Monday, December 28, 2009

FormerlyFrum Book Club Begins January 28th!


The first FormerlyFrum Book Club selection will be Captive Hearts, Captive Mindsby Madeleine Landau Tobias, Dr. Janja Lalich, Ph.D., and Michael Langone! This book offers support to people who have been members of religious and other cults and is full of honest, helpful advice for reintegrating into the secular world and healing emotional wounds. Each week, we’ll tackle one chapter and discuss our individual perspectives on it. Though we’re not therapists or counselors, we’re firm believers in supporting one another as we make the transition from the frum world into (or back into) mainstream society. Click here to purchase the book from Amazon.com.

This book was tremendously helpful to me as I transitioned back into secular living after years in Chabad. It validated so many of the feelings I was experiencing and gave words to my emotions. I recommend it highly and am certain you will gain insights and peace from it. Please make plans to have your books ready by January 28th, when we will begin our discussion over the first chapter.

Looking forward to this journey with you -

With love,

Lily

Saturday, December 26, 2009

It's That Time Of Year Again


Many people ask me about my experience with Chabad as though I were mysteriously and irreverently drawn into a cult; as though I were a typical southern California valley girl one day, and a long skirt wearing, Moshiach-spouting vessel the next. But as with most stories, and most of our collective lives, it's never that simple, is it.

It all began with a trip to Israel in my formative teen years with a summer youth group. It was innocent and full of wonder, replete with nights spent sleeping on the shores of the Kinneret; wandering the mystical Old City of Jerusalem; floating over the limestone by the Kotel like an angel finally anchored to heaven. I was 16, and somewhere in that summer, for the first time I began to feel something. Before that, Judaism had been tedious- I was forced to go to Hebrew school and often skipped classes because I couldn't stand the snobby, over-fed, spoiled Reform kids. I had a Bat Mitzvah and focued on the after-party, and impressing my friends. It never really meant anything, until I went to Israel. Everything made sense in Israel; the sand, sea, golden sunlight, olive trees, the Kibbutz, and the feeling I had when i was around a large group of Jews was unlike any other; I felt present and aware of the moment unlike any other time in my life. The energy, purpose, and history came together like an unshakeable trifecta of human identity and motion; and I was on the Ride, never to look back again. And sure enough, when I came home from Israel, symptoms of withdrawal shook me to my core and left everything plain, unmeaningful, unholy. So I tried, as hard as I could, to recreate Israel at home.

My opportunity to do so didn't arise until college. I remember sitting in a literary theory class, listening to a lecture on Nietzche by a rather frenzied and impatient Lit professor. "The Jews." He began, stopping for a moment, perhaps pondering how to proceed without making himself liability, or rendering himself politically incorrect, to any faction. "Nietzche was preoccuppied- rather,obsessed, if you will, by the Jews. He wrote endlessly of them; famously, he was considered an anti-semitic. But in reality, he was in awe of them, dumbfounded by their resilience and alienation of the nihilism that plagued him. And this was never more apparent than when he said: " The professor stopped short, as though gripped by the very obsession that possessed his subject. "Nietzche wrote that in history, it was not the Romans, as history believes, that won the War against the Hebrews. But rather, if one walks into any Cathedral in Rome, one is surrounded by Images of a Jew: Jesus. And all of Rome worships him, and prays to him as their Lord. Now you, dear citizens, tell me who won the war." I felt that feeling again when I heard this- the old feeling of longing for a home written in limestone, of longing for voices and faces recycled from those at Mt. Sinai. That collective, thing. Perhaps it was this feeling that drove me to Chabad on friday evenings, when Hillel failed to interest me (I wasn't interested in a meatmarket: I wanted to unlock the secret behind being Jewish.) And at one Chabad friday night dinner, the Rabbi, a young mystic and former Grateful Dead follower, saw right through me. "That thing," he began, "That fire, is called Pintele Yid." What's that? I asked, silently happy that someone could finally put it into words. "It's that spark inside a Jew that makes him different from everyone else, makes him shine. And it's what draws Jews to other Jews."

