told that when I was ready to move up, they were there to help me, and when the time really did come, they were the ones who did help. There were still a few incidents where someone else (usually not in the family, or in Chabad) would overzealously push me before I felt ready (for example, keeping kosher outside the home, which I was working up to) but by this point I had learned to tune them out. I honestly think if others hadn’t made me feel so judged in the past, and instead had helped me to feel welcome and worked with me, I would have become more observant earlier in life. I still regret those years in-between that were full of wasted opportunities.

Now on the occasions when my wife and I have non-observant friends, or family over, I sometimes feel that they are waiting for me to start judging them and tell them what they are doing wrong. However, after my experiences when I was the one being judged, I could never do that to another. Instead, I simply try to make them feel as welcome as people had finally made me feel. As Hillel said, “What is hateful to you, do not to your fellow man.”

Rabbi Mordechai Scher of Kol BeRamah in Santa Fe post this comment in the recent intermarriage thread:

In much of this thread, there has been a lack of recognition displayed of the complexities at the level of the individual home, and sympathy for their plight. I absolutely *do not* argue with the basic premise that intermarriage is not only forbidden, but possibly far more harmful to us than other forbidden phenomena.

Nevertheless, over the years that I have spoken with rabbanim/poskim about these issues on a *practical* level, seeking paths to deal with real families in real communities, I have been tortured by the pain this issue creates for them. Moreover, all the rabbanim I worked with were pained by the difficulties facing these families in fixing the situation. I have seen grown men cry over this more than once. That pain is evident in writing as well; even in responsa from way back to Rav Eliyahu Guttmacher, or Rav Leifland (author of Gerim V’gerut, posek in Russia and later in the US). Whereas a ‘tough’ approach was appropriate in some communities in some times; this is not universally the case. Rav Leifland writes how he blames himself for an intermarriage continuing because he was tougher (in retrospect) about a conversion than maybe he needed to be.

Like any halachic issue, ultimate judgement and application is on a case by case basis. I am not advocating a touchy feely, let’s all just get along view. I am suggesting that rabbanim who shoulder the responsibility for such dealings tend to invest a lot of effort in understanding a family’s difficulties, and in seeking (not always finding) solutions for them.

Already 20 years ago, I sat in a shiur from Rav Gedaliah Rabinowitz, who questioned if some of Rav Moshe Feinstein’s decisions on these issues would still apply. He noted that it was indeed relevant to consider circumstances, time, and place. He noted how rabbanim like Rav David Tzvi Hoffman (M’lamed L’hoil) took differently nuanced approaches to the same issues, probably influenced by the atmosphere and environment they were working in. One could certainly argue that rabbanim like Rav Uziel took different approaches also because they honestly saw things a bit differently.

Maybe I am so disturbed because I have worked up close with successes and failures in helping families already confronted with the dilemma. Yes, we must prevent intermarriage. Yes, intermarriage is really a symptom of a lack of Torah. But for those families discovering Torah already after the fact, we had better be loving and patient and looking for every *legitimate* way to encourage and help them make a change.

That attitude was missing in much of this thread, and I am genuinely surprised at us. We, of all Jews, should know better. That’s why when Joshua Sachs posted here much earlier on, I was so disappointed that hardly anyone displayed any concern or sympathy over his plight. This isn’t just about being right in the argument or convincing someone; this is about caring enough about Jews with a most difficult plight to show them love and concern and encouragement.

By “Michael”

My wife and I are both ba’alei teshuvah, although I grew up in a religious environment and she comes from a secular background. We made the decision to get married based on a brief, romantic, and miraculous period of very “frum” dating. We were both mutually inspired by and committed to what we saw as a true opportunity from Hashem to rebuild our lives together. Marriage has certainly had its inspired and beautiful moments, and of course still offers its luminous potential to give both of us the opportunity to raise a Jewish family (iy”H) that we so desired. We both continue to feel that we are meant for each other and that this marriage is in fact a gift from above. However, there has been this one issue which has from the beginning threatened to derail us, and I was hoping that others might comment on this from their own experiences. It is the issue of the past, and in particular its role in our life together.

While I was dating my current wife and throughout our engagement, I was never counseled by any of my religious advisers to inquire too much about my wife’s past. I allowed myself to internalize the idea that her past was irrelevant, and all the more so if I wanted to be able to put my own mistakes behind me. Yet two important factors made that all but impossible: I am an extremely curious person and my wife, G-d bless her, is the proud owner of a big mouth. This combination of her “slips” and my curiosity has led to the revelation of a host of unpleasant discoveries about her life (the details of which are of course not relevant here) which, although she has solidly put them behind her, threaten to erode my level of respect for her as a person and comfort with her in this marriage. To further complicate things, I neither want this to be the case nor do I feel the “right” to be bothered by the past, yet the feeling just seems to come up in all kinds of situations whether I want it to be there or not, the feeling that there is something unsavory about this person who I love and am committed to. I spend a great deal of my emotional and intellectual resources trying to overcome this feeling of revulsion or antipathy, convincing myself that teshuvah renders all these things irrelevant, that people change, that my own past has been less than stellar… but the underlying feelings persist. For a time I resented her (and the Rabbis and counselors who advised us before our marriage) for the fact that I couldn’t make an “informed” decision before we got married. But I have come to accept and understand that we are soulmates and that if any of these revelations were made before marriage they probably would have given me second thoughts and if not prevented the marriage altogether, at least distorted my frame of mind and not allowed me to enjoy it.

So here we are, married and with a kid iy”H on the way, and I am more or less stuck in this limbo state, accepting on an intellectual and religious level that my wife as a ba’alat teshuvah is not the container of her past experiences, but on a psychological and emotional level being mostly unable to deal with them. I am trying to find coping strategies that will work for us because I do not want these issues to be present between us once our children iy”H are in the world. I want to be able to see my wife solely as they will see her, as a proud, intelligent, committed, and beautiful frum wife and mother, and as nothing besides.

