I was raised on liberal values. I attended the most integrated public schools in the most multicultural borough of New York City – Queens – and had friends of all races and ethnicities. In the summer, I attended a sleep-away camp with an international staff where we sang Pete Seeger songs and sent a “freeze the bomb” petition to President Reagan. In high school, I joined the student organization, the H.O.P.E. club, which stood for the Hillcrest Organization for Peace on Earth. Unfortunately, our faculty advisor was a communist, so that’s the “no” part of my answer. No, I am no longer a communist. But yes, I still retain my liberal values. Racism still offends me, and pacifism still appeals to me. I believe the government should spend money on social programs. And – don’t flame, please – though we don’t know how much of a friend he’ll be to Israel, I’m happy that President Obama won.

I know liberalism is unpopular in frum circles, and I know there are good reasons for it. Israel is number one, of course, but then there are matters like abortion and gay marriage. So I’ve learned to keep my politics to myself in the frum world. I was downright inspired when I came across the organization “Ayecha” a few years ago, a group dedicated to combating prejudice against Jews of color, but as far as I know, they’re not that active anymore.

So in a certain way, this isn’t a very happy post. I don’t like that I’ve had to keep part of myself in the closet all these years, and I think plenty of new and potential BTs would be turned off by the thought that they “have to” do the same. So here I am: out of the closet. Liberalism is a core value I learned in childhood. It didn’t die with my teshuva. And maybe, somehow, some way, I’ll figure out how to be a liberal activist in this participatory democracy while still maintaining my Torah lifestyle.

If the reaction to this post doesn’t get too nasty, there may be a Part 2 in which I’ll review President Obama’s Dreams from My Father. See you!

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The Chofetz Chaim Heritage Foundation has an excellent tape series called “Grasp the Gift of Teshuva.” One of the tapes contains the following true story which is also an amazing mashal for teshuva.

During World War II, the Rov of a certain town managed to smuggle a knife with him into the cattle car when he and his kehila were captured by the Nazis. Using the knife, he broke a hole into the cattle car and urged everyone to jump through it.

“It’s your chance at life!” he told the people. “You know where we’re going.”

But the cattle car was speeding along the tracks, and taking the jump meant risking serious injury and possibly death. The people were too scared, so only the Rov took the jump. And he was the only person from his town to survive the war.

The speaker on the tape applied the Rov’s lesson to abandoning the path of sin. We know where sin leads us, and sometimes, we have to take one big jump to get away from it. Doing it might be scary, but not doing it is certain doom. In the long run, the wiser thing is to take the jump.

Of course, every BT in the world knows what it is to take a big jump. We’ve redefined our whole lives. But every BT has also received the advice to go slow, not to take on too much too fast, because that often leads to backsliding. The same principle applies when we’re already frum. Teshuva lasts when taken on in small increments. Instead of working on kavannah in davening overall, we concentrate on one particular tefilla. Instead of going cold turkey on some pet aveira, we gradually wean ourselves from it.

I want to share with you my Elul of two years ago. I had a part-time secretarial job and was spending much of every work day online. When I started, it was just during the down times, but later, it became an addiction. I knew it was wrong, and I felt guilty about it, but I felt I was incapable of going cold turkey. So I decided that for Elul, I would resist any online activity at the office for 15 minutes a day. Very soon, I worked it up to 2 hours a day. And then, instead of visiting my favorite social sites, I began listening to online shiurim.

I’ve often said that Cheshvan is when we get our post-Yom Tov cheshbon. (Leave it to a BT with rudimentary Hebrew to come up with a vort like that.) That Cheshvan, despite these efforts at self-improvement, I was fired. It came as quite a blow because it felt like Hashem hadn’t accepted my little steps toward teshuva.

But teshuva is never worthless. The next job I got was ad writing for Rabbi Berel Wein’s Destiny Foundation. I actually got to earn my living by listening to shiurim – the very thing I was doing illegally at my previous job!

Of course, I still had further to go. I’d made little steps, but the big leap was still to come. And as many of you know, it came about six months later, during Sefirah, with Rabbi Solomon’s anti-Internet drasha. I needed a gadol to give me the push. I was too weak to do it on my own. But the entire experience has taught me a little about how Hashem runs the world. We make changes in Elul, daven for our future in Tishrei, and feel the effects of both the rest of the year. Those little steps toward teshuva in Elul sealed my fate for the big jump I was to make in May. Those little steps build up momentum toward one big, running leap.