Of course, that was before Crown Heights; that was before the feelings of inferiority, outcast, and self-loathing; that was before. But tonight, as I dutifully sat through a friend's Christmas Eve dinner, my mind wandered over to that feeling again. That feeling, in isolation of all the nastiness, the judgment, the revenge, the minefield of guilt- there was an image of Judaism I fell in love with. Perhaps that image, that true spirit and learning and wisdom that really does separate Jewishness from other faiths, can exist. Perhaps it is so powerful, so intoxicating, that, like a drug, it can be used for the wrong purpose. Perhaps those people in Crown Heights, or any other insulated ultra-Orthodox community, misuse and abuse that powerful antidote, get high from it, and hurt themselves and eachother by interpreting and using it the wrong way. A drug can save lives; it can also kill. I'm not so sure I am ready to give up on that image, that "truth", that perhaps, on it's own two legs, would never have caused me pain for being a convert, or any of the pain any one of us has felt. I am still in awe of it, though- fascinated by the grasp it has over the human psyche, and the still trembling origins of its verse. Please, dear readers, give me your thoughts? Love, Mimi

Addicted-A Reflection By Lily

According to the dictionary, addiction can be defined as a persistent tendency toward a maladaptive behavior (a behavior that is harmful to a person's ultimate well-being). People can become addicted to substances like drugs and alcohol, or to habits like gambling. My grandmother, addicted to cigarettes for most of her life, often told me that after she finally kicked the habit,the smell of smoke was so irresistable to her that she would be drawn to it in the streets, even though she knew how harmful it was for her. Admittedly, this is the way I feel about Orthodoxy at times.

Right now, I'm going through a lot of emotions as I transition back into secular society. I was nineteen when I became a member of Chabad-Lubavitch. Well into my twenties now, I wrestle with the question of exactly where on life's timeline I should start to reconstruct myself. A part of me wants to pick up exactly where I left off. I am eager to call all of the friends with whom the Rabbis told me to dissociate and tell them, "I'm back! I've missed you so much. Let's go to Starbucks and catch up!" even though I know how unreasonable that is. I don't expect all of my old friends to welcome me back into their personal lives quickly or at all. A lot has happened in the past several years to me, and I am sure it has to them, too. Another part of me wants to move forward socially and not look back at all - explaining where I've been and why to others is a painful chore, and even the most well-intentioned "I told you so" is still excruciating.

Quite often, I get the feeling that I am suspended between two worlds. The frum and the frei, the old and the new, the Leah and the Lily. I am trying to get back to being Lily, but I can see that the Lily of now is not the pre-Chabad Lily. My experiences have changed me - mostly for the good, but they've also wounded me deeply. I am no longer faced with the constant judgment of the Orthodox world and the steady stream of thought-reform it peddles as spirituality, thank goodness. Now, I face the challenge of finding my voice again. I have numerous new freedoms that most people take for granted. I choose what I do for a living, what I study, the people with whom I am friendly, my style of clothing, my meals. As mundane as those activities sound, at times, the sheer number of choices to be made can be overwhelming. And that is where the addiction comes into play.

You see, however twisted life can be for a woman living within the walls of Orthodoxy, there is a simplicity. Though I was emotionally and verbally abused at the hands of Chabad, decisions were easy. It was a black-and-white world (yes, all the way down to the men's clothing). I had specific instruction on every aspect of life, and no matter how embarrassing it might be, I knew I could consult a competent rabbi if I ever had a question - and he could make the decision for me. I just had to sit back and go through the (myriad) motions, fulfilling every "obligation" I was told to. Easy enough. Now, however, as I take steps back toward freedom, I am sometimes met with a twinge of nostalgia for "easier" days - even though I am educated about this addiction and know how destructive Orthodox life can be.

The internet is not a recovering frumkeit addict's friend when she is awake in the middle of the night and reminiscing. Alone in my home, far away from Crown Heights, I sometimes venture onto the websites that started me on the Lubavitch path so many years ago. I ask myself over and over if I've made a mistake by leaving (this behavior, I've learned, is very typical of former cult members) and look at photographs of people and places that I used to feel were spiritually significant. I gaze through my computer screen at the sea of black hats on 770Live's live feed from Lubavitch World Headquarters. I scan the headlines of Shmais and Crownheights.info. I close my eyes for a moment and imagine that I've really done no "wrong," and that I'm back at the yeshiva dorm, getting ready for another day of learning.

But reality sets in, and rationality takes over. I'm not in Crown Heights, I'm not at 770. I don't need to know who just got engaged, or what kind of sale they're having at Top Fashion or Yaffa Wigs. I don't need to debate things with rabbis on AskMoses. I am very blessed to have friends like Mimi and others who have successfully left Frumkeit. They keep me grounded! A chat with them reinforces to me how far I've come and how much I've grown as a person since leaving Lubavitch. I close my laptop and resolve not to do "that" again, but I know that the temptation to slip back into a simpler, cultic state of mind will be there for awhile.

I look at the picture frames that surround me. Pictures of my children, Dean's List certificates, awards for academic accomplishments and happy photographs taken with some "old" friends who have lovingly welcomed me back into their worlds. I feel stronger already. I am trying my hardest to take things one small step at a time, and to accept the wide spectrum of feelings one experiences post-cult. I know that with support, I can do it.