I’m writing this in public (anonymously, of course) because I can only imagine that there must be other ba’alei teshuvah struggling with these issues of the proper understanding of the past, whether one’s own or that of someone close to them and especially as it relates to marriage and the need to get on with our work down here in this world and not be chased down by ideas or images from long ago. I hope that this will lead to an honest and productive discussion. B’vracha..

by Akiva of Mystical Paths

As people become religious, or rather as they encounter Torah and a religious lifestyle, and people with a connection with Hashem, the soul awakens, it bursts into flame through the grunge and piles of dirt of life. An enthusiasm, a thirst is born. And it’s a joy to have, and a joy to see. Even to the point, for some who have grown up within the religious world, it’s almost scary. Such a yearning and thirst for Hashem and Torah, it’s weird, seems unbalanced. It’s not, it’s just a soul coming alive.

And, thank G-d, the Torah world has many people who devote themselves to helping make this happen, and helping people take their first steps towards a Torah life. And as those people arrive with their enthusiasm, they flock to these wonderful ‘outreach’ people as a source of the light, emissaries for Hashem. Doesn’t matter whether the outreach people are from Chabad, or Aish, or Lakewood, or any of the many wonderful organizations. With their beard and hat, their kind words and teaching, their warm wishes to help and thoughts of Torah, relationships are developed and people are guided.

Yet, sometimes these people stumble. They are faced with many challenges, pressures of money, competing people in need, organizational expectations, etc.

My dear brothers and sisters, BT’s and BT’s to be, a tremendous amount of the Shulchan Aruch, the Code of Jewish Law, and the Talmud, are devoted to the laws of relations, and money. Every .. single .. person .. has a yetzer hara, an evil inclination. The yetzer hara doesn’t come to the rabbi (or rebbetzin) and say, each treif (non-kosher). He says, “it’s just a moment, it’s ok to be alone with the person, what you are doing is important.” It’s not ok, it’s never ok, it leads to problems. He says, “just borrow the money, it’s for the community, it’s ok if you really don’t know if you will be able to pay it back, Hashem will help”. It’s not ok, it’s never ok, someone is going to get hurt and burned.

Please my friends, these wonderful people are, B”H, wonderful people. They have indeed devoted their life to helping people, to helping you. But they are also human, just like everyone else. This wonderful and incredibly challenging mix of a spark of G-dliness in a mundane physical body, an animal that has desires and wants to be fed. Because they give so much, it’s common to put them on a pedestal. Yet the Shulchan Aruch doesn’t say, don’t be alone with the opposite gender except if its the rabbi or rebetzen. It doesn’t say, give them a loan with no contract or signed and cosigned and agreed repayment schedule up front.

Help them stay on the pedestal. If he/she wants to do something that doesn’t seem quite right, don’t help them do the wrong thing for the right reason. Keep in mind, everyone, everyone gets challenged, and it’s often tricky and it’s often in the weak spot. The beard and yalmulkah, or shaitel and long skirt, doesn’t make one exempt.

May Hashem help us all to overcome our yetzer hara, and may we all help each other!

Everyone gives up something when he becomes frum. Some more than others, of course. Sometimes precious relationships are breached and, unfortunately, can never be repaired. Other times, people give up lucrative career opportunities or fame or one or another kind of social standing. These are the korbanos (sacrifices) that even the least learned baalei teshuva place on the mizbeach (altar) in their service to Hashem.

Now I, for instance, did not give up a particularly notable “party” lifestyle, including any of the elements you might associate with that; I was always on the square side. Is giving up three hours a day of TV considering giving up “something”? Hardly. As to food, I never liked shellfish. Okay, cheeseburgers, chicken parmigiana — but what serious person can reckon the loss of a particular kind of food, or even the convenience of being able to eat anywhere, serious sacrifices when offered the opportunity of personal and spiritual fulfillment in exchange?

Yes, more subtle sacrifices are the social things attendant to these physical pleasures — the inability to “go out” with friends and colleagues to restaurants, say on Friday nights. These return as momentary blips of the heart, but if a person merits the development of a decently normal frum life in a frum community and is blessed with a frum family, these are easily recognized as pleasures of dubious worth. You simply do not share the values of the people you are not going out with and as nice as all the restaurants and bars in the world look from the outside, they are — aside from the value of fellowship with any decent person, which I refuse to assign a zero value, as transient as it may be — easily recognized, also, as basically empty inside. (I do not even understand what married people are doing in restaurants at 9 PM — don’t they have families? My father was never in a restaurant on a weeknight, or in a bar, ever. Maybe that’s why I’m here with you today.) At least, I, for my part, have gotten past these, and do not struggle, even though there are pangs.

Now, I will tell you, if you agree not to tease me or make a big deal about it, that I used to be a very successful collegiate actor. You will, I hope, entertain me when I say that, back in the day, I could entertain you; that I reached a point in my college stage career that I could, and did, cause a thousand people to erupt in laughter by raising an eyebrow; that I shared the stage with a famous Hollywood star in those days and held my own, and then some. I held audiences in the palm of my hand. But do you think that is what I miss by virtue of becoming an observant Jew? It is not. In fact, even in my callow and “secular” state, I knew how preposterously unhealthy it would be to seek this dopamine rush regularly. This was so not only because the big bad world was not college, but also because I knew that almost no one makes it, or stays made, and that even those who come close get addicted to this sort of ego gratification. Most become — as we see on the gossip pages — horrid shells of people, attention and adulation junkies for whom happiness is always transient and who end up relying not just on greasepaint and hair dye but on the liquid, pill and powdered chemical substitutes for that rush. There’s no business like show business for a reason.

No, I do not miss the stage.

I miss the music.

I was not a successful singer the way I was a successful actor. Never solo quality, I also could not make it into the a cappella groups in college; my level of musicianship was simply not there. I was a lead singer in rock bands, yes, but this was more of a piece with the stage acting as was my decent enough “musical comedy”-type stage singing. But I was always good enough, despite my poor training — my voice strong enough, the pitch close enough, the lungs big enough, and the vocal range, by God’s grace, wide enough — that I was a welcome addition to any tenor section. In high school, in college; choir, advanced chorus, freshman choir; university choir — I loved to sing, to harmonize, to make my voice part of a totality of beautiful vocal sound. By the time I was singing in college, too, our choirs were frequently accompanied by the university orchestra. There we stood in a century-old Victorian hall, in white ties and tails, making classical music along with violins, oboes and, for Heaven’s sake, a harp. For someone of my relatively modest social background, this was as much “making it” (I felt at the time) as I could ever dream of.

