On Her Own

Anger is

2011-11-09T12:48:00.000-08:00

finding that, in spite of all of one's conscious and vocal efforts to the contrary, one still has rabbis governing one's life.

Because of the complicated nature of the issue that is making me feel this way, I cannot write about it on my blog. If you are curious, feel free to email me -- onherown100 AT gmail.

Better Late than Never: The Conversation

2011-10-24T04:29:00.000-07:00

I started this blog over four years ago. Back then, I was living in close proximity to my family. Probably because of this, the idea of being completely open about my religious observance (or really, lack thereof) felt pressing. I wrote several posts about my desire to tell them, fear over doing so, and my ultimate decision not to have the conversation outright, but just to let them know in a passive way.

Then I moved far away. This meant that A) I saw them less often and thus the need to tell them felt less pressing and B) it became more obvious that I was living a less religious life because I had moved there (and into the same apartment) with my at-the-time boyfriend.

But I still never had the conversation outright. When my marriage began to fall apart, I started seeing a therapist. And it was odd because although I'd gone there to talk about my feelings re: the failing relationship, I found myself talking about that for ten minutes and then somehow ending up talking about my parents and the fear of talking with them about my agnosticism / lack of really practicing Judaism. I still felt like if I said it out loud and made it obvious, they'd reject me.

Anyway, I just had the conversation. Finally! After all these years. Only with my mother, but still. I've been visiting my parents for Sukkot and my mom and I were in the house alone and I felt a moment in the conversation when it seemed to just flow into it naturally. And I pretty much told her everything. Of course, I was bawling. And she was truly, truly awesome. Telling me it didn't matter, that of course she had wanted me to be religious, but she couldn't shove religion down my throat and she was just happy that I'd found a lifestyle that made me happy.

It's amazing now just to what extent I feel that a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders now. I mean, almost like I'm a different person.

Just thought I'd share.

New Year in a New Way

2011-10-04T20:04:00.000-07:00

Here's the thing about breaking with Orthodoxy but still having respect for your heritage: every time a Jewish holiday comes along, you get to create your own way of celebrating it.

I took off for Rosh Hashanah this year as I did last year. However, while last year I attended an Orthodox shul and invited a friend over for a small apples/challah-and-honey meal, this year I decided to be a little more adventurous.

I had two Rosh Hashanah meals. The first was all Jews (all non-Orthodox) that incorporated guitars and absurd versions of Jewish songs I knew. The second was mostly non-Jews (along with a few non-practicing Jews) and involved cooking lots of traditional Jewish food -- the most fun I've had with cooking in a while.

But the crux of the holiday for me was actually -- believe it or not -- the service I went to. That is, I signed myself up for a seat at a Renewal service. This was a serious break for me. While I've gone to Renewal services once before, it was on a random Friday night, not Rosh Hashanah (the bigwig of Jewish holidays and thus something I used to feel -- whether or not I would've admitted it -- should be celebrated in an Orthodox context).

This service totally blew me out of the water. Really. I wasn't sure what to expect but I came out feeling like I'd had a real experience, like I was actually starting a new year. It was so, so different than anything Orthodox.

At a point in the service, the leader stopped to have everyone say "Shana tova" to each other and hug/shake hands. (This is similar to what I've seen in some church services I've been to and it's really nice -- why don't the Orthodox do it? There's no reason they couldn't.)

They incorporated really meaningful pieces from other traditions -- a Gaelic blessing, a Rumi poem, but still had some of the traditional aspects of RH services like shofar blowing. One prayer was accompanied by swaying/dancing and holding hands.

But for me the highlight of the night was a guided meditation. The leader had us all sit and close our eyes. She then told us to contemplate the last year of our lives, think about what we want to let go, and then send it off. Now as you know, the last year of my life has been fraught with particularly difficult changes and so for me, this was really overpowering and cathartic. I saw everything that had happened with my ex, all the emotional baggage that I'd been carrying, and I let myself let it go. At this point I was actually crying.

She then told us to imagine a hallway with a doorway at the end of it with light pouring through and that there were three words emblazoned on the top of the door, that we should take these words to heart and walk through the doorway into the coming year. The words that I saw were these: "I love you." And I realized that these were words from myself to myself, and that this finally was what I needed to carry through into the following year.

That in spite of the way everything fell apart with my ex, in spite of the fact that I am constantly feeling at risk of losing my parents'/siblings' love for breaking the tradition in too extreme a way (which I will go further into in a later post hopefully), I need to be able to love myself for where I am and who I am and what I have come to believe (or not believe). That I need also to let go of that judgmental twelve-year-old that lives inside me who judges me in a way that I would never dream of judging others.

The meditation culminated in a recitation of Shema, which felt really incredible to me -- not because I buy into what Shema means but because I could feel myself, the adult, repeating the words I'd said as a young child and feel those two pieces of who I am colliding into one.

This was the most powerful Rosh Hashanah experience I'd ever had in my life. Including when I was a believing, practicing Orthodox girl, including the Rosh Hashanah I spent in Israel. I mean I actually cried at a Rosh Hashanah service. Cried. And left feeling truly like I had a clearer understanding of myself and that I was starting anew and fresh -- which really is what the holiday is supposed to be about.

So on that note, happy new year, everyone.

The Unfamiliar Life

2011-09-07T12:13:00.000-07:00

Every once in a while, this feeling overwhelms me that I can't recognize my life or reconcile who I am with who I once was (or who I thought I would become).

Perhaps it's become worse lately because of the other recent major changes in my life but in truth it was happening even before that.

I'm not sure why I have this need to be able to connect the girl I was to the woman I am, but from time to time it will bewilder me that I don't keep Shabbos, that I'm not living in a frum community with several children who all go to yeshiva, that I'm not (to put it simply) who so many of my childhood friends are.

I like my life. I'm not dissatisfied with the decisions I've made but even years later, they still sometimes scare me. It makes me wonder if I'll ever be able to feel like my identity is completely stable.

But then maybe, that's the thing. Maybe this constant questioning of my own identity and my choices is just part of who I am. Maybe if I'd chosen to live a Modern Orthodox lifestyle, to have children, to belong to an MO community, I'd be wondering about the other, unknown path -- the "rebellious" path, so to speak -- and constantly feeling like I'd missed out on something, some part of who I am innately. And this me, this agnostic/atheist, secular me looking at that other life knows that I would have.

Getting Personal

2011-06-19T08:36:00.000-07:00

A few months ago, in a rather vague post, I mentioned that things in my life had taken a turn for the worse. Well here's the low down: my husband and I have split up.

It's been a few months now and I'm doing a lot better (enough to blog about it, I suppose). The divorce papers have been filed and now it's just a matter of waiting it out and continuing to heal.

Those of you who've been reading this blog for a little while may recall that the whole marriage was fraught with family-related complications. I just want to make clear that this has nothing to do with why the marriage fell apart.

Also, due to the generally impersonal nature of this blog, many of you may think this was a whirlwind relationship as we got married and then divorced in a little over a year. This is also not true, as we were together for a number of years and constantly struggling with the fact that our families expected us to have an Orthodox wedding but we were deeply opposed to it.

In any case, the falling apart of this relationship has been very difficult and emotional for me, but I have begun the process of moving on with my life. This, obviously, brings up the key question of who I will allow myself to date. In other words, with the beliefs I currently hold, will I limit myself to only Jewish men?

My gut reaction is to answer that with a definitive "no." Finding someone with whom you connect on a deep level is difficult enough. Why would I limit myself to a fraction of the population? That said, how would I break news like that to my family? Just the idea of it terrifies me.

A Belated Report: Passover with the Folks

2011-05-23T14:23:00.000-07:00

It wasn't that bad.

But let's be fair, it might've been much worse if I hadn't cheated.

By cheated, I mean:

- Ate chometz (yes, lots of it) on Chol HaMoed

- Watched movies on my laptop on Yom Tov in my bedroom

Here's the thing: Shabbos (and by extension, Yom Tov) can be really nice in that it lets you sit and talk to people without the distraction of television, cell phones, internet, etc.. But two days of Yom Tov followed almost immediately by a day of Shabbos followed not so long after by two days of Yom Tov followed again soon after by another day of Shabbos? Kind of exhausting, actually. It may sound funny, but it's gets tiring being so relaxed.

And here's the other thing: I've realized that I really can't do Pesach (i.e., avoid eating chametz) without the belief that there's someone out there (i.e., God) who would punish me for doing otherwise. I detest Pesach food. It might not be as bad if my parents weren't kitniyot and gebruchts-keeping. But still, my diet is generally significantly reliant on dense, filling carbohydrates (read: breads and pastas). And matzah and potato starch (really even rice and other kitniyot) just doesn't cut it for me. I remember that when I was observant, I basically felt hungry for the entire week of Pesach. And let's not even talk about the kind of stomach aches I get from a week-long matzah binge (this actually still happened to me even when the matzah was supplemented with small doses of chametz).

In any case, I stand firm on my previous conjecture that Pesach is my least favorite of the Jewish holidays. (Yom Kippur is bad, but it only lasts one day!) And no matter the pressure applied by my parents, from here on out, I really can't see myself going back for Pesach. (Unless I ever move closer to them again, in which case I could see myself going back for part of it.)

And with Shavuot (a much better holiday, in my opinion) following so close on Pesach's tail, I imagine I'll be able to get away with such a stance. Cheesecake and blintzes, yum!

Anyone Else Hate Pesach? (Or at least the Ashkenazi Orthodox version?)

2011-04-13T16:39:00.001-07:00

Last year, I did not go to my parents' house and instead had a non-traditional Pesach, complete with an "Eco-Seder," a Conservative seder, and a complete inattention to the holiday's particular kashrut laws.

This year, I'll be my parents' house and thus be subject to long Orthodox-style seders in which I will hear the same (LONG) d'var torahs I've already heard 20-some-odd times (some read directly out of haggadahs) and won't eat until almost midnight.

Then I will have an eight day stretch of matzah and potato starch. But no matzah balls or matzah lasagne or any other such delicious thing because my parents keep gebruchts. And naturally no rice, etc., because of kitniyot. My stomach aches in anticipation.

Yeah, I guess I should stop being so bitter and just try to enjoy what I've committed to doing. But I feel like whining right now. So that's what I'm doing.

On a more exciting note: I went to a Renewal service a few weeks back and it was AWESOME. I will report back on that experience soon.

Atheism and the Void

2011-03-12T18:34:00.000-08:00

I can almost feel comfortable with saying it now: I am an atheist. I described my belief (or lack thereof) to someone a few months ago and the response was, "Oh, so you're an atheist?"

At first, I resisted. "No," I said, "Not an atheist. An agnostic."

But the truth is, the part of my brain which was sometimes flirted with the idea of theism, of the existence of a god, has become gradually less and less powerful, until I am where I am today: as close to pure atheism as I've ever been.

And alongside the growing atheism has emerged this increasingly powerful sense of a void, of a meaninglessness in the world and in my life. Perhaps as some have told me before, I think too deeply into things, but lately I just look at my life and all my efforts to make something of myself, to enjoy life, to form strong bonds with people, and I think so what?

Perhaps it's the fact that I grew up religious that I have these expectations -- that life should mean something, that there should be a purpose that is more than a daily purpose. Or perhaps I'm just not thinking of it right: maybe there is a way to get real, meaningful purpose out of life as an atheist that I just can't see right now. (Hey long-time atheists, any advice?)

As it stands, I feel suddenly bombarded by this feeling that I'm putting in all this effort for naught. If my life ends at death, if there's no larger picture, if it's all just a giant chaotic universe, then what is the meaning of this one tiny life within it all?

Those Dangerous, Ultra-Modern Eyeglasses?

2011-02-28T09:50:00.000-08:00

So apparently Vizhnitz Chassids are being discouraged from wearing metal eyeglasses and/or contact lenses now because they are too modern?

This article read like satire to me, but from what I can determine, it's actually just straight-up reporting.

What's especially amusing to me, as a "modern" person is that there's nothing particularly "un-modern" about plastic frames. Indeed, many plastic frames are more fashionable/modern than many metal frames. And metal frames most certainly came before plastic frames, thus (if anything) they should be considered more acceptable -- especially considering just how quickly fashion changes.

Agnostic in a Foxhole

2011-02-06T10:32:00.001-08:00

Things in my life have recently taken a turn for the worse. I won't go into detail, but suffice it to say that (while not as dramatically as the title might suggest), I have been pretty emotionally drained and feel like I am trying to piece back together who I am and what I want.

And here's the thing: like other times in my life that have been trying, I feel this really strong pull back to religion. And not just religion in general, but the very traditional religion of my childhood.

I spent (rather deliberately) the past two Shabbosim visiting some Orthodox friends of mine and keeping Shabbos completely (resisting the urge to even check my phone once). This is something I have not done in a LONG time.

More importantly, perhaps, I feel the need to revert my life back toward Orthodoxy and even to do things like pray. The intellectual in me always makes me pause before doing anything like this and usually I just don't. But it's very much there. I understand that it makes sense, psychologically, for humans to react this way while going through traumatic experiences. Still, it's strange to see it in myself.

A Little Bit of Blood

2011-01-03T16:09:00.001-08:00

(If you can't tell from the title, this post is going to deal with "feminine matters" [read: periods]. If such things are unappealing to you, move onward...)

For the first time in my life today, I saw a male gynecologist. My doctor was out of town and I had a matter that needed to be taken care of. (No, I am not pregnant.) Although I see nothing wrong in having a male gynecologist per se, it was something I always avoided. Because, quite frankly, they don't have the same parts... and they don't know what it feels like.

Now maybe this isn't a fair way to make this decision. But my prejudice (it is that, I'll admit) was slightly bolstered today, when I asked the doctor if a particular procedure would hurt and he answered with a smile, "Well, I've obviously never had it but..."

The whole experience got me thinking about niddah, taharat hamishpacha, and rabbis. I remember when I found out the particulars of this system as a high school student. That if a woman bled in between cycles she had to bring a sample of the stain (likely on her underwear) to a rabbi to determine whether or not it was kosher. I was horrified. With all the talk of tzniut, this was considered acceptable? And not only acceptable, but necessary? Granted, her husband could bring it for her, etc., etc., but it still seems so immodest and even demeaning to have some guy who's not your sexual partner know about the color of the stains in your underwear.

Now I know that female yoatzot are increasingly taking up this role, which (in my mind) is a good thing. But for hundreds of years the above scenario was the norm. And in more right-wing communities, it still is today. (Though why a yoetzet would be considered threatening to the tradition is really beyond me.)

My train-of-thought went further and somewhat away from the male-rabbi-issue. I'll be open about the nature of my visit (ah, the luxury of anonymous blogs!). That is, for many months now, I've been having abnormal bleeding. To be specific, I've been "spotting" ALMOST EVERY DAY and bleeding heavily twice a month. (Probably due to fibroids.) Not fun, sure, but it would be even less fun if I was Orthodox. Because if I was Orthodox and (therefore) keeping the laws of Taharat Hamishpacha, I wouldn't have been able to touch (let alone sleep with) my husband for the past few months.

I remember the discussions of Taharat Hamishpacha in high school and seminary. How it was a perfect system because it allowed for a "honeymoon" each month where the husband and wife longed for each other like it was the first time since they hadn't been able to touch for the two weeks prior.

All well and good for women with normal cycles. But the punishment for those women with abnormal cycles and their husbands is colossal. (There is a really interesting example of this in Anat Zuria's film Tehorah.)

I have (as of yet) no conclusion to draw from the above rant. It is just that. A rant. But I do have to say that given my situation, I am quite happy not to be Orthodox at this point in my life. I imagine a world in which I would have to deal with a rabbi in addition to a gynecologist, where this medical stress in my life would be coupled with a lack of intimacy with my husband - and I am particularly thankful that I am where I am today.

Sick of It

2010-12-22T07:34:00.000-08:00

Recently, my husband and I visited my family, as a family member of mine was getting married.

Not that I was expecting anything less, but our families had us stay in separate houses and continued to refer to us as "boyfriend" and "girlfriend." In fact, one of my cousins even referred to my husband as my "friend" at one point. We didn't want to make a scene out of it (especially as it was someone else's celebration), but I am honestly getting sick of it.

When we visit our families, we constantly tiptoe around their feelings. We are very respectful and do everything their way -- Shabbos, kashrut, going to shul, etc.. I get that this is part of their worldview and that their belief system is really strong, but so is ours and I don't see why we don't even get a modicum of respect back.

Jewish Star Interviews Author of "Hush"

2010-12-03T08:38:00.000-08:00

I thought I'd share this since I am a huge fan of this book. Really. It must have taken so much courage to write a book like this, even under a pseudonym. And I know that even in more modern, non-Chassidic circles there is a propensity to brush very serious problems "under the rug."

For some reason, there seems to be a sentiment that the outside world (and perhaps even members of the community, as well) should believe that "such problems don't happen here." Of course such problems - and all problems - happen within Orthodox, Chassidic, every circle. Anything problem that rears its head within the fabric of human society is likely to show up in every community at some point.

In any case, read the interview here.

Festival of Lights

2010-12-01T17:48:00.000-08:00

I've been having a rough few days for personal reasons which I won't go into here, but to say that I found myself all alone in my apartment when it was getting dark tonight and I thought... Chanukah.

