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11 Sivan 5760 - June 14, 2000 | Mordecai Plaut, director Published Weekly
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Opinion & Comment
Baalei Teshuvah and the Chareidi World

by Rav Yehuda Greenwald

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.


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