May Hashem bless each of us with the strength we need for small steps and big jumps.

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As has been discussed here many times before, family simchas come with shailos. Had Nora and Jeff chosen a Reform or Conservative ceremony, I would not have attended. Baruch Hashem, my sister loves me so much, she was willing to accept a Halachic ceremony, and Baruch Hashem, Jeff loves her so much, he was willing, too. But the biggest bracha of all is not that “they gave in to us,” but that in the process, they connected with their Yiddishkeit and they liked it. Jeff’s happy “Harei at mekudeshet li b’tabaat zu k’dat Moshe v’Yisroel” was an awesome moment. Talk about kavanah! His Hebrew school years never served him better.

Of course, most of the credit goes to the kiruv couple who became their mesader kadushin and kallah teacher. They guided my sister and her chosson with amazing wisdom and sensitivity, knowing when to be mekarev and when to let things slide. I couldn’t have done it. I’m too emotionally involved. (The Rabbi and Rebbetzin prefer to remain anonymous on this public forum, but they are available for other couples. Email me at kh@beingjewish.com.)

One of the “slide” areas was Jeff’s aufruf, held in Jeff’s father’s non-Orthodox shul. Jeff’s father told me that all the major life cycle events – the brissin and the bar mitzvahs – took place in that shul, and he was especially grateful that Jeff’s aufruf should be there, too. It was decidedly non-Traditional; my sister participated and got an aliyah with the chosson, but I don’t see how any Rabbi could possibly deny Jeff’s father the joy of celebrating his own son’s aufruf amongst his friends. You see, Jeff’s father is a Holocaust survivor. He is quite involved in educating young Jews about his experiences and speaks at youth groups regularly because, as he says, “in a few more years, there will be none of us left.” He asked permission to show my eldest son his number, and though my husband and I consented, my son shied away. So instead, I was the one to listen to his recollections. As a teenage boy, he was conscripted into hard labor, and he watched the Nazis line people up and shoot them dead, one after another. He was crying as he described it, and it occurred to me: this is zecher l’churban, a real breaking of the glass. But while on one hand, his memories and experiences temper the simcha, they also enhance it. Baruch Hashem, the Jewish people survived, and a wedding, of all celebrations, is a promise of our future.

Admittedly, the mixed dancing made for a sticky situation. After having insisted on a kosher chuppah and kosher catering, I felt it would have been too much of an imposition to insist on separate dancing also. After all, the kosher chuppah was performed so that Nora and Jeff could be married k’das Moshe v’Yisroel, which is to their benefit. Kosher catering – well, that’s a snap in New York City. But I couldn’t see depriving Jeff’s family of mixed dancing just because I can’t do it and my husband can’t see it.

While the wedding was in the planning stages, the mixed dancing compromise was probably the shailah that I discussed most with my own Rov. My “frummer than thou” issues popped up then, too, not so much with the Rov but with my friends. One BT friend didn’t bring her kids to her sister’s wedding specifically because of the mixed dancing. “Their neshamos can’t handle it,” she said. My very Chassidishe FFB neighbor advised me to speak to a chinuch expert for the very same reason. Well, I can’t be such a purist. My kids are very close to my sister, and they were excited about her wedding. Yes, they are far more exposed to outside influences than their schoolmates, but that’s just the slippery slope we BTs have to traverse.

Baruch Hashem, the layout of the hall worked in our favor. My husband and the kids sat in a place where they did not have to view any of the dancing. As for me, Nora and Jeff kindly asked that the first hora be in separate circles of men and women, so I sort of stepped-walked my way around the women’s circle. I did pull my sister aside for a private dance, and though I tried, I did not entirely escape the view of the men. But my sister told me it was one of her favorite moments of the wedding. May Hashem forgive me for that.

As to how to negotiate such simchas within your own families, I don’t feel I can offer much advice. The credit goes to Nora and Jeff for being open-minded enough to consider a Halachic ceremony and to the special Rabbi and Rebbetzin for striking a balance which made everybody happy. But I do have one idea, and we may just be the crowd to pull it off. I’m sure that many of us have single, freieh Jewish friends and relatives. Why don’t we pool our resources and add making shidduchim to the missions of Beyond BT? I know a very sweet woman of 36 or 37 who needs a nice, intelligent guy. Email me if you know anyone.

May Hashem continue to bring Yidden together for all kinds of simchas.