So I got my menorah and one of the millions of boxes of Chanukah candles (why is it I seem to collect more of these than anything else in life?) in the closet and lit my menorah.

Then, recalling what my teachers had taught back in the days of day school, I decided not to do any work for half an hour after lighting the candles. Work, this time, I defined as any of the tasks that have had me stressed or even the little things like cleaning.

And I took out a photo album with pictures of my childhood and I sat on the couch with the menorah flickering on the table, and I had what must've been the most relaxing half an hour I've had in weeks.

Happy Chanukah, everyone!

A Very Belated Update (Re: Marriage)

2010-11-24T11:33:00.001-08:00

After receiving an email from the Evolving Jew asking me about it, I realized I never updated this blog with the happenings related to my getting married.

By American law, we are officially married, and have been for a number of months. We never had any ceremony, however -- be it secular or religious. I never did find a way that I could make an Orthodox ceremony work for me, nor did I settle on a non-Orthodox ceremony (really just because it wouldn't make a lick of difference to either of our parents, both sets of whom are Orthodox).

I guess the only reason for our having a ceremony at all is to get our relatives to acknowledge the fact that we're married, which nobody really has. When we visit our families, we stay in separate houses (pretty crazy considering the fact that we are very much adults AND we live together, whether or not they want to acknowledge the validity of a secular marriage). We are super respectful of their traditions when around them and sometimes I just wish that the respect came the other direction, as well.

Since we wouldn't really be having the ceremony for ourselves (we both see ceremony as unnecessary and not something particularly appealing), having anything other than an Orthodox ceremony would be ineffectual, since neither of our parents would recognize it as anything worthwhile. And I cannot and will not just swallow the issues that I have with Orthodox marriage to make other people (even my family) happy.

Chasidim and Sex: Two Questions

2010-11-21T23:11:00.000-08:00

This is probably the most risque post I've ever written on this blog. Sex is not usually a topic I cover, but I've been reading this book, Hush by Eishes Chayil (pen name, obviously), and it's raised two questions for me.

#1 - The protagonist is told by her kallah teacher that, prior to sex, she should pull her nightgown up to just above her stomach but no higher than that. I always thought that, halachically, a man and woman are required to have nothing (no articles of clothing) between them when they have sex. Granted, I've never been to a kallah class, but I'm pretty sure this is what was taught in high school/seminary Taharat Hamishpacha class and it's why I always scoffed at the "hole in the sheet" myth -- saying such a thing was actually against halacha. So is it? Or isn't it?

#2 - The protagonist doesn't find out what she is expected to do in the bedroom (i.e., the technicalities of how babies are made) until well into her kallah classes. And then her friend says that the grooms don't find out until the day of the wedding. This can't be accurate? Can this be accurate?

I would usually dismiss all of these things as a lack of knowledge on a well-meaning author's part, but the back of the book claims that this author was raised in the Chasidic world... so she would know, right?

Thanks in advance for answers you may have. My curiosity is really getting the better of me right now. And btw, for anyone's who wants to know, I HIGHLY recommend this book. It is well-written, really sad (in what feels like an important way), and really interesting.

Lately

2010-11-10T13:20:00.000-08:00

A strange thing has been happening in my brain. I know I want to find some sort of Jewish community that I feel I fit into. But whenever I find myself with time to explore an option, I opt out of going.

An example: last Friday night I found myself with nothing to do. Now, there's a Renewal synagogue not far from where I live that has Friday night services and a kiddush. Pretty opportune, huh? And yet, I stayed home and watched a movie.

Of course, afterward, I always feel like I should have gone.

I'm not sure if the reticence is coming from fear or laziness or some combination of the two. But it's definitely not productive, that I know for sure.

Homesick for Tradition

2010-10-12T09:52:00.000-07:00

"It feels like Friday but it's only Wednesday," you tell the barista, explaining why it's been that kind of week, or why you seem the way you seem.

But the truth is, it smells like Sukkot outside and all you can think about is the way the moon used to look through the cracks in the bamboo roof and bundling yourself up in a coat while eating chicken soup slowly, spoonful by spoonful.

It's Sukkot again and you're not in the sukkah again and in your mind there's the glow of blue and yellow canvas from the kitchen window and the sound of voices in the backyard.

I wrote this while sitting in a coffee shop the first night of Sukkot this year. To me, it illustrates the way in which I have a tendency to equate Orthodox Jewish tradition with my childhood experience and the way in which I actually become homesick for it.

Granted, there is absolutely no reason why I couldn't have been sitting in a sukkah instead of a coffee shop that night, except that I wasn't listening to myself, to what I really wanted, and so I didn't make the appropriate plans or do the appropriate research.

Something about Sukkot brings it home more clearly than other holidays for me: how there is an essential component that is missing from my life that Orthodox Judaism once provided for me. I know I have to find a viable replacement and soon. I've had many suggestions of the Reconstructionist and/or Renewal branches of Judaism and I may just try one or both of those out soon to see how they do or don't fill that need.

Jewish Agnostics

2010-10-05T08:56:00.000-07:00

This article made me smile.

Some choice quotes:

Please don’t tell me that the survey allows people to “self-identify” as Jewish or agnostic, and thus isn’t actually imposing anything as much as letting respondents slide into whatever slot they freely choose. If I were lucky enough to have been asked to take their test (and I keep hoping someone will give me a test like that, but no one ever does), it would have been up to me to decide which is MORE true, that I’m Jewish or that I’m an atheist/agnostic

and

Jewish does not mean “those people who believe in (a Jewish) God.” If any religious definition pertains, it’s the old one: Jews are people who believe in one God AT MOST; or Jews are the people who don’t go to synagogue (as opposed to other people, who don’t go to church); or Jews are those people who have a mother who says she’s a Jew. Who are you, Pew Forum, to tell me that Jews aren’t (often, in sizable numbers, famously, proudly) atheists/agnostics? Or that atheists/agnostics aren’t (often, in sizable numbers, famously, proudly) Jews?

Working on Yom Tov

2010-09-27T11:54:00.000-07:00

I never did it. When I was going through my major crisis of faith a few years ago, I (ironically?) worked for a Jewish company which gave off for all the Yom Tovim.

After that, I moved across the country and was not working for just under a year.

This year, I took off for Pesach, Shavuot, and Rosh Hashanah. But when it came to Sukkot, I found that I didn't have enough vacation days and would have to either take days unpaid (something not necessarily smiled upon by the management of my company) or work.

I chose the latter. And I'll say this: it did not feel good.

I was a little bit overemotional maybe, yes, but the whole way to work on the first day, I felt like crying.

Maybe it's because Sukkot is, hands-down, my favorite holiday (of all holidays, not only Jewish ones). But it just felt so empty... and I kept thinking of my parents' sukkah in their backyard and the way all of our neighbors would be outside at the same time eating... and how I had made a series of choices that led away from that.

I started this blog in my late 20s (28, I think?). I am 31 now. In between that time, I became less and then more and then a lot less Orthodox (or Orthoprax, or whatever you want to call it).

But I'm starting to feel like I went too far again. My instinct is to gravitate back toward Orthodoxy again, but I'm not sure that's the right move. After all, there are concrete and good reasons why I left it. Comments on my last post suggested that I should try to become part of a non-Orthodox community and maybe that really is the way to go. I'm not sure why I have such resistance to it in my brain...

What I do know is that these pulls away from and toward Orthodoxy/Judaism/traditionalism seem to be a pattern in my life.

I'm not sure there's ever a point at which anyone "grows up" in the way that I understood that concept as a child. I always thought that at some point in my life, everything would just kind of congeal and I'd be that way (whatever it was) for The Rest of My Life. But if, at 31, I'm still having these major fluctuations in the way I feel and the things that seem most right for me, I'm guessing that this may just be something that doesn't really ever end.

Non-Traditional Yom Kippur: The Run Down

2010-09-21T09:01:00.001-07:00

I wish I could say that everything turned out the way I planned it to.
But then (to wax philosophical) nothing ever really turns out the way people plan, does it?

In any case, for logistical reasons that I won't go into here, the camping part of my Yom Kippur plan didn't happen. The night of Yom Kippur, I stayed home, read a book (nothing particularly earth shattering), and yes, I ate a little bit.

But early on the morning of Yom Kippur, I got in a car, and drove about 2 hours to go hiking in a beautiful mountain/forest area.

The hike itself was incredible, especially because I hadn't been hiking in so long. The leaves were already changing colors and the sky was completely clear and my mind was able to do that contemplative, almost meditative thing that I had anticipated it would.

I kept in mind during the hike that it was Yom Kippur that day and it did alter the experience to feel more like self-growth and to keep my mind somewhat focused on the year behind me and the year ahead of me. I will say that on a personal level, it was much more meaningful than anything I've ever experienced on Yom Kippur in shul (or, more likely, lying on the couch, feeling weak, and counting the hours until I could eat again).

That said, I did find myself feeling guilty at times. Not on the hike itself, but while on the way there (i.e., while driving), in the morning while getting ready to leave, and even a little bit on the way back.

I wish this wouldn't have been the case, but it was. Somewhere in my brain, there was this little voice that kept saying, "But it's Yom Kippur!" At these times, I felt more guilty than I ever had while sneaking snacks at my parents' house on Yom Kippur. Or maybe I really just felt weird about it? I'm not sure...

I think, if I'm completely honest with myself, there's a not-so-small part of me that lives somewhere in my conscience that is still Orthodox, has an Orthodox mentality, and judges myself based on those standards that I once learned. This is the part of me that was not okay with my non-traditional Yom Kippur. It's also the part of me that every once in a while looks at my life despairingly because I haven't kept Shabbos in so long.

But if Yom Kippur is a time of self-realization, then I suppose it's useful to at least acknowledge this part of who I am. How long it will continue to exist, I'm not sure. But I do know that it's as real a part of me as the woman who decided that a non-traditional Yom Kippur was more relevant to her life and experienced that sense of peace while hiking.

A Different Kind of Yom Kippur

2010-09-16T10:05:00.000-07:00

This year, for the first time in my non-Orthodox life, I will not be spending Yom Kippur at my parents' house. Every other year, if I decided not to fast, it meant sneaking a little bit of granola here or there, sipping some water when no one was looking, but otherwise going to shul or at least sleeping and reading.

When I thought about what I wanted to do for Yom Kippur, the answer wasn't immediately obvious. I did take off for Rosh Hashana this year and had a semi-traditional celebration of it -- went to (an Orthodox!) shul, heard the shofar, ate apples/challah and honey.

But I love Rosh Hashana and somehow that kind of celebration felt appropriate, like my autumn would feel empty without it.

Yom Kippur, on the other hand, I do not love. In my head, the words "Yom Kippur" conjure up the image of sitting in a sea of white, my stomach growling, flipping through the pages and counting to see how many we had left. It also elicits the image of lying on the couch, nauseous and dizzy, crying, to weak to even stand; and (frequently) actually vomiting.

A (non Jewish) friend of mine invited me to a party - a barbecue! - on Saturday. When I realized that it was Yom Kippur, I struggled for a little bit with whether or not to accept. Why not? I kept thinking, I want to go! It sounds like fun! But something kept holding me back. A party?! A barbecue on Yom Kippur? It felt wrong. I'm still not sure why I'd have a conscience about these things, but apparently I do.

So I said no. Or rather, I said I'd come after the fast was over.

But I still didn't know what I'd do with the day. Sit around and watch videos? Read books? It all sounded so uninteresting.

And then I came up with an idea. It may seem equally as wrong as going to a party to some people. But to me it feels right. I am going to go camping and hiking.

Why these? I thought about what Yom Kippur is supposed to mean, from my understanding of it and I came up with this -- it's a holiday about becoming purified, becoming closer to God, and ultimately, self-growth.

I don't know what God is anymore, whether or not God even exists, but I do know that the closest to "spiritual" I feel is when I am out in nature, stripped of all the excess technologies that have come to signify life these days. This is intrinsically linked to how I see myself at my most pure - in the quiet of nature, away from my everyday life, thinking about what it means to live and what it means to be me.

It will also be a significant step in a direction of literal healing for me, as a few months ago, I was pretty badly injured, and this will be my first hike since then.

And yes, I will certainly be eating and drinking. But the eating and drinking will be a hiking version of eating and drinking, which is to say that it will be functional, not recreational. Somehow to me that's still an important distinction.

I will report back in a week or so on what it felt like.

Casualties of the System

2010-08-18T14:55:00.001-07:00

I'll start this with a disclaimer. There are casualties in every system; this I know. There are casualties of democracy, casualties of liberalism, casualties of capitalism. Systems are never and can never be one size fits all, even if each system's proponents persistently characterize them as that way.

And so maybe it's just that I was brought up an Orthodox Jew (modern), that most of the people I know are still Orthodox, that makes it seem like Orthodox Judaism has a relatively high casualty rate. I'm willing to accept that as a very good possibility.

That said, it makes it no less heartbreaking to witness these casualties.

Recently, I found out about a girl with whom I grew up. She's 30, has 6kids, and her husband walked out on her because he no longer wants to be religious.

I think of this girl - really intelligent, the kind of girl who was always top of her class in school, and always very much the "straight-and-narrow" kind of girl. You know those people I'm talking about? They're brilliant, but they're not ones to question or bend the system. So this girl who attended schools and seminaries that told her that her purpose in life was to get married young, have children and be supportive of her husband's learning enterprises did just those things.

Book smart and great at school though she was, this girl did not move on toward any larger higher education goals. And because she started to have children so young, she did not cultivate any kind of career.

Now she is alone to take care of 6 children without what is supposed to be the cornerstone of her life - her husband. I hope that he will pay his alimony, but as those acquainted with the system know, that's rarely enough to support a family, especially when yeshiva tuition and Orthodox needs come into the picture.

Mind you, it seems to me that the husband is a casualty of the system, too. He was so miserable that he made this drastic decision, why? Likely because he too was pushed to get married far too young, before he was able to make proper, independent evaluations of how he wanted to live his life.

The whole thing just makes me so upset. As do so many other "casualty" situations - friend of mine that are still single and writhing in loneliness/sexual frustration in their 30s; divorcees still waiting for their gets; children whose (otherwise amazing) parents prioritize Judaism over what their kids really need; I could go on and on.

There's nothing much to say about this, except that it makes me alternately sad and angry, depending on the day and the incident.

The Things that We Can't Leave Behind

2010-07-29T09:16:00.001-07:00

By pretty much any definition, I am no longer an Orthodox Jew. I use electricity on Shabbos and I don't eat only kosher food. Growing up, these were the two things that to my mind were the "make or break" of whether or not someone was Orthodox. You could wear un-tzius clothing, not even know what shomer negiah meant, and never go to shul, but as long as you wouldn't dream of turning on the lights on a Saturday or ordering something to eat in a non-kosher restaurant, you were good.*

*(There were some exceptions to this. Many of the people I knew who I considered Orthodox would eat at non-kosher restaurants but only dairy/only vegetarian. I don't know if this still goes in the Orthodox world, though.)

It's been quite a while since I haven't fit that definition. But oddly enough, I can't just let go of it. What I mean by that: there are certain rituals I hang on to even though they make absolutely no sense at all with the rest of my life. Top of the list? Most certainly, the kosher kitchen.

Now I can give it logical reasons it all I want by saying that it allows me to have kosher-keeping guests over. But here's the thing: that's not entirely true. Because even if I was never to have kosher-keeping guests over, there's a part of me that feels wrong and uncomfortable not having a kosher kitchen regardless. (And let's be fair, many kosher-keeping people won't eat at my house anyway since I'm not Shomer Shabbat.)

And let me be frank. It's really inconvenient to keep a kosher kitchen for me. Most of my friends where I live now do not keep kosher (are not even Jewish) and are always trying to give me food to bring home and/or asking if they can bring something over when invited. It's frustrating and annoying to always have to say no. And since I don't live in an area with a large Orthodox population, it's also annoying to have to drive 40 minutes to buy kosher meat (and way more expensive!).

But I can't let go of it. And it's not just me.

I know lots of people like me who have "gone off the derech" and so many of us seem to have our "thing." For some, it's as minimal as putting mezuzahs up in their houses (I do that too), for some as extreme as putting on tefillin every day. Whatever it is, those of us who do such things just can't let go of them, even though they make life more inconvenient, uncomfortable, etc.

So what is it? What's makes it so that there's some things that we just can't leave behind?

I think, for me, because I was raised with such a strong definition of Right and Wrong ("Right" being Orthodox, in this instance), that there's some deeply embedded part of my psyche that cannot accept myself as non-Orthodox, that is deeply disappointed in myself, even as I don't believe in it anymore. And that part of me somehow defines the kosher kitchen as the final frontier.

There's a level of grief involved in not growing up to be who you thought you would be. Even if who you thought you would be is someone you would never, ever want to be anymore. And the kosher kitchen somehow keeps that grief at bay, at least for the most part.

What about Devorah?!

2010-06-24T12:51:00.000-07:00

On the comments for Frum Satire's post that I discussed in my previous post, on the issue of female leadership being against Halacha more generally, one person asks, "What about Devorah?"

So what about Devorah?

How does her presence in Tanach not present a huge problem for poskim who say women can't be in leadership positions, women can't be rabbis, women can't be witnesses (and certainly not judges!)?