How about you? Do you ever feel addicted to frumkeit? How do you deal with it?

With love,

Lily

Letter To A Friend: Women and Frum Culture



Dear Readers,

I had a friend, once upon a time. For privacy, I will call her "Rivky." Rivky was pretty, young, a ba'lei teshuva, and a fellow law student. She was smart at school and did extremely well- and she lives on the Upper West Side in Manhattan. Her goal was to meet an observant Jewish man, and she went on countless dates, met with myriad shadchanim, (matchmakers) and did everything she possibly could to "get herself out there." She would often date men much older than her, as is the custom in the UWS, and she faced a lot of rejection-mainly due to the overabundance of desperate women and the shrinking number of observant men in the UWS community. The following is an email I wrote to her after another one of her failed attempts at dating. I would like to dedicate this letter to all young observant women.

Dear Rivky,

I think there is something of a more threatening, violent, and

dangerous nature occurring here. Ill explain. The frum UWS culture,

or any frum culture, has its ways. Its ways are a system in which men

like the Daniels, Zacks, etc., men who are overripe, besmirched with

character flaws ( and perhaps by secular society standards, mildly

retarded) reign supreme, demand "NEXT!" from young women, and

view the world as a production line, its sole duty to present them with a

most satisfying product.

Now the flip side. While this doesnt apply to us (yet, hopefully never g-d

willing) a woman over 25- lets say a 29 year old for good measure- is

perceived as lacking any standing or agency. She walks the streets of

the upper 90s as a freakish apparition, heads hang in pity when she is

spotted buying her challah for her lone shabbos, and the whole world

seems to be screaming at her, in every direction, " youre worthless.

your eggs are limited. you may as well give up." Better yet, she is set up

with men in their forties, divorcees, ex cons, men missing various body

parts, men who are deaf mute ( happened to my old roommate who was

29) and so on. imagine, your life becomes endless set ups with members

of the Jewish male circus. I know we cant change things, we can only

hope not to become the 29 year old unmarried, woman who is a

freakish apparition, while men in their thirties trade pretty young girls

like baseball cards. I urge you not to fall prey to this mentality, because

you simply dont need to. it stems from a time when women relied on

men for their sustenance and life support. We are lawyers to be, we are

truly young (compared to them) and at least for now, we should be the

ones who are dictating the terms. I think that is a good plan. Lets take

them on Rivky. we can do it. One ego at a time :-)

Your friend, Mimi

* I apologize to any readers who are ex cons, missing various body parts, or deaf mute. I was simply trying to make a point, dear readers, and wish not to offend. Yours, Mimi

Please Join Us On Facebook!

Please become a fan of FormerlyFrum on Facebook! We'll use our Facebook page to share news and information on upcoming FormerlyFrum events, such as our book discussion forum which will be starting in January! Thank you for your support, and please tell your friends about our blog. We're so grateful to journey together with you!

With love,

Lily and Mimi

Monday, December 14, 2009

How Did this Happen to ME? Lily's Story

How did this happen to me? I still ask myself that occasionally. I look back on my "frumming in" story and shake my head in disbelief...

I was nineteen years old and searching for meaning in my very broken world when I found Chabad through a friend. She showed me photographs she had taken of the mitzvah tanks and described the music that spilled forth from them. I was fascinated, and in my typical, methodical, organized way, I set out to research the Lubavitchers. At first, I think I was pretty objective. I had no personal communcation with Chabad. I read articles and books and listened to the haunting niggunim online. I was exhilarated when I found out there was a Chabad House close to my home, but afraid to visit it, worried that outsiders might not be allowed. Ever-resourceful, my friend provided me with the email address of a shliach. From that day forward, my life would never be the same. Correspondence between Rabbi X and I increased to multiple times a day, as well as telephone and online conversations. I was provided with specific spiritual instructions, including to proclaim "MOSHIACH NOW!!" each night before bed, following the other prayers I was told to say. Eventually, Rabbi X directed me away from the relationship I was in, away from the friends I had, and toward the Chabad House near my home.