To me, though, as nice as the setting was, it was the harmony that was a transcendent experience. Singing beautiful music so great it has withstood the ages, masterfully arranged, along with scores of talented singers, transported me. Forgive the clichés, but it is experiences such as these that create clichés. So, yes, I felt aloft in the soaring harmonies of the Mozart Requiem; suspended by the crescendos of Handel’s Israel in Egypt; levitated by Hindemeth’s Printemps . Even more, I truly lost myself in these experiences, and at certain moments became, I felt, part of the beauty of creation, of the brilliance of human creativity bestowed by God on His handiwork. I was not so spiritually numb that I could not fathom in these moments some opening into the Divine.

That some of these moments took place in locations such as the university’s neo-gothic chapel enhanced this spiritual elevation for me. If you have never heard the voices of a chorus echo off of the thick stone walls of a gothic cathedral, you have missed out on something very special in olam hazeh. (Not that there’s anything with that.) But to make that music? Transcendent.

And I do not have that any more.

And there is simply almost nothing like it in my present life that can give it to me. Besides the fact that there is no value placed on fine arts, including music, in the frum world, or perhaps because of it, there are no musically serious choirs for orthodox men that I know of. (Because of the prohibition to listening to a woman sing, I can never again sing in a mixed choir.) I once heard of one kehilla’s famous choir and was eager to hear them sing at a wedding. On hearing, I realized that this was not so much a choir as people who sing together. This can be beautiful, too, but it was not what I was missing.

Last year I thought I had finally found a choir that I could perhaps join. They rehearsed only once a week and performed at times other than Shabbos. Rehearsals were in a church basement on the Upper West Side, yes, but perhaps there was a way around this? It never got that far; the director, eager to speak to a tenor (as choir directors always are) started to tell me the repertoire, and I realized … these are all songs about the wrong deity.

Now I can tell that I am losing it. I used to “vocalize” (work out my voice) several times a week in choir rehearsal, and I had a broad range that enabled me to sing most baritone parts and in my best voice reach a high C over middle C as well. No longer; I do not have the musical ability to practice by myself, nor the time or discipline; nor, hardly, the purpose. Now when I am called to the amud to lead the prayers, as I am from time to time, my vocal chords gradually constrict as I sing and I barely make it through Lecha Dodi without feeling an intense need for moisture in my throat. This happens earlier and earlier in my davening, and so I must sing lest robustly in the beginning in the hopes that something will be left by Vayichulu.

It hardly matters. Singing by myself is fun, and those who hear it do not seem to object; but it is not that thing I miss. Some special Shabboses, a good chazan who knows what to do in a shul with the patience to let him do it will return me, briefly, to that place during kedusha, and I am, for a few minutes, lost again. I improvise harmonies or latch on to ones being sung by others… thirds, fifths, sometimes maybe even sevenths over the melody note; perhaps a staggered syncopation in a complementary line and on those good Shabbos mornings I taste it, with what’s left of a tongue and a throat that feel older than they should, assisted by the remnant of technique that bides me “push from the diaphragm” and “keep the tone out of the throat and into the nasal cavities” … and then, just as it is getting good, it is over. My face is flush, my palate almost aches and, until a brief reprise at musaf, it is done.

I muse that people who leave things they love in their lives in order to serve God can bank on some amount of credit for having done so, and that perhaps this sacrifice remains as principal for them not only in the next world but even allows them to draw from that account in this one. Some of those things can be dear indeed, and when they seemed, prior to their loss, to actually enhance one’s spiritual existence, it can be hard to appreciate the sacrifice. Perhaps merely the knowledge that, despite the spiritual challenges and setbacks of life in general, one has made a stand and walked away from one or another sort of love to prove his commitment, however, can give one strength. And perhaps that is exactly the this-worldly benefit that is bestowed by such a deposit.

As for me, the harmony is my sacrifice, and while it is a trifle compared to what others have left, it is my personal bit of flour and oil. Just as we understand that the senses, in supernal realms, combine and intersect in ways we cannot understand in this world, I pray that my silence in this one translates into a pleasing aroma Above.

Rabbi Yitzchok Fingerer

My wife and I were recently invited to Los Angeles. We were very excited because this would be my first opportunity to present my new book on the West Coast. On February 14th, Valentines Day morning, we boarded a Jet Blue red-eye flight destined for Burbank, California.

Our flight, apparently, wasn’t meant to be. We ended up trapped on the tarmac at JFK airport for a total of fourteen hours. As the hours wore on, fear and anxiety grew, as problem after problem arose. Several hours into our ordeal, the air conditioning system failed. It was so suffocating that the pilot had to open the emergency doors in order to give us much needed oxygen. Throughout our torment, a wonderful distraction for many of the passengers was television. At one point, a power outage caused the television service to be temporarily suspended. Passengers sat, as virtual hostages, with absolutely nothing to do. Luckily, the television service was soon restored. As we approached the eighth hour, the pilot announced that we can no longer avail ourselves of the restrooms as the waste capacity was filled. A bit later we were told that the ubiquitous Jet Blue potato chips were finished and the famished passengers faced the new reality that they may starve. As hour ten drew near we were casually informed that there were no more beverages available. Visions of 150 passengers dying of dehydration permeated the airplane.

As the product of good Jewish mothers, my wife and I packed a lot of food. This came in handy as we were able to share some of our provisions with other, less fortunate passengers. But even our food supply soon diminished and things appeared rather bleak.

A neighboring plane experienced a diabetic medical emergency and was sent rescue vehicles. We were fortunate that our plane was allotted one of those rescue busses and after almost eleven grueling hours we were rescued (ironically we were almost immediately placed on a second flight, on which we sat an additional almost four hours, after which the flight was finally cancelled).