Devorah's position as a shofet (i.e., a judge) made her responsible for applying (and thus interpreting, because the former really necessitates the latter) the laws of the Torah to specific cases in Israel. This is certainly a position of leadership.

With this as a precedent, how can anyone said its halachically forbidden?

Female Presidents at MO Shuls?

2010-06-23T15:18:00.000-07:00

This post on Frum Satire's blog really intrigued me. He says:

Dov Bear has a post about a shul in Syracuse (I know the rabbis kids from yeshiva, and have davened there many times) that is being kicked out of the NCYI National Council of Young Israel, because it has a woman president. I always thought that Young Israel was supposed to be “modern” orthodox, yet they have such a rule on the books. Can anyone really say it’s wrong to have a woman as shul president? It just sounds like another rule to prevent women from being leaders in orthodoxy. Although I doubt having the ability to get up at shul and announce the times for mincha that week would be justified as being a leader.

Anyone know if this is true? And why on earth it would be inappropriate to have a woman as a president of an MO (or even an O) shul?

I never even really thought about this as an issue. I just never even considered it. But while I would expect the hoopla over a female rabbi (I didn't even think I'd see such a daring move in my lifetime), this type of reaction over a female president doesn't make sense to me at all.

The "President" position of a shul is certainly a secular invention.... so what's the big deal? And then, when I think about the larger Orthodox organizations, it seems that none of them have women in leadership positions unless its a woman's organization (Am I right about this? I might not be).

Sexism within religion is more justifiable, I guess (I don't really think so, but all I'm saying is that people can claim that this is how "God" or "the rabbis" wanted it...and it's hard to disagree with a God who doesn't [seem to?] communicate back or with people who are long dead), but I don't see how sexism within the secular aspect of the culture can be justified. Especially when there are so many highly educated, highly accomplished women.

Follow-Up Question: Is Saying Tehillim for the Sick a Gender-Specific Activity?

2010-05-11T08:53:00.000-07:00

I ask this only because it seems like it's always women organizing to say Tehillim, saying Tehillim, etc.

But maybe that's just the people I know?

Does anyone else know if this is the case? And if so, why? It seems like this would be equally within the male & female domain..

Things that Amaze Me: The Belief in the Power of Tehillim

2010-05-09T15:26:00.000-07:00

Recently, a girl with whom I went to seminary (10+ years ago) was diagnosed with a bad illness. This made me feel really bad (for her, her kids, her husband, her family) and sad because she is truly a great person.

But what amazed me (and what amazes me in other situations) is the barrage of Facebook messages that I got (and status updates that I saw) asking people to commit to saying a number of Tehillim on her behalf.

I guess I shouldn't be so amazed. Once, a long time ago, when I was 13, and I found out that my grandfather had had a stroke, I sat on the couch in our living room reading perek after perek of Tehillim, trying really hard to focus, to concentrate so that maybe God would do something to reverse this.

But it's been a really long time since I was 13. And I can't imagine that even if I was religious now, I would believe that reading prakim of Tehillim had some sort of power to heal the sick.

Because that's what it is, right? There's this pervasive belief that these words have some deep seated power (over God?) to heal... Thus the rush to get enough people to say them so that maybe it'll do something.

And I understand the impulse or the desire to believe this completely. There's nothing worse than feeling like someone you care about is sick or dying and there's nothing you can do. This gives people a feeling of power over the situation, like they're doing something to help. That doesn't minimize my amazement, still, at how deeply people believe.

Anyway, related to this, here's my quandary. I've been asked to commit to say p'rakim of Tehillim on this girl's behalf. I obviously care very much about her, want her to know that I'm thinking of her, etc. But it feels hypocritical and rather silly to say Tehillim for her, because I don't believe it has any effect at all...

That said, it clearly means something to this girl... and it's not like it would hurt me to say it...

Not really sure how to respond.

Thing That Makes Me Nauseous #1: Jewish Femininity Books

2010-04-21T11:00:00.000-07:00

Especially: Gila Manolson

...but I've read lots of them, mostly for theoretical papers in graduate school.

It's cool if you want to feel that way about being a woman in Judaism. If you want to feel empowered by a "return to femininity" and being modest, etc.. But really?! Why do we need to tell other women that this is how they ARE instrinsically because they are women and to deny it is to deny some essential piece of themselves.

I remember being in seminary and listening to teachers tell the class the exact sentiment I expressed above. And all I remember thinking is: okay, but what if I don't feel that way? Does that mean there's something wrong with me? Maybe there's something wrong with me...

Society does it enough anyway implicitly. We're made to feel somewhat lacking or weird if we don't want to have a pretty white wedding/go shopping a lot/get manicures and pedicures/have babies. OJ society also does it implicitly in its own special way. So why the need for these overt statements in books?

Just tells us why we should be shomer negiah, religious, etc. (not that I will, but for those who are interested in being convinced), without reverting to gender stereotypes, please!!

And you can say, well OnHerOwn, then don't go reading those books... (Well, I'm a compulsive researcher/reader, I'll read anything that comes into my reach, but that aside) But people that I know will read them regardless and then come spewing that same stuff out at me in arguments. And it really makes me sick. I do want to not believe that OJ is dependant upon gender stereotypes to survive and/or thrive.

A Non-Traditional Pesach: The Report, A Wee Bit Late

2010-04-14T08:49:00.000-07:00

I ended up at two seders this year, instead of the one as I had originally thought.

Neither seder was Orthodox and one was a lot less traditional than what I'm used to. The former was Conservative/Traditional; the latter involved a hike out into a huge, open field (in imitation of the Exodus) and lots of talk about EcoJudaism (which I appreciate, in theory, though I don't really always see as clear a corrolation to traditional Judaism as proponents of the movement seem to espouse).

After that, I didn't keep kosher for Passover. Sure, I ate some matzah, even a macaroon or two. But I also ate bread and bread-related products.

For me, this was almost a test: what does it feel like if I completely my own ties with Orthodoxy?

It was a pretty extreme move for me, because no matter how un-Orthodox I've been in the past, I've always cleaned my house for Passover, almost always at least made the effort to keep kosher for Passover (I think I'd cheated on that front once or twice), and always gone to Orthodox seders.

And that first bite of bread, to be honest, made me feel a little bit weird. As did the fact that when I got to my kitchen initially, there was chametz all over the place. But the weirdness quickly subsided and, after the first day, it didn't even phase me.

Which isn't to say that I forgot it was Passover. On the contrary, I remembered pretty clearly. And the non-Traditional seders were much more memorable and interesting than any Orthodox seder I've ever been to (though I will not presume that there aren't many Orthodox seders that far surpass those I've been to, in terms of being interesting).

The "Eco-Seder," in particular, was truly fascinating for me. I liked the way that it gave new meaning to the same paragraphs I've read over and over again, year after year. The seder felt fresh and new, which was really cool. And there was something particularly awesome about starting the seder out in the outdoors (we moved inside after "Avadim Hayinu").

Plus, the questions, connections, and insights people came up with were really thought-provoking. It felt alive.

This stands in stark contrast to the seders I've had with my family in the past, where my dad/siblings will read the same D'var Torahs written on the bottom of their hagaddot at every seder for years. It never really felt dynamic to me. (Again, this is in no way meant to suggest that all Orthodox seders are similarly boring.)

Pesach has long been one of my least favorite of the Jewish holidays (second only to fast days) - the seders dragging on for hours when it seems even those "expounding upon" the text aren't even interested in what they're saying, the unpleasantness of eating a matzah & potato starch diet for eight days...

This year, non-traditional though it may have been, I actually enjoyed it.

Two Things (Pesach & Marriage)

2010-03-21T09:00:00.001-07:00

THING 1. I'm not doing Pesach this year.

I thought I wanted to do it. I had the whole idea planned out. And then one morning, I realized that I didn't want to do it. I'm not sure why.

Or, scratch that.

It's not entirely true that I'm not doing Passover. I'm just not doing Passover in the traditional sense, for really the first time in my life.

I am going to a seder. A non-traditional seder. And only one seder.

I can't really explain why this happened and I don't know what more to say about it.

THING 2. For now, I've decided not to do the Jewish wedding.

I can't figure out a way to make it fit with my belief system. And, quite frankly, I don't feel like I should have to compromise my belief system so much for something that directly affects me.

A wedding/marriage is all about me and my spouse. Nobody else. True, other people will get satisfaction from seeing it. But should they really be getting satisfaction from something if it makes me so unhappy? I'm going to say no. I love my parents, I love my family, but on this particular issue, they're going to have to learn to see things from my perspective.

The Old & New Faces of Orthodox Womanhood ...I hope?

2010-02-24T10:31:00.001-08:00

So, this week I read two articles that seemed diametrically opposed to each other.

The first was about an agunah who was finally freed after 48 years from her "chained" status by her former husband's death at the age of 73. See the full article here.

The second was about the first ordination of a female Orthodox rabbi. (Okay, fine, "rabbah.")

The optimist in me would like to think that this is the beginning of a long path on which Orthodoxy will eventually give women equal status to men. If this is true, these stories might be seen as representative of the old and new faces of Orthodox womanhood, respectively.

Of course, there are still limitations. Rabbah Hurwitz can't serve as a witness (something I find seriously offensive to my morals) and she won't be counted in a minyan. In all probability, she probably also will never be a pulpit rabbi. After all, as someone has commented, "Where would she sit?" and "What Orthodox shul would hire a female rabbi?"

Again, I want to be optimistic and say that even these inequalities will be ironed out in the years to come. Maybe not in this generation, maybe not in the next, but certainly at some time in the future.

That said, there really does appear to be a severe backlash. After all, the RCA are calling Rabbi Avi Weiss (the rabbi who ordained Rabbah Hurwitz) before their disciplinary board over the ordination. And there are rumors that they are considering kicking him out -- a move that, for many Orthodox Jews, is tantamount to calling his status as Orthodox into question.

And let's not forget that, even with all of the public outcry and publicity that the agunah issue has had over the last few years, the issue is still far from being resolved. Indeed, as the first article mentions, a 2006 international convention to discuss the issue was called off by Israel's chief rabbi only five days before it was slated to begin. This is widely believed to be due to pressure from the Ultra-Orthodox community.

But if the Ultra-Orthodox community can't stand behind an issue so widely understood as problematic as the agunah issue, can we really expect them to legitimize Rabbi Hurwitz's ordination? I'm inclined to say no.

Increasingly, this appears to me to be the very beginning of yet another break in Judaism between the RW and LW Orthodox -- one which might very well become the start of a new movement that is no longer called "Orthodox."

Still, the optimist in me can hope, right?

Here's to a filtering through of Orthofeminism...

When Real Life Sounds Like Satire

2010-02-19T09:38:00.000-08:00

I just stumbled upon this JPost article:

"Personal mehitzas" marketed for haredim
by Adir Glick

Hareidi airline passengers are being advised to hang a new type of mehitza - a halachic barrier to separate the sexes - around the top of their airplane seats, to shield their eyes from immodest neighbors and in-flight movies.

The Rabbinical Council for Public Transportation, which is also representing the haredi community on the issue of gender-segregated "mehadrin" buses, is now placing advertisements in haredi newspapers encouraging the community to purchase the traveler mehitzas (more here).

Of course, this is only a product being marketed right now... no indication that it will ever catch on or that it will become standard. But still? A traveling mechitza? I mean, how is it that Judaism has come to this. There really must be better directions for innovative and creative people to focus their energy.

What got me most about this article, though, was the part of it that is already an institution. There's actually a Rabbinical Council for Public Transportation? That really exists? That, for sure, sounds like something you'd see in the Onion as a complete joke. But no, it's real! And more than a little disturbing if you ask me...

Haloscan mess

2010-02-08T09:14:00.000-08:00

Anyone know how to import my comments back to the blogger format?

I've got this running so that new comments are in Blogger rather than Haloscan/Echo and I have my old comments from Haloscan backed up, but I don't know how to put them back into Blogger.

My Problem with Orthodox Marriage (OrthoWeddings, part II)

2010-01-24T15:50:00.001-08:00

First, just want to thank everyone who left comments with ideas about feminist Orthodox weddings.

I've (obviously) been thinking a lot about the issue and here's what I've come to.

I had serious issues with the actual wedding part of the Orthodox wedding. What I mean by that: I don't really like a lot of the symbolic (unnecessary) rituals -- i.e., the bedekin, the walking around 7 times, etc. -- but my real problem with being the bride in an Orthodox wedding is that I don't agree with the actual dynamics of marriage within Orthodox Judaism.

Here's what I mean:

From the way I understand it, if I was the bride in an Orthodox ceremony, I would be "acquired" by my husband and would be promising to be faithful to him whereas he is not doing the same thing with me.

He says, "Harei at m'kudeshet li?" (Will you be consecrated unto me?) But I never say the same thing back to him because in Orthodox Judaism, a husband's faithfulness is not given the same weight as a wife's. I really, really don't like that and I don't think our relationship fits within that model.

Now I know that maybe I should just be able to swallow this for the sake of making my (and his) parents happy, but then again, I feel like this belief system that I have (and I recognize that it is a belief system) is just as central to the way I see the world as Orthodox Judaism is to the way my and his parents see the world.

A lot of my friends seem to think I'm being silly, but I really feel like taking part in such a ceremony is compromising myself.

I know Conservative Judaism has a much more egalitarian ceremony with a brit ben ahuvim, etc.. PLEASE tell me that something of the sort exists in Orthodox Judaism that I don't know about? Or that there's a way to change the above issues while staying within the confines of halacha?

Actual Problem (Orthodox Weddings)

2010-01-15T09:21:00.001-08:00

My parents and my boyfriend's parents want us to have a Jewish (read: Orthodox) wedding. (We recently got legally married, so I guess he's technically not my boyfriend anymore, but whatever.)

I know it would mean a lot to them (and, in fact, I know they would never consider us married until we had one) but I really, really don't want one. I've written a lot about my issues with Orthodox weddings (in respect to myself; if someone else wants one and has one, I will gladly attend, and be happy for their happiness). See my older posts -- here, here, and here.

It just seems really anti-feminist to me and whenever I think of myself as the bride in an Orthodox wedding, I feel sick. But knowing how much it means to my parents, I feel bad not having one at all.

Anyone know of any ways to make an Orthodox wedding fit my feminist ideas while still keeping it Orthodox? PLEASE HELP!!

Understanding My Connection with Religion

2010-01-10T12:33:00.000-08:00

Above all, I have found that this is true:

When I am living in a city in which there are fewer Jews, I feel more connected to my Judaism. (And vice versa.)

My family, some of my friends, etc., always seem concerned about a lack of Orthodox Jewish life in places where I have lived. But time and again, I find myself feeling alienated when living in/near those big Orthodox communities. Whereas when there's an absence, I am constantly looking to be more connected.

Maybe I'm just a contrarian. Not sure. But it's a truth in my life nonetheless.

Jewish Education: Time for a New Approach?

2009-12-28T13:56:00.001-08:00

A few weeks ago, I was talking to a friend of mine who recently became a baal tshuva. I've known this guy since we were in middle school and I've never known him to be religious. He was always very spiritual, mind you, but also always turned off by Orthodoxy as he understood it.

This latest move in his life was due to his encounter with a more spiritual, musical, joyous version of Orthodoxy, of which he now considers himself a part. (Won't specify, so as not to give away any identifiying information.)

Anyway, we ended up having this whole conversation about why he only found religion now, in his late 20s, after so many years of looking for something. From his perspective, much of the blame goes to the Jewish education system. To him, the approach our school took to Jewish education turned him away from Judaism.

On my part, I can't blame my school for my current status as an "off-the-derech" adult. The reasons I don't believe and don't practice in an Orthodox way have more to do with the fact that I have serious intellectual (and a few moral) issues with Orthodoxy.

That said, I see my friend's point. So many of my other OTD friends, it seems, were turned off by the approach their Jewish day schools took in teaching them Judaism. (I know someone who feels sick just stepping inside a black hat-type environment because it reminds him of being forced to learn gemarah till the late hours of the night.)

By the approach the schools take, I mean that they make Judaism into a dry, academic subject that really doesn't have much of a joyous component to it. The tests, the grades, the rote-memorization (After 15+ years, I can still recite the first Rashi in Tanach by heart! WHY?!), the lack of innovation in topics and/or approaches.

And the way I see it, it's completely unnecessary and illogical. People are different from each other, have different strengths, different interests, and different ways they learn. I see serious problems with the way the secular education system is run in our country on this level, as well. But secular education is mandated by the government; Jewish education is not. It can be approached however a school wants to approach it.

For example, why do Jewish schools force all their students to take Chumash, Navi, Gemarah, etc., for hours and hours each day? In theory, they could allow students to approach Judaism in whatever way inspires or interests them. There could be classes in Jewish music (playing, creating, or studying -- whatever appeals), in the Jewish arts (whether that means learning calligraphy in order to become a sofer, designing ketubahs, or just generic art), in practical and everyday Jewish trades (checking for shatnez, kashering/slaughtering, checking mezuzot, etc.), maybe even in Jewish mysticism (although many schools might have problems with this one...).

Orthodox Judaism is a religion whose rules, regulations, and culture permeate every aspect of its adherents' lives. Why are its schools so narrowly focused, so obsessed with making everyone a gemarah/Tanach expert? Not that those subjects shouldn't be studied. They should! And everyone should be taught the rudimentary skills for learning them. But does every single student need to be forced to learn these subjects for hours a day? I say no. Especially when it turns so many people off.

