Searching for Truth When Your Belief System has Fallen Apart- my talk at the upcoming Project Makom Shabbaton

Before I begin I want to say something, which as you will see, is actually very connected do what I will be discussing. Some, including Mindy and Allison, might think that I participate in  these shabbatons because I have something to offer you. The truth is, however, that I attend these shabbatons to gain inspiration. As silly as it might sound, you, and all the members of Project Makom are my heroes. Your passion for truth, your refusal to simply go with the flow, your need to question, understand, and seek, inspires me. In a world that was not an olam hafuch, you would be honored by the velt for being true Mevak’shei Hashem.

To begin, allow me to share with you part of the reason that the mission of Project Makom speaks to me. I myself have gone on my own journey looking for my own place in the world, and in Judaism, in fact, I’ve never finished my journey, and hope I never will. I was raised in a pretty typical Modern Orthodox family of the 1970s and 80s. My father, a”h, did not attend a yeshivah. In fact, he did not grow up religious. Although he developed a love for many parts of yiddishkeit, he never learned Hebrew or Aramaic and couldn’t learn (he did grow up speaking Yiddish, and spoke with my mother a”h in Yiddish to discuss things they didn’t want us to understand). We kept Shabbos, at least as well as we could without really knowing Hilchos Shabbos, and kashrus, but fudged it on occasion, for example, relying on a sketchy rumor that the local Dunkin Donuts was kosher. It was only later in my late teens and early twenties when I began to take things more seriously. In 1997, when I was 26, I switched from a kippah seruga kollel to one that was yeshivish. I soon followed in their ways, and started wearing a hat, although only on Shabbos. That year, for the first time, I ran into a religious question which challenged my understanding of Judaism. I was too scared to ask anyone how to deal with my struggles, as we are not supposed to have doubts, or so I thought. Years later, I asked someone knowledgeable, who gave me an answer which gave me yishuv hada’as. About five years ago, I went through a much more serious crisis. I was not sure that I was still a ma’amin. I was in chinuch, was married to one of the most sincerely religious people I’ve ever met, and had seven children. I decided that no matter where my search led me, I would not change my outer behavior. It was more important for me to protect my family, than to be myself (although I understand those who make different decisions). I wasn’t scared. I was terrified. Which brings us to the practical part of this talk.

Using the process of how I rediscovered my faith, although in a very different way than before (which is why my blog is called “Pesach Sheini) I will attempt to give very practical suggestions, which I hope will be of help.

1. Your struggles and questions are okay

Don’t beat yourself up for struggling or having questions. You are not  an apikores. You are not a bad person. In fact, you are doing what the founders of chassidus did. You are saying “I refuse to simply choose a derech that doesn’t fit me, just because I was born into it”. When the Kotzker was asked by his father why he had changed his derech, he pointed out that it says in Shemoneh Esrei אלקינו ואלקי אבותינו. First we have to make HaShem our God. Then we can connect to the God of our fathers. He was far from alone. I can literally share dozens and dozens of those who chose chassidus despite their misnagdish background, including Rav Leibele Eiger, whose grandfather, Rebbe Akiva Eiger you might have heard of. And it’s not just to chassidus. I can show you others who went the other direction, and even those who, gasp!, chose to become more “modern”.

2. There is no such thing as a bad question, although there are bad answers

Ask your questions. Do not think that any are bad, and must be hidden or ignored. They will bother you until you examine them. Don’t however accept “bad” answers. Some answers will simply be wrong or simplistic. Others might work for others, but not for you. Keep asking until you are satisfied by what you hear. Also, some questions can not be answered by an answer that will satisfy you. That’s okay. Better to be emes’dik, than to try and force yourself to believe something you know to be wrong. Which leads us to:

3. Know whom you should not ask

Some people are afraid of questions and doubts. Some are so scared that they attack those who ask these questions, so that they can avoid struggling themselves. I’m sure you’ve all met these people. Unfortunately some are teachers of Torah, or people who can have a lot of control over your community. Avoid discussing your questions with them. They can’t handle struggle, even though the Ribbono Shel Olam can.

4. There are many great resources out there

There are some brilliant talmidei chachamim and scholars who are very accessible and are happy to try and help you with your search. They can be reached in various ways, including in person, and by phone, email and social media. Yes, Facebook is a great resource for doing more than just posting pictures of what you had for lunch.

I reached out to many different people who were incredibly helpful (as well as some who were not). Some shared their own thoughts, others recommended books which were quite helpful.