At first, my conversations with the local shliach, Rabbi Z, were online. His words were warm, welcoming and inviting. I could not wait to spend my first Shabbat there - which would be my first Shabbat in any Orthodox shul, anywhere. I had been preparing for this for months, even sewing long skirts and matching scarves for myself (I thought I needed to cover my hair in shul). Bringing a friend with me for moral support, I entered the Chabad house that day as a different person entirely. I used my Hebrew name for the first time in public, and tried my best to act as though I understood the service and customs. After months of careful conditioning by Rabbi X, I felt that being Chabad was everything I wanted, and that I needed more spiritual food in order to achieve that goal. I became a fixture at the shul and came to enjoy the warmth and attention with which I was literally showered. I was seldom left alone, receiving a constant stream of invitations to meals and "classes" as well as "just because" telephone calls from the Lubavitchers. I felt accepted, valued and loved. Soon, I was deemed "ready" to go to a proper "women's learning program." I packed my bags and went completely blindly to Crown Heights. The sheer insanity of this action is jarring to me today. I am an extremely careful, cautious person - but took off for the cold, dark streets of crime-filled Brooklyn without knowing where I was headed, who I was meeting or what I would be doing. I was under Lubavitch mind control, and I had no inkling of it. Very disturbing.

The day I left for Crown Heights, I dressed demurely in a black skirt, black cardigan and pearls. My curls were straightened carefully and pulled back into a bun. My makeup was simple in keeping with the rules of modesty. In my purse, I carried a prepaid cell phone my parents begged me to bring, my wallet, and two prayer books with pictures of the Rebbe tucked inside. I was numb with the excitement. I bade farewell to my family and boarded the plane, not having a clue that this trip would be the most psychologically-damaging decision of my life. I didn't want to look back...I wanted to live in the Rebbe's shechuna as his daughter, just soaking up the kedusha of it all.Naive, naive, naive.

When I deplaned in New York, I was shocked to see frum Jews all over the airport. Men in black hats and women in long skirts and sheitels chased after their countless children (dressed alike in charming Children's Place ensembles). I approached an Orthodox couple and asked them if they would like to share a cab to Crown Heights. The wife clicked her tongue and shook her head in disdain. I learned quickly that not all fedora-wearers were Lubavitch. Or liked Lubavitchers. At all. I struggled to carry my heavy luggage, and felt a strong dose of culture shock. No one would help me. There were other frum people around, there were airport employees around...but no one would lend a hand. Finally, a very foreign skyhop approached me and took my baggage outside. He placed the luggage at my feet and stared at me. "Thanks!!" I said cheerfully, but he didn't budge. He rubbed his thumb and index finger together and I understood. I nervously dug out a few one dollar bills and handed them to me. He looked at them, shook his head and walked off. I stood there alone, with throngs of people spiraling around me, wondering for a brief moment if I would be okay. Snap out of it, I told myself.The Rebbe will be proud of you. I closed my eyes, hailed a cab and sped off toward Crown Heights.

"Where to?" The cab driver asked me in an almost angry tone. "Crown Heights, Brooklyn, please," I replied. "Where exactly in Crown Heights?" he asked. I rattled off the address of the apartment the yeshiva had arranged for me and held on tight for the winding, almost naseating cab ride. I was over the moon when I recognized the street names from all of the Chabad books and articles and conversations I had had over the past few months.Montgomery, Carroll, Crown, President, Union. I was on a religious pilgramage, and these were like holy sites. Visible in many windows were yellow posters with crowns and pictures of the Rebbe, with Hebrew letters beneath. I couldn't yet read Hebrew save for "Chalav Yisrael," "Pareve," and my name, but I didn't care what they said. I felt consumed with holiness. I was home.

A girl (who, mind you, was approaching thirty years of age - but since she was not married, she was still a "girl") waited for me under a sprawling tree in front of the house where I would be renting a basement apartment at a steep price. She opened the door to the basement and immediately started gushing about how beautiful and wonderful the apartment was. She saw a palace, I saw an extremely dark, dingy basement. But within a few minutes, her carefully chosen language convinced me that it truly was a special place, afforded to me so that I could finally live a proper Jewish life. I put my bags down, peeked out the tiny window to the outside, and decided to venture out into the twilight to explore. I visited 770 and wept tears of joy to be present at the house of my leader, the Rebbe. I found the ladies' entrance, entered and became entranced by the niggunim that were being sung downstairs. I gazed through the plexiglass partition and saw the men dancing and learning. At that moment, I decided I would never go home.

The euphoria I felt that night was short-lived. The next day, I began full-time study at the Yeshiva. I was plunged into classes that spanned the entire day and left one precious little time to actually digest and make sense of the barrage of information. Years later, I realize that this was part of the brainwashing. I sat through hours of classes about conduct with the opposite sex, the issue of non-Jews, Kashruth, Shabbat observance, and more. In the evenings, there were "games" intended to coerce confessions/stories from new recruits. Early mornings, we were expected to daven for an hour or more. There were sessions with "learning partners," there were meetings with "spiritual advisors (mashpiim)." There was literally not a moment in the day or week that we were not being indoctrinated. Dissent was discouraged and punishable with embarrassment (remember, being accepted is the premise on which most of us were recruited) and rejection. If one didn't agree with something, they were met with the condescending answer, "You're just not 'there' yet." Once, I told a madricha that I wasn't, and never wanted to be "there" on a particular point. We never spoke again.