It's not that I stopped caring about the issues...

2009-12-27T14:26:00.000-08:00

...it's that my life got insanely busy.
Oops.
More soon...

But What About the Children?

2009-10-12T18:52:00.000-07:00

On my last post, Rambling Jew commented:

"what will you do when you have children of your own? How will you educate them?"

The question brings up a really complex set of issues which has weighed on me with growing intensity over the last few years.

Of course, I'm still not sure if I want to have children. I've rarely written about my personal (read: love) life here, just because I feel like said topic might reveal my identity to certain people. Suffice it to say that having children is a possibility for me over the next few years.

That road, of course, would open up a pretty messy can of worms. I live my life outside of the bounds of any real Jewish movement. I feel attached to many of the Orthodox rituals and yet find some of the values/philosophies that undergird these rituals problematic for my own worldview (not to mention that I find some of the rituals themselves to be misaligned with my values). At the same time, I am inspired by some of the non-Orthodox movements, but don't really feel comfortable aligning myself with them.

I've already watched this play out for some of my friends. Some have cast aside their own problems with Orthodoxy, embraced the culture as "Orthopraxers," and begun to raise their kids according to the Orthodox way without really bringing up the issue.

For others, the issue seems not as easily resolved. One of my friends, in particular, is currently struggling with whether she should continue to send her nursery-school aged children to day school. It doesn't make sense to her, she says, to spend all that money educating her kids about something she herself doesn't really believe. Still, she says, when she sees the kids that come out of the public schools, it seems (to her) that they don't have a strong value system. Or at least not one that she'd like her kids to have.

For me, the question brings up so many issues:

Of course, should I have kids, I also want them to have a strong system of values that resonate with my own. That's a really hard thing to accomplish, especially when you're bringing said children up in a world that doesn't necessarily agree with those values. Still, if it were only on this level, I don't think I'd have such a problem.

Sure, there are lots of people in the secular world who have values with which I strongly disagree; the same, however, could be said of the Orthodox world. In my nieces' and nephews' schools, for example, gender norms are steeped into every part of the curriculum -- and this is really not what I'd want my children to be taught. Of course, that's a more Ultra-Orthodox world, rather than a Modern Orthodox world. But even the MO world is full of people whose values I strongly disagree with. In my own MO education, some of my teachers espoused their racist, homophobic, and materialistic ideologies pretty consistently.

Mind you, that's not to say that racist/homophobic/materialistic people exist solely within a Modern Orthodox world. Of course not! They exist everywhere, in every corner of society. Nor are these ideologies intrinsic to Modern Orthodoxy. When you come down to the core of the values Judaism espouses, I agree almost all of the time. But at the same time, I see a lot of these values equally espoused in secular society. And, as I mentioned above, the same can be said of negative values.

In the end, I believe that if I choose a good community (i.e., town -- not necessarily Jewish community) with a good school district, and I practice the values that I preach, my children will grow up with a good and solid value system. The tens of thousands of dollars don't seem like a worthwhile investment if it's made for the sake of values alone.

Where the line does start to get murky for me is when I start to think about Jewish tradition. As my posts have reflected, I value my tradition strongly and I'd like to pass that along to any children I might have. But what happens when I don't agree with certain traditions? What happens when there's no school that mirrors what I believe? Do I shell out all those tuition dollars to send my kids to a school that doesn't really reflect my Jewish practices?

It gives me a headache to think about it.

This past Shabbat, I went to a Conservative shul (more on this later, of course!). That weekend, a girl was celebrating her bat mitzvah, was called up to the Torah, etc. There were a lot of positive things I took away from this experience, but one negative for me was seeing how uncomfortable the girl, her friends, and family (who were called up) seemed to be with the Hebrew.

That said, I'm very close friends with a Conservative family in the town to which I've recently moved, and while their kids may not be as comfortable with reading Hebrew as I was during my childhood, Judaism definitely pervades everything that goes on in their home. They do not have a strictly kosher kitchen, do not abide by Orthodox definitions of Shabbat, but they have Shabbat dinner & lunch every week, the holidays are intrinsic to their family life in the same way that they were to my family when I was a child.

Their daughter attended a Jewish school for a while, but is now in public school. That doesn't seem to make her any less excited about going to shul every week, saying brachot, making Sukkah decorations, shaking the lulav, etc..

It's nervewracking territory to venture out into bringing the Judaism you personally believe in into a house without a day school as a support network, but I think it's do-able. If I can bring to my house the enthusiasm that I feel for Jewish traditions and be honest about what I believe and don't believe, maybe that's enough? I'm not sure.

For 15 years (if you include nursery & kindergarten), I went to an MO day school that cost my parents tens of thousands of dollars. I did gain a valuable spectrum of knowledge about Judaism from this (though I'm not sure I can say the same for secular subjects; in high school, at least, the academics at my school were rather pathetic).

With all that education, though, the feelings and attachment I have toward Jewish traditions comes from my parents and my home. So many of the OTD/skeptic friends I have talk about the negativity they feel toward Orthodoxy because of what they experienced in their homes -- their parents screaming and panicking before Shabbos, their being forced to learn and go to/stay in shul in spite of their nature that would have them do otherwise, the emphasis their parents put on the "don't"s, the lack of any excitement in celebrations.

Maybe it was because they were Ba'al Teshuva, maybe it was because of their personalities, I don't know -- but in my house, the emphasis was always on the excitement -- the screaming and panics before Shabbos were minimal or non-existent. For me, growing up, my parents made Judaism feel like something beautiful, something fun, something I wanted to be a part of.

When I got older and became, for intellectual reasons, an agnostic, it was the memories of my parents' practices of Judaism that made me want to stay Jewish in any way at all. When you're dealing with religion and tradition, I really think it's what's in the home that counts more than anything.

I'm still not sure that means I won't send my kids to a Jewish day school. It's something I'll think about when I'm there. But I don't think it's the end-all-and-be-all.

Furthermore, I don't think that Orthodoxy in the home is the only way to raise kids who will feel something for (and continue) their tradition. In fact, if you're Orthodox and don't want to be, your home is more likely to look like the negative OJ home. A positive, inspired, finding-your-own-path Judaism seems like a better, more productive, and more sound way to go.

Mumbling the Words: A Note about Prayer

2009-09-28T23:08:00.000-07:00

When I went to my friend's Christian wedding last year, one of the differences between their wedding service and Orthodox wedding services that I liked was the fact that I could understand everything that was going on because it was in English.

It's this way with almost all Christian services in contemporary times - they're conducted in the language that the majority of congregants speak. There's a great advantage to that - when congregants understand what they're saying, it opens the door for a greater reverance and meaning on their part. They feel like they're actually praying.

Contrary to what you might think, I'm not about to go onto a rant about how Judaism should follow suit. Oddly enough, I kind of like the fact that prayers are in Hebrew. When I've been to (non-Orthodox) Jewish services where parts of the prayers were said in English, it felt inauthentic and cheesy to me.

That said, when I was in (my parents') shul for Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur davening, I couldn't help but get the feeling that 95% of the people in the room didn't understand what they were saying and were, in effect, just mumbling some words that they felt obligated to say. It didn't feel like there was a whole lot of feeling behind the prayer in the room.

Sure, every few minutes the congregation would burst out into song, but even that seemed more about the beauty of the tune than the words they were saying. After davening, in fact, an Israeli friend pointed out that the chazzan had picked a really upbeat, happy tune for a particularly ominous and depressing passage. Often, it feels like people are just as (or more?) enthused to sing the "nay nay nay"s after the words of the prayer are finished as they are the actual prayer.

I'm not sure I really see the point in this type of prayer. I suppose there's a certain amount of desire to be a good Jew involved in just being there (especially on Yom Kippur), but when the prayers themselves have little meaning for those who are praying, what exactly is being accomplished?

I don't know that I really have an answer to this. Maybe if prayers were shortened -- only the most powerful prayers chosen instead of 120+ pages of what seems like all the piyyutim written in the last 2,000 years? Maybe there needs to be more activity involved in the prayers -- people seem to get a lot more out of the "ashamnu, bagadnu," the Rosh Hashanah Aleinu where everyone bows down on the floor, or even Birkat Kohanim. Maybe day schools just need to put more effort into understanding Hebrew and the prayers themselves?

I'm not sure. All I know is that these prayers -- supposed to be the crux and most meaningful part of the holidays -- seem to have lost their resonance with the people saying them.

Case in point: I see way too many people in these minyanim who, like myself, flip to the end of the machzor to see how many pages are left (over and over again).

(Some of) the People Who Go the Other Way

2009-09-13T08:30:00.001-07:00

While I became less (read: not) Orthodox than I was raised to be, all of my siblings took the reverse course. I am the black sheep of my family.

That said, I am happy for my siblings. They seem happy, well-adjusted. And while, of course, the dictates of Ultra-Orthodox Judaism sometimes stress them out, overall they are mentally healthy, of sound mind. I really don't think they were pressured into Ultra-Orthodoxy; I think it made sense to them, that the customs were things that they enjoyed doing, and that they chose it willingly on their own - not because others were doing it. (This doesn't make me less concerned about the choices that my nieces and nephews will probably not have, but that's another story.)

Every once in a while though, I'll cross paths with someone who looks so miserable with the Ultra-Orthdoxy they've chosen, it just makes me want to cry for them.

I was once at a wedding where a girl I barely knew (she was probably about 22 at the time) literally cried to me for half an hour about how she hated wearing her sheitel (she said it pulled her hair out), how she felt like she'd thrown away her life, etc., etc..

More recently, though, on a trip back to my hometown, I bumped into a different girl two times. She didn't open up to me at all, but the misery was all over her face. She's about six years younger than me but looked years older. This was a girl who, in high school, was on every sports team the school offered, was full of energy and excitement about life, was always healthy, smart, tough and independently minded.

As she - I'll call her Rivky - stood before me in her snood, shlumpy clothing covering a slouching and unhealthy looking figure, telling me in a monotone voice about her kids and the yeshiva in which her husband is learning, I got this flashback I'd almost completely forgotten about.

About seven years ago, I was at my parents' house for Shabbat and Rivky's family came over for lunch. The topic inevitably turned to what Rivky would do after graduation.

"She's going to Israel, to [seminary renowned for turning out really, really frum girls]," said her sister, who (like my sisters) had attended said seminary.

"I'm not going to Israel," said Rivky, "I'm going to college! I don't want to get all frummy!"

Then she turned and looked at me.

"Actually, I want to turn out like you,*" she said, "Where'd you go to seminary?"

Well, my seminary no longer existed, but that was beside the point. In truth, my seminary had turned out as many frummy girls as [seminary x] of which her sister was so fond. It wasn't about what seminary you went to, I told her, it was about how much you understood what you wanted out of life and stuck to that. She looked at me doubtfully.

Well, in the end, Rivky went to [seminary x] like her sister said she should and she turned out exactly like her sister and my sisters, just with a lot less joy.

I don't know what will become of her and I hope she's able to feel fulfilled with the life she's chosen. I do hope she doesn't live the rest of her life out miserably because she thinks she has to.

And I do sometimes have a *little bit* of contempt for these seminaries / yeshivot that promote a singular path as the only authentic way to practice Judaism. I would never expect them to promote my version (or more liberal versions) of Judaism, but certainly there are other legitimate practices, there are ways to bend these traditions, so that people can be themselves and live there lives happily, instead of feeling forced into a mold.

*Note: At the time Rivky said this, I was more religious than I am now -- probably close to what would be called Modern Orthodox (but toward the more liberal side of that category).

Wow

2009-08-04T09:42:00.001-07:00

The Jewish Press (!) recently published an article called, "Orthodox Women Clergy?"by Michael J. Broyde, in which the author contends that the times in which we live warrant the Orthodox Movement both training women as clergy and giving them recognition as such.

To be honest, this seems way more radical than anything I expected to see in the Orthodox world during my lifetime. But really, really exciting. Yes, he says that women shouldn't be called "rabbi" because of "reasons ranging from formal authority (serarah) being limited to men, to the title being given only to those who can serve as witnesses or function as chazzanim, to it simply being a matter of tradition," but I still think that it would be a huge step for the movement.

I am ridiculously excited that some in the Orthodox movement recognize that women today are capable of holding and should hold clergy positions (and that, in truth, women already perform the duties that warrant them being labeled as clergy). And that this is true to the effect that an Orthodox newspaper like the Jewish Press is willing to publish an editorial to that effect!

This is a huge step from the (Modern Orthodox) world in which I was raised where, a mere 15 years ago, my school gave the girls cooking, sewing, and typing classes while the boys took gemarah and mishnah.

The Three Weeks/Nine Days and Jewish Superstition

2009-07-26T11:44:00.001-07:00

When I was in middle school, my doctor told me I needed a relatively complicated surgery. As a 13-year-old girl, this seemed like the end of the world.

I was sure something terrible would happen; and yet, the doctors assured me and my parents that if I didn't have the surgery, something terrible would happen. Catch 22.

After we exhausted all other options, my parents had decided that surgery was a must. And, of course, since they didn't want me to miss any school, they insisted upon a summer surgery.

But when the nurse opened the big book of summer surgery dates, the only available options were during the three weeks.

"But it's the three weeks!" my parents said to each other, alarmed - which, in the process, alarmed me even more.

Well, it was one of those dates or during the fall, said the nurse. And she didn't recommend waiting for the fall (more because of my medical condition than the school year).

So from the doctor's phone in the waiting room (people didn't have cell phones in those days), they called our rabbi. Thankfully (in retrospect), the rabbi said it was fine to have the surgery during the three weeks if need be. And so we scheduled the date.

As a child schooled in the terrible details of everything that had happened during the three weeks, I was now completely terrified. The surgery was sure to be a failure in some way. As I researched and read the details of what could go wrong in the surgery, I became increasingly convinced that I would die on the operating table or else come out paralyzed.

Well, lo and behold, although the surgery did have some slight complications, everything went fine -- the medical problem was resolved and by the next fall, I had completely recovered and was back in the school hallways with my friends.

Alongside all the teachings during my childhood about the high likelihood of tragedy during the three weeks/nine days, I was also taught this one magic phrase: "In Judaism, we do not believe in superstition."

This was something to be proud of, I was told. "We are not superstitious, not superstitious, don't believe in those superstitions, etc., etc., etc."

What's funny is, many Orthodox Jews I know really believe that they are not superstitious. Really. Even with all the talk of the nine days, three weeks -- to say nothing of the "b'li ayin hara"s, "poo poo poo"s, and hamsas.

Yes, Tisha B'Av commemorates a lot of terrible events to have befallen the Jewish people. Yes, some of those events (not all!) are believed or known to have happened during the three weeks/nine days. But let's not kid ourselves; there are lots and lots of terrible things that have happened (to the Jewish people as a whole and to individual Jews) during the rest of the year, as well.

If we want to say we will not go on a rafting trip during the nine days because said period is a time of mourning and rafting is fun, I can hear that argument (although I don't follow that line of thinking). But to say, we will not go on a rafting trip because rafting is dangerous and it's the 9 days and something will happen (I've heard many such arguments) is definitely superstitious and borders on absurd.

People should live how they want to live - sure. I would never get up and tell any Orthodox person that they are wrong not to do something they deem dangerous on the 9 days.

But it seems more than disingenuous to me to live life that way and then claim that they're not being superstitious.

A Kosher Kitchen: the ways in which I surprise myself with my traditionalism

2009-07-08T19:33:00.001-07:00

So when I lived in [unnamed big city with large Jewish population], I always kept a kosher kitchen. I ate in non-kosher restaurants, it's true, but I felt compelled to keep kosher at home nonetheless.

This seemed like a very reasonable decision to me. After all, many of my friends and most of my family lived nearby and kept kosher, and I wanted them to be able to eat at my apartment.

Also, in said area, kosher food -- both in the supermarket and take-out -- was really easy to come by.

Well, in [small city with very small observant Jewish population], kosher food is not quite as easy to find. There's *some* kosher meat (frozen) and other frozen kosher products in the supermarket, and there's a(n expensive) kosher store about half an hour away, but that's about it.

And since I'm still looking for a job here (in this economy!), I'm not exactly "rollin' in the dough" at the moment. So, as a trial, while I've been living in a sublet (for a month), without my dishes (which are currently at my parents' house and which I plan on bringing out here when I move into my permanent apartment next month), I've stopped keeping a kosher kitchen. I have a few cheap cooking implements that I got at Target, and that's what I've been using for the meanwhile.

In a lot of ways, this has been fun. All those products on the shelves that were off limits just for years? Into my refrigerator or oven they go! It's definitely also a lot cheaper.

As the prospect of moving into the more permanent apartment approaches, I found myself considering whether or not it was necessary for me to even have a kosher kitchen at all. I mean, the people I've met here don't know me for very long, so it wouldn't be awkward to tell kosher-keeping folk that I have a non-kosher kitchen. Nor do I have a whole lot of friends out here who won't eat out non-kosher. And I certainly don't have to worry about family coming over all that often. (If they did, I could theoretically kasher my kitchen for that time period.)

