The following is an excerpt from chapter six of LoDaas
Bo'oretz Darkecha by Rav Yehuda Greenwald, which contains
questions and answers about baalei teshuva and the
chareidi world. In our opinion, they are of interest to
all.
Disillusioned By the Chareidi World
"I am somewhat disappointed with the chareidi world. When I
first became a baal teshuvah I was enthusiastic about
this new world. I had just discovered a different world and
noticed only its beauty. Slowly I began to see its
imperfections, distortions, and the secular world's
influences upon it. I must tell you that I currently have no
desire to come nearer to chareidi society and prefer to be
friends with other baalei teshuvah."
Answer:
I know this feeling well and I want to relate to you my
personal story. In the past, before the change that began in
my life, I lived in Ramat Gan, a city near Bnei Brak. Many
times I needed to pass through the streets of Bnei Brak and I
felt very strange: people were dressed in black "uniforms,"
spoke a golus jargon and had a weird mentality,
altogether different from my world of "modern Sabras." I
considered the chareidi world to be "primitive and belonging
to golus," something dismal and revolting. I would
frequently make a detour so I would not have to go through
the Bnei Brak streets bustling with "blacks."
After I became stimulated to search for my Jewish roots and
was drawn closer to Yiddishkeit, I met some
magnificent people. The first one was the rav who taught us a
shiur in parshas hashovu'a. He was a singular
person, wise and charming. Such a person I had never met in
the past. Afterward at the Seminars I became acquainted with
a staff of intelligent people who were devoted, polite, and
understanding. I started observing Shabbos and was a guest in
chareidi homes for Shabbos. The Jewish home fascinated me.
The relationship among family members and the wonderful
Shabbos itself was extraordinary. Everything was so unlike
the negative image I had previously had of chareidim.
I moved to Yerushalayim and studied in a baal teshuvah
yeshiva. Here too the yeshiva had a marvelous faculty, but at
the same time I occasionally encountered the behavior of some
average chareidi people, which was inadequate for bnei
Torah. This would entail a lack of good manners,
rudeness, and not being careful enough about mitzvos. This
observation disappointed me immensely. I was both surprised
and angry: How can a person observing mitzvos and studying
Torah, conduct himself in such a way?
A friend of mine, an older baal teshuvah who was about
to marry, rented an apartment from a chareidi Jew. After a
few days he found out that the person had deceived him about
a certain point. We were shocked. We could not understand how
a chareidi person could cheat someone else.
All this induced me to think more critically about the
chareidi world. I would count the unbefitting deeds I would
see during the week, one after the other, and immediately
afterwards would make a generalization about "all of these
chareidim." In the course of this criticism my personal
aversion to the strange Yiddish language, the dark clothing,
the conservatism, and the odd and incomprehensible mentality,
would sneak in. The scene would repeat itself each week and
usually close with the sentence: "We are lucky to be
baalei teshuvah."
As time passed I almost forgot all the good qualities I once
found in people after first becoming religious. I forgot all
of the wonderful deeds of chesed, Torah, and mitzvos,
that happened daily in the chareidi world and instead,
criticism filled a central place in my relationship to
them.
I became acquainted with Maran Hamashgiach shlita,
HaRav Shlomo Wolbe, and attended his shmuessen. This
acquaintance did not change my attitude towards the general
chareidi public, since I knew that gedolei Yisroel
belong to another world and against them I did not have any
complaints. In one of the shiurim with the
Mashgiach, which was conducted in a question-and-
answer format and open only to baalei teshuvah, I told
him that as I become more familiar with the chareidi world I
recoil more and more from it.
The Mashgiach stared at me and said: "Nu, and
what about it?"
Suddenly something dawned on me. I understood that in all my
irate attacks on chareidim a hidden continuation was never
expressed: ". . . and therefore I can remain outside." My
negative attitude to the chareidi world awarded me full
license to remain a baal teshuvah with my own
mentality and ideologies and without having to change.
But I immediately asked myself, "Why, anyway, do I need to
enter that world and change?"
The uncomplimentary picture of the chareidi world that had
been revealed to me only supported my opinion of it being
preferable to remain a baal teshuvah, outside the
regular chareidi camp. Indeed I had to admit needing chareidi
teachers to teach me Torah, but this necessity did not
obligate me to form a strong connection with the chareidi
public and to live within it.
A year later, on erev Purim, I went to a shul
to hear the megilla reading. Since I had been busy I
did not manage to change into yom tov clothing. In the
shul I met people dressed up for yom tov, and
it made a powerful impression on me. I felt terribly
embarrassed, since I was the only person wearing dusty
clothing. I thought to myself: "Why did I not make the effort
to change my clothing? Why was changing my clothes not
important for me?"
Now I understood that influences from my previous world still
remained within me. In that totally secular world you could
wear worn-out jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers -- even on
Shabbos.