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What happened essentially is this: Person A, whom I respect, said that Person B, who I also respect, has some incorrect hashkafos. The incident upset me on two counts. First, Person A probably would never have said that if not for my own poor choice of words in presenting Person B’s position. But even when I tried to amend my words, Person A cited an entire frum community to justify her statement. For me, that was the hardest part to take.

In my last post, I wrote about davening for strangers on the street as a means to healing the rift between Modern and Chareidi. I now think that’s the easy way out. Loving one’s fellow Yid is easy from that distance. Having a disagreement with someone makes ahavas Yisroel a lot more challenging. And when matters of hashkafa enter the picture, and the other person takes the “more frum” position, I feel an underlying personal criticism.

I’m sure I’m not the only one who feels put on the defensive by other people’s frumkeit. The regular critics of this blog attest to it. Why would they bother to make a cause of debunking us otherwise? Similarly, when some Satmar chassidim literally ran away from my Modern Orthodox friend’s shul during some Zionist celebration, she called it “sinas chinam.” She later took that back, but she also said the incident made her feel marginalized, which I completely understand.

The problem gained a paradoxical angle for me when I saw it from the point of view of a new BT who visited me for a Shabbos this summer. After hearing the story of how one of my Chareidi neighbors discreetly pointed out a store clerk’s breach of tznius, the new BT said, “A person’s clothes are a reflection of their personality. If you say there’s something wrong with their clothes, you’re saying there’s something wrong with them.” And of course, it applies to more than just clothes. It’s hashkafa. It’s secular studies. It’s boy-girl interaction or lack thereof. It’s Internet vs. no Internet. It’s absolutely everything in our lives.

And herein lies the paradox. If you want to be mekarev someone, you are hoping the Torah will benefit them, but at the same time, doesn’t it mean you’re looking down on them because you see what they are lacking?

In my cynical mood, the only thing I can conclude is that it’s easier for me to love a more modern person than a more frum one because the modern person poses no challenges to my level of observance. Perhaps I even feel superior, though I certainly hope not. The problem comes when someone, in expressing their more frum hashkafa, puts down mine. That can and has put me in a bad mood for weeks. I know I ought to be past this, but I’m not. So perhaps some of you have grown past these sorts of feelings, and I turn to you for advice. May Hashem help that the ensuing discussion contribute to achdus b’klal Yisroel.

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Aside from the wording, the topic caught me because of a conversation I recently had with my son. His day camp, along with several others, rented out a water park for the afternoon. I asked if Camp “Modern” would be going. My son’s camp uses their swimming facilities, so it seemed to me they might join for a trip. My son responded with a cynical, “Them?” and then said something disparaging which I am ashamed to repeat.

I was horrified. I reminded him of who is Bubby and Zaidy are. He loves them and does not look down on them for being non-observant. I also said, “You can’t make fun of people just because they’re modern.”

My son replied, “They make fun of me because I’m Chassidish.”

Ugh. What’s a parent to do? I’m sure my son told the truth. Probably a few kids said some things they shouldn’t have. And even if my son didn’t retaliate then and there, it didn’t help his ahavas Yisroel.

To my mind, there’s really only one solution: modeling ahavas Yisroel. And the only way to do that is to develop ahavas Yisroel. So here’s one small method I’m trying for myself.

I read in Rav Avigdor Miller Speaks that when you’re walking along the street, and you pass a store owned by another Yid – not necessarily someone you know personally – daven for that person to have success in his business. In turn, Hashem will bless you because as we know, whoever blesses the children of Avraham will be blessed as well.

In keeping with this advice, I’ve added my own twist. I daven especially when my first reaction to the other person is negative. Whether my negativity arises because the other person is more modern than I, more Chareidi than I, or because I feel slighted for some personal reason, I whisper a little tefillah, usually for nachas. It definitely changes my attitude for the better.

Now of course, this isn’t the only thing. Friendship between Modern and Chareidi is an even stronger thing. In fact, I would say that one of the major achievements of this blog is that it connects people from different kehillos. And I know it’s not the only place in the Jewish world where it goes on. B’ezras Hashem, one day I’ll post about the Ayecha Shabbaton, a Shabbos that really was a life changer for me.

But just for day to day, I’m davening. I may never see the results, but Hashem listens to tefillah, so perhaps my tiny whispered prayers are making a difference for Klal Yisroel.