But for some reason, the answer I keep coming back with is that, yes, I must have a kosher kitchen. That this was a fun few weeks, but when it comes down to it, I can't see myself really living in any permanent way, in a non-kosher home.

I don't really know why this is the case. It seems silly (and expensive) in a lot of ways. But somehow, inexplicably, the kosher kitchen, more than any other staple of Jewish life, seems like a connection to where I come from that I can't sever.

Perhaps, in some ways, I'm more traditional than I thought.

The new living situation, so far

2009-05-17T08:14:00.000-07:00

So, as I said in the previous post, I've moved to a place where the Jewish community is much more open-minded, much more progressive, etc..

The first Shabbat I spent here was awesome. I went to a (really small) Chabad. In the middle of davening, they took time to read a section of the parsha out loud in English. What was really cool about this is that they moved the mechitzah, and invited the women to come sit by the table in what had been the men's section so that we were a part of things, too.

Now while I've been to a lot of open-minded Chabads, I found this to be way more progressive than any Chabad experience I had thus far.

After that and after davening was over, I got invited back to this young family's house for a really awesome lunch. The family themselves were probably Conservative-ish in practice level, but what's been so interesting here is seeing the way that it just doesn't matter. The wife was super-spiritual, telling me about all these Jewish women's activities that go on here, but not really Shomer Shabbat. (They did ask me to make sure their kashrut level was okay for me before inviting me back.) At the same time, she was best friends with the rebbetzin of one of the Orthodox shuls (there are three, if you include Chabad).

From what I've seen so far, the Jewish community here is really, actually that: a community. Sure, there are a bunch of different shuls - each which practices mostly according to one branch of Judaism. But everyone hangs out together! This Shabbat, they had a community dinner, which people from all of the different "denominations" (it feels almost silly here, to use that word; I almost want to substitute it with "viewpoints" or just simply "synagogues") attended.

There aren't an abundance of kosher restaurants, it's true. (Although for me, at this point, that's not really an issue.) But there's kosher meat in the stores (I do still have a kosher kitchen) and a really large support network who don't seem judgmental at all.

When I lived in a really large Jewish community, I felt alienated from it all -- really, almost, like I wasn't Jewish at all. I'm not going to jump and say that this will definitely be better; I have, after all, only been here for two weeks. But, right now, it really feels like it might be.

Quick Update

2009-05-09T23:47:00.000-07:00

I've been bad at updating lately, but this time I have an excuse!

I moved!

...to a place that seems to have a much more promising brand of Judaism (i.e., less separations between denominations, less stress on the externals, more willingness to be progressive, even among the Orthodox!).

This is, obviously, very exciting for me. I will update this more frequently with everything that's been going on.

Being the Anomaly

2009-03-15T21:51:00.000-07:00

Fortunately (perhaps!) for my parents, not all of their spawn turned out to be quite the skeptic that I am.

In fact, all of my siblings became even more "observant" than we were raised to be (and more frum than my parents are now), which has made for some interesting table talk between me & said siblings/siblings' spouses.

But the wide gulf separating me and my siblings has never been quite so glaring as now, when their children are becoming old enough to become aware of said gap.

Today, I was informed by my three-year-old niece that I was still a "little girl" because I wasn't an "Ima." This is perhaps not as funny (can I call it that?) as my five-year-old nephew asking me why I was wearing pants if "only boys wear pants." He then proceeded to ask me if I was Jewish! (Probably the only explanation he could come up with for my outfit of choice.)

Of course, these are children -- and children, it's true, tend to think in absolutes. But my siblings are certainly encouraging those absolutes in the way they're raising their kids. Which makes my position all the more interesting. I am the one person in these kids' lives with whom they will have constant contact over the years who does not fit neatly into the way their parents want them to see the world.

Now my siblings wouldn't cut off contact with me (I think). But I do present this problem that requires an explanation. And in that way, my presence opens up the door to the potential of questioning the absolutes of Orthodox Judaism very early on in their lives.

Not sure what to make of this observation, but it's certainly an interesting position to be in...

Kahane? Seriously?

2009-03-10T14:17:00.000-07:00

So yesterday I find myself sitting in a room with a few people and one of them says something to the effect that he has spent time in Israeli jail.

What for, I wondered, but didn't ask -- partly out of an instinct to be polite, partly out of fear for what the answer was.

Well, later in the conversation, it came out that he'd been in jail for his activities linked to Kahanist philosophies. Hmm. Not my cup of tea. And then, another person says, "Well, we're all Kahanists, we just haven't all done anything about it." The tone in which he said this was one of profound respect.

Yeah, I voiced my dissent, but I really appeared to be the only one in the room that felt like the ideas Kahane espoused were immoral or even mildly wrong. I'm kind of amazed/disgusted by this.

...But I Still Like Tradition!: The Conundrum

2009-02-05T14:03:00.000-08:00

On my last post, an anonymous commenter asked that I write about resolving the “‘I like the social parts of Jewish traditions/holidays, etc. but that's it’ conundrum.”

Well, the statement is not completely accurate (is that an actual quote from my blog? If so, oy!), nor am I sure I’ve really resolved that conundrum, but here goes nothing…

I’ll make sure to get my actual feelings on the subject out first.

The phrase “social parts” is sort of vague and I’m not sure it actually describes what I like about Jewish traditions and holidays. As I mentioned in a previous post, I'm traditional, but not a traditionalist, in that I don’t think tradition trumps all. For example, if a tradition violates my deeply held moral/ethical beliefs, I’ll have a big problem following said tradition.

In other words, I do like and have a respect for tradition as a whole. That's partly because I have a respect of my ancestry, my heritage, my fascination with the history of the Jewish people...

But it’s true that many of the Jewish traditions and holidays include rituals, etc., that don’t fit with my worldview. It’s also true that I’m an agnostic, don’t believe in the divinity of the Torah, and have issues with the values of some of the rabbis who constructed the Halachic code by which Orthodox Jews live today. So yes, I’m definitely not Orthodox. And in a lot of ways I’ve stopped even acting as such in my daily life. Though I’m still not fully “out” to my parents, siblings, and certain friends of mine. (They know I’m less religious then them now, but don’t really know to what extent.)

That said, I do want to keep as much Jewish tradition in my life as possible (as discussed above), so long as it does not contradict my values. And since the Modern Orthodox tradition is the one in which I was raised, it is in many ways the one that’s most comfortable to me (though I’m not necessarily sure comfort is a good way to determine how I should live my life), and therefore is the one that I tend to look toward first for a traditional element in my life.

And I do enjoy what you might call the “social” aspect of it. It means something to me, not only because it’s part of my ancestry, but because it’s part of my life to an even greater degree than American cultural events like July 4^th or New Years (after all, if my family happened to be out of the country on July 4^th, it would go nearly unnoticed; the same can obviously not be said for Jewish holidays). It is, in effect, part of the makeup of who I am.

And I do love it. I love the feeling of sitting in a Succah on Succos…of smell of the etrog…the crazy dancing on Simchat Torah…lighting menorah and eating latkes with my family on Chanukah. And, like I’ve said before, the non-Orthodox versions of these rituals often feel strange to me, almost devoid of “realness."

So what to do? The agnostic, quasi-practicing Jewish girl has an affinity for (some) Orthodox rituals!

Well, like I said, I’m not really sure I’ve solved the conundrum, but here’s what I’ve done in the last year:

I’ve tried out Conservative services. This, as I blogged, was nice in some ways, and really strange in others.

I’ve gone to my parents’ house for holidays/Shabbos, while slowly letting them know (through more subtle conversational hints) that while I do appreciate this way of doing things, I’m not fully in the same boat as them theologically, and I don’t always do things like this on my own. This approach seems to be working in a not-so-painful way. As an aside, every time I’ve been there, I’ve had my also not-so-Orthodox boyfriend (his theology and upbringing is pretty similar to mine) there as a support network. This has been immensely helpful.

For those holidays I’ve done on my own (see fast day posts), I’ve tailored the rituals to fit my life, my reality, and my philosophy. This worked with the fast days. It hasn’t really worked (i.e., hasn’t felt right) with the other holidays.

I’ve gone to Chabad. I like them. Not their theology, but their approach. I know that deep down they’re looking to make me as Orthodox as possible (and that they have some beliefs that go beyond even regular Orthodoxy, with which I do not agree), but it never feels awkward or sinister to me. And the traditions there are done as traditionally as it comes…which is comfortable for me. Though as I said above, I’m not sure that I should be using comfort as a criterion (i.e., I’m offended by the idea of a mechitza and of not being counted in a minyan, etc., even as it feels comfortable to me).

So this is where I am right now. It’s definitely not optimal but it’s better than it was at this time last year! As for where I’m going, I’d like to start looking (more actively) for a community of traditional non-Orthodox Jews to see how that feels. Also, I’d like to start holding non-traditional Friday night dinners (and other Jewish rituals) with my other less-than-Orthodox (and maybe non-Jewish?) friends.

Wow, I've Been Awful...

2009-02-02T07:08:00.000-08:00

I promise to start posting again and soon...

Memes: They're Kinda Hard to Do When You Don't Want to Disclose Your Identity

2008-12-29T13:16:00.000-08:00

...but here it goes anyway... :-)
Tagged by DYS.

a) Link to your blogger and list these rules on your blog

b) Share 7 facts about yourself, some random, some weird

c) Tag 7 people (if possible) at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs

d) Let them know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blogs

Hmm. Okay. First things first: I'm changing the rules. (What are skeptic blogs for if not to change the rules?!) I'm not going to tag seven people. But if you read this, like doing this sort of thing, and want to do one on your blog, feel free, and let me know.

I accepted this tag because of the challenge it poses - sharing seven random/weird facts about myself without making my identity too obvious. While my life abounds with random and weird facts, most of them are so random and weird as to make who I am very obvious to anyone who knows me. So here goes my best shot at more obscure/less obvious random and weird facts:

1) When I was in junior high, I used to blast "Every Breath You Take" by the Police, sit on my bed looking at old photos, get nostalgic for my childhood (at the whopping age of 12!), and cry.

2) I am currently eating a cinnamon coffee cake from Starbucks. I don't really like Starbucks but someone gave me a $20 card for Chanukah, so Starbucks it was...

3) I was terrified of dogs and cats until I was a teenager. Even then, and even as I thought they looked really cute, I was still a bit scared of cats until much later (my late teens? early 20s?). Now, I have no idea what made me scared.

4) I like the experience of watching/reading the same movies and books over and over more than I like the experience of watching/reading new ones. That said, I try to steer myself away from this tendency because I also want to broaden my horizons.

5) The first time that I consciously violated halacha, I was in elementary school. My friend offered me a piece of non-kosher gum (which her parents allowed, but mine didn't) and I took it. Years later, when I was at my most religious point, I had trouble turning down non-kosher gum.

6) Yesterday, I found a pack of hot dogs at the back of my freezer with an October 2007 sell by date. Gross.

7) Even though I've lost touch with most of them, I can still tell you the birthdays and (probably long-defunct) phone numbers of anyone I was good friends with from elementary school through high school.

That wasn't so bad! Anyone else want to take a stab at one of these?

Tradition in Non-Traditional Ways

2008-12-28T08:31:00.000-08:00

Recently I went to a Conservative Friday night service. Excluding one Conservative bar mitzvah I went to as a kid (and a Reconstructionist funeral...not sure if that counts), this was the first non-Orthodox service I've ever attended.

A girl I'd met a few weeks ago who grew up Conservative had asked me if I wanted to come with her to services once in a while. I told her I was all for it. I'm definitely curious to see what other ways I can continue to feel connected to my Jewishness that might be more in line with my beliefs.

So she took me. She'd never been to this service. It caters to the 20s-30s set, is egalitarian, led by a female rabbi, and sees itself as traditional.

For me, the whole experience was a lot less strange than I thought it would be. Maybe it was because it felt more like an informal prayer group than a formal service, maybe it was because I was seated next to women, but for some reason davening without a mechitzah did not feel weird at all. (Even more bizarre, because when I was at my friend's Christian wedding a few months ago, sitting next to men did feel weird.) In fact, it was nice to feel like I counted, nice to feel like I was really part of things.

Nor, for that matter, did it feel strange to have a female rabbi. Again, this might have been because of the informality of the service. Still, I really liked her. She seemed so excited about everything and she gave a d'var torah that was actually interesting. Not to say that I've never liked a male rabbi before. But there's always been that distance that I've had to keep from them - not a "respect the rabbi" distance (which I did feel with this rabbi, too), but a gender distance, which was suddenly gone.

Two other things did strike me, one of which I liked, and one of which I didn't.

The first - and this, although I found it a bit jarring, I liked - was the addition of the word "imahot" wherever "avot" is usually said, as well as the names of the imahot, wherever the names of the avot are said. Yeah, it made me stumble over chunks of davening, which I've long ago memorized and can repeat by rote. But that feeling was nice because it made me think about what I was doing and what I was saying... And also, though I identify as a feminist, I'd never even noticed how many times it says "avot" or their names without mentioning the imahot. Admittedly, it feels kind of artificial, but not in a bad way. And if I went to such services enough, I'm sure it would begin to feel pretty natural.

The thing I really didn't like (interestingly enough, my friend didn't like it either) was the fact that this service switched off between English and Hebrew. I understand that idea behind it. I get it, I really do. But it sounds awful and it feels awkward... And yeah, I'm spoiled in a way, because I know Hebrew so I understand what I'm saying even when it's not in translation. But I think if I'm going to find one of these groups in which I feel comfortable, it'll have to be entirely in Hebrew.

Further & Further Away

2008-12-11T13:47:00.000-08:00

What's strange lately, is this feeling that I've moved so far away from the OJ train of thought with which I was raised, that I can't even understand it anymore. In fact, sometimes, I can't even anticipate it.

What I mean by that: when my friends/family talk about consulting a rabbi regarding certain everyday, not necessarily "Jewish-y" (i.e., kashrut-related, etc.) issues in their lives, I find myself completely taken aback. It doesn't even occur to me to expect it anymore.

Also, I find myself shocked at the idea that people I know take Tanach literally. For example, I was at my boyfriend's house a few weeks ago, and his parents and their guests began talking about Ma'arat Hamachpelah - how one of them found out it wasn't the original site and was very disappointed. I sat there for five minutes just shocked out of my mind that all of the people around me were 100% sure that Avraham, Sarah, etc., even existed!

And here's the thing: I know I shouldn't be shocked that these things are the case. These things are pretty much the standard across most OJ people I know. But it's like I've become so involved in my own analysis of the religion, and have been living so much of my life out of the OJ context, that I've completely forgotten that most OJ people aren't questioning the precepts of OJ. Strange.

Tradition for Tradition's Sake?

2008-11-12T13:37:00.000-08:00

So, tradition…

These days, when someone asks me to define myself religiously – i.e., put myself into a category – I usually tell them I prefer not to. I mean, I can’t call myself Orthodox in good faith anymore.

But am I Conservative? Conservadox? Well, not really…

If pressed, I’d probably say I’m Traditional. I like it because it’s not a category that most people use on its own when talking about Judaism – although there are a few synagogues that bill themselves simply as “Traditional.”

But also, I like it, because it’s the closest thing to the truth. I’m an agnostic, I definitely don’t buy into the idea of Torah Min Hashamayim, nor do I buy into the importance and/or infallibility of rabbinic law.

That said, Jewish traditions mean something to me. I’ve never really been sure why – maybe because my parents raised me in a house where Judaism, Shabbos, and the holidays were beautiful things, maybe it’s because of some idea of cultural heritage… I’m not sure the “why” matters, though. It’s just the way things are.

But there are limits to my traditionalism. That is, where aspects of the tradition seem immoral to me, or seem to uphold values that I see as immoral, I can’t be okay with it. Rather, I’m as traditional as possible within certain limits, but I’m not an advocate of “tradition for tradition’s sake” when such a policy holds back social progress or justice. In fact, even if tradition simply contradicts a belief that I have, I can’t stand behind that tradition.

In other words: for me, tradition is a luxury, not a necessity. I stand behind specific traditions because I find them valuable. Where a specific tradition ceases to have meaning – or begins to have an offensive meaning – I’m not interested in perpetuating it.

A few weeks ago, Product and I had a bit of a back-and-forth about the blog entry I’d written on my Christian friend’s wedding. He couldn’t understand why I’d be offended or uncomfortable with Orthodox Jewish wedding ceremonies.

In an e-mail to me, he wrote, “I don’t have a problem with marriages done the Orthodox way. You see? So many things we do are rooted in historic customs, principles, and beliefs we no longer believe in, but we continue doing it anyway.”

Here, to a certain extent I agree with him. I try to make Jewish holidays special, to celebrate them in ways my ancestors celebrated them. So do I eat matzah on Pesach because I believe that God took the Jews out of slavery in Egypt and they left in such a hurry that the bread didn’t have time to rise? No. I eat it because my grandparents ate it, because I grew up eating it. I eat it for a similar reason (though on a deeper and more significant level) that I watch fireworks on July 4^th. Because it means something to me. Because it feels good. Because some of the lessons from the Passover story – the value of freedom, the horror of being persecuted – have value for me. And yes, finally, because being from a line of Jews who’ve done these things for centuries means something to me. In a cultural heritage sort of way.