This incident repeated itself on chol hamoed. I did
not understand why people were wearing yom tov
clothing. After all, it was only chol hamoed. I do not
mean the halachic question of whether you need to wear yom
tov clothing or not. I am talking about that simple
sensitivity to the festive nature of Shabbos, yom tov,
or chol hamoed, which causes a person to feel that it
is impossible to wear regular clothes on these special
days.
I tried to console myself by saying that I did not have to
make so much of external matters such as clothing, but my
heart told me that this was not the real point. In the depth
of my heart I knew that it was my secular mentality, which
was formed over the course of many years and would not simply
disappear after attending a few seminars. I thought, "Who
knows to what degree I am immersed in the Sabra mentality? Is
this mentality appropriate to the real Jewish character, the
character of a Jewish talmid chochom?"
I began noticing and discerning better how I and others act.
As time went by I discovered additional secular remnants
within myself: the way I spoke, my attitude to others, a lack
of awareness of the other's feelings and, especially, a lack
of refinement. I met charming baalei teshuvah who
already wore black suits and hats like any other chareidim,
but when they started talking, I knew right away that I was
talking to Itzik from the moshav, or coarse Oren from
the kibbutz, or shabby Eyal. I began to understand
that to be a real Jew it is not enough to accumulate
knowledge about Judaism, Torah and halocho. Judaism is
not an academic course; it is a substantial alteration of
oneself, something internal and real, which changes man into
a different person altogether.
I remembered the gemora's statement (Nedorim
7b) that "a prisoner cannot free himself from jail" and I
understood that to really change I need outside help, and
baalei teshuvah cannot help me progress in that
direction.
These examples of Purim and chol hamoed taught me that
only rubbing shoulders daily with individuals from the
chareidi world could teach me what parts of my own way of
living are deviations from the character of a simple Jew.
Although very much alert to the flaws in the chareidi world,
I understood that it was impossible to reject everything, and
that I could still learn basic things and simple behavior
from these people, things that they acquired in their
father's home or in the yeshivos kedoshos.
All these theories and conclusions were
wonderful, but it was still difficult for me to come closer
to the chareidi public because of my natural loathing of
their clothing, their language, their peculiar mentality, and
the natural ease I felt among other baalei
teshuvah.
Not long afterwards a great upheaval happened in my life.
After much indecision I transferred to Yeshivas Mir in
Yerushalayim. This is a mainstream chareidi yeshiva. All of
the talmidim were dressed in suits and put on hats--or
all of them did except for me. During tefillah I felt
out of line. The whole beis midrash was packed with
hundreds of people wearing suits and hats and I was the only
person dressed differently. This perplexed me and made it
difficult for me to concentrate on davening.
Days passed and a thought sneaked into my mind: I will have
to wear a dark suit and put on a hat, since I cannot remain
different from everyone. The thought of wearing a "uniform"
paralyzed me. I felt a terrible fear and a lack of choice. I
was, so to say, caught between the devil and the deep blue
sea. On the one hand, I strongly opposed this loathsome
clothing, but on the other hand I felt an increasing
discomfort in being unlike the others.
I would walk in the street and talk to myself, trying to
clarify why I so opposed wearing this clothing. I argued:
"This is only something external, and who needs it? Will it
make me more of a tzaddik?"
The other side of the argument was: "If this is only
external, what does it matter to me so much to wear a suit
and put on a hat? Why do I really oppose so strongly putting
on these clothing?"
Again I understood that my inability to wear this
golus clothing was because of my inner aversion to
anything unlike my Sabra upbringing.
Some time later I started wearing a suit and hat. Those were
difficult days for me. It was not easy for me to walk down
the street in the black clothing that had sickened me my
whole life, but gradually I got accustomed to going around
with such clothing and became more composed.
In the yeshiva, my criticisms of the chareidi world did not
decrease. My eyes perceived imperfections and faults. I saw
some kollel students wasting their time talking in the
beis midrash instead of studying, and I saw those who
took time to talk about buying things outside the beis
midrash. Every gesture that was incompatible with good
manners disturbed me and showed me that I was correct in my
attitude towards the chareidi world. "And this is not the
regular chareidi world but kollel students!" I said to
myself.
Only after a lengthy period did I discern, in the corner of
the crowded beis midrash, an avreich sitting
and studying diligently. A daily check revealed him to be an
assiduous student who did not waste a moment that he could be
studying. After observing him better I saw a cheerful look on
his face. I enlisted my deadly criticism to analyze this
person as carefully as possible.
In the van that took me home I found another such
avreich who, immediately after sitting down in the
van, would start discussing a sugya he was studying. I
suspected him of pretending to be a talmid chochom,
but after continuous surveillance I realized he was simply
totally engaged in studying Torah. Even when I talked with
him about mundane matters he would answer me succinctly and
then quickly return to talking about the gemora. When
he talked about Torah matters he was enthusiastic and
excited. I was truly jealous of him.