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Today I worked until 5:00 pm, which is unusual for me. I work around my kids’ schedule, which means I usually have to be home by 3:30. Because it’s summer time, though, and because my husband took my kids on an outing, I was able to work like a full-timer today, and I must say, it’s exhausting.

But tonight I have a treat. My husband and kids will be out till very late, so I’m on my own and the house is quiet. Sure, I could catch up on my housework, but I could do that tomorrow, too. I thought of a better plan while walking home from work: I could go to the public library and use the Internet! With the kids home so much in the summer, I don’t have many opportunities to do so. I savored the idea on my half-hour walk home.

Well, I’ve been home for over an hour now, and I still haven’t made it out the door. The reason? I checked my email. After scanning through the horrific headlines from Arutz-7, reading through a few personal accounts of the war that were forwarded to me via several Jewish email lists, I topped it all off with a message from Rebbetzin Pavlov of my alma mater She’arim, who summarized the advice of the Bostoner Rebbe at a recent Tehillim gathering: “strengthen ourselves in mitzvos, to better our treatment of other people, to look at the good in every person and not their deficiencies, to strengthen the holiness of our homes, and to stay away from technologies that could lead to sin.”

That really shook up my plans. Here it is – a rare opportunity to blow off steam in a meaningful and creative way, and boom! “Stay away from technologies that could lead to sin.” My small personal sacrifice could make a difference to Klal Yisroel.

Now, I know some of you reading that will disagree vehemently. I read your comments to me last post. And a not-so-little voice within me is saying, “But I’m not going to use the technology to sin. I’m going to write to my friends.” I might still go to the library. I’m not sure yet.

But if there’s one thing keeping me here, it’s the statement of a Yid I just spoke to on the phone. He’s involved in a great cause for Klal Yisroel, and at this critical time, he’s upped his efforts. He says he works “27 hours a day,” and from what I’ve heard of his schedule, it’s pretty close to the truth. When I told him so, he said, “Aren’t the people in Eretz Yisroel going at it 27 hours a day? Do they get a break from the bombs? If they don’t, then how can I?”

If he doesn’t take a break, should I? If I just do my dishes, make my house a clean and serene place for when my husband and kids get home, will I have done my part for Klal Yisroel? It feels like it’s worth a try to me, but of course, I can say that after having had the satisfaction of some productive writing. But I’ll miss the immediate response. That’s the pleasure of the Internet, and I just don’t know how to replace it.

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I must admit, I was reluctant. In fact, when my ride there was delayed, I was happy to be late. But ultimately, I made it there and was persuaded to do something I never dreamed I had the strength to do: I disabled my browser.

The two speakers at the event were Rabbi Norman Lowenthal, a social worker with expertise in young people and Internet addiction, and Ha Rav Mattisyahu Solomon, Rosh Yeshiva of Beth Medrash Govoha. Both were extremely scary. Rabbi Lowenthal spoke about the predators on the Internet, who, with their smooth words, lure teens into the most exploitative of relationships. And even without those horrific stories, he described the easy access to porn, and obsessive behaviors like checking email and blog post responses up to twenty times a day. This last is probably the most benign of the things he described, but it fit me to a T, and that frightened me.

HaRav Solomon got me from a different tack. He quoted a man he’d met whose son had gone off the derech.

“I lost my father to Stalin, my brother to Hitler, and my son to the Internet,” said the man. “And the bitterest loss is that of my son because I know that after 120, I will see my father and brother in Olam Habo, but my son, I fear I will never see again.”

As a sigh of pain passed through the audience, Rav Solomon thundered, “Who told that man he would merit Olam Habah? He allowed the Internet into his home! If he saw it was adversely affecting his son and did not stop it, he deserves at least as harsh a punishment, if not a worse one!”

And that, in short, is why I got rid of my browser. I have many, many problems in chinuch. Part of that is a BT thing – it’s hard to pass down Torah ideals to children when you learned them in adulthood – but a big part of it is my own personal weaknesses. Either way, I’ll blame myself if my kids go off the derech, and if I remove this one major stumbling block from their reach, then that is one thing I will not have to reproach myself for later.

But it was not easy. As a matter of fact, I shed tears over it. After all, doing this meant saying goodbye to friends.