But that doesn’t mean that when a tradition comes into conflict with my values – as does an Orthodox wedding ceremony – that I will just accept it because it’s tradition. On the contrary! I do think the Orthodox ceremony has some nice symbols – the chupah, for example. And I would like to see a perpetuation of those traditions. But in terms of the silent women, the enforced passivity of the women involved – I am not okay with that. Sure, if the people getting married feel that those customs reflect their values, they should keep it up. But for so many of us, it’s completely contradictory to how we see the world, even to how we see marriage.

Product made a point in a blog post* he wrote on the subject that, in Orthodox Judaism, women are consecrated to their husbands but not vice versa. I know this to be true and it’s a problem. Even if it’s only a technicality, it’s a technicality that has practical implications (think agunot).

Regarding my post, again, Product questioned my critique of the reading given during the Christian wedding. I had called the passage (at least in the way it was excerpted) misogynist. He felt I needn’t be offended by such passages (an aside, the groom was as well) because when they were originally written, they reflected the values of the time, and nobody was offended.

In his email to me, he elaborated: “I recently watched the Godfather series; I think it was shot in the 50’s. In Godfather I, the Godfather calls all colored people animals and in Godfather II, Michael is rebuked for trusting a Jew. Was I appalled? No. Neither should the black folks be offended. We all know that at the time Anti-Semitic and racist statements were acceptable. I’m not worried, because I know such lines would be censored from today’s movies.”

His supposition of when the movies were made is wrong (they were made in the ‘70s), but let’s just assume for a moment that they were actually shot in the ‘50s and that the values expressed within the movies reflected those of the societies around them (I don’t think it’s quite that simple even if they had been made in the '50s, but I’m making a hypothetical case). In such a case, I think it’s true that one should be able to watch such a film without being offended (the way, for example, I can read 19^th century texts about women’s “proper roles” without being offended. In fact, I’m not really offended when I read sexist remarks in the Tanach – it only serves as evidence for me that it’s a biased, human-written text).

However, watching these films is not what we’re talking about here. We’re talking about choosing that specific quote to read aloud in a modern day context. That is, imagine if someone stood up at a Jewish benefit and read the anti-Semitic section of the script from Godfather II. Unless he/she was doing so as part of a speech on the history of anti-Semitism, the attendees would all be appalled, and rightly so!

Tradition and traditional texts, by extension, have their limits. When they're quoted or referred to as a way to uphold sexist/racist/anti-Semitic values in modern day society, it is not okay.

Ultimately, Product closed his email by expounding upon what he saw as the “fundamental problem with Reform Judaism.” That is, that “[r]eligion practices the word of God, whether you believe in it or not. A religion that claims to be man-made is not a religion. When you start to accommodate religion to suit contemporary beliefs, you pull the floor from underneath your feet. Instead, let religion be the original that it is, and you have three options. You can take it, leave it, or throw it away. You can practice it, leave it in synagogue and visit whenever you feel like it, or hate it and reject anything that resembles it. The point is, don’t change it or you will mess the whole thing up.”

While not a proponent of Reform Judaism, I respectfully disagree with Product’s opinion here. I don’t think you compromise the whole thing by changing pieces of it. Not that this is relevant to my life – but even the most extreme brands of Orthodox Judaism don’t claim to be fully the word of God. In fact, most of the things I find to be in conflict with my value system don’t claim to be the word of God (there are, of course, exceptions to this rule). The reason for that is because Judaism – yes, even Orthodox Judaism – is an organic, evolving thing. The rulings of rabbis, even as they try to stay as close as possible to the original texts, have always been informed by the societies around them. How else to explain Rav Gershom’s edict against polygamy? This one instance is more obvious than some others, but if you look closely, these outside influences become more and more clear.

Obviously, the happenings within Orthodoxy are less relevant to my life now that I’ve (sort of) made the decisions that I have. But really my point is that I don’t think there’s anything necessarily wrong or threatening about adapting traditions. And I do think there can be harm done by simply valuing “tradition for tradition’s sake” without any critical analysis. Perhaps more on this another time…

*Yes, Product's blog is in Yiddish, a language which I don't understand. However, he sent me a translation of the post and it's really very interesting. Perhaps he will post that translation on his blog?

Quick Rant, Just 'Cuz

2008-11-04T16:00:00.000-08:00

I'll be posting a more extensive post about tradition and such things later this week, but this whole election has brought out the worst in some people...and I needed to vent...so here it goes.

Was hanging out with an all-Jewish (mostly MO or just straight up O) crowd today. Almost everyone besides me was a McCain supporter. That was fine with me until the reason for their support (or, at least one person's support) was vocalized. This person said, "I would've voted for Obama if he wasn't a black Arab."

This reason? Really not okay with me. I had to bite my lip hard to keep from exploding. Racism disgusts me. The end.

A Plural God

2008-10-29T09:52:00.000-07:00

So many of the Hebrew words we used to talk about God are all in the plural -- Elohim, Adonai (rather than adoni), Tzva'ot.

For a religion that's so staunchly monotheistic, this seems really peculiar to me. I really don't know what to make of this - except maybe to think that it's a relic from the polytheistic religions upon which Judaism was built. The thing about it that most puzzles me is that it sounds so Christian - a single God who we talk about in the plural?

How does Orthodox Judaism talk about this, if at all? Anyone know?

My First Christian Wedding

2008-10-24T10:48:00.000-07:00

In the last ten years, I’ve been to a lot of weddings. I’m not sure of the exact number, but a fair estimate would be sixty. All but two of these were (some degree of) Orthodox Jewish, at least in terms of the ceremony (i.e., sometimes the bride and groom were not Orthodox and there was minimal Jewish dancing during the party).

The first of these was my cousin’s – which I blogged about here.

The second was a few weeks ago. One of my best friends from graduate school – a devout Protestant (Baptist) – got married in a church.

As you might imagine, this was quite different from the other weddings I’ve been to. To a certain degree that difference was just sort of a novelty. It was pretty cool being at a wedding where a lot of the things that they did looked a lot like what you see in the movies.

But more importantly, the wedding provided me with a point of comparison for a clearer view of Orthodox Jewish weddings.

Let me first make a disclaimer: I am not a fan of the OJ wedding ceremony/view of marriage. Things I really don’t like:

#1 – The power structure built into OJ marriages. Namely, the whole issue of get/agunah. Even as many couples don’t get divorced, the fact that that’s built in to the marriage is just plain awful. Yes, I know there are pre-nups, etc., that can all but eliminate the problem, but sometimes they don’t work.

#2 – The actual ceremony itself, wherein the woman never opens her mouth the entire time. And remains passive. Moreover (and this is really just an extension of what I find problematic about OJ, more generally), the fact that no woman ever actively participates in the ceremony in a meaningful way. Those who read the sheva brachot, the mesader k’dushin, the witnesses, etc., are all men.

#3 – This is obviously cultural and not because of any halacha – but I cannot stand the size and the gaudiness of OJ weddings. This can definitely be changed. Come on, people - let’s do it!

This disclaimer out of the way, here’s my analysis of my first Christian wedding / being in a church:

The Rituals are Tailored by the Bride & Groom

Before we even went in, I was talking to another Christian friend of mine who made it quite clear that there is no one way to have a Protestant ceremony (probably not quite as true for a Catholic ceremony). The bride & groom design the ceremony themselves.

This was a pretty cool aspect of the wedding, because you really got the feeling that the ceremony was reflective of the people getting married. For instance, this particular couple is very musical – and the whole ceremony was filled with people singing. The groom sang the bride down the aisle, the bride sang to the groom later on, the parents sang to the couple, etc.

Women & Men Sitting Together!

And I didn’t notice any members of the opposite sex checking each other out. Or doing anything else inappropriate. In fact, the attendees were much more attentive to the ceremony than any of those I’ve seen at OJ weddings/shuls/etc. (i.e., they were actually quiet).

The Bride Participates in the Same Way as the Groom

For me, this was huge. She sang to him just as he sang to her. She said her vow as did he. She was clearly an equal, active partner in the ceremony. And not in some sort of trite or representational sort of way (i.e., the only way I could ever even conceive of an OJ rabbi allowing bridal participation in the ceremony). If she didn’t say her vow, they wouldn’t have been considered married.

Other Women Participate

His parents sang together, her sister lit the “unity candle” (something I’ll come back to), a woman read the scripture. And there was absolutely nothing shocking about it. This is a very traditional church. But they have no concept that such female participation as I’ve described could even be questionable. This put into strict relief the attitudes of OJ.

Women Sing!

Okay, again, this was just so unusual for me – to be in a place where people are really, really religious – and then to have women just get up and sing. It shows how much OJ has influenced the way I think. There is no conception of this as anything even remotely sexual or immodest.

There’s Still Misogyny

One step back: this Christian ceremony was far from perfect.

When the woman stood up to read scripture, she read two pieces – one from the Old Testament and one from the New. The first was the verse from Bereishit where God tells Adam to leave his mother & father and cling to his wife. Not really problematic from my perspective, except that (a problem I have with most of Tanach) it’s phrased in terms of the man.

The New Testament passage, however, I found offensive even though it’s directed both men & woman.

The verse went something like, “Wives, submit to your husbands. (…) Husbands, love your wives.”

Later, a Catholic friend told me that this was removed from its context in which it comes across as considerably less sexist. This may or may not be true – I’m not sure. However, the fact that is that it was read in a way that seemed to uphold contemporary sexism bothered me. And it apparently bothered my friend (the groom) too – he told me later that he didn’t know they were going to read that passage and that he felt it wasn’t reflective of his own views on marriage.

Everyone (or, at least most people) Present Can Understand What’s Going On

Even as there were parts that I found offensive, the point was, I could understand them. They were in English.

This is totally different from an OJ ceremony.

When I was younger – before I understood what it meant – I used to sit with bated breath when they would read the ketubah out loud. It would give me chills to hear the bride & groom’s Hebrew names and the name of whatever town it was being held in. Of course, I didn’t understand the rest of the ketubah at all.

Whether or not you have problems with the OJ ceremony (and I don’t have problems with the ketubah itself – it’s put in place to protect the woman – only with the laws of marriage that necessitate it and are therefore present in its language), the ketubah is not really a romantic document. It’s legalistic and talks about things like the husband’s responsibility to provide the wife with necessities – including sex. If they read it in a literal English translation, I might even find it to be an awkward moment.

Because the Christian ceremony is conducted in English, people present – whether they find the goings on romantic, offensive, strange, etc., – understand everything that’s going on.

Cool Ritual

The one thing they did that was pretty awesome, was the lighting of the Unity Candle. After the respective parents lit one candle each, the bride and groom took one (apparently representative of their souls) and together lit a new candle in the middle.

I just really, really liked this.

Oh yeah, it was Small. And Not Even a Little Bit Gaudy

There were maybe just over a hundred people there (one of my friends commented that this was big!), people were dressed formally but not uber-fancy (though this may have something to do with the location; I have a feeling if it was a Christian wedding in New York, it would be much more showy), and the party was low-key (but still lots of fun).

Yom Kippur: Setting Precedents for Myself

2008-10-16T07:48:00.000-07:00

For the first time, I made the conscious decision not to fast (in the Orthodox definition of the word) on Yom Kippur. I've broken the fast in previous years when I got so sick (i.e., hypoglycemia) that I had little choice. But this year, in the vein of my recent Tisha B'Av experience, I decided to stick with my definition of fasting. It was harder because I was at my parents' house, and I didn't want them to know -- I ended up just sneaking a granola bar, water, and one roll while no one was looking. It was a lot less torturous.

That said, it was also a lot less meaningful than Tisha B'Av -- really because, as an agnostic, I just don't see as much meaning in Yom Kippur (as a holiday between man & a god I'm not sure exists) as I do in Tisha B'Av (as a commemoration of all the Jewish suffering that's occurred during the ages). Still, I'd feel strange not marking Yom Kippur at all...

I do have to say that, as of now, I plan on keeping both major fast days in this way for the foreseeable future. It's the only way it's really manageable for me, and the only way it could possibly have any meaning beyond a 25-hour obsession with my stomach.

Also, since the last blog entry, I attended a Christian wedding (in a church) for the first time ever. I will blog about this within the next week or so.

A Time to Socialize?: Some Thoughts about Conversations during Shul/Rituals/Ceremonies

2008-09-16T14:16:00.000-07:00

A (non-Jewish) co-worker of mine was telling me about an Orthodox Bar Mitzvah she attended over the weekend. Her observation: the congregants seemed much less respectful of the rituals taking place than she’d expected from such a religious ceremony. All around her, everyone was talking to each other – regardless of whether the Bar Mitzvah boy was reading from the Torah, the rabbi was giving a speech, etc.. She found it appalling.

I have to say, I was less than shocked. Though, admittedly, I haven’t been to shul in quite a while, when I used to go regularly to my parents’ MO shul, the chatting was so loud and constant, it required more than a few “shush”ings from the gabbai. Indeed, several years ago, the shul sent out a letter to all families requesting that everyone be quiet during services.

My favorite of such moments:

When I was 19, a bit more religious than I am now, I was sitting in shul next to my mother. During the entire Torah reading and davening, two women in front of me were chatting away, rather loudly. Then, the president got up to read the announcements and the two women to their right began to talk (quietly). One of the first two (chatting-during-davening) women quickly got annoyed and turned to the newest chatter with a loud, “Shush!”

Back to the general topic of talking during ritual/ceremonies: While I haven’t attended that many yeshivish-type shuls to discuss their in-shul chatting or lack thereof, I have been to numerous yeshivish (as well as MO) weddings. And one thing I can say: although there have been a few exceptions to this rule, generally speaking I’ve found that the more religious (/to the right/yeshivish) the wedding, the more (and louder) the chatting.

[I can’t confirm if this is true in shuls, too? Anyone else?]

It seems so paradoxical: why would the more fervently religious have such a propensity to talk at these seemingly sacred rituals? The first thing that popped into my mind is that the more “religious” (scare quotes deliberate) you are, the more weddings / bar & bat mitzvahs / services / rituals you’ve been to. (The number of wedding/bar & bat mitzvahs one is invited to tends to increase in Orthodox circles. See previous post for more on this.) Thus, each one becomes less special/sacred, as it were.

Maybe, though I’m not sure. Other speculations?

On Intermarriage

2008-09-02T07:51:00.000-07:00

I'll start with a little context: a week ago, I attended my cousin's wedding. He married a lapsed Catholic who will not be converting. I celebrated with him. I was as happy for them as I am when I watch two Jewish friends get married.

So, intermarriage: It's one of the biggest taboos I can think of. When, as a teenager, I started to "rebel" and hang out with the non-Jewish kids in my neighborhood, my dad sat me down for a dramatic talk about why I shouldn't date the non-Jewish guys. A lot of the focus was on past Jewish suffering - especially the fact that my grandmother was a Holocaust survivor and that all her family had been killed in the Holocaust.

This, my father communicated to me without actually using these words:
If all these people died in the name of being Jewish, it's wrong for you to just give it up by inter-dating (presumably followed by intermarrying).

This lesson sunk deep. Throughout my childhood and adolescence, it was compounded by the statistics I would hear in school, at Shabbos tables, in newspapers. "Intermarriage and assimilation are the new genocide," they would say, "Today we are submitting ourselves to a Holocaust-by-choice." And then, the resulting fever: "KIRUV! KIRUV! KIRUV!"

I can remember my own feelings at the mention of someone who was intermarrying - it was this deep ache, this feeling of loss, an almost-panic.

Well, it's been a long road, but here I am, now 29 and not even phased by the idea of my cousin's intermarriage. A few relevant details: he was raised all but completely non-religious (my mom's a baal teshuva), he's currently even less religious than he was growing up. His wife, though brought up Catholic, is similarly non-religious. They share the same values, the same understandings of life, and they make an adorable couple. They dated for six years and have been living together for nearly two.

Of course, my sisters (who are both ultra-frum) didn't come -- even though my cousin & his wife came to their weddings. My parents came, but I recently found out that they came only because my aunt threatened to stop speaking to them if they didn't.

Like I said, having once been theologically closer to where my sisters are now, I know what they feel. That said, I really don't understand the line of thinking anymore. It's so strange to me to disapprove of a marriage simply because of the religious affiliation or lack thereof of one of the parties. My cousin, in many ways, is like a brother to me and I just can't imagine not being happy for his happiness.

One other note on the whole ceremony: I've never been to a secular wedding before. Never, really, even been to a non-Orthodox wedding before. (I will be going to a Christian wedding at the end of the month, though! I'm sure I'll blog about that one, too...) The ceremony was amazing in that it actually involved equal, vocal participation from the bride. This is one thing I absolutely cannot stand about Orthodox weddings - the bride shows up, circles, accepts a ring, drinks from a glass, and never speaks. Also: I (as well as 4 other men & women) was given a poem to read at the ceremony. So cool to actually participate!!

It was also just so much more intimate a ceremony. While large weddings aren't part of the Jewish law in any way, if you were ignorant of that fact, you'd be justified in believing that they are. I've never been to (or heard of) an OJ wedding that had an invite list smaller than 200. My cousin's wedding, with an invite list of 110, was large for his circles. What this meant? I actually got to talk to and celebrate with the bride and groom.

In contrast, I attended an OJ wedding this weekend where I got about five minutes dancing and a quick hello before the bedekin with the bride. And she was my good friend! If nothing else, the OJ community needs to do something about the sheer size of these weddings. They are nauseatingly large. I'm personally prepared not to be offended when I don't get invited to a friend's small wedding.

