The Fence

The fence upon which I am sitting sits between two fields of opportunity, one secular and one religious. Each field belongs to a seperate nation, one a democracy and one a theocracy. Each nation has its own set of laws and customs, as well as its own set of strengths and weaknesses. While guards do stand at the border, those who are determined enough can survive the journey from one side to the other.

I first encountered this fence many years ago, while still a child. I was born on the secular side of the fence. This side of the fence offered me a life full of choices, yet lacking in meaning. In school, while other children were primarily interested in movies and sports, I read a lot and thought about different topics. I searched desperately for a direction and a purpose in life. I tried to fit in throughout school and discovered that the rigid popularity structure did not leave room for those like me.

I sought a purpose in life, and I found it on the other side of the fence. The pull towards the other side was so strong that I did not delay. I ran towards the fence without looking back. With tremendous effort I scaled the fence, landed on the other side, and began a journey deeper into the frum land. I went to schools with those born there, learned the local languages, and managed to fit in.

Yet I have suffered here. The lack of choices on the frum side are stifiling, and underneath the utopian facade corruption runs rampant. On this side of the fence, there is a singular focus that leaves little room for individuality and exploration. I feel stuck in a world where the home is expected to be the focus of a woman's life, and it cannot be the focus of mine.

As an adult, I see a different society on the secular side of the fence. Secular society is large enough for everyone to find a place, even those like me. I feel the need to explore, and therefore I long for the choices of my youth.

So I have inched my way back towards the fence, and stared at it with trepedation. I have climbed up that fence one aveira at a time, until I reached its peak. I stare at the secular side of the fence, longing for its freedom, yet unable to jump. I look back at the frum side of the fence, and see my husband and children below. I see a rope and think "Should I bring my children with me to the other side?" I cannot bring my husband with me, he will never come. Some days I think that I will throw the rope, get my children, jump, and run for dear life. But yet something is stopping me. I feel an inexplicable pull towards the frum side that has hurt me so much. Frumkiet has become part of me somehow. I can't just leave. Yet I cannot stay.

So I remain here on the fence, exposed to the elements. I attempt to straddle the fence and live in both worlds, yet the fence serves as a barrier between the two.

Is it possible to cross from one side to another as needed? Perhaps it is, but it requires so much effort that it will likely wear me down.

So it seems that for now I will remain right here. I may as well enjoy the view.

Repurposing



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 Despite my lack of homemaking skills and artistic ability, I have recently developed an interest in home decorating. Hopefully I will manage to make my home at least somewhat more inviting and livable. To get decorating ideas, I have started to spend some time watching decorating shows on HGTV.

One common theme that I have noticed on many of the shows is that of "repurposing". Repurposing is essentially a fancy name for taking old furniture or household fixtures and modifying them to meet the homeowner's current tastes. If one is willing to put in the effort, repurposing is clearly and excellent way for people to decorate their homes in a way that is stylish, yet cost-effective and environmentally-friendly.

However, the process of repurposing does not always go as planned. I once tried to restain some porch chairs, which worked fine until I gave up in the middle due to the exhaustion of being nine-months pregnant. My youngest is now three and I never finished the job because I did not take the effort to finish what I had started. Another way that repurposing can fail is when due to the nature of the item, it cannot be repurposed as intended. My mother once began a project of covering the old upholstry on her dining room chairs with new upholstry, only to find that the backs of the chairs would no longer fit into the frame. Therefore, she ended up with pretty but useless dining-room chairs.

While the term "repurposing" was likely coined by home decorators, the concept is hardly unique to interior design. In many aspects of life, people take ideas and experiences from the past and attempt to modify them to fit in with our times. Jews in particular have a tendency to try to repurpose Judaism in a way that makes it relevant to modern times. The early secular Zionists celebrated Shavuos as a harvest festival representing the importance of cultivating the land of Israel, and many of today's Reform Jews create human rights sedarim for Pesach.

If Judaism is repurposed, is it still Judaism?

Can Judaism be repurposed effectively?