Within about two weeks, I left my apartment and moved into the dormitory. There, I experienced much of the same as Mimi spoke of in her post "Falling Off Which Wagon?". Medical needs were ignored, food safety was minimal, cleanliness was equally questionable. I, too, snuck in Shabbat phone calls at times, in mortal fear, hidden in a room. I experienced the mental abuse of the Rabbis and school officials. But still, I wanted more. I was a mental and physical prisoner.

My memories of the rest of my time in New York are very amorphous. It is common for former members of cultic groups to have blocked memories, and I am certain that is why I have few specific ones. When friends who have also escaped Lubavitch recount stories of our time in the yeshiva, memories come back to me. For the most part, though, I am glad that I don't remember absolutely everything. I remember taking a trip with Mimi to meet the shliach who got me "started" on the derech. His outright irreverance, disrespect and chauvinism shocked both of us. Soon, I was asked to leave the yeshiva and dormitory immediately, with no reason provided. I was utterly crushed. I came home, but never told my family I was asked to leave. Instead, I was resolute to make good on whatever misdeeds I must have unknowingly done. I became even more "frum" and obsessive.

Over the next few years, I continued to suffer emotional abuse at the hands of Lubavitch. I became dependent upon them financially and otherwise. I lost myself. I was constantly preoccupied with the minutiae of observance, attributing my difficulties to a lack of proper Orthodoxy. Eventually, though, I broke. A series of very personal and painful circumstances with Chabad led me to rethink my spirituality and my life. As tragic as the break was, I am grateful for it because it has allowed me to see the world clearly again for the first time in years. It means a normal life for my children, it means a career and an education for me. Transitioning back into normal, functional society is a slow and sometimes frustrating process. I struggle every day to undo the damage done to my spirit by this cult. BUT I REFUSE TO BE A VICTIM. I AM A SURVIVOR. I attend a university and am working on a bachelor's degree. I am a kind, patient, loving parent and a devoted wife. My experiences with Chabad have put me in a unique position to help others and to LOVE people unconditionally. I hope that my story and my fight to rise above Lubavitch inspire someone who is thinking about doing the same thing. We can do this, together, with REAL love, respect and compassion.

Falling Off Which Wagon? Mimi's Story


The Hardest Part

Today, as I was napping on the Q train to Brooklyn, holding my boyfriend's hand, a lubavitcher approached us. I heard him talking to Joe*, my boyfriend, and I, curious, opened an eye. The young lubav was talking about Hanukkah and handing over a pamphlet about the prayers, etc. I, of course, still haunted, curious, and a little vengeful, started in.

Me: Do you live in Crown Heights?

Young Lubav: Yes, have you ever been?

Me: (all-knowing snicker) Yes, I used to live there actually. You learn at Ohalei Torah Yeshiva?

Young Lubav: (looking confused as his eyes pass over my tight pants and obvious non-frum appearance) Oh, so you were there, for a shabbaton or something?

Me: (go for the jugular) Actually, I used to study at **** yeshiva in Crown Heights. Do you know Rabbis X, Y, and Z? They taught there.

Young Lubav: (Looking very peaked and pale) Yes...umm...so what happened?

Me: Oh...life...I guess you can say I sort of fell off the wagon.

Then, something astonishing: Me and Young Lubav exchange knowing glances. He sees a little bit of awe and eagerness still in me. He, being raised in the secrets and methods of outreach, starts in. "You should come back to Crown Heights sometime. Maybe for Yeshivacation."

Of course, I would have thought that such a suggestion would make me keel over. Sickened. But instead, memories came flooding back. Memories of the intensity of learning, the dim shabbos tables overflowing with delicious food, the fervor and fire of Chassidus learning. The simplicity of a life stripped of choice and confusion. Going back didn't seem so bad.

My memories of being in a chassidic community are mixed: Some fuzzy, some non-existant, some wonderful, and some utterly devastating. Its mostly the feeling of loving something so much, and then being rejected by its tenets.

For me, my whole world came crashing down when I was just 22. I had only been in Yeshiva a few weeks, when during a class, the teacher, a reknowned Rabbi, spoke about how Reform Judaism accepts those with only a Jewish father as still Jewish. He banged on the table, his gray eyes like electric steel under his tipped black hat. "It's ridiculous, the notion. The Torah clearly states that Jewishness comes from a Jewish mother. If your mother isn't Jewish, you're not Jewish." I walked out of class, breathless. What did that mean for me? Where did that leave me? I decided to speak to the head Rabbi of the yeshiva.