At this point, I should describe my Internet use. In the late 90’s, my husband created a kiruv website, beingjewish.com, and in 1998, I joined in with “Kressel’s Korner,” which has gradually grown to include 14 of my original articles, most of which are about Jewish women’s issues. I’ve met quite a few interesting people over the years as a result of the site, and I’ve received many more complimentary letters. Each one of them was a thrill. For an unknown writer like myself, the instant audience available on the Internet is a dream come true.

In 2005, I discovered blogging, which far surpasses the website in dearness to my heart. My personal blog has 74 “subscribing” readers, most of whom are Jewish women of varying levels of observance. We read about each other’s lives, celebrate each other’s simchas, and support each other through the tough times. Baby pictures, daily gripes, Shabbos menus, divrei Torah – we talk about it all. I think of it as my “virtual veiber shul.” I love my Internet friends. And now I was being asked to give them up.

After the asifa, I called my Rav to help me finalize my decision. Even with Rav Solomon’s words ringing in my ears, the matter was not so clear-cut. I use the Internet to do mitzvos, so it seemed like a case of “calculating the cost of a mitzvah against its reward, and the reward of a sin against its cost.”

My Rov is an absolute tzaddik. He gave me at least an hour of his time, probably more. It was in the course of that conversation that the tears began to flow. All the while, he gave me brachos that I should be rewarded for making this great personal sacrifice. He said it was mutar (permitted) for me to keep my email, use the Web in the public library, and compose one final post from my house that night so I could explain my choice to my friends.

It is over two weeks since then, and my Internet friends were almost unilaterally supportive. Three offered to come over for a Shabbos to cheer me up and many others wrote me letters about how much they feel they’ve gained from my writing. Perhaps best of all were the new and almost-there BTs who seemed to say that I’d just given them the best lesson they’d had about living a Torah life: sometimes you have to give up something you like for the sake of kedushah.

I look forward to reading your responses at the public library!

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Reb Elya and Reb Shlomo were born in Vienna in the late 1920’s to a prominent and wealthy rabbinic family. Their father, Rabbi Naftali Carlebach, moved the family to Germany for the sake of his sons’ education, but by the 1930s, they emigrated to America, early enough to have escaped the war. Rabbi Naftali Carlebach established a shul on West 79th Street in Manhattan which is now run by his great-grandson, Reb Elya’s grandson, Rabbi Naftali Citron.

Rabbi Naftali Carlebach was not Chassidish, but when his sons grew older, they became close to the Lubavitcher Rebbe. Reb Elya married the Lubavitcher Rebbe’s first cousin, Hadasa, may Hashem bless her with a long and healthy life. They had children and he established his own shul in Staten Island. He became an expert on all types of Chassidus and published an encyclopedia of Chassidus, respected in many different kehillos. I like to think that his tefillos helped bring me to my current point in life, a chassidista of the Stoliner Rebbe.

Reb Shlomo, who was the older twin, succeeded his father as rov of the 79th Street shul, but at some point, the brothers began to run it jointly. They used to alternate Shabbosim; one Shabbos would be led by Reb Shlomo, the next by Reb Elya, and when Reb Shlomo was touring, Reb Elya led for many weeks in a row. Therefore, when I went to the shul looking for Reb Shlomo, I met Reb Elya “by accident.”

I had first heard of Reb Shlomo Carlebach in the East Village, of all places. Skipping over the details, I was a cosmically confused teenager, dabbling in lefty politics and astrology. I went to the shul at 79th Street, and had a memorable experience, but nothing that immediately changed my life. It wasn’t until I’d spent a few years in college getting even more cosmically confused that I finally decided to go check out the Carlebach shul again.

I was surprised that Reb Shlomo wasn’t there, but in many ways Reb Elya was even more welcoming. He heartily invited me to the seudah, and after it, the Rebbetzin told me I could stay upstairs and read for the afternoon. Unfortunately, I took the subway home that afternoon, but I liked the experience enough that I went back for another Shabbos shortly thereafter. Reb Elya welcomed me again, saying he was very happy to see me. So I kept going back, and as I got to know him better, I began to espouse some of the views I’d picked up in college and in political meetings. And the fact that I could do so is the greatest tribute to Reb Elya. No matter how far I had strayed, no matter what outrageous view came out of my mouth, Reb Elya Chaim always made me feel welcome and loved.

Reb Eliyahu Chaim Carlebach, may the memory of this tzaddik be a blessing, left this world right before Shabbos, in March 1990. The congregation was gathered for Shabbos, waiting to see him when they told us. That Shabbos, we sang his favorite songs, told over his teachings, and shared memories. It was a hard, but healing Shabbos. People broke down in tears at different times. I remember watching my own teardrops fall on the tablecloth while some stranger looked at me sympathetically. I must have been crying harder than I realized.