Something about this harrowing experience struck me and two weeks later still resonates with me. Despite the horrible ordeal, the passengers on board remained calm, disciplined, and respectful. Not one person, at least those within my earshot, uttered a single vulgarity. Remarkable! Why wasn’t there total pandemonium on the plane? Why didn’t people go berserk? Why wasn’t there a coup d’état? Even for the most noble and extraordinary of individuals this was exceptional behavior.

The answer is rather simple. Every passenger on board, including myself, had the expectation that we were going to get to Burbank. Our anticipation was that things would, ultimately, work out and we would, eventually, arrive at our destination. Our long-term dream of arriving in Burbank totally ameliorated our short-term discomfort.

Let us picture a different scenario: The pilot announces in the very beginning of the flight, “Ladies and gentlemen welcome abroad! I would like to inform you of the fact that you will be trapped on this wonderful plane for the next ten and a half hours and will suffer severe distress. You will then disembark from the plane and return to lovely New York. We hope you enjoy your Jet Blue experience.” How would the passengers have reacted? I guarantee that there would have been complete mayhem on the plane. Why? The scenario seems so similar. What changed?

People can tolerate and cope with imposition, challenge, and even suffering if they feel there is an ultimate, if they feel there is a destination. Despair and recklessness sets in when there is no expectation; when a situation is viewed as the be all and end all.

Life is a test. We are being tested to see how we respond to challenge, temptation, confrontation, etc. If we were just inert, lifeless beings like sticks and stones we would have no struggles or tests. Sticks and stones that will eventually decay and rot would not react well to suffering. If human beings are only a composite of flesh and bones, if our only future is to putrefy and decompose, then we wouldn’t be exposed to suffering.

We experience challenge because we are really souls that are here for a limited time on Earth to make strides for ourselves and humanity. Just like an astronaut is placed in a special space suit and sent to space for a limited time to collect data and make a contribution to space studies, so are we placed in a physical body and sent to Earth, for a limited life span, to accomplish great things. We are here in this world, not only to engage in perfecting the world, but also to become perfected. How do you perfect and refine things? Knives are forged through steel, ovens are reinforced by fire. We humans are fortified, strengthened, and perfected through challenge.

Sometimes we lose sight of who we really are. We think of ourselves in a lowly state and equate ourselves as just bodies. We become obsessed with the material things in life and forget about the things that really last. We get transfixed on the physical and forget the spiritual. Physical suffering is an unfortunate necessity to remind us who we really are.

This concept reminds me of the parable offered by the Chafetz Chaim of a sailor (not a pilot!) who became shipwrecked on an island. He was left naked and bare. The people of the island quickly robed him in splendid garments and took him to a palace. He was treated royally. Whatever he desired, he received. He amassed a fortune of jewels and money.

Finally, some three months later, he began to wonder why he was receiving such royal treatment. He decided to entrust his query to a royal advisor.

The advisor answered, “Really, you are the first person to be shipwrecked on our island who has asked this question. Everyone else figured, ‘Why make trouble and start asking questions? Enjoy and be merry!’ Officially, I am forbidden to divulge the answer to you. But we will keep it a secret. Every year we find somebody who was washed ashore from a shipwreck. He arrives, like you did, naked and empty-handed. We treat him royally for one year. As soon as twelve months are up, we take him back to the seashore, disrobe him, and send him back the way he arrived. All the wealth and jewels that he amassed stay behind. If I were you, I would take all the wealth that is being showered upon you and secretly send it away on different boats for storage when your year is up. This way, when you leave the island, you will leave laden with fortune.”

The lesson from this story is clear. When a person is born into this world, he arrives stark naked. Oddly, he is taken to a home and cuddled and loved, robed and fed. He is treated first-class. He is given every opportunity to amass fortunes. Does he ever stop to ask, “Why? Why am I getting such special treatment? What is the ultimate point to this all?” One day, maybe even abruptly, he is taken from this world and must leave everything behind. If you spend your life accumulating money and possessions, or indulging your body, then when the end comes there is nothing to show. If, on the other hand, we spend our lives caring and sharing, and searching for meaning, then we depart this world with great fortune.

Throughout life we are confronted by so many different tests. How do we react to these tests? Well, it all boils down to whether we are stick and stones or human passengers on the plane called life. When a stick or stone is tossed around it develops indelible marks and scrapes. The stick or stone can never learn or grow from its experience. Things will never change. When a human being confronts challenge or suffering he/she has the opportunity to learn and grow, becoming a more resilient and far greater passenger on this trip called life.

Rabbi Fingerer is a rav at Aish HaTorah on the Upper West Side of Manhattan and is president of The Think and Care Tank, a non-partisan public policy think tank dedicated to addressing the crisis of assimilation (www.thinkandcaretank.org).

By Yaakov Weinstein – Part 1 is here.

Strategies for a rebbi, teacher or pulpit rabbi:

1) Never give up on a student! Let us say a rebbi tries to convince a student to skip college totally or attend Touro/YU. What happens when the student goes against the rebbi’s suggestions (due to his own thinking or forced by his parents). Well, sometimes the rebbi ‘gives up’ on the student. Since you’re going to college anyway, you may as well throw your yarmulka away… (note the rebbi may not word it this way but this may still be the message the student gets). It should not have to be stated (but unfortunately it IS necessary to state) that this is the worst possible thing to say. Besides the fact that it is utterly false (many great Orthodox leaders of all streams attended secular universities),the student might believe what the rebbi says. The student will get to college and think – I’m already going to ‘burn in hell’ for being here in the first place – why bother getting up for davening, learning a seder, dating a Jewish girl. My dear reader may find this outrageous but it is not – this has happened to good students from wonderful yeshivos.