The answer to these questions seems to be found in our interior-design example. One can repurpose an object in such a way that it maintains its essential characteristics, or one can repurpose it in a way that it becomes an entirely different object. If one paints a table, it is still a table. However, if one cuts off the legs to the table and sticks it on the wall behind a bed, it is no longer a table but a headboard. Both the painted table and the headboard may be much more beautiful than the old table, but one has been changed to the point that it is no longer a table. Therefore, it seems that certain innovations can in fact enhance Judaism and make it relevant even to those who have difficulty with traditional Judaism, while others change the religion so radically that it is hardly recognizable. The effectiveness of the repurposing depends on whether the repurposing made that table look better or worse, which is to an extent in the eyes of the beholder, but still somewhat objective. Similarly, if an individual wants to repurpose Judaism, he or she needs to ensure that it is done in a way that enhances his or her life rather than detracting from it.

Should one repurpose Judaism?

For many people who are Orthoprax or OTD, the answer seems to be yes. Just as repurposing furniture has the benefit of saving money and the environment, repurposing Judaism has the potential to save relationships and improve ones state of mind. By finding new ways of or reasons for keeping mitzvos, one can help keep ones family together. Additionally, people typically find comfort in the rituals of their youth, so finding a way to incorporate these rituals into a new lifestyle can increase ones peace-of-mind and even help one focus on the positive memories of the past.

So perhaps there is an advantage to partial observance?

Thoughts?



For the Sake of Heaven

While I have not studied other religions, one thing that has struck me as unique about Orthodox Judaism is its concept of "Kol maasecha yihiyu l'shem shomayim", that all of deeds should be done for the sake of heaven. This concept creates a belief system where there are no neutral actions. Many areas of daily life are codified into law, which means that as one goes about his or her day, there are countless opportunities to do a mitzvah or an aveira. There are mitzvos governing almost every aspect of daily life. Additionally, every choice that one makes, even in things that are not expressly required or prohibited by Torah law, are either meritorious or sinful based on their intent.

It is easy to see the appeal of this belief system. This concept essentially means that every action that every ordinary person does has great cosmic significance. A person who believes this feels that at any given moment, his or her actions can help determine the fate of the universe. It is the nature of people to want to feel important, and this belief clearly nurtures the feeling that each individual is in fact important. Additionally, this belief gives one a ready-made sense of purpose and a goal that one can strive towards.

However it seems to me that this aspect of Orthodoxy, which arguably is the religion's greatest appeal, is also its greatest flaw. Having one central goal as the basis of everything creates a system where nothing can be done or enjoyed for its own sake. Everything must be done for an ulterior motive, that of serving God. One can never truly relax when one must keep in mind that the only purpose of the relaxation is to serve Hashem.

This is particularly troubling with regard to personal relationships. It is written in Pirkei Avos, "Ahavah shetaluyah b'davar, sofo l'hisbatel", that love that is dependent on an external reason will ultimately end. In Orthodox Judaism, relationships, just like everything else, are meant solely as a means of serving Hashem. This can be seen quite clearly by the brachos that are given to a new couple, that they should build a "bayis neeman b'yisrael", a faithful Jewish home, which is in stark contrast to the references to the focus on love at a secular wedding. The shidduch system is consistent with this line of thought, in that people marry based on a list of desirable qualities rather than love, which is not supposed to develop until after the wedding. If one views marriage as a means to an end, such a business-like system is ideal. However, if marriage is meant to based on love and acceptance, this arrangement is clearly lacking.

On a more global level, this concept of a singular life purpose effectively replaces normal human thoughts and emotions. Can one really experience love, empathy, desire, or joy if it must constantly be done for an external motive? If halacha mandates what one should think and feel, does one ever really experience those thoughts and feelings to their fullest?

Marrying Young and Financial Responsibility

On the first day of my college's summer session, I walked into my statistics class a little early and started speaking to the only other student in the room. I asked him what he was majoring in, and he replied that he had a double major--music (cello, I think) and mechanical engineering. An interesting combination, I thought, and certainly more practical than just majoring in music. So I said, "That makes a lot of sense, because it is probably easier to find a job in engineering than in music".

