Introduction: "How would I be able to . . ." I would be a wealthy woman if I had a dollar for every time I either heard someone start a question with these words or used them myself to ask a question of my rabbi. It always begins the same way-"How would I be able to . . ."-and goes on to ask how an observant Jew can participate in an event involving less- or nonobservant family members while making sure that Jewish law is not violated and that the relatives are not offended. This issue comes up with every family simchah, or family get-together, more frequently than you would imagine. "How would I be able to eat in my mother's nonkosher kitchen?" "How would I be able to attend my niece's bat mitzvah in a Reform synagogue?"" How would I be able to join my extended family for the seder?" The sentiment behind the questions, regardless of the family or the particular issue at hand, is always the same. The newly observant Jew says, or feels, something like this: "I believe in the divine origin of the Torah-both the Written and Oral Law. And I believe that I must follow these laws as Jews have done for thousands of years before me, without adding to or subtracting from them. But I also love my family and I know they love me, and I know that one of the Ten Commandments is to honor my father and mother. Family is what anchors all of Jewish life.How can I live a Torah-observant life but still maintain relationships with my non- or less-observant parents, siblings, and extended family? Must I choose between being a part of my family and being a Torah-observant Jew? Is this really what God intended, for us to observe laws that have the potential to break apart families and cause everyone great pain? Isn't there some way that I can be an observant Jew and still be a member of my family?" I am a ba'alas teshuvah: a Jew who was raised in a secular, nonobservant Jewish home and who as an adult chose to live a Torah-observant life. My story is hardly unique. I was raised in New York, on Long Island, among thousands of other Jews who celebrated their Jewishness with the annual hour-long Passover Seder. I attended the synagogue on the two "required" days of the year and celebrated Chanukah, sometimes with presents signed "Love, Santa." And that was it.My parents' friends were Jewish, and I knew I was a Jew, mostly because I knew I wasn't a Christian- the only other alternative. I felt Jewish, but I never felt like I was a member of a religion, because there was never any discussion of God or Torah in our home. Judaism was a culture, an ethnicity, a tribe to which I belonged. I was part of the Jewish people. Whatever thoughts about God my parents might have held privately they never shared with me or my siblings. Like many girls back then, I didn't receive a Hebrew education. I watched my brothers become bar mitzvah with big parties, and no explanation was ever extended to me for why I didn't have a similar celebration.When I was growing up, girls didn't have bat mitzvahs-that came years later. Because I never went to Hebrew school and because my parents never discussed religious thoughts or issues in our home, I grew up with no knowledge whatsoever of the Torah, just like thousands of my peers. To their great credit, my parents worked hard and achieved their American dream. They assimilated well into American society and provided me with an excellent education and a nice, middle-class home, thanks to both my mother's and father's successes in business. Most important-and not to be taken for granted nowadays-they created a strong, loving, and stable marriage, which formed the basis for the stable and loving family life they provided for me and my brothers. I don't recall whether our fence was a white picket one, but we grew up in a good neighborhood with an assortment of family dogs, piano lessons, summer camp (although never a Jewish one), and many of the privileges that accompany middle-class success. Like many Jews of my generation, I spent my twenties peering into practically every religion but Judaism, trying to find God, assuming that God was to be found anywhere but in my own backyard. Torah? What was that? But I didn't find God in the ashrams or in New Age practices, although I certainly tried. I never could bring myself to search for Him in any of the Christian sects, although I knew there were Jews who did. Eventually, through sheer good fortune and a whole lot of experimentation and persistence on my part, I stumbled across a few pivotal teachers and mentors who guided me back to choosing Judaism as my spiritual path. Rabbi Alan Ullman of Boston,Massachusetts, was the first rabbi who showed me the beauty and power of Torah. Under his guidance, for the first time in my life, I came to love being a Jew for reasons other than mere ethnicity. But it would still be a very long time-ten years-before I would become convinced that the Torah was the direct word of God, and that it was something I should follow. I came to the decision to be an Orthodox Jew slowly. I started taking on religious practices in my early thirties, but I didn't feel ready to make a solid commitment to Yiddishkeit and an Orthodox lifestyle until I was in my early forties. In 