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17 Cheshvan 5760 - October 27, 1999 | Mordecai Plaut, director Published Weekly
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Home and Family
Portrait of a "Mixed" Marriage
by Menucha Levin, Metzad

My husband and I have a `mixed' marriage. I come from an F.F.B. (Frum from birth) family, whose head z'l received smicha from R' Kahaneman at the esteemed Ponevezher Yeshiva in Europe. My husband is a baal tshuva from a very secular background.

How did this marriage happen? I suppose the simplest -- and best -- answer is that we were bashert (destined) for one another. Hashem, the greatest Matchmaker of all, had it all arranged. We needed each other to become the people we are now. Had I married one of the nice, complacent, young F.F.B. men with whom I had gone out on shidduchim, I might have remained on the same religious level all my life, doing everything by rote, never changing or growing. [This is, of course, by far, not to label F.F.B.'s as rote people.]

As soon as I met the man who was to become my husband, I knew he was different. At first, I was most impressed with his obvious intelligence. One snowy winter afternoon, we went for a long walk and he told me his story -- how after a totally secular upbringing, he had decided to lead a Torah life. He explained all the difficulties that decison had brought.

Twenty-five years ago, the baal tshuva movement was just starting. My husband did not have an instant support group, special programs, Shabbatonim or even the famous ArtScroll siddur to help him. He was basically a pioneer, struggling along on his own, trying to make sense of the strange new world of Orthodoxy he had chosen, or felt compelled to become part of.

Everything was new to him and achieved only with difficulty. When a family invited him for Shabbos, he was handed a bencher for zemiros, but he held it upside down! He had to struggle to learn the alef-beis from a child's primer. For someone who had always enjoyed academic success in the secular world and was, in fact, attending a prestigious law school at the time, it was definitely not an easy transition.

Another obstacle he had to overcome was alienation from his parents, as they felt he was rejecting them and their values. Somehow, he had the strength and courage to maintain his newfound beliefs and eventually succeeded in repairing the rift between him and his family.

I was deeply moved by his story and intuitively felt that he was the person I had been searching for so long and that our futures were to be inevitably intertwined.

So we were married. My husband continued on his spiritual journey and by doing so, took me along with him, away from my F.F.B. complacency. I learned to see the world of Torah through vivid eyes, which gave me a different perspective on things I had always taken for granted. The experience was like a fresh breeze blowing into a musty room which had been sealed up for too long.

And my husand, who had no traditions of his own that he knew of, gained by becoming part of an always observant family with continuous roots.

Several months after our wedding, we went for a short visit to his family in New Jersey. They were friendly and welcoming, going out of their way to accommodate us with specially bought kosher food and paper plates. Somehow, they even found two candles for me to light on Friday evening. But as I did so, I sadly reflected that it was probably the first time that Shabbos candles had ever been lit in that house.

I began to wonder how my husband, having grown up in such a secular environment, had ever managed to move so far away from it. In shul on Shabbos morning, I watched from the women's section as he prayed. He davened with such kavona that I could only thank Hashem for this miracle, the strength he had been given to leave his former life and claim his Jewish heritage.

Then his mother told us a `quaint' family story of the strange old lady -- her grandmother -- who was so old fashioned that she never removed her headscarf. Even when she wanted to wash her hair, she had her daughters hold a towel over her so that the "beams of her house" should never see her uncovered head.

"Just like Kimchis!" I exclaimed in wonder, recalling the story of a woman so pious that she kept her covered at all times. She was rewarded by having all of her sons become High Priests in the Beis Hamikdosh.

So my husband did have yichus, after all. The chain had nearly been severed but he had reconnected it now. It must surely have been in the merit of his valorous great- grandmother that the next generation of the family is now observant again.

When our oldest son was three, we carefully explained to him that Abba was a baal tshuva, and discussed what this meant. We told him that when Abba was a little boy, he had never known the beauty of Shabbos, the fun of Purim, the excitement of stealing the afikomon on Pesach, the challenge of building a succa or the pure spirituality of lighting Chanuka candles. On Rosh Hashona and Yom Kippur, he had not attended school, as in New York City even the public schools were closed; but his family hadn't gone to shul to pray, either. He had always felt he was missing something. But now, through our children, he could experience all the joys he had been denied in his own childhood. We explained that a baal tshuva was someone who had chosen to become Torah-observant and that was very special. One son then insisted, "I want to be a baal tshuva too!"

At first we tried to reason with him and explain things, but he started to cry. Then we realized that all of us can -- and should -- be, in a very real sense, baalei tshuva. We must all continue to grow, spiritually, in mitzvos, knowledge, awareness, and never become complacent and satisfied, but should continue to strive for more, to try to perfect ourselves into becoming the Jews we are potentially capable of becoming.

Now my husband is teaching in a yeshiva here in Israel and doing incredible outreach work with new baalei tshuva. For who can emphathize better than one who has gone through the experience personally? Last Shavuos, we had the privilege of having a recent baal tshuva stay with us. Having grown up in a secular, leftwing kibbutz, Smadar recently discarded its emptiness and somewhat like Ruth, found inner strength and a new meaningful life for herself as a religious woman. She was thrilled with the whole concept of Shavuos as the festival of mattan Torah, having experienced it previously only as a secular harvest festival.

As we walked together to the midnight shiur for women, I was wondering, "Should I have made just one more cheesecake?" and hoping I wouldn't fall asleep in the middle of the rebbetzin's talk. Our guest looked up at the starry sky as if truly expecting it to open up any moment.

"Hashem is giving us the Torah tonight," she said with such joy in her voice that it was contagious. I told her that her spiritual enthusiasm was a real inspiration to me.

Then she thanked me for being a positive role model for her, as the observant woman she was striving to become.

If one of our sons should one day want to marry such a dedicated young woman, I would certainly give them my blessing and be proud to have `her' as my daughter-in-law.

F.F.B. and B.T. It is time we stopped labelling each other and felt compassion instead. Observant Jews are already a minority within a minority. We need to share our most positive qualities and attitudes: chaverim/areivim kol Yisroel. That should include the idea of our children, if they are otherwise suited, marrying each other. Having experienced this myself, I know it is possible. May Hashem continue to bless our journey together.

 

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