Slowly I discovered that in the yeshiva there were a large
number of masmidim studying Torah fervently and with
simcha. In addition, I found that these exceptional
avreichim were the most modest. They would not try to
show off what they knew every time they were asked a
question. They did not try to prove that they knew
everything. When others asked them some question directly
they would answer carefully and apologize, "I am not really
well acquainted with the sugya."
I tried my best to detect faults in them, but even when I did
find something, I was forced to admit that despite it they
were very different from all those I had known in the
chareidi world, and still more unlike those of the secular
world. This revelation was unbearable for me, since it
involved comparing myself to them and this comparison showed
how lacking I was, how far I was from perfecting myself. I
was envious of their unfeigned fervor and total immersion in
Torah study. Even after closing their gemoras, their
lives were only Torah. Recognizing my own imperfections
disturbed me endlessly.
I remember that I studied in the yeshiva with a
chavrusa who was a ben Torah. During the
zman I had many complaints about him. I argued that he
did not respect me enough, that he insulted me and rejected
the reasoning I offered him in an insulting way, without
really hearing what I had to say. Part of the time I spent
studying with him was dedicated to preaching and trying to
educate him. At the end of the zman I left him.
I could not continue bearing the way he treated me.
Now, after many years, I can positively say that all my
complaints were because I could not admit that this
avreich was superior to me in his studies. I already
considered myself a lamdan. He rejected my reasoning
not because of bad middos, but rather because the
reasoning I offered was totally inadequate, and this I could
not tolerate. This "forced" me to find imperfections in him
and other avreichim to "prove" that he was not better
than I -- and the same applies to all the others like him.
Today when I look around the beis medrash and see the
hundreds of avreichim studying with zest and
seriousness, I am amazed that for my first two years I looked
at that same beis medrash and saw only those who
frittered away their time; only the flaws. How can it be that
I did not see the masmidim, the simcha they
have when they study and their other virtues?
When I began to realize the qualities of real bnei
Torah, I began a new chapter of my life. I thought the
time had come to get acquainted with a talmid chochom
and come closer to him. I had to find a talmid chochom
who was not a godol beTorah since my attitude to the
gedolei Torah was that they were creatures from
another world. I had to find a talmid chochom with
whom I could meet frequently, with whom I could discuss my
personal matters freely and from whom I could learn.
Indeed, "Hashem opens His hand and willingly satisfies every
living being" (Tehillim 145:16). HaKodosh Boruch
Hu fulfills the real desire of every man: I found
what I was longing for.
I became acquainted with a wonderful talmid chochom.
He was thirty-eight years old, a mashgiach in a
yeshiva kedoshah. His appearance and behavior
enchanted me. I succeeded in convincing him to meet with me
at set times that lasted an hour. During this time I mainly
discussed personal matters with him and other topics
bothering me. During these meetings I uncovered the
magnificent world of a talmid chochom, a person with
outstanding middos, someone who would speak briefly
and listen attentively to others.
For two months he devoted time to study me and the
sugya called "a baal teshuvah." I felt the
enormous honor he had for baalei teshuvah because of
their tremendous devotion, their diligence and their powerful
will to progress and study. Occasionally he would,
surprisingly, react: "What? You too have this problem? I was
certain that only we had it."
This was not a tactic to win me over, but a glimpse of a
real, intelligent person who realizes and values virtues and
is not limited to a superficial outlook.
These meetings were really beneficial. When I went home after
them, I would think about the things we talked about and
would be amazed at the personality of a talmid chochom
that I revealed.
These meetings, which continued for a year and a half,
strengthened the metamorphosis in my attitude to the chareidi
world. I began seeing its various colors and types, its
complex parts and its dissimilarity to my previous world. At
that time I began conferring with certain avreichim
about matters that bothered me in connection to the chareidi
world. I expressed my opinions to them and many times their
answers filled me with embarrassment. They demonstrated to me
that I was not knowledgeable about the way of life of Klal
Yisroel, that I was unaware of the various considerations
guiding gedolei Yisroel and the intricate factors they
take into account before any decision. I discovered topics
and considerations unknown to me although I was a mature
person.
Life in the yeshiva and further meetings with eminent
talmidei chachomim benefitted me tremendously. When I
criticized "those chareidim" I knew that despite all my
criticism they were splendid talmidei chachomim,
different from all the people I had met during my life.
Although it was always possible to detect blemishes in
people, those talmidei chachomim were still people
with whom it was profitable to be acquainted and from whom it
was possible to learn a lot. In general, my attitude to
people in terms of "black and white," "kosher and
treif," could not continue. I had to see the good in
them.
These revelations strengthened my realization that my place
is within the chareidi world. Although during the many years
since then I have unveiled fundamental differences between me
and various avreichim, which obliged me to have a
different attitude to them and sometimes even to behave
differently towards them, this could not detract from the
feeling that the multicolored chareidi world is my home.