2) Students can grow in learning, spirituality and all else good, on secular campus. Believe it. Anyone who became frum on campus should already know this. But it is not only ba’alei t’shuva who can grow on campus. Rather then give up on students for going to the ‘wrong’ place, give students the means to grow – book lists (see post of R’ Hirsh for some good books), curricula, email shiurim to them, talk to them in learning when they’re home. Do not be surprised that they learn, expect it from them.

3) Don’t give glib answers to sincere questions. If you think you can answer who wrote the Torah or the evolution ‘problem’ in a one minute conversation keep it to yourself. You merely show that you are not taking the question seriously. Also, don’t say a question is stupid, and if you don’t know something, admit it.

4) Email students, visit them, talk to them, volunteer to give a shiur on a campus near you, invite your local Hillel’s orthodox students to your house, invite students over for a tisch when they are home for winter break. Be active! PLEASE! A quick story from my time on campus: a friend was clearly upset. He told me about a girl in his class he was acquainted with and who was irreligious. That day he had been walking through campus and noticed the campus Chabad rabbi handing out Purim paraphernalia (hamantaschen and the like). He decided to take some for this girl to help spread Purim cheer to someone who, he thought, may need an extra reminder. When he offered the stuff to her she reacted very graciously and said, “Oh, but I already have everything I need. My (Reform) synagogue sends out care-packages before the every holiday.” “A shul sending out care packages to kids on campus?” my friend exclaimed, “Can you even imagine an Orthodox shul doing that? Of course not.” A notable exception to this is R’ Bieler of Kemp Mill Synagogue in Silver Spring, MD. Here’s a description of some of what he does – and students who I have known from his shul truly appreciate it (the rest of the discussion is interesting too).

Strategies for parents:

All of the above applies doubly for parents – the ultimate ‘rebbi’ for their children (whether the parents think so or not). So go back and read those suggestions again! After you’ve read the above twice here are some additional suggestions:

1) Care about the kodesh. Before college – don’t rely on a college advisor who doesn’t REALLY know what’s going on Jewishly on a campus. Instead, get on the Hillel website and talk to the Hillel’s Orthodox rabbinic advisor. While your child is on campus – Keep in touch with him religiously too. When your kids are at college ask them how their learning is going, maybe you can even learn with them on the phone. Keep the number of that Orthodox advisor.

2) Demand strength in high schools especially in Tanach. Kids don’t need to learn about the Documentary Hypothesis in high school. But they do need to see how Tanach works. Insist that students see the majesty of Tanach as can be gained from serious study of Rashi and Rambam but is brought out clearly by R’ Hirsch and R’ Hertz. Do your kids know why different names of the Almighty are used in the Bible?Their Judaic studies professor does (and you won’t like the answer)…

3) Humble skepticism – teach your kids to question unproven statements but realize there are people a lot smarter than them (I must thank Mike Berkowitz of Alon Shevut for this wonderful formulation – see it here.

4) I was told by a Brigham Young University student that at BYU (Mormon) before being allowed back on at the beginning of a semester a student must have a signed letter from their cleric (Mormon or not) that they’ve been keeping up with your religious duties. I have never heard of a Jewish parent who stopped paying tuition because his son or daughter was not learning enough Torah.

5) There are kind, moral, and religious people who are not frum and not Jewish. B”H, on this website I should not have to convince anyone of this. Make sure your kids know this too.

Strategies for students:

1) Time management – students have lots of free time. They’re not in class much, all their food and other necessities are taken care of for them, and, especially liberal arts majors, don’t have much homework. But the free time may be scattered throughout the day and it may not line up with other people’s free time. Students need to learn how to maximize their free time for useful endeavors.

2) Know what situations you might be in and know tha answer before-hand. I’m not a fan of speculating on every possible thing that can happen but some things have a good chance of happening so think about it before hand. Here’s an example: you’re working on a group project. If the project goes well there’s a decent chance someone may suggest going out as a group to a restaurant or bar. Should you go at all? If you go can you eat or drink anything? Thinking about this in advance will help you answer properly when the situation comes up. Another example: you learn with a non-frum chavrusa in the “Study with a Buddy” program. Your chavrusa may invite you to a party, a get-together, or some other event. Do you go? If you go, how much do you participate? Will you walk out if something happens that you do not approve of?

3) Learn practical halacha (especially laws about the kitchen) – you’ll need it.

4) Intense secular studies needs intense Torah studies. There is a lot of chochmah on a college campus. It’s intricate, complex, beautiful… and it can make Torah seem dull by comparison. Unless you can see the beauty and complexity of Torah. Study Torah deeply and intensely! Do not settle for superficial learning. Make up a goals per week and per semester – but be realistic. You can finish shas mishnayos while on campus. You can finish gmara mo’ed. You can learn all of Shulchan Aruch! See how long it is and how much needs to be done on average each day (it’s not much) … Understand that you won’t learn that much during mid-terms and finals. Know this in advance and get back into learning afterwards. If you pull all-nighters for work, pull all nighters for Torah (after midterms or finals please)!

The above are only a few suggestions that people may want to utilize in preparing for a studenton a secular campus. The list is not exhaustive and, of course, individuals need individual preparation.Another series of suggestions from a different approach can be found here.

I have a picture of the ideal Orthodox community on a secular campus. It’s made up of students who are impeccably honest, selflessly helpful, and fiercely proud of their religion. This community is a beacon of moral clarity on a landscape of moral relativity. Jews in this community treat others with respect and dignity while strongly protesting secularism and moral relativity. This community sanctifies the name of God and is a true ‘kingdom of priests.’ To such a community, others would come flocking. There is truly a thirst for knowledge on a college campus – and only a truly religous community will demonstrate that this thirst is a manifestation of the ultimate thirst – “Not a thirst for water, but to hear the words of the Lord” (Habakkuk 2:14).

By Yaakov Weinstein

About eight months ago there was a post on Beyond BT about life at a secular university (non-YU, Touro). At that time Steve Brizel (someone I have never met personally but have been fortunate enough to become acquainted with via the web), suggested that I also write a post on the subject. While I was unable to do so at that time, I am happy to now have the opportunity to fulfill his request.