The student suddenly looked offended and horrified. He replied, "No, I don't care about money. I just love engineering."

Okay then. All I can say is that later on he will be thankful that his interests are music and engineering rather than music and classical French literature, because regardless of his motivations now at least he will be employable. I then realized, however, that I had this reaction because I have been in the "real world" for years and suffered the devastating effects of poverty brought on by lack of ability to earn a living.

When I married at eighteen, I was no different from this student. While I knew that I needed to get a job and work, the thought of going to college and/or delaying marriage for the sake of marriage was abhorrent to me. I didn't care about money or want to be rich. I was young and idealistic and felt that if I was willing to work hard then we would be fine. I was definitely wrong about that.

The problem is that both that student and I shared an attitude that is common among older teenagers and young twenty-somethings today. I would venture to say that for most middle or upper-class students, college is viewed as an expected rite-of-passage rather than a means of preparation for the future. Among frum people of the same age, the attitude is that marriage is a rite-of-passage and that finances will work themselves out afterwards.

Both of these attitudes reflect a lack of maturity. The problem within the frum world is that people typically get married while still in that immature state, which often leads to disastrous consequences.

"You Can Be Anything that You Want to Be, If You Try Hard Enough"

...Or maybe not.

When I was in ninth and tenth grades, my family lived in a small town far from any substantial frum community. I spent those years in a public school that had only five Jewish students, of which I was the only frum one.

In tenth grade I made friends with the girl who sat next to me in math class. Leila, a Muslim immigrant who came from Pakistan at the age of five, was one of the few students in the school who could relate to my religious observance, and I was one of the few students who understood her. We discussed topics such as modesty and dietary laws, and I was there to support her when her father caught her with a picture of a boy with his arm on her shoulder. The other students would not have been able to understand why her father cared.

One day Leila was quite upset. She described to me how she had spent hours writing and rewriting an essay for her honors' English class. She was distressed because she felt that no matter how many times she would try to rewrite it, the essay would still be terrible. Leila was an intelligent girl so I was sure that she was exaggerating, but I offered to look over her essay and help her rewrite it.

After our math class we went to the library to look at the essay. I was shocked. Using the word terrible to describe the essay would be an understatement. The essay was so bad that I could not understand what she was attempting to write. It was clear to me that she really had tried, but that for some reason she had no grasp of grammar. So I sat with her and helped her rewrite her essay, and then did the same at least once a week at lunch for the rest of the year.

One day I asked her, "Why are you in honors' English if writing is so difficult for you?" To me it seemed that remedial English would have been a more appropriate placement. She explained to me that her immigrant parents wanted her to fulfill the American dream of going to an ivy-league university, so that she could get into a top medical school and become a doctor, so her parents insisted that she stay in the honors'-level English track. She told me that she wished that her parents would let her take courses that were more appropriate for her.

Her parents had absorbed one of the most common beliefs of modern American society, that a person can be anything that he or she wants to be by trying hard. This belief seems to transcend religious and cultural boundaries, and Leila's parents simply could not understand that their daughter could not do well in honor's English, no matter how hard she tried. Leila was quite good at math and may well have done fine at a middle-of-the-road state college, and then possibly have gone to medical school, by taking an appropriate English class that would have taught her the skills that she needed to succeed. Alternatively, if she really could not learn how to write well enough to graduate college, she may have been able to find a trade that suited her. If Leila had been my daughter, I would also have had her evaluated for learning disabilities. By pushing their daughter to go in a direction that was not appropriate for her, her parents were setting her up for failure.

This attitude is seen particularly strongly in the frum world. The frum world defines success quite narrowly, yet argues that everyone can achieve that measure of success if they try hard enough. While some "elite" sectors of the secular world are guilty of having the same attitude, in most secular households success is defined broadly enough that everyone can succeed at something. When success for a man is defined as being able to learn gemara for hours per day, is it any surprise that many people end up feeling like failures? Many people simply cannot do that, even if they "try hard". If success for a girl is defined as being a good mother to a large family, is it any surprise that many people fail?