One phrase people attributed to Reb Elya in their stories was, “Just be normal.” He had never actually said that phrase to me, but it succinctly summed up the message he had been conveying to me throughout the entire year of our acquaintance. Normalcy was a good value for me to strive for. It certainly wasn’t a value in hippiedom or leftism, and after years of identification with both those worldviews, I certainly was not my normal self.

After the loss of a dear authority figure, it is very common that the young and bereft resolve to follow the path of the deceased more devotedly. How else can they connect with the niftar, the person who left this world? The person is gone in body, so the connection must be on a purely spiritual plane. I’ve been told that the Tanya says that a tzaddik accomplishes more in this world when he leaves it because then he is not encumbered by physicality. I don’t claim to understand how that works, but I think that the affect on the bereft which I described must be part of it. As Reb Shlomo used to say, “What do I know?”

May Reb Elya be a mailetz yoshur for klal Yisroel. Oh, how I miss him!

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• HaGaon Rav Yitzchok Hutner Z”TL

Many BTs start out with an anti-materialistic stance. That’s partly because we are spiritually inclined by nature and partly because we are reacting to the extreme materialism of the secular culture in which we were raised. I, for one, spent a great part of my teenage years proving to myself that I was not – please excuse my language – a J.A.P. I went so far as to attend far-left indoctrination meetings on a regular basis. The main thing I learned there was resentment toward the wealthy. That attitude stuck for years, well beyond my involvement with the Left.

Several years into my teshuva, when attending a Shabbaton, a “first-timer” asked me, “What do all these women, dressed to the nines, have to do with G-d?” I didn’t have an answer for her. It bothered me, too, and it continued bothering me. I even knew a Mymer Chazal to justify my attitude: “Poverty befits a Jew like a red bridle on a white horse.” (Chagigah 9b.)

Now in some ways, the feeling that it was more spiritual to live with less was good for me. It helped me get through lots of lean years. At the same time, though, I was judgmental of people who had more. So between arrogance, judgment, and envy, the picture is not very spiritual at all.

My change of attitude came in a shiur given by Yavilah McCoy, founder of the excellent organization Ayecha (perhaps I’ll post about Ayecha some other time.) She spoke about the Avos and their “specialties” in serving Hashem, that is, chesed, gevurah, and tiferes.

“Tiferes is my favorite,” she said. And she gave the example of receiving a gift from a friend wrapped in a way that was perfectly designed to suit her tastes. Giving the gift was an act of chesed, but by beautifying it the giver added a personal touch. That is the way we should perform our mitzvahs to Hashem. We deliver Him gifts in wrapping paper.

Therefore, when a lady wears a pretty dress l’kavod Shabbos, she beautifies the mitzvah of Shabbos. (My husband points out that by beautifying herself, she may also be beautifying the mitzvah of shalom bayis.) And even if she wears it not purely for the sake of Hashem or her husband but for her own pleasure also, does it really matter? Who but a tzaddik performs mitzvahs in absolute purity?

Everyone has personal indulgences that motivate them to serve Hashem better. If my neighbors have a nicer house than I do and turn their home into a center of shiurim, hachnassas orchim, and tzedaka, should I begrudge it to them? Even if they need the external trappings as a motivation to continue doing those mitzvahs, since Hashem has seen fit to bless them with material wealth, it is certainly not my place to judge them as “too materialistic.” My job is to learn to fargin my wealthier neighbors. In turn, their job is to prevent themselves from snobbery. We are not what we own, and we should not define each other that way. After all, the sin that keeps us in galus is not materialism but sinas chinam.

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For those who missed that post, my in-law objected to “Inspired” because in her words, “Al pi halacha, you are not supposed to mention your past aveiros.”

I checked that “halacha” out with my Rov and learned that although there is a prohibition against asking BTs about the past, BTs are permitted to share as much or as little they like. Just like anything else which involves information about a person which could possibly damage them, what you share depends on your purpose. A film like “Inspired” seems to be the highest purpose I can think of for mentioning the past; the further removed the people were from Yiddishkeit, the more remarkable their teshuva seemed.