1999, I wrote my eighth book and my first Jewishoriented one, Two Jews Can Still Be a Mixed Marriage: Reconciling Differences over Judaism in Your Marriage, when my husband, Stephen, and I were negotiating disagreements regarding religious observance that began before our wedding. Over the course of our years together, after much study on my part and as a result of a few pivotal moments-such as our attending a Gateways seminar that opened my eyes to Torah in a whole new way-Stephen and I made a mutual commitment to living and raising our children as Torah-observant Jews. I came to this decision kicking and screaming at first, mostly prodded by Stephen, who was also a ba'al teshuvah but one who was more devoted to observance than I was at the time. The early years of our marriage were characterized by my muttering "You want me to do what?!" in reply to my husband's continuing requests that I take on more observant practices in our marriage and our home. As I slowly traveled down the path from secular and unaffiliated to committed Reform,Conservative, and, eventually, Orthodox Jew, I found myself being transformed from an unwilling and resistant hostage to a true partner, as committed as Stephen was to raising our three children in an observant household. Throughout this ten-year journey, my parents and extended family watched, worried, and then hoped that I would get over this phase and return to "normal." My mom, dad, and two younger brothers endured my changing my given name of Linda to a Hebrew name, Azriela. They were invited as guests to my adult bat mitzvah service when I was active in a Reform temple and decided to celebrate that ritual. They adjusted to my not coming home for the annual Passover Seder (the one religious ritual my family never missed) because their abbreviated Seder just didn't work for my husband and me anymore. They swallowed their hurt feelings when I spent half of a weekend visit with my brother's Sabbath-observant neighbor because everyone in my family spent that Saturday afternoon attending a ball game, shopping, and watching television, and I couldn't be with them and still keep Shabbos. When Israel was struck repeatedly by terrorists, my mother worried that, now that I was observant, I might get the crazy idea to move to Israel. My family didn't attend my son's upsherin-his first haircut-because they just couldn't celebrate such an odd ritual with us. I know it was very hard for them at first to see my son's tzitzis and peyos, public symbols of being an observant Jew that he wears proudly, because they were raised to hide such flagrant displays of Jewish observance. They eventually stopped calling us during the Sabbath because they realized that we just wouldn't answer the phone, and we all got used to the ritual of checking in with one another on Friday afternoon, before the Sabbath. My new religious practices and commitments are as alien to my family as if I had chosen to convert to another religion. I know that at times it seems to them as if I've gone off the deep end. But early on in my religious journey, I decided that I would not leave my family behind. I love my parents and my brothers. They are committed Jews-to the Reform Judaism that they know, love, and take pride in-and although they don't join me in my level of observance, I know that they love and respect me. I never proselytize or pressure them in any way to join me in increased observance. I don't ridicule or lecture them, or try to convince them to follow my way of observance. I have always understood that this is not my role. I love them for who they are, and I respect them. I have over the years done everything I can to honor and respect my family and to stay connected to them, while at the same time moving away from the secular lifestyle that they find comfortable and that I now feel is incompatible and at cross purposes with my observant lifestyle. This is a very difficult path to walk. And so that's when the "How would I be able to . . ." questions arise, because I am always searching for room within Jewish law to do the halachically right thing but still keep connected to my extended family. Orthodox rabbis with whom I have studied and whom I have consulted have surprised me on many occasions. While I knew that they would be concerned about what I ate, I was encouraged to see that they were also acutely attuned to human relationships and concerned with helping me achieve harmony in my family. There were a few times when I worried that the requirements of halachah would result in my having to do something that would be hurtful to my family and would strain the tenuous ties we had. But more often the surprise ran the other way-there were accommodations that could be made, within the halachic framework, that would allow me to be a part of my relatives' lives in ways that I did not think were possible. For example, I was genuinely shocked to discover that, by following certain rules, I could eat in my mother's nonkosher home. Which is to say, I could follow halachic requirements and at the same time maintain shalom bayis, or family harmony. More often than not,my rabbis showed me how I possibly could do something, rather than flatly