For this post I assume that much of my audience is familiar with the challenges facing students on secular campuses. Thus, I will include only a few short paragraphs on these challenges and then suggest some strategies for meeting these challenges. I will not include possible merits of attending secular universities. Some of these were addressed in the previous post on this subject. In addition, I can safely assume that a number of readers became ba’alei t’shuva at secular campuses at least partly with the help of other students. Finally, those interested in my personal experiences may enjoy a column I wrote in the YU Commentator concerning the community I was fortunate to be a part of at MIT. This column was in response to a previous piece by a YU student who spent some time at MIT.
The original piece is here:
http://yuweb.addr.com/v67i1/editorials/MITvsYU.htm
My response is here:
http://yuweb.addr.com/v67i2/columns/mit.html

I would like to divide the challenges facing students on secular campuses into three parts: sensual, intellectual and ideological. Each of these deserves a study in and of itself but for now I’ll just provide just a few highlights.

Some readers may remember the university atmosphere of the 1960s: rebellion against authority, free love, drugs and the like. College campuses no longer resemble what they were in the 1960s – they’re worse. All that the rebellious students of the 1960s fought for have become de rigueur on campus. There is a laundry list of statistics on alcohol consumption, sexual activity and drugs on campuses which are easily found on the web (for fun try a google search of – hookah in the sukkah – and note some ‘Orthodox’ sponsorship of smoking). Intellectual challenges can be found in many places on campus. Obviously, courses in Judaic studies, religion, and history will assume multiple, human, authorship of the Torah. But teachings genuinely antithetical to Torah may also be found in courses of psychology and biology. The issues raised in these courses go way beyond the ‘historical’ question of whether evolution occurred. The real challenges are the assumed denial of a supernatural being and the obvious equivalence of man with animal. Ideological challenges on campus can range from hatred of the state of Israel and anti-semitism to deconstructivism (and its accompanied rejection of anything not written by a professor) and the relativty of the terms ‘good’ and ‘evil.’ These are not to be confused with intellectual challenges which attack with certain assumed or understood facts. Ideological challenges attack a student’s attitude towards authority, religion and morality.

Of course, real life challenges cannot be nicely fit into one of these boxes. Generally, a given challenge will include elements of each of the above categories. I like calling this the “b’nos Moav syndrome.” As we are told the Jews only worshipped the idols of Moav as a means of attaining the Moavite women (Rashi Bamidbar 25:2, Sanhedrin 106a). Put into a modern situation, if it allows you to flirt with your gorgeous non-Jewish classmate, it is much easier to believe the human authorship of the Torah. Additionally, challenges on college campuses come at a very impressionable age and at a time when students may be living only with others of this age (i.e. tremendous peer pressure and limited people with life experience with which to talk). The gmara in Kiddushin 30a (according to the second opinion in Rashi) suggests the proper time to chastise and thus teach a child is from 16-22 or 18-24. Increasingly, ‘children’ in this age range find themselves away from home in what may be a religiously hostile environment.

What are some strategies that can be used to face challenges on a secular campus? The strategies I list below are a conglomeration of my own thoughts and experiences and results of conversations I have had with many, many people on this subject. I’ll divide strategies into three parts:
1) strategies for a rebbi, teacher or shul rabbi,
2) strategies for parents with kids on campus
3) strategies for students on campus.

But before getting to this list there is one ‘strategy’ that is most important – Know yourself/ your child / your student – some students perform best in a structured setting. Some do best when they do not have to be a leader. Others do best when faced with adversity. They step up when the going gets rough, but may not even bother if things are catered to them. There is NO way personal advice can be given or a proper decision can be made without this knowledge (if I can add a personal interpretation to a well-known discussion: Chazal discuss the spiritual stature of Noach. Some say that he was a great man and had he lived at the time of Avraham – where there were others worshipping the true Deity – he would have been even greater. Some say he was great for his generation but would not have been much had he lived at the time of Avraham – see Rashi Breishis 6:9. I suggest that this discussion actually relates to the personality of Noach rather then his spiritual stature. The latter opinion believes that Noach was the type of individual who needed the challenge. The natural rebel against what is popular. Thus, he excelled specifically in a generation of evil).

To Be Continued

I had an interesting experience this morning.

I drove my son to a town about 20 minutes away to take his road test. When we arrived I had to get out of the car and wait outside. I decided to walk into the nearby Mobile station to use the Men’s room. The room was situated inside the building, but down a short hall off to the side of a food kiosk. When I came out of the bathroom I said a blessing under my breath and then headed the ten feet down the hall to the kiosk. And there, just before I turned the bend, was a man telling the Indian lady behind the counter taking his order, “The Jews are taking over.”

He was a 50ish, graying, well-dressed man and as he said the words “taking over” I emerged from the hall. He obviously didn’t realize I was there until that moment and looked a bit mortified for a moment when he saw me.

I didn’t have time to react. In that flash of a second I think I considered all the alternatives between just walking past him silently to cursing him out. What I ended up doing was saying very cooly the following: “Well, thanks for telling me that. I didn’t know.”

And I walked past.

Later, when I saw my son return, I walked out of the kiosk and saw this guy getting into his car. It was a very nice luxury car. Mine is a beat-up economy car. But I’m taking over the world.

In any event, I’m not naive. Believe me, I’m well aware of anti-Semitism. However, this is the first time I’ve experienced it directly in more than ten years, as best as I can remember.

I don’t necessarily have anything more the say now other than relating that.

On the other hand, it is interesting that just yesterday I heard Rabbi Orlowek on a tape talk about how he reacted to a couple of incidents of anti-Semitism directed at him: “As long as it doesn’t touch me it’s his problem, not mine… I know I have something inside. A Jew who does not have any connection to Judaism [gets terribly upset, on the other hand]…. It’s like a person who walks into a store to buy something, puts money down on the counter and walks out. It’s a terrible feeling: to pay money and walk out without the merchandise. [Being Jewish but having no connection to Judaism] is analogous to putting money down and not walking out with the product. I have the product. I know I have to ‘pay.’ I’m not crushed over the fact that they don’t like me. Because I know I have something. It’s true I’m paying a price. But I have something. I have the product.”