I remember waiting outside his office, wearing an Abercrombie and Fitch sweatshirt and a long denim skirt. I wasn't frightened of his reaction, he had seemed like such a warm and caring person. I was sure there was a solution to my problem. After all, I was raised Jewish! Judaism was all I had ever own. Any issue with my mother was just a technicality. I was sure that was how he would see it.

Ultimately, as you can imagine, that wasn't how he saw it. He stroked his beard and looked down for a good few minutes, and he kept saying, "thats a problem," in a low whisper. He wouldn't look at me. I began to realize maybe I should have kept silent- but I was convinced that there was nothing to keep silent about. It was something out of my control. My intentions were right.

Wrong. Shortly thereafter, I was told I would have to move out of the dorm as "non Jews" were not allowed to live there. I, in too much shock and disarray, quickly found some roommates to live with, after "disclosing" my status. I was promised help with converting from the yeshiva, and told I could still attend classes. On shabbat, however, I would have to inform any families I ate with that I was a non-Jew, as they had to use a special wine intended for non-Jews. Not a problem, right? I did as I was told- mainly because I wanted to follow the rules. Not following the rules could mean I wasn't Jewish, and even though I felt Jewish, that wasn't enough. I wasn't ready to face questioning the only identity I had ever known, and had inspired me to take this journey in the first place. Besides, conversion seemed like just a piece of paper, something to quickly get out of the way.

Over the next few months, a process of degradation and dissemination of my being and sense of self took place to a degree which I am only now, five years later, beginning to understand.

I visited a slew of Chassidic Rabbis who were known for "converting." The first lived in a beautiful brownstone in Brooklyn Heights, and said he would do it quickly if I paid him $900. Sensing something wrong, and wanting to do It the right way, I decided against using him. Surprise surprise, a few months later he was caught in some fraudulent activities and de-Rabbied. It was all over the Brooklyn papers.

I moved on to the next rabbi, who was not Chabad. He was nice, but he was against Chabad and he insisted I move out of Crown Heights. I had had enough moving to suit myself, and so, I went to one final Rabbi, who was Chabad friendly and his conversions were accepted in Israel, meaning if I ever chose to do aaliyah, I could do so as a Jew.

The new Rabbi had a shul in the upper west side and getting there from Crown Heights took over an hour. But he was good-our sessions consisted of actual learning and testing, and he sent me away the required three times before he converted me. It took a full year before he finally converted me. I memorized a lot of history, prayers, and traditions, and had to answer random questions fired at me from three rabbis. Once I had satisfied their questioning, I had to remove my clothes and dip myself three times in a mikvah, similar to how household appliances are "kashered." And, the rabbis had to watch. They had a little window to see my head dunk-they wouldn't see my body. Only the mikvah lady saw that. I remember the smell the mikvah, a seemingly bottomless, murky green pool that was a small square but very deep. I remember thinking, I am finally Jewish. I finally have my papers. I returned to crown heights that day and went to the yeshiva, where all the girls and the rabbis were eating lunch. But I didn't feel like telling anyone about the conversion. Not after what the last year had been like.

I had been raised by my father as Jewish. My mother, though not Jewish, died when I was younger and I had never really known her. My father, a conservative Jew, sent me to hebrew school, Jewish summer camps, and Israel when I was a sophomore in high school. During college, I went to Hillel and found it a glorified frat house. That led me to Chabad, and soon, I was frequenting the local Shliach's house every friday night. It was a wonderful place, that Shliach's house. His relationship with his wife and kids were so holy. The Rabbi's children were so knowledgeable about Judaism at such young ages. I used to joke with my friend David, who came with me to shabbat dinners, that the children knew enough to run a Jewish household.

After graduating college I decided to move to New York and finally be a part of a real Jewish community, as I had never experienced anything other than a reform synagogue in a mostly non-Jewish west coast town. I applied to a yeshiva in Crown Heights and arrived shortly before my 23rd birthday. I remember wearing a long skirt for the first time and visiting 770 on my first night in New York, with some girls from the Yeshiva. It was an icy night in February, and growing up in California, the snow on the ground just added to the magic of the whole experience. 770 glowed under the lamplight like an ethereal castle, its' windows dimly lit and foggy. I remember that I hardly felt the cold at all. Now, five years later, I can barely walk down the street in February without ducking into stores to warm up.