Reb Shlomo Carlebach z”l used to speak about “the Torah of mistakes” which is based on the principle stated in Gemara (Shabbos 88a?) that if a person does teshuva, all his former sins become merits. This principle warms my heart, and I’m sure every BT feels that way. The end point of teshuva gives the person’s aveiros a higher context, and so, they’re not aveiros anymore.

To me, this seems like the simple pshat, but when I told it to my (FFB)husband, he behaved as though it was a chiddush. Does it take a BT to understand these things?

And still, having said all that, there’s plenty about my own past that I don’t share. Perhaps that’s because there’s no Kiddush Hashem involved. Perhaps it’s because I still think of them as aveiros and I am ashamed. Perhaps it’s because I’m ashamed that I can’t make a Kiddush Hashem of them. But I can say this much: the BTs in “Inspired” were wonderful and I think they’ve done a tremendous thing for klal Yisroel.

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This year, my husband and I changed our children’s yeshiva to an excellent but rather pricey one. The Gemara in Beitzah 16a (thanks to my husband for finding the reference) tells us that all the money we spend on chinuch comes back to us. Besides this, we also receive the nachas of frum children. Clearly, schar limud is a worthwhile investment. But again, making those payments does not come easily, at least not for me.

The Shabbos after my husband and I decided on the change of yeshivas, as I was walking outside and thinking the very vochedigge thought of: “How in the world am I going to make tuition payments?” I ran into a lady I know. She is probably in her 60’s and already has teenage grandchildren. Though I did not bring my worries up to her, somehow, she and I began talking about yeshiva tuition.

This lady’s life story floored me. She raised her children single-handedly because she was divorced from her first husband. That meant she had to be both mother and father. She held down a full-time job and was also responsible for all the housework and homework. As a further stress, she could not make ends meet on her salary.

The yeshiva knew her situation and was kind to her: they allowed her to pay 10% of her income instead of a regular tuition. She offered them 20% instead. She felt she knew how to tighten her belt, having lived through the war as a child. I looked on this woman with tremendous awe as she spoke about her life.
Then she added more to her story to impress me further. Whenever she would get a pay raise, she would report it to the yeshiva and increase her payments to them. How many people would do that? It is information that could easily be hidden; a yeshiva isn’t the IRS, after all. This woman is supremely ehrlich.
After a few years, a man on the yeshiva Board of Directors had a change of heart and demanded the lady increase her payments to the yeshiva. If she would not pay more, he threatened to send her children home.

“I can’t possibly pay more,” she told him, “so I suppose you’ll have to send my children home.”

She then called the school principal and told him what happened. Not only did he take her side, he said, “Your kids are such model students, we ought to pay you to keep them in yeshiva.”

From here she began to talk like a proud mother, and though she didn’t say it expressly, I understood from what she said that if you make your children’s religious education a real priority, both in payments and in personal efforts, G-d will reward you with results.

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The teshuva process is as much intellectual as emotional. Most of us spend a few intense years attempting to make up for a religious education that FFB’s receive in twelve. And then, just like with tefilla, kids enter the picture and learning is by necessity pushed to the back burner. Some women might miss it immediately while others are too busy with new responsibilities to think of other things. Sooner or later, though, we all begin to miss learning. And while many women I know opt for babysitters and periodic shiurim, on a day-to-day basis, I live on Torah tapes.

Let’s face it: housework is boring. I, for one, cannot face a sink full of dirty dishes without some intellectual stimulation. I used to be a radio news addict, but one day, I listened to my yetzer tov and put on a shiur called “The Antidote to Jealousy” by Rabbi Yigal Avisoff. That shiur changed my life.

Rabbi Avisoff said that the human mind is constantly working. Even while asleep, our minds are active, conjuring dreams. In the waking state, there’s not a moment in which we’re not thinking about something. But if our thoughts are not directed, if we just let our minds wander, inevitably, we start thinking about our problems, the perceived lacks in our lives, and this leads to thoughts of “Why can’t things be different for me? Why can’t I have what my neighbor has?”

The solution, of course, is to direct your thoughts. You can do this by distracting yourself with some form of entertainment, but the effect won’t last. In fact, chances are, if you tune into something the mass media has to offer, it will only increase your sense of lack because most of it is based on idealized conditions which don’t exist in real life. So if you want to do something constructive, something that could change you for the better and not just distract you temporarily, learn Torah.