I don’t know if I lived up to this madrega this morning that Rabbi Orlowek talks about. I think I was a little incensed. Maybe a little more than a little. And certainly it reminds one of countless mussar shmeussim about how insecure the Jew is in the world; how Esav hates Yaakov, even as he dresses in a nice suit and acts politely toward you; how thin is the membrane separating us from real anti-Semitism; how we have to remember we only have our Father in Heaven to rely upon. And so forth.

But it was unnerving. At least for a moment. Baruch Hashem I have Rabbi Orlowek to listen to. Baruch Hashem I have him to remind me that I have the product. And that even though it comes with a price it’s better to have the product than not.

Baruch Hashem we lived blessed lives, much more secure than our great grandparents. May we never forget that and may Hashem continue to protect us and consider us having paid for and earned that protection.

I was having a discussion with someone recently and he mentioned that one of the problems in the baalei teshuvah mindset is that BTs are often scared to question things they hear, especially from people who grew up religious because they anticipate that their own knowledge base is lacking in comparison. BTs just assume that because someone grew up in a religious home, with an Orthodox Jewish education, they necessarily know a lot more, and should not be questioned in regards to opinions relating to Jewish topics.

I also know from experience that linguistic mastery goes a long way in making a person sound like they know what they are talking about, and that the use of key Hebrew and Yiddish phrases can make a BT feel inadequate and ignorant. It’s a huge barrier to get over when becoming observant; I specifically had, and still have, a very difficult time hearing a lot of Hebrew or Yiddish and attempting to decipher what is being said. This language barrier alone made me feel very inadequate for a long time, until I got the guts to just insist that those talking to me speak in English or translate any Hebrew or Yiddish being said in order that I fully understand what is being said.

This feeling of inferiority in both language and knowledge is often just that – a feeling, rather than reality. And it often cripples a BT from really asking the important questions and clarifying for themselves queries they may have about specific things they hear. It’s important that a BT feel secure in him or herself, in his or her knowledge base, and in the validity of asking questions and thinking for him or herself. Otherwise, they might never come to feel like a real part of the observant community, and will sideline themselves as outsiders and inferior members, a feeling which they will, in turn, share with their children.

Now, I’m not talking about questioning every single thing one hears from a respected rav on the finer points of halachic decisions. But I am talking about having enough faith in one’s own knowledge to challenge what seems to be contradictory and at least ask for clarification when there is a seeming inconsistency, rather than accepting things that disagree with previous learning. And even when there isn’t a seeming contradiction, and one just wants to know more about where a specific halacha or opinion comes from, to have the guts to ask to be shown the source, rather than just accepting that it’s what “it says.”

BTs need to believe in themselves and the learning they have accumulated, whether that has been through formal yeshiva training, assorted classes or a lot of reading. Having the courage to ask questions leads to a better and more solid knowledge base. It leads to stronger convictions and hold on the lifestyle that has been chosen, because it is based on answers, rather than just acceptance of surface-level statements, with a view of the foundation upon which they have built their new lives.

And remember – there’s no such thing as a stupid question.

My friend struggles with Judaism. He grew up in a very frum — let’s say, stifling — environment in a major frum metropolitan community. He had a learning disability, never diagnosed when he was in school. This not only preventing him from succeeding in yeshiva, despite receiving a generous endowment of creativity and intelligence, but the offbeat view of the world it provided to him caused him to focus on the flaws in contemporary orthodox society… maybe in his family and school too… and he was, and is, Off the Derech. Way off.

It’s painful to see. I really love the guy. He reads this blog — the Derech remains stubbornly stuck in his head, though he swears contempt for it. It comes through in the oddest of ways, though. Twice a year he tells me he’s working his way back.

But Hashem gave him some other gifts of which he has made dubious value. He is charming. Too charming. Women flock to him. He’s handsome, yes, if not perhaps for the cover of GQ (too Jewish?); but he has a magnetism that enables him to talk women into almost anything; talk employers into giving him jobs; talk the world into giving him an infinite number of chances. I’m not that charismatic, myself, but I cannot but see an aspect of my own underachieving life in his adventures — I’ve probably talked my way in and out of more trouble than the average bear.

But I have a wall full of degrees hanging on a wall that I pay the rent for, and my disappointment is relative to my ambition. His underachievement is pretty absolute. He must live on that charm, and oxygen and light, perhaps; he’s resolutely going nowhere. Frankly he lives a non-frum lifestyle, largely nocturnal, that is far beyond the pretty square existence I experienced in the first 22 years of my life. Maybe some BT who’s been there and done that can explain to me how bright people don’t get tired of endless “parties” and hanging around in clubs? Or maybe he couldn’t. To my way of thinking, as informed by Jewish sensibility, and my own limited exposure to that lifestyle during my high school and college years, it’s mostly about crowding out the the thoughts in your head that are hurting your mind.

In any event, that’s not my topic.

In any event, he’s not the person in the title of this essay.

The persons in the title are the ones — it could be any number of them — who write the Bitter Ex-BT Blogs.

See, I think my friend has a chance. A chance at life in a black-hat community, a wife with a sheitel, a two-hour-a-day learning seder? Well, we are taught not to ever give up hope, but not to rely on miracles. That would require a miracle. But could he have a healthy, positive, open-minded relationship with the Ribbono shel Olam, with Klal Yisroel, with the Torah, even? I think he could. I think he wants to. He’ll stamp up and down and insist I’m wrong, but the Nile’s big enough for both of us to be monarchs over it — I’m going to stick stubbornly to this belief.

But there’s something in his life now that may be worse for him than everything else that came before. Because he can’t pull himself away from the talented, glib, well-written, sometimes right Bitter Ex-BT Blogs, nor the virtual and real social world they promise him. He absorbs their complaints, their bitterness, their gall, and they put into words for him what he cannot quite express himself. No, more than that. They give him words to express complaints he didn’t even know he had. They feed his pain at the losing hand he feels — this talented, attractive, and thank God healthy person — God has dealt him.