insisting that there was no way that I could. They demonstrated to me that I could be an observant Jew, fully committed to halachah, without separating entirely from my immediate family and my extended relatives. They destroyed the myth I once held that the ideal was to leave as far behind as possible my secular upbringing. They taught me to see it as a valued foundation, and that family connections are still worth holding on to. No one ever said it would be easy Shalom bayis in a family whose members are at different levels of observance is possible, but that doesn't mean it's easy. In my own journey, hundreds of questions and concerns have arisen along the way, on both sides. My family and I have hurt one another's feelings, made one another angry, and questioned one another's values, commitments, and priorities. But at least we are still very much a family, all of us doing our parts to maintain family harmony. There are plenty of days when I wish they would "see the light" and come along on my journey with me. On just as many days, they wish that I would calm down and return to their level of observance so that I could eat in their home without all the advance planning, join them in their synagogue, and stop doing weird things like wearing a wig all the time. But more often now we are working out new ways to be together rather than reconciling ourselves to situations that move us farther apart. To my family's credit, they have, I believe, accepted my commitment and no longer think that it's something I'll "get over." They may even, on occasion, see the beauty in some of the things that I do, even if they don't choose to join me in doing them. I wrote this book to create something that would explain to the relatives of newly observant Jews-including, of course, my parents, siblings, and extended family-the rationale behind the practices and beliefs of observant Jews, so that they would understand that what seems like a direct rejection of their way of life is really motivated by values and beliefs that they can appreciate, and even admire. And I hope that newly observant Jews-the "you" whom I address throughout the book-will find this book useful; that they will consult it themselves and perhaps even give it to their relatives when the questions and difficult times come. I have tried to create a text that answers the most common questions that newly observant Jews like me and my husband confront as we attempt to bring together two different worlds: that of our families of origin and that of our other family-the community of Torah observant Jews. The Torah doesn't claim that relationships between family members are easy or free of conflict. Quite the opposite is reflected in our ancestral heritage. But one thing has always been true: Isolation is not regarded as the ultimate form of holiness. And connections to God are to be found within our relationships with spouses, children, parents, and siblings. We can achieve through family relationships levels of holiness that can be found in no other place. The newly observant Jew who exclaims,"My family is an obstacle to my spiritual growth!" may wish to rethink that statement. No better way exists for you to become a com passionate, patient, loyal, Torah-observant Jew than by succeeding in overcoming the family conflict that may arise because of your religious practices and beliefs. The less- or nonobservant parent who exclaims, "My child's religious observance is undermining our family relationship!" may also wish to rethink that statement.We tend to take family relationships for granted. Family members can spend hours together, with the conversation barely extending beyond "Please pass the remote control" and "What's for dinner?" The Jewish family forced to work through the myriad issues that arise because they have different levels of religious observance has been given a rare and valuable opportunity to learn how to communicate. The members of this family have to talk to one another about issues that really matter, or they may cease being a family. They will have to work at creating family harmony instead of taking it for granted. Every member of a family engaged in this struggle will learn about loving people for whom they are rather than for whom one wants them to be and about treating one another with respect and dignity, even if differing points of view make that difficult. Yes, conversation between me and my family members is difficult at times. But at least we are still talking, and we never give up on the vision we share of a loving, supportive, and connected family that spans three generations and a wide spectrum of religious practices. If this book helps to create shalom bayis in even one family, it has been worth the effort. If it helps to build harmony and understanding within my own family, I will feel truly blessed beyond measure. To my parents' and siblings' credit, and to the credit of parents and siblings of newly observant Jews throughout the world, we are all learning how to be together as a family, despite the separateness we maintain in certain areas. It is not only possible, but it can be beautiful. We are all Jews, and we are family. We must never forget that. |