Classes and the dorm of the yeshiva were challenging, intense, and full of eager women such as myself who had grown up without a formal orthodox Jewish education. I was expected to follow every rule from the get-go, and for a laid-back west coast girl, that was hard. All the papers! From modei aniin the morning to prayers right before bedtime, it was a lot to learn. since I lived in the dorm, I had to fully keep shabbat as well. During the first few weeks, I would sneak phone calls in to my father during shabbat, just to let him know I was alright. One shabbat I had strep and a 104 degree fever, but the dorm mother would not let me call hatzoloh or go to the hospital. I was later told by several physicians that the situation could have been dangerous. Perhaps that should have been the first red flag of utter dogmatic inflexibility.

During the year I was converting, after I moved out of the yeshiva, I still lived in Crown Heights and attended shabbat and holiday meals at the homes of chabad families. I always had to inform them beforehand of my status. A few times, I was asked to wait outside their house during a shabbat meal for the wine and bread prayers, as they didnt want to recite them in front of a non-Jew. Thinking back, I should have just turned around and left. Or told them off. Or said something. But my voice had run dry. I kept thinking, once I am a real Jew, I will be accepted. A lot of the time I felt like Pinnochio, my favorite story as a child. Just as Pinocchio wanted to be a real boy, I wanted to be a real Jew. So I tolerated it, the ridicule, humiliation, and listening to endless lectures in yeshiva about how non-Jews don't go to heaven, and become slaves in the world to come. I had no voice to talk back. I just listened. I wanted very much to be accepted by this world, this wonderful, energetic, and magical world of Judaism that somehow seemed to indispensable to me.

I finally told a Rebbetzin who was a very sweet and loving woman, and also ran the Yeshiva, that I was finally converted. She hugged me and cried, and said, "finally." Yes. Now I could be like everyone else.

I moved back into the dorm and began dating. Now I could marry and live like all my other classmates, most of whom had married during that year and even had children. I found that I was only set up with converts or men who were much beneath me in education and other facets. I asked the matchmakers (shadchanim) and I was told, over and over, that not everyone was OK with dating a convert. I decided to try and meet orthodox guys who were not Chabad, thinking the dissatisfaction with converts was an overly sensitive characteristic of a chassidic community.

Wrong, again! Most observant men I dated after my conversion would end the relationship after they found out that I was a convert. This led me to try and hide the fact of my conversion, which led to one final heartbreak. I fell in love, dated a man for six months, and as I sensed things getting very serious, I told him about the conversion. I had hoped that his deep feelings for me would break through any bias he may have. And it did! He was upset at first that I hadn't told him, but he said he loved me and just wanted to "check my papers." I gave him my conversion papers, and he took them to his mother and they went to speak with a Rabbi about me.

Thats when things turned terribly wrong. I got a phone call from him, in tears. His mother didn't want him to marry a convert. What if the kids didn't come out Jewish? and worst of all, what would the community think? I didn't know how to answer. I remember holding the phone, and thinking I was living a wretched nightmare. It was over, and I was devastated.

I'm sure that living for years, feeling that something is wrong with you, that you have a disclosure to make to every possible romantic partner, can cast a shadow over your life and probably really wreck your self esteem. You think? But I didn't get it yet. It took a few more knock.

I decided that I would get nowhere with dating and living in Crown Heights. After much begging, pleading, and endless worried conversations with my father, I followed my goal of going to law school and began preparing to take the LSATS. This was strongly discouraged and looked down upon by the Crown Heights community. I was babysitting for money and not really doing anything with my life, so I kept my LSAT prep a secret, and studied as hard as I could, pouring all my pent up frustration into it. I did well, and got into my top law school choice, a school in manhattan. A few short months later, I had my things packed, a proud dad, and a new law school dorm room to move into in the heart of downtown New York City. Culture shock, anyone?

Transitioning to a secular and challenging environment, such as law school, and living in Manhattan, was hard. I felt lonely. I missed the predictability and routine of my life in an Orthodox community. But I knew deep down that I had been let down, that I had been cheated, in some way. I knew that all I had now was what I made for myself, not what some outside thing- be it religion, Crown Heights, a great Jewish guy- could provide for me. I began to get my voice back, and slowly stopped being observant, making friends, going to parties, and living a "normal" life. But I was always haunted and full of guilt when I wore short sleeves, ate non kosher food, and broke a rule. It never left me. But I felt so wronged- I was led to believe one thing, had worked hard, sacrificed my self and my self worth, only to work up to a point of inferiority. I was angry.

Today I am working as an attorney, have a wonderful boyfriend, and am not observant. I learned a while ago that the original Shliach that "got me" in college is also no longer observant. I also frequently hear about horror stories from Chassidic communities. I have worked to a point where I can somewhat enjoy my life and my Jewish identity, but I still feel pangs of terror and dread at the mention of a shabbat dinner. That dreaded feeling of having something terribly wrong with you, of accepting that you are inferior. Perhaps the greatest crime against the human soul.