People are different by nature. Everyone is unique, and effort is often not enough to compensate for having inherent difficulties in a particular area. No matter how hard I try, I will never be a good baalebusta. Hopefully one day I will achieve the level of "mediocre". So why should I spend my life working towards something that I will always be bad at, rather than working towards a goal that will enable me to excel?

I unfortunately lost touch with Leila and do not know what happened to her. I, however, am determined to do what Leila would have done if she had the choice. I am going to follow the direction of my innate abilities and find a way to succeed at something.

Old Habits Die Hard

My university has a message board where every student is allowed to post, and all posts are listed under the person's legal name. Of all the topics discussed, the perennial favorite is religion. Typically religious topics spiral into a debate between a few evangelical Christians and a few Atheists.

The current topic of choice is "Why God Chooses not to Answer Some Prayers". In the course of the debate, one Atheist student responded, "You know man invented G-d right?". A Christian noticed the inconsistency of claiming that God does not really exist while writing his name with the "-", which is done as a form of reverence. The Christian assumed that the Atheist must have thought that writing God's name this way was a form of degradation rather than reverence, so he responded by "informing" his opponent that Orthodox Jews write God's name this way as a form of reverence.

Given the Atheist poster's highly Jewish-sounding name, I assume that he wrote "G-d" for an entirely different reason. Both frum and traditional kids are instructed from an early age not to spell God's name as a form of respect and old habits die hard. Therefore, the Atheist student feels the need to treat God's name with reverence even as he claims that God does not exist, due to the education that he received during childhood.

I assume that most people who have gone OTD have done something similar to this. Have you said a bracha on treif food? Sat in the dark while using the computer on shabbos? Said something like, "I went to the movies last shabbos and baruch Hashem it went well".

Do you think that this is inherently negative? It occurred to me that perhaps there is something to be said for treating God with reverence even if one believes that He exists only in ones mind, due to the benefits that religion has provided humanity or simply due to tradition. Or perhaps the Atheist student still believes in God in his heart but not in his mind?

As an aside, I have learned that it is not a halachic problem to write or erase shem Hashem on a computer anyway as computer pixels have no mamashus and are not halachicly considered writing. For the same reason, typing on a computer is allowed on chol hamoed even when real writing isn't.

Thoughts?

Clothing and Identity Among the Orthoprax and OTD

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Over the last few days I have been thinking about my last post, the one that I typed on yom tov while having my hair covered, and Undercover Kofer's response that he has also used the computer on shabbos while covering his head (except that he was weraing a yarmulke, of course). So here I am posting again on shabbos, reflecting on the significance of clothing to the Orthopraxer.

While clothing does not define a person, people throughout society use clothing as a manner of expressing their identities. Making a dramatic change in dress is usually associated with the individual making a dramatic change in personality or role in life.

This is even more true in the Orthodox community, where people are routinely identified and even referred to by the clothing they wear. A Litvish man is often called "black hat" and it is not uncommon to hear statements such as "Sara is marrying a streimel", when she is actually getting married to its wearer. For this reason, when an Orthodox person changes his or her way of dress it makes an even bigger statement than it does in the secular world.

Therefore, when a person does not feel comfortable identifying as non-religious he or she makes a point of keeping to the same standard of dress as before. Conversely, if a person wants to show that he or she is more modern and/or not frum altogether, the message is often intentionally broadcast through clothing choices.

In my case, as I imagine in many others, this even applies in private. I still often dress tznius at home even as I am committing aveiros. The only explanation that I have for this is that I am simply not comfortable (yet) with identifying as non-frum. I still identify as a member of the frum community despite not wanting to be part of it.

This probably also explains why some people who have recently gone off-the-derech dress in a manner that is more provocotive than that of general society. By dressing in a manner that is the direct opposite of tznius, it expresses that one wants to be sure that she is not identified with a community that she despises. Even among those who are still frum, those who simply wish to be more modern typically change their dress more than anything else, such as kashrus standards.

So, readers, what do you think? At which stage of your departure from obervance did you change your manner of dress partially or totally? Were you keeping shabbos while dressed in a non-frum (by anyone's standard) manner, or did you break shabbos while dressed as before?