Tisha B'av with Food

2008-08-12T07:58:00.000-07:00

Okay, so fine, I'm an agnostic. I don't really feel God or spirituality the way other people seem to.

And I'm not really sad about the absence of a Temple in Israel. (In fact, I think I'd be more disturbed than anything about things like animal sacrifices that are supposed to take place there.)

That said, as I wrote in my last post, I do find meaning in Tisha B'av - in remembering the loss and suffering of so many of my ancestors, in so many places, generations. But I've never been able to experience that meaningfulness because my body simply shuts down without food (see previous post for more specific details).

So this Tisha B'av, I ate.

I limited myself: only plain bread, plain pasta, juice, and water.

I didn't play any of those games where you only eat a morsel every minute or so. I didn't think that sort of activity would help add meaning to the day -- it seems like it would only serve to make me focus even more on food, etc.

I have to say that this was the most meaningful Tisha B'av, most meaningful fast day actually, I've ever had. And that includes all of those I observed when I was more religious that I am now.
It was a "fast" the way the Christians define it during Lent (only, I guess, more extreme). Every time I opened the refrigerator, I had to stop myself from taking what I really wanted - and then, got to think about why I was doing that.

And that's the thing: I was mentally present enough to think about it. Completely incredible, for me, at least.

Being Decisive: Tisha B'av

2008-08-07T09:46:00.000-07:00

Even in my least religious moments, I've always seen a justification for fasting on Tisha B'av.

Unlike Yom Kippur, it doesn't necessarily (at least the way I understand it) have to do with a belief in God. Well, I suppose the idea really is that in the end God's going to bring moshiach... But what I mean is - you needn't believe in God for Tisha B'av to have meaning.

The fast day is all about remembering and mourning all the tragedies in our nation's history - more specifically, about morning the tragedies of our ancestors. I've always understood it that way. And so it always made sense to me to follow it.

But here's the thing: fasting makes me sick. More than anybody else I know. While no doctor has ever told me not to fast (I've never asked!), I have a tendency to become hypoglycemic, and fasting means that I literally cannot move from the couch for at least the last 10 hours. It also means a good 10 hour recovery time post-fast.

Last year, I had a particularly bad attack of hypoglycemia, broke my fast on orange juice, and then continued to fast afterward.

But this year, I'm making the decision before the fast even begins that I will not fast. I won't go out, party, and order myself a chocolate cheese cake either, but I won't fast.

I'm going to commemorate the day in my own way - keep things serious, eat only as much as necessary. But I don't see the point anymore of following the tradition as is, simply because it's tradition, if the said tradition renders me completely and utterly unable to move.

And I think, just maybe, this is the way the rest of my outlook on Judaism/tradition/what-the- hell-I'm-going-to-do-with-my-life-religiously is starting to shape up. We shall see.

Death & Skepticism

2008-07-11T07:05:00.000-07:00

One of my co-workers recently passed away. He was young (in his early 40s).

I find it really difficult to deal with death as a skeptic/agnostic. So much more so than when I believed. Heaven/the idea that they're still watching & still exist are gone. And it all becomes so meaningless.

The Little OJ Girl Who Lives in My Brain

2008-06-26T11:35:00.000-07:00

On my way home yesterday, I had a realization:

There's no reason I have to be certain of where I eventually want to be in terms of Judaism, or even exactly where I am right now, to be open about said status with family and/or friends.

I can tell them I'm unsure. I can tell them I don't know if I can be Orthodox, that I'm not really Orthodox now, that I might or might not be Orthodox in the future. That I value our tradition and love so many things about it, but am not sure I believe in a lot of the concepts that undergird them.

But I haven't. And I'm not sure I will.

Why?

Well, here's the second realization:

No matter what I've done, what I've learned that has contradicted OJ, etc., deep down there's this insistence somewhere inside of me that being "non-religious" (in the OJ usage of the term) is bad, wrong, and something of which I should be ashamed.

It's almost like I have a much younger, Orthodox version of myself living inside my brain, full of all the contentions she's been taught, and she won't leave me alone.

Basically: I haven't been able to accept myself as non-Orthodox or even questioning Orthodoxy because a part of me is still convinced that such a designation would make me a BAD person.

And how can I ask my parents and friends to accept me as I am if I haven't yet accepted my own thoughts and my own choices as legitimate?

Obama or Not: A Different OJ Approach

2008-06-11T12:57:00.001-07:00

I've grown very used to OJs declaring that they will not vote for Obama - even if they agree with most of his stances (even if they are usually liberal, blah, blah, blah) - because they feel that McCain is more pro-Israel.

(I won't go into my whole shpiel on single-issue voting right now -- or my stance on the current election, but perhaps one day...)

So used to it, in fact, that I've come to expect it (as I did in the '04 elections - which was, in my mind, a MUCH sadder example of this).

Therefore, I was completely shocked when my (very frum) friend and her husband declared that they plan to vote for Obama.

(Preface: These particular friends aren't the intellectual type and from my experiences with them, usually just fall in line with what their rabbis say.)

Then, in front of a whole room full of other OJ's, she admitted that she thought McCain might be better for Israel than Obama, but that she wouldn't vote based solely on Israel because (drumroll...)

And I quote:
"Hashem protects Israel no matter what. We don't need to worry about presidents and the US government. What happens in Israel has nothing to do with the US government, only to do with if we are good Jews or not."

This rationale for not voting solely on Israel BLEW MY MIND. I've never heard any other OJ say anything like this.

She's basically taken one part of OJ philosophy and pitted it against the "accepted wisdom" of many contemporary Orthodox rabbis/Jews. Crazy!

The "Everybody Hates Us" Complex

2008-06-03T13:05:00.000-07:00

Recently, Six Months posted about how she was taught in school that all non-Jews secretly hate Jews no matter how much they pretend otherwise. She wrote:

"In school, it was drummed into our heads that 'the goyim' are only interested in hating us and killing us as quickly as possible. 'If they could get you alone for a second and weren't afraid of being arrested for it, they'd kill you without even thinking about it,' we were told. 'And don't be fooled by the 'kind' grocer in the store or the 'nice' postman who delivers your mail. They just want to get rid of you too.' Where do they get this nonsense from?"

From my understanding, her upbringing was much more Ultra-Orthodox than mine. The day school I attended was quite modern (co-ed, even in high school), I grew up going to a Young Israel, was brought up in a world where it was completely acceptable to wear pants/shorts and go mixed swimming.

That said, I was completely raised with the same idea - that ALL non-Jews secretly hated me, just because I was a Jew. That should the law change, should they be given the opportunity, they would kill me without thinking about it. This was the ideology spouted by some of my (probably Ultra-Orthodox) teachers at my very Modern Orthodox school!!!

I don't think I ever really believed this. Probably because, in some capacity, I always had non-Jewish friends or contact with non-Jewish people.

Now I understand that there's a ridiculous amount of precedent for serious anti-Semitism, serious amounts of "friendly" non-Jews turning around and hating/hurting/killing their Jewish neighbors when the times allowed for it. My grandmother was a Holocaust survivor and she had some pretty awful stories about these types of situations that were far from unique.

But it's so important not to forget that this doesn't represent ALL non-Jews. That even in the most vile of times - in Nazi Germany - not only were there non-Jews who disapproved of the Nazi agenda, but there were some who even UNNECESSARILY risked their own lives to save Jews.

How many of us would do the same in a world where another ethnic group was being persecuted? Or not just persecuted but murdered? In a world where if we tried to save members of that ethnic group, we and all our family could be killed?

The mere existence of such "righteous gentiles" stands to disprove all of these theories about non-Jews that I was taught as late as the 1990s.

Not only that, but by perpetuating these ideas from generation to generation, we exacerbate the problem. To wit: if we're scared to talk to non-Jews, we don't; thus, they come to see as "other" (in the same way that we see them); ultimately, they come to hate us (or certainly not risk their lives to save us, if such a situation comes to pass).

It's all about honest dialogue and friendship.

On Cheeseburgers and the Treif-Stigma

2008-05-30T08:28:00.000-07:00

For the last few days, I have had a ridiculously intense urge to eat a cheeseburger. Maybe even a bacon cheeseburger.

Note: I have never eaten a cheeseburger or bacon before.
Note 2: I have, however, eaten cheese together with meat - albeit a long time ago & accidentally (at least initially; I was eating lasagna - I didn't realize it had meat in it until almost the end).
Note 3: I once - again, accidentally - ate a piece of ham that was stuck to the bottom of my cream cheese bagel. It was nothing special.
Note 4: For some reason (maybe halakhic definitions, because I'm apparently ridiculous like that), I haven't had a problem with eating chicken and cheese together for a while (except, of course, the periods of time during which I've decided that I wanted to keep strictly kosher. I'm apparently religiously schizophrenic).

Here's the thing: WHY DO I CARE?

In other words, what's with my insistence to resist the temptation when I don't even believe?

I am so bizarre.

Faith & the Inexplicable

2008-05-19T10:32:00.001-07:00

Many people base their religious faith on the fact that something in the world remains inexplicable. They reason that since something seems too complicated, too coincidental, or just plain weird, it must show the hand of God.

When I read articles like this - May 19, 1780: Darkness at Noon Enshrouds New England - I wonder if such people see themselves in it or question their own logic at all.

I'm Tired Of... (A Rant/List)

2008-05-13T13:00:00.000-07:00

-- Uncertainty. Of vacillating between MO & non-O over and over again.

-- Covering my tracks from the people who would be crushed by my vacillations.

-- Reading religious opinions that are presented as facts.

-- The religious norm of all the "M"O people that I know -- which is moving further and further to the right.

-- My own emotional attachment to things I know, rationally, make no sense.

-- The cover-ups and lies used to hide immorality within a community of people who claim to be certain about religion. If they can't see that their lies allow innocent people to be hurt, aren't they at least scared that God will punish them for their lies?

-- The fact that I've been reading these blogs for over a year and lots of books on Judaism for half a year and have still come to no conclusion about where I want to go from here.

That Time of Year Again? Ugh.

2008-04-15T07:10:00.000-07:00

Yeah, one of the things that prevents me from letting go of Judaism entirely is its holidays. I love Jewish holidays. With one exception: Pesach.

Things I do not love about Pesach:

1. The guilt trip that goes on in my brain, whereby I can still hear all my elementary & high school teachers implying that anyone who does not follow every single stringency when it comes to Pesach will be cut off from the Jewish people/burn in Hell.

2. Pesach cleaning. It's not the good kind of cleaning. It's all panic, anxiety, and OCD scrubbing.

3. Eight days of a malnourished me. Because I'm all about carbohydrates. And when I eat mostly protein (as will happen on Pesach, lest I get a stomach ache from too much matzah/potato starch), I never really feel full.

4. Kitniyot. Seriously?!?! On Pesach, I lament my Ashkenaz background. But honestly, why do we even have to keep this? What's the deal? Pesach is already so excessive, what's with this extra (ridiculously huge) restriction?

On the Other Side of the Mechitzah

2008-04-07T09:32:00.001-07:00

A few days ago, I attended an event organized for people from Chasidic backgrounds who are becoming "modern" and trying to integrate themselves into secular society.

(I'm being especially cautious with this post, as I don't believe there to be many such events [correct me if I'm wrong!] and I do want to remain anonymous.)

My presence there, obviously, was somewhat accidental. I came with a friend whose friend had once been in the abovementioned situation. I was an anomaly there, having come from a Modern Orthodox background. In this way, I was really just a spectator of sorts -- and possibly shouldn't have been there. That said, it was one of the most interesting experiences I've had in the recent weeks.

It was eye-opening to come face-to-face with girls changing from skirts into pants in the bathroom stalls, guys who grew up in America speaking English haltingly, men with payes and women dancing Jewish-style together to Jewish music.

What was strangest for me, though, was that the whole experience was religiously uplifting to me. It had been a long time since I'd been somewhere with so many people singing and playing Jewish music with such exuberance and joy. And it was (unsurprisingly) the first time that I ever found myself dancing in a circle with Chasidic-looking men. In fact, it was really one of the first times I ever interacted with men like these.

The dancing, in particular, was amazing. I've yet to find a women's section with truly exuberant dancing. Maybe it's our own fault, maybe it's the way we were raised, maybe it's the space constraints of women's sections in general. All I know is, with the exception of a few weddings, I've never experienced the kind of dancing I did at this event (and weddings are kind of different, because the focus is on a person, rather than the dancing itself -- and rarely does the exuberant dancing include more than the inner circle of 5-8 people).

For me, this kind of dancing has always been something to stare at from above - or through the mechitzah. I remember specifically, one time in Tzfat, being taken to one of these shuls where the dancing was supposed to be fantastic. Everyone had told me about it, and I was eager to go. When I got there, though, all I found was a horde of women crowded up against the mechitzah, pulling back the little lace curtains, and staring two stories down at the men.

But at this event, it was suddenly like I'd crossed over to the men's section - to the ground floor of the shul in Tzfat - the focal point of the activity. And it felt overwhelming. And it felt uplifting. And it felt beautiful.

Religious Questioning & The State of Israel

2008-03-31T09:34:00.000-07:00

An old friend of mine with whom I've recently gotten back into contact has also "lost her religion" - to a far greater extent than I have.

While she still enjoys aspects of Jewish culture (i.e., food, music, literature, etc.), she's completely rejected anything to do with Judaism (as in the religion). Questioning religion, for her, was only a part of questioning the entire value system in which she was raised. Much like me, she was raised to be a Zionist, went to Israel for the year, went to religious Zionist camps, etc. And so, Zionism was one of the value systems which she questioned and ultimately rejected.

She's now not only pro-Palestinian, but actually anti-Israel.

I have always been more "liberal" in my Zionism than others. By that, I mean that I've always been appalled by people who implied or openly stated that the Palestinians had no legitimate side. Even as I saw certain Palestinian tactics as murderous and unethical, I've never been able to understand some people's reactions to them. One really otherwise-sweet girl in my seminary, for example, declared that if she had a machine gun, she would walk into East Jerusalem and open fire. This - and all of those people I would meet who espoused Kahane-esque philosophies - was completely incomprehensible to me. I always believed, you can't lump a nation/race all together and say they are all evil and all deserve to die. (That is, at the end of the day, the biggest problem I have with the biblical injunction to eradicate Amalek.)

It wasn't until I was in my early twenties that I actually began to read literature written about and from the Palestinian viewpoint.

Up until that point, I had always been taught as though Israel had never done anything wrong EVER (almost certainly a mistake from an educational standpoint). That every piece of land acquired by the State of Israel was done so either by purchase from absentee landlords (thus, the problem was with angry tenants, as it was) or by humane methods after the UN Resolution.

When I found out that this wasn't always the case, I was left really confused. In addition to this, because I was simultaneously questioning whether the Torah was true, I wasn't really sure how the State of Israel could be justified. If God didn't give us the land, what claim did we have to it?

Of course, the literature I was reading was very one-sided and written from an emotional perspective. And though I have since come to see things differently, for a while (maybe a year or two), I felt really strange about my allegiance to Israel. So much so, that I couldn't even bring myself to say the word "Israel" around non-Jewish people without a queasy feeling in the bottom of my stomach. That said, for some reason, I still felt really attached the country itself. When I did visit, it still felt good in that way that it always had. And I couldn't (and didn't want to) imagine a world without Israel.

Interestingly enough, it took conversations with an Evangelical Christian Zionist to balance out my perspective again.

From these conversations, I have since come to the understanding that while Israel was not ethical in every decision it has made, no country can make such a claim. Yes, there were Palestinians exiled in unfair and inhumane ways. Yes, that's awful. But Israel has been ethical in many of its decisions. And those instances in which it has not been ethical do not revoke its right to exist.

The original settlements and the subsequent founding of the State of Israel were at least partially premised on the idea that in this hostile world, Jews needed their own homeland. And world events (pogroms, the Holocaust, and other persecutions) supported this thesis. If we look at Middle Eastern countries and/or certain European countries, today's world events still point to this need.

I'm rambling, admittedly, but it really made me feel strange to talk to this girl who now believes that the State of Israel should not exist -- especially at this point in the evolution of my belief system. She says that unless we look to the Bible, we have no claim to this land (implicit in her statement is that the Bible is not a valid source).

Now, I don't really want to use the Bible as a source either for such disputes. But certainly, if the Jews are to choose any land for the purpose described above, we do at least have a historic connection to the land.

I don't even know if that's important, though. In my mind, what it comes down to, is that she's now arguing for something completely unethical. There are generations of Israelis who have now grown up in this land, who own property, who understand this as their home. How would removing these people be ethical when removing Arabs from their homes was not? Can we correct something that was unethical (from her perspective) in the past by doing something equally as unethical today? Following her line of reasoning, to me, would be equivalent to arguing that we should remove the residents of the American West and give all the land to the Native Americans.

2008-03-06T15:17:00.000-08:00

It's so strange. The more I read, the less convinced I become in the divinity of the Torah, God, the Orthodox interpretation of Judaism.

And yet...

For the past two+ months, suddenly, I've been becoming more and more Orthodox, at least in terms of practice.

By that, I mean I've been (for the most part) keeping kosher & Shabbos diligently.