5. Read, read, read

There are incredible seforim and books out there where many challenging questions are addressed. They are written by those they never told you about in cheder or Beis Yaakov; Rav Kook ztl, Rav Yosef Ber Soloveichik ztl, Rabbi Dr. Eliezer Berkovits ztl, and Reb Hillel Zeitlin ztvkl, to name a few. Zeiltlin by the way, was born into a chassidic family, lost his emunah due to some serious questions, and found his way back to frumkeit and chassidus, before being tragically murdered in the Warsaw Ghtto.

6. Be patient with yourself

It took me more than 1 ½ years before I started to truly believe. It could have taken longer. These things take time. There is no deadline.

7. Be willing to be a cholent

You don’t have to find the perfect community. In fact, there is likely no community that will truly be a perfect fit for you. That’s okay. It’s why my more liberal friends think I’m a right-winger and my conservative friends think I’m a kofer (I’m joking….kind of). I love certain parts of chassidus, which are part of my Avodas haShem. Other parts don’t speak to me. I appreciate the commitment to serious Talmud Torah which I see in parts of the yeshivish world, even while other parts of that world trouble me. And yes, I love the ideas of Modern Orthodoxy, even as I find too few in the community who strive to live up to those lofty theories. As Rav Kook taught, there is no approach that doesn’t have some emes to teach us.

The Meiri, who was a Rishon, noted that the tefillin that any of us wear are pasul according to every Rishon. Our tefillin  follow some shittos of one Rishon, and other shittos of other Rishonim. He then asks, how we can wear these tefillin if they are “pasul”. His answer is one you might expect from a Chassidic Rebbe, rather than a Rishon who was far from being a mystic. Rachmana Liba Ba’i, HaShem desire the heart. My beliefs and your beliefs might not be kosher according to, or perfectly fit in with, any one group, but they are most pleasing to HaShem, who desires our hearts.

Finally,

8. Not everything you believe can be publicly shared

The Rambam wrote more than the Mishneh Torah, even if some pretend otherwise. He wrote a complicated work of philosophy called the Moreh Nevuchim. Everybody from secular to Satmar, and from Reform to Reb Chaim ztl, think they know the “real” Rambam. Some say his philosophy was the real him, while others say he didn’t believe any of it, and would fit in perfectly in the charedi world. I won’t share my personal opinion, but, no, he wouldn’t fit into the charedi world.

There’s a reason nobody knows what he truly believed. In his introduction to the Moreh, he makes clear that he is going to hide his true beliefs behind all sorts of seeming contradictions. He knew that many of his generation could not handle his belief system, and tried to keep it hidden. Of course, it didn’t quite work, as they burned his books anyway.

You would be shocked to know how many things which many today call kefirah, were believed by the Rishonim. While those ideas can not be publicly expressed in some communities, I’m pretty sure the Rambam, the Ralbag, and Ibn Ezra were good Jews, and I’m willing to risk my Olam HaBa on them. My beliefs are complex and I have to keep parts of them away from most people. Not because they are kefirah chas v’shalom, but because most frum people don’t seriously study philosophy and are not aware of how many “kefirah’dik ideas, are totally muttar. There is no pesak in hashkafa. I discuss my ideas with those who can handle them. With others I’m guarded. Sometimes it gets annoying, but there is always a price we pay for being part of groups which can never perfectly reflect who we are (we also gain various things from not living alone, much more than we lose).

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In conclusion, be true to yourself and do not fear the challenging journey ahead. It won’t always be easy, but with siyata dishmaya, you will find your makom.

Sinai Moments- Coping with religious doubt

Many, if not most, religious people go through periods of religious doubt. While there are those like Rav Kook and Rabbi Norman Lamm, who explore the religious value of doubt, doubt can often be disturbing and demoralizing. What, if anything, can be done to get through the struggles that come with doubt? I'd like to discuss an idea that was discussed by Rav Eliezer Berkovits, and expand upon it.

In the fifth chapter of his classic work, God, Man and History, Rav Berkovits discusses the value of the initial religious encounter with God that occurred at Mount Sinai. Among other things, the encounter showed that God was a deity who was involved in the world and cared about his creation, as opposed to the unmoved mover of Aristotle. He suggests that the encounter serves as a reminder of God's care, during the many times when He seems absent from our lives. Just as the thought of her husband, might help an army wife, when her beloved is away at war, and make up for the silence and fear that he might not return, the Mount Sinai experience serves as a way of remembering God's concern, during those painful moments when that very care is in doubt.