Before, my friend ignored his Jewish side while living this dissolute lifestyle of his. He knew the contradiction. There was “being good,” and being not so good. But now he has a new “support group” who tell him what he’s doing is really a kind of “mitzvah” that has its own blog community, its alternative media, its Christmas parties and club dates. And this is something I have no idea how to counter.

We know that the Torah reserves harsh punishment, and even withdraws some of the usual judicial protections, for a meisis — someone who is not satisfied to worship avodah zarah, but who induces others to do so as well. Writing a blog is not avodah zarah, but then, we don’t have avodah zarah any more. In fact R’ Moshe Feinstein, in a responsum, says that anyone who encourages people to move away from doing the will of Hashem is comparable to a meisis ; the Chofetz Chaim compared the anti-religious Jews of his time to such people as well. In the Chofetz Chaim’s time, such people offered an alternative ideology — socialism, the brotherhood of man, an escape from the ghetto — that resonated with thoughtful, idealistic Jews on whom the weight of galus had become unbearable. What today’s anti-frum ideology offers is nihilism and hedonism, but in a time and place dominated by cynicism and narcissism it is enough to demonstrate that these can be found in ample supply on both sides of the frum / non-frum line, so why not enjoy the ride in the handbasket? And what can be more enjoyable than mocking those who don’t get the joke?

But it’s time for that car-and-driver metaphor again. Because ultimately my rather mundane point, of course, is that it is a special bitterness — I cannot say wickedness; we all are tinokos shenishbu (compared to “captured children”) — that makes a talented former BT, man or woman, do this. They do not just walk away from what they think is a car wreck of a spiritual journey but flag everyone else tooling happily along the road and swear that the bridge is out, there are monsters waiting on the next exit and that it was actually much better where they were coming from and you can’t U-turn fast enough to get back there.

What motivates them? My armchair psychology tells me that they would rather believe the journey is an eight-lane disaster than consider whether they themselves forgot to check the oil under their own hoods before setting out. But, you know, “who am I to say”?

A talented rabbinic friend came to me once and told me that after half a century or so of trying, he resolved that there are some cases — and far more of them come across his desk than mine — that he has come to realize he cannot solve, some lives that he cannot make the investment in trying to fix. His words haunt me regarding my friend. He is not asking me to solve anything; far from it. He tolerates my company because, well, maybe I am a little bit of fun myself. But whereas I once thought I offered enough gravity, mixed in with the comedy, to contribute to keeping him in orbit, I can’t compete with the Bitter Ex-BT Blogs. Well, I could; but I can’t. I’m as good an Internet polemicist as anyone; I know enough about frum life, about the Torah, and about life in the BT yeshivas to make quite a good debate of it.

But there’s no natural place for that debate — it won’t be on their blogs, and it won’t be here; and frankly, my anger and hurt cloud my judgment when I make some attempt at it. I fought in the early Internet wars for orthodoxy (largely in the ancient and venerable “Moment Magazine message board debates”) and, frankly, I’m not sure anyone’s listening.

Okay, I know one person.

A baal tshuva – or any other Jew with aspirations – needs two primary spiritual resources: Belief in Hashem, and belief in oneself. Many sources speak about the former, but few discuss the importance of the latter.

Young BT’s are frequently misled by mistaken concepts of “anava”, or modesty. Hashem doesn’t expect you to walk around telling everyone that you’re “gornisht”; those who do so, even if they are sincerely trying to rid their lives of arrogance – end up believing that they really are nothing. That’s wrong. A soldier must know his capabilities in order to effectively utilize the weapons at his disposal. An F-15 pilot must be perfectly aware that the government has entrusted $50 million sophisticated airborne arsenal in his hands, including an array of ultra high-tech weaponry in order to get his job done. He can’t say, “I’m a weak nothing,” or else he’ll be endangering the security of his country, wasting potential, and losing the war.

Yiddishkeit is also a war. Read more Believing in Yourself ›

It is now time to turn to some of the means that a BT may use in order to survive and, perhaps, benefit from the buffetings described in last week’s posting. Our path towards the Ribbono shel Olam is always fraught with challenges but it is never devoid of the corresponding tools to address them.

At the outset it must be said, and I know that this smacks of being a cliché, that everything we confront in life requires the spiritual fortification of Torah study and mitzvah practice. It is the supra-natural efficacy of Hashem’s Will which enables our study of a difficult blatt gemora, or a passionate davening to soothe our souls and give us the combination of clarity and strength that only the Divine tavlin can provide. Read more A Helpful Eitzah for BTs ›

I’m concerned that someone might be left with the false impression that I think that the biggest problem facing Balale’ Teshuva is that we most often don’t get the punch lines for Yiddish jokes. It’s a little deeper than that. I can remember as a Yeshiva student singing with the other guys on Friday Night over and over again the refrain, “Libi Libi U’ B’sari” and not knowing what the words meant and imagining they mean, “Leiby (that’s me) I’m sorry!” I never told a soul about it! I just laughed and sometimes cried with those silly thoughts. Till today when my boys sing this same Zemer, even though I know what the words mean, I still occasionally flash back and chuckle quietly in a place no one would ever know. Silly! Huh? When the more than occasional speaker would shout out the words, “Yiras Shemaim”, I thought about it whimsically, “A Year in Shemaim” and still do!
Read more Label Lam – Reflections on Main Problems for Baale’ Teshuva ›

Well becoming a blogger may be less difficult than becoming a BT- but at some point in both you just have to log in and do it. Mark tells me blogs are better when typed from the heart, so unlike my own BT journey (more in future blogs) I will type right in with not much forethought.

What are the biggest challenges facing us BT’s today- that’s a pretty grand question. My gut reaction is that it depends where you live. Really? Yes. I think there are basically three places we live: (1) in-town, (2) Out-of-town, (3) Eretz Yisroel. Let’s start with the third as it’s easy for me- I have never lived in Eretz Yisroel, only visited, learned in Yeshiva (or other places in more Zionistic days, but that is also another story.
Read more Just Fitting In ›