And the thing is - I'm not even sure why. Or rather, I know why I've been keeping Shabbos. I enjoy it. For the most part, it really does something for me. (See here.)

But I have absolutely no idea why I've been abstaining from eating in non-kosher restaurants. I was back and forth on this for a while -- but for a really long time, I was doing the keep-a-kosher-kitchen, eat kosher around those who would otherwise be upset (i.e., family and certain religious friends), and otherwise eat out non-kosher (vegetarian, for the most part).

It's so strange. And so contrary to what's been going on in my brain. I'm not really sure why this is happening at all.

Kosher vs. Kosher; Religious vs. Religious

2008-02-17T07:39:00.000-08:00

The NY Times Dining section recently printed a review by Frank Bruni of the newly opened Second Avenue Deli. In his review, he writes, "The restaurant remains kosher." In response to another writer's reaction, "Because it is open on the Sabbath, almost no observant Jew would consider it kosher," Bruni wrote, "A Kosher Quibble" in which he tries to fetter out the definition of kosher.

What was most interesting to me (though not particularly surprising) was the slew of response from Orthodox Jews. Their definition of kosher, of course, includes the fact a Jewish-owned restaurant must be closed on Shabbos (or keeping the laws of Shabbos during food preparation).

What I do find noteworthy (although again, not surprising) is their oresponses almost all assume a strict dichotomy between "religious Jews" (i.e., Orthodox) and "non-religious Jews" (i.e., non-Orthodox). It is inconceivable to them that being a religious Jew could mean anything but keeping Orthodox strictures.

When I was a kid, my parents used to correct me when I called someone "not religious," telling me to refer to them as "non-observant" instead. I don't think that term actually fixes the problem. "Observant," I suppose, is taken to mean, "observing the laws of the Torah." So, in theory -- by my parents' assumption, someone could be religious (i.e., believe in God, attend services, have holiday celebrations, etc.) but not observant of the Torah and/or rabbinic laws.
But whether or not Orthodox Jews agree with them, there is a system of Conservative Jewish halacha...and if a Conservative Jew follows that halacha, they are being observant Jews.

Lately

2008-01-28T12:11:00.001-08:00

The reading project:

I'm still pretty knee-deep in this; I've been taking notes - writing down questions, thoughts, interesting quotes - on most of the books I've read. When I have time, hopefully, I will post some of the more relevant notes up here.

Reunions / Homosexuality & Orthodox Judaism:

A friend recently called my attention to the Flatbush reunion story. It seems a lot like the Noah Feldman article from a while back...

I understand that the schools promote a certain ideology, but it seems strange to me that this stretches beyond the bounds of educating the children currently in their schools. In other words, while I certainly don't agree with the schools' viewpoints & I don't condone what Feldman's school (allegedly -- some claim it wasn't as he said) did to the group photo, this latest story seems to make even less sense to me.

What I mean:
Okay, Flatbush strongly disagrees with how this particular alumnus is living his life. But a reunion isn't a newsletter. I'm not really sure how allowing the partner to come to the reunion translates into condoning his lifestyle choice.

The whole thing just seems weird to me. Granted, I don't subscribe to the belief system that says homosexuality is wrong. But to me, a reunion is just for the alumni to get together, reminisce, reconnect, etc.. The reunion might also be used to procure donations for the school and photographs of the reunion might later be used to promote the school's image, but the reunion itself should be about the alumni (whoever they turned out to be), not the school.

Of course, this issue also serves to highlight one reason I feel highly uncomfortable being part of the OJ community. Most OJs I've talked to have argued that there's no way OJ (and as an extention of that, OJ schools) can accept homosexuality as it is biblically forbidden. And they're right; it is biblically forbidden. It would require a revision in the way I think about Tanach's role in Judaism for me to be able to reconcile this. And if I accepted that revised way of thinking about the Tanach, would I still be considered Orthodox?

A Note About the Silence

2008-01-07T13:12:00.000-08:00

Over the past few weeks I've just been trying to figure myself out. As I said in the previous post, I'm a more than a little bit confused about what I actually want. This is still the case. I'm currently engaging in a full-fledged, intensive reading project and looking around me to see what my real options are.

More to come on all of this.

Why I Haven't Told: The Self, Divided

2007-12-21T09:08:00.000-08:00

Slowly I’m coming to the realization that my situation is more complex than I originally thought. I’ve tried, but haven’t been able to tell my parents and the more I think about it, the more I realize that my reluctance is not just related to my cowardice (although I’m sure that factors into it, too).

The truth is that I’m really torn. In addition to my intellectual problems with Judaism, and all of the things I find problematic within its social structures, there is also so much that I love about being part of the Orthodox community. So much that I’m not sure I could just let go of.

I’m using this entry as a way to organize my thoughts on this – a way to understand what it is that I love and what I find problematic. So here goes nothing…

I’ll start with what I love:

--Shabbos. Whenever I decide not to keep it (this happens more and more frequently lately), it honestly makes me feel empty. Sure, I can go to the mall or to some concert I wanted to go to, I can watch whatever came from Netflix on Friday afternoon. But the thing is, growing up, my parents always made Shabbos such a beautiful experience. And even when I got older, the day provided a space for real bonding with friends (one uninterrupted by ringing cell phones, laptops, TV shows, etc.). As tempting as it is to live one weekend here or there without it, going Shabbos-free for life seems like a colorless existence to me.

--Holidays. The best memories of my childhood are the scents, colors, textures of the Jewish holidays.I know this seems related to the Shabbos thing, and I suppose it is, but most secular celebrations of Jewish holidays that I’ve been to don’t cut it for me. This past Sukkos, in particular, I found myself in a crisis. Faced with the prospect of a three-day Yom Tov, I decided that I would let myself just chill for those few days and maybe attend a Sukkos dinner at the Conservative synagogue. The whole experience left me so sad, there aren’t words to describe it.

--Community. Yeah, I know you can find this anywhere. Community is not exclusive to the Jewish world. But to me, there’s something really nice about the way the MO Jewish community functions, especially when combined with what I love about Shabbos and the holidays.

But I conflict greatly with the MO community in terms of the things I believe in. Some of these are:

--God. I’m an agnostic, not an atheist, but I definitely lean more towards the atheist side these days. And God’s a huge issue. If you don’t believe in it, why are you practicing all of these rituals?

--Torah. Even if I could make that jump from agnostic to believer, I can’t believe that a book with so many inaccuracies and morally problematic (for me) ideas could be divine. And unlike others for whom this doesn’t matter, it’s pretty crucial for me.

--A Definition of Morality. Mine differs pretty greatly from that of most MO Jews I’ve met (even some of the most vehemently modern ones). I don’t see how I can live within a system with such strict gender divisions and with such a heteronormative culture. While I can admit that Judaism’s morality may have pretty progressive at one point in time, today it just doesn’t measure up in my eyes.

--Set Expectations/Normalcy. (Linked, definitely, to morality) Again, not limited to the Jewish community – and certainly not inherent in Judaism as a religion – but prevalent in most MO Jewish communities I’ve been to. That is, there is an idea that your life will follow a certain course and that course is even more limiting that the “normal” course proscribed by contemporary secular society (which is already quite limiting!). “What?! You’re 28 and not married? Oy!”

This is just a starting point. There’s so much more to say. But in the end, what I’m trying to get at is that it’s not just the problem of how to tell my parents, it’s the problem of how to tell myself. Because I actually feel like there are two sides of me at war here, and I’m not sure which way to turn.

Racism in the Jewish World

2007-12-12T13:21:00.000-08:00

I really can't understand racist Jews. Not those who are blind to their own racism ("I'm not a racist, but all [X race] ...") and certainly not those who are openly, admittedly racist.

I know this is an obvious point that's been reiterated time and again by others like me, but I just need to vent.

Because, as it turns out, one of my good friends who I've known for quite some time has a racist streak to her. How this managed to escape my notice for so long, I have no clue. And it bothers the hell out of me.

When we know what it is to be grouped as a racial category and discriminated against, how can we justify doing the same to others? It seems so blatantly obvious to me, I really can't fathom how intelligent people in 2007 can think otherwise -- how they can continue to live with themselves spouting the racist philosophy that they do.

I'll riff a little...

For some more "enlightened" Jews, making the kind of racist comments made by this particular friend would be unthinkable, because they were made in regards to Hispanics. Trade that classification in for Arabs, however, and you'd find a much larger contingent of our community who are willing to group the whole race together and disparage their supposed collective racial attributes.

I know that there are a lot of intense emotional responses to the Israeli/Palestinian conflict, but I don't think that excuses blatant racism or even not-so-blatant racism. And yet, even in the most liberal of circles, these kinds of attitudes seem widespread.

Yeah, nothing surprising in this post, I s'pose. Just me being pissed off.

STRESSED OUT (Or, Starting the Conversation)

2007-12-04T09:47:00.000-08:00

Lately, I have become increasingly stressed out to the point that stress seems almost a normal state of being.

And here's the thing - the consensus from the comments on my last post was that I was not, indeed, a hypocrite. Which is nice to know, but it doesn't help the stress. The more sure I am that I don't believe in the basic premises Judaism and the more I find myself breaking with Jewish law, the more upset (which translates into stress) I become that I'm not being honest with my friends and (more importantly) my parents and siblings.

But I don't even know where or how to begin such a conversation. Sometimes I think my mother suspects it by the kinds of questions she asks me and the tone in which she asks them ("Where did you get food on your trip to [place without a Jewish community]? What did you do for Shabbos?").

I have no problem arguing with my parents about political or social issues and do so all the time. But the second I even think about broaching the topic of Judaism, I feel queasy. I can almost see the look of anguish on their faces. My parents are baal tshuva and they have become increasingly more religious throughout the years. My siblings all became more religious than we were raised to be. I'm already the "black sheep" because I'm "modern" but I'm terrified of how hurt my parents would be if I came out as an agnostic (or how infrequently my siblings would talk to me).

But I'm 28 already. And I feel a little bit paralyzed, like I can't really start life unless I can start it on my own grounds. And somehow, even though I've already done a thousand different things with my life, I feel like I'm not really living freely unless I come clean to my parents.

But how do I start that conversation?

Hypocrisy?

2007-12-01T14:02:00.000-08:00

So I was at my (non-religious) aunt's house the past few days...and I've been telling her what I've been thinking about everything in terms of religion lately. She was pretty supportive when we were talking...

But later, she was in a bad mood (my aunt's a bit of a character) and she snapped at me, "At least I'm not a hypocrite like you..."

Well I know that I'm being a bit hypocritical, because I don't actually believe in what I'm doing (or in certain cases, am pretending to do/believe in), but at the same time, I feel a certain drive to protect my parents' feelings as well as a draw to certain aspects and traditions of the religion.

I'm also trying to be okay with it by believing that I will tell my parents at some point in the future...

Anyway, just wondering how the rest of you feel on this issue. Do you feel like a hypocrite? If so, how do you deal?

A Feminist Orthodoxy

2007-11-19T10:40:00.000-08:00

This post is inspired by a conversation I’ve been having in the comments thread on XGH's blog.

This is not going to be about my struggles with gender and Judaism. Believe me, I’ve struggled with these. In my teenage years and adulthood, I’ve become painfully aware of what the “separate but equally as special” dictum that many traditionally minded OJs hold really means for women.

But that story and analysis is for a different post and a different time.

This post is about potential and the future.

I’ll reiterate one point first: my problems with OJ (which, granted, I haven’t gone into in any real detail here yet) are NOT limited to gender-related issues. They stretch far beyond this.

That said, if my problems were limited to gender, I think that in 2007 I might have some hope.

It is still quite far from solving everything for me, but I see a lot of promise in the recent introduction of feminist ideology into OJ. Organizations like JOFA and women like Blu Greenberg and Tamar Ross, to my mind, are pushing in the right direction and making much needed advances.

Whether or not they are directly influenced by feminist theory, many OJ women feel a divide between their lives in the secular and religious spheres. These are educated, intelligent women who want to participate more actively in their religion – in addition to their mitzvot they are already performing as women.

Furthermore, they are women who see a real benefit in having a more active female presence in OJ overall. The ordination (?not sure if that’s the right word?) of yoatzot is one example of how this is true.

In the aforementioned conversation that I was having with “Dude” on XGH’s blog, “Dude” said that a feminist OJ is silly/childish, goes against the historical Jewish perspective, and ultimately makes a mockery of halachic flexibility.

I argued that there are precedents for this kind of female role – think Devorah, Bruriah – but they have just been downplayed. With the story of a female judge in Tanach itself, how can anyone argue that there can’t be any place for a woman in Judaism outside her home?

What I find most discouraging is that fact that Dude’s attitude isn’t an anomaly; rejection and disparagement of a more feminist OJ is widespread. The only reason I can come up with for this is knee-jerk sexism; these people feel afraid – like their world, religion, etc., is going to fall apart if such changes are made.

The craziest thing to me about this attitude is that feminist OJ’s changes don’t (in general) violate halacha. In fact, these women have such great respect for halacha that they really only institute rituals that are okay by halachic standards – after speaking with rabbis – when some of them would really want much more radical changes.

Judaism in a Void

2007-11-13T10:41:00.000-08:00

When I was in my late teens and early twenties, I used to dream of taking off and moving to one of these remote (rural?) towns in the middle of the country. I grew up right near a big city, spent my college years in an urban environment, and really, I just wanted a change.

Anyway, my parents' and OJ friends would always react to these dreams with a standard line: "Well, as long as there's a Jewish community there..." And since I wasn't out about my skepticism, I would always mumble something about Chabad.

And then I went to graduate school. Unsurprisingly, I chose a program that was out in a small college town with a tiny OJ population. In fact, the entire OJ population consisted of the Chabad rabbi, rebbetzin, two families (college profs), and a smattering (maybe 10?) of students - most of whom had become OJ through Chabad.

Funny thing about this, though, was that while I was one of two Jews in my entire department (the other knew next to nothing about Judaism), I actually got more religious during that time period.

Or maybe religious is the wrong word. Because my level of OJ observance plummeted in many ways and I continued to be skeptical of OJ and question many of its assumptions. But for the first time in a long time, I felt Jewish and proud to be Jewish. Not only that, but the traditions themselves became a lot more meaningful to me. And I went to Chabad nearly every weekend (yeah, yeah...I know they're theologically sketchy). This, even though I had a good social life with the other non-Jewish graduate students.

It's now been several years since I graduated and I've moved to NY. Here, with my very sincere MO roommate, my OJ friends, and OJism all around me, I find so much of my enchantment and pride that I had in graduate school is gone. Of course, there are still aspects of OJ that I value and connect with, but they are fewer and the level of connection is weaker. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. At the very least, it means my intellectual processes and my feelings are (relatively) on the same page.

Figuring it Out (Or Trying, Anyway)

2007-11-08T12:49:00.000-08:00

So here's where I am.

I'm 28 years old. It's been more than 14 years since the first time I intentionally ate non-kosher (unless you count gum, in which case it's been about 20 years). It's about 12 years since the first time I broke Shabbos.

Back then, it was different though. While I questioned the idea of God, the idea of religion, these acts were more about rebellion...and occasionally even about fitting in. I was brought up in a Modern Orthodox home, with ba'al tshuva parents and, at about 14 years old, it started to feel like my life (in more ways than just religiously) no longer fit me.

When I was 18, I went to seminary (like so many others from my circles) -- and while I never became really frum per se, I did stop eating non-kosher, started keeping Shabbos, perhaps more significantly, started believing in the premises of Orthodox Judaism.

Of course I always still questioned. In seminary, for example, I tried asking my rabbis & teachers about things that still bothered me -- the fact that our religion commanded us to commit genocide, most specifically--the fact that the Torah seemed to talk about women like second class citizens. Again and again, I was told that this wasn't the time for these questions (especially about Amalek!) or given explanations that didn't really work for me (women are different, special -- and the Torah understands that about us; but I didn't feel very different).

Slowly, through college and later through graduate school, I began questioning even more -- reading, talking to other Ortho Jews, people of other faiths, etc. -- and what had seemed to make total sense a few years earlier, no longer did. It got to the point where I couldn't even reconcile the idea of God's existence anymore (I'm currently an agnostic).

But it was more complicated than just that. Because for all the theological, philosophical, and feminist issues I had with Orthodox Judaism, I have mixed feelings about it. That is, many of the beliefs it espouses are ones I (sometimes vehemently) disagree with. But I often feel a strong emotional connection to its traditions and community. And I don't, for the most part, dislike day-to-day existence as a Modern Orthodox Jew. (The phrase "for the most part," of course, is problematic when you're dealing with Judaism.) So I've been living -- outwardly, anyway (occasionally I've moved into the more Conservative/Conservadox realm) -- as what others in the blog world have called "Orthoprax" for a while now. This is because of the aforementioned emotions, as well as the fact that I don't want to alienate my parents and siblings.

I guess none of this would be such a problem if I didn't have these nagging ethical/intellectual problems with OJ...and if I didn't have to qualify the above emotional justification with the phrase "for the most part." Lately, these issues have become more problematic as I read and experience more.

This blog is in response to a few months of reading other OTD or skeptic blogs, specifically a recent entry by Going Going Gone in which she noted the lack of female bloggers on this topic. Hopefully, like it has done for others before me, this blog will help me sort out my thoughts.