What of those who were not actually at Mount Sinai? Rav Berkovits suggests that in the numerous commandments which reference the Sinaitic revelation, such as the Mishkan, HaKhel and Shavuos, one re-cognizes (once again thinks of) the revelation, moving it from a moment of history, to a personal experience.

For many of us, I'm not so sure that this is enough, and therefore, I'd like to go beyond Rav Berkowits point. I want to make clear that I am not suggesting that he would necessarily agree with my idea. Nonetheless, I think that my extension of his idea is not without merit.

There are moments in our lives when we experience God's care and concern. I can think of several such moments in my own life. While these experiences are inherently subjective, for those who experience them, they are real. I would call these moments “Sinai Moments”. While, unlike the revelation at Sinai, these moments are personal and will often mean little, if anything, to the one who has not experienced them, for the one who has, they express God's concern as much as the moment at Sinai did for those who were there. In this formulation, these Sinai moments are not merely to be appreciated at the moment that they occur. Rather, they are to be thought of at those times that one feels alone and distant from God. In thinking of these moments, we might experience God's absence as temporary, instead of doubting his very concern.

Whether it is through a deeply internalized experience of the Sinai-based mitzvos, as Rabbi Berkovits suggests, or through thinking of what I have termed Sinai moments, I would suggest that moments of doubt need not be experienced passively, hoping that we will once again experience the breath of the Divine, as it were. Rather, we can re-cognize moments of care, both big and small, which might help us get past our moments of doubt, even if only temporarily.

Post by Pesach Sommer.

An Exchange of Letters- Of struggles, Slippery Slopes and Heresy

Last week I received an email from the father of several students who I taught a number of years back. After giving it some thought, I decided to share the email and my response. The man's name and one detail has been changed in order to keep his identity private.

Dear Pesach,

I've considered you a friend for many years, and still do. You were the rebbie to [a number of my children], and for that I'm grateful.

I see that your thinking about Judaism is evolving, and wish you success with your struggle to redefine your Judaism. I also am requesting that your remove me from your blog list, since I don't share this struggle, and am quite happy with the view of Torah Judaism that I've been taught and with which my parents raised me. Your new thinking is, I believe, a slippery slope to apikorsus. I don't have the bandwidth to argue or try to convince you; I'm too busy trying to keep my own sedarim in Gemara, Halacha, etc. But I wish that Hashem grant you menuchas hanefesh and insight into His Torah. 

I look forward to seeing you next time you visit [ ]. 

Best wishes to you and your family,

Yaakov (Name changed)

Dear Mr. Kramer,

I received your email, and, as per your request, have removed you from my blog email list.

For the most part, I appreciate the tone of your email. I consider you a friend as well, and appreciate the relationship that I developed with you, your sons and your family. At the same time, I was somewhat saddened by some of what you wrote. I certainly understand and even respect your decision to not read about certain topics and areas of thought which make you uncomfortable. There is certainly justification within our tradition for not exploring certain topics of thought. I too have lines that I prefer not to pass. 

At the same time your willingness to suggest that my "new thinking" is on the "slippery slope to apikorsus", was unfair, particularly without a willingness to back it up in any way. I am quite uncomfortable with a willingness to throw around the term "apikorsus" in a somewhat cavalier and unsubstantiated manner. To do so is dangerous and I would urge you to be careful how you use it. I suspect that there are those who would be willing  term the Judaism that you've "been taught and which [your] parents raised [you] as being on the slippery slope to apikorsus. Particularly, as someone who works in informal education, in a manner that tries to make Judaism understandable to people who might not connect to more traditional methods of teaching, I would hope that you would recognize that our tradition offers a broad range of hashkafot, including ones that allow us to deal with the most challenging of issues and questions. In fact, from Rav Saadiah Gaon, to Rambam, to Rav Crescas, to Rebbe Yehuda Halevi, to Rav Kook and Rav Dovid Tzvi Hoffman, some of our greatest teachers of Torah have kept Torah fresh and meaningful by engaging in the questions that plagued their generation. To be sure, I am nowhere near their level, but at the same time, I take tremendous comfort in knowing that what I write seems to help many more people than it threatens.

If I indeed lack Menuchas HaNefesh, I am grateful that it spurs me to move beyond simple and easy answers. Through my struggles I have indeed gained "insights into [God's] Torah" far beyond those I had gained before. I have discovered that, if anything, questioning, struggling and looking for meaningful answers has deepened my faith in God and connection to His Torah. 

Fondly,

Pesach