The question of why I have abandoned my faith has been posed to me so many times, that the answer has been chopped down to a few very rehearsed and very vague lines. So today I will attempt to explore the process that began long ago in more detail.
It's not hard to fathom why someone would leave "the fold." Unsightly, not to mention uncomfortable, hemlines and necklines, those pesky dietary laws, and of course sex. So obviously most people assume that comfort and convenience were what I was after, but the truth is that I didn't find Jewish law to be restrictive at all. I thrived in that world. The Aramaic and Hebrew tomes of Halakhic work were my temple, and its practice was my prime mover. In retrospect, I'm not even sure God factored into it at all.
When I was still in the throes of my religious study, I was accused by a friend of mine in a different seminary of not being very "frum." When pressed to actually explain what she was talking about she managed to observe that despite my obvious fidelity to halakha, I was missing the warmth and passion that was associated with real frumkeit. To this day I have no idea what the hell she meant, but she definitely was right on some level. At the time I couldn't admit it. I spent hours frustratedly mulling over and writing about the subject. (It preoccupied me to the point where I literally had nightmares.)
If I remember correctly, I later came to champion this trait of mine. At some point being "not frum" evolved into "not shticky" which was certainly a worthy cause. However, I suppose I can admit that there is something to be said for the person teetering on the fine boundary between homo religiousus and cognitive man.
For those not familiar with Rav Soloveitchik's terminology, I will explain in short. Most of the Rav's philosophy is fixated on a duality that exists within a construct - be it man, community, or a halakha. In "Halakhic Man" he contrasts cognitive man and homo religiousus. Cognitive man is a logical individual who seeks to find order and law in the world around him. He is preoccupied with empirical evidence and solving mysteries. Homo religiousus is wholly preoccupied by mysteries and all that transcends the rigid reason which cognitive man so yearns for. He is not bound by concrete reality and wishes to abandon it for a loftier experience. Soloveitchik explains that the man who deals with halakha (yes, the heroic Halakhic Man for whom the essay is named) is a cognitive man. To him the performance of halakha is secondary to the construction of the theory and system of halakha.
To me, becoming halakhic man was the ideal. I endeavored to study enough of the Talmud that I could truly approach it like a scientist or a mathematician. My friend, however, was taught to relish the experience of religious fervor instead. To be clear, I am not blaming any educational system or institution. If I had been thrown into a school where girls sat in circles on the floor and sang of their God, I would have quickly availed myself of one of the other seminaries available. I only wish to demonstrate how completely unconcerned I was with the feelings one might associate with being religious and how purely intellectual a pursuit it became.
When I reached University and began studying for an academic degree in Talmud, the plethora of questions that had been nagging at me for years were pushed to the forefront of my mind. Suddenly the very seat of my religious devotion - my mind - was turned against halakha. My heart didn't factor into the equation for a moment.
That isn't to say that it wasn't a very emotionally difficult time for me. After all I had been chasing after halakha for as long as I could remember and it was revealing itself to be an illusion. However the moment I decided that empirical reality didn't align with observance, the religious experience became irrelevant. A few short months later I ate on Yom Kippur without so much as a pause or a shudder. Today I am actually shocked at how quickly it all unraveled, but at the time it made perfect sense. I remember discussing it with someone who was going through a similar transformation at the time. Her rebellions against religion came in sudden spurts of energy, one week she found herself wearing pants, the next not waiting between meat and milk and a few weeks later breaking Shabbat. She was deeply bothered by the existence of God and other theological and philosophical questions. I was struck at the novelty of considering God at all for I had been serving on the altar of my intellect the whole time.
Usually I like to tie up my posts with a nice bow at the end. Something learnt or something gained. I don't have any message to take away from this. Perhaps educators who read this will be able to use it to prove that hashkafa and the feelings of observance should play a more prominent role in Jewish education; and I could easily tell them that you could not have made me appreciate the classes with that aim. Others might point out that my story only demonstrates that women shouldn't be given unfettered access to the Talmud; and I simply don't have the energy to respond to such absurdity. In any event, I don't have a take away message, this is simply a descriptive post.
P.S. I keep referring to halakha and Talmud, but that's highly inaccurate. What I really mean is Jewish texts, for Tanach played an equally crucial role in my religion and subsequent denial of it.
P.P.S. If this post seems disjointed and unclear it's because I am writing it at a time of night which can only be described as morning on my iPhone. Sometimes thoughts bubble up until I just have to put them to paper and the hour and medium be damned. So sorry dear readers, you'll have to wait for my book to get a better version of this post.
No comments:
Post a Comment