Which leads me to answer the often asked question: Why did you stop being frum? Why do you care what other people think?

Just like I made a choice to convert because I couldn't bear to lose my "identity" of being Jewish, I chose not to be frum because I would not accept an identity that was inherently inferior. Meaning, I made a choice: Live a frum life and always feel like I had something wrong with me (aka being a convert, etc) or live a life that judged me by my merits, and not what my parents did or did not do. And there are plenty of reasons for feeling "inferior" in frum communities- they could fill books with the amount of stigmas!

So as much as I loved the observant community, I guess, ultimately, I lovedme more. And I am still looking for a way to practice pure Judaism in happiness.

XOXO,

Mimi

From Frumkeit to Freedom: A Journey of the Soul

It's Saturday, and today I went grocery shopping, cooked a nice meal and enjoyed a movie. For a lot of people, this sounds like a normal Saturday afternoon - but for me, it reflects a two-year journey of the soul - from frumkeit (Orthodox Jewish observance) to personal freedom. Several years ago, I became involved with the Chabad-Lubavitch movement of Chassidic Judaism. What began as heartfelt religious searching nearly crushed my spirit over the next few years. My experiences with many (but never will I say "all," as I met good people in my journey as well) Lubavitch rabbis, shluchim (emissaries to different cities worldwide), and everyday chassidim were dehumanizing and degrading. However broken, though, I kept coming back for more. I wanted more than anything to be "perfect" like the Lubavitch girls I knew. They were funny and bubbly and on fire about God and Mashiach. My family and friends watched in shock as they lost their daughter, their sister, their companion. I was slowly indoctrinated and lost my own voice. I could not make decisions for myself any longer, and consulted a Rav whenever I had even the tiniest question about practical observance in everyday life. I feared spritual punishments for not observing the mitzvot properly. More than that, however, I feared the community. I became paranoid, feeling watched at all times, reeling from experiences of public humiliation like being stopped in the street for immodesty (wearing a scarf instead of a wig, or having a skirt that was too close to knee-length for the standards of another) or having my opinions scrutinized at a "class" (a buzzword for what really translates to a thought-reform session). I gave up things that were once important to me, because I was taught that these things were for non-Jews, and not befitting a Jewish woman, a daughter of the King. My name changed, my style of dress changed, my manner of speech changed, my friends changed, my life changed. Gone was the confident young woman that could take on anything - in her place stood a "Baalat Teshuvah" ...a girl longing to repent for the ways of her youth at any cost, to become pure and clean and holy before God, a girl who now lived in fear, every moment of every day...a girl who was broken and dying on the inside, never truly happy. I was a prisoner, incarcerated within a cult...and afraid to admit that to myself or anyone else. Many pivotal events led me to return to the world, and to draw the strength to leave Chabad. My hope is that in sharing parts of my story, I can help another person in his or her own journey from Frumkeit to freedom. For those of you who are considering leaving Orthodoxy, I can tell you that it is a challenge - but nothing you cannot endure after surviving life within its walls. You are stronger than you know! In our next several posts, we will discuss many topics related to leaving Orthodoxy, starting over in a positive and stable way, and learning to trust ourselves in decision-making again. We'll also share more of our stories and experiences. Our journey is far from over - but together, we can emerge whole and healthy again. Here's to a beautiful new beginning: to life!

Welcome to Formerly Frum!

Formerly Frum is an online support forum and community for people who have been exposed to and become a part of insulated, orthodox Jewish communities, and are dealing with the transition into secular life.

The creators of this site were personally involved with the Chabad-Lubavitch community of Crown Heights, New York; however, this site offers support to everyone, not just Chabad. As secular Jews who chose to do teshuva and lived within a Chassidic community, and then chose to leave that community, we have insight into the challenges that both worlds offer, including the trauma and confusion associated with leaving such an insulated and indoctrinated community.

We have also realized that some,not all, ultra-orthodox communities have many qualities associated with cults. Therefore, a segment of this site will be related to cult-survivorship literature, advice, and help.

Surviving is an ongoing process- meaning we deal with the after affects of the endless doctrine, brainwashing, and half-truths we very often took to heart during our embracing of the community. It is the very wide-eyed wonderment of secular Jews searching for community and identity that these "outreach" communities prey on, and unfortuneately for members that end up leaving, we are left to pick of the pieces, sorting those we with to keep and those that need to be discarded. The difficulty, of course, comes with thetrauma that makes it hard to know what pieces of yourself to hold on to and what not to.

We hope that we can reach others like us out there and build an ongoing narrative that will inevitably help us heal, strengthen us, and build motivation for the future.