After hearing that tape, I aimed to listen to a Torah shiur every day. I sometimes fall short of that goal, and because I listen while doing housework, I don’t hold myself to the same standard of concentration that I would give to a live shiur. But even if the kids are making noise and I miss a few points, it’s worth it, for them as much me. If nothing else, they learn that our home is a Torah home.

Since setting that goal, I have heard many inspirational shiurim which have propelled my growth as much as Rabbi Abisoff’s. As the Talmud tells us, “Great is the Torah because it leads to action.”

It’s for women, too. The tapes are available. All you need is a cassette player.

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After a year in sem, I finally did become very well-acquainted with the siddur, and Rebbetzin Marci Jablinowitz taught us what we as unmarried women ought to say daily. At that point, I became quite regular about davening, and could walk into any shul and daven with confidence.

Baruch Hashem, only a few years later, Hashem blessed me with the next monkey wrench to my davening: kids. There was no point in even starting Shemoneh Esrei when they were little. I was sure to be interrupted. I knew I was exempt for a valid reason, but I felt inadequate nevertheless.

Of course, I was wrong both times. One night, my husband baby-sat so I could go say Tehillim with the ladies on our block. Being a BT, my Hebrew was slower than everyone else’s and I managed to say only one book. But Hashem made sure I received the chelek of Tehillim that contained familiar words, words I’d practiced many times as I was struggling to learn the Pesukei D’zimra. It was then that I realized how far my early “inadequate” prayers had carried me. When I was feeling like the biggest idiot in shul, I never dreamed I’d really “make it,” that I’d someday be married and living as an integrated member of the frum world. Yet there I sat, reciting Tehillim with my neighbors and friends. And at the same time, it was clear to me that I was not justified in feeling guilty for my lack of consistent davening while my kids were so little. Hashem answered my early prayers in greater ways than I could imagine, and He would do the same for my irregular ones. Ultimately, Hashem wants our hearts, and as long as we’re giving Him that, whether in shul or at home, in a siddur or spontaneously, He will answer us.

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My mother is not the only one who feels this way. I know a Stoliner family, all FFBs, whose daughter married a man from another Chassidus. The new husband was strict about eating meat from the hechsher of his Chassidus, so the mother had to buy the right meat if her daughter would be coming for Shabbos. The mother had no problem with this, but one of her friends asked in horror, “Aren’t you insulted?” If a frum woman, who ought to know that kashrus is simply a halachic issue and not an emotional one, still assumed her friend would feel insulted or rejected, how then would the average secular mother feel? After all, we mothers do put love into our cooking.

The way to bridge this gap is by being mentschlich. BTs cannot demand that their parents change their old ways to suit their new needs. Parents are masters of their home, and everything the BT does should be with this thought in mind.

I learned how to keep kosher within my mother’s non-kosher kitchen through intensive shiurim at my seminary. In addition to practical and detailed discussion about everything relating to food and cooking, we received advice about how to make the transition easier for our parents. One piece of advice was: Respectfully ask for exclusive use of one rear burner on the stovetop. By choosing only one rear burner, we would effectively show that we were not imposing our way on everybody.

Another piece of advice we received was to take responsibility for the family grocery shopping. This not only insured that we would get the kosher food we needed, it would relieve somebody of a chore. By being helpful, our observance of kashrus would no longer seem like an imposition to our parents.

There’s a wonderful book called Keeping Kosher in a Non-Kosher World by Rabbi Eliezer Wolff. It deals with the specific issue of keeping kosher in a non-kosher home, but the topic of eating out is covered as well.

Although the book is not well-known, I think it’s a must have for a BT. This link will take you to its actual contents, but I think the book version should be distributed at kiruv centers around the world. I also think it should be renamed Keeping Kosher in a Non-Kosher Home but that’s really a small thing.

Chabad also does wonderful work kashering people’s homes, but they can’t help when parents aren’t willing to make a complete change-over. But even BTs living with non-frum parents or roommates can find workable solutions. Keeping kosher in a non-kosher home is not simple, but it is possible. And I can say that with authority because I’ve done it.

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Many of you might remember the classic Spencer Tracy – Katharine Hepburn film of that title in which liberal, social activist parents are shocked by their daughter’s choice of fiancé, a black man played by Sidney Portier. The point of the film is the parents’ hypocrisy, but I’ve often said that the true test of liberal Jewish tolerance would not be a daughter’s choice to marry a black man but her choice to marry a black-hatted one. Baruch Hashem, my parents passed the test.

Baruch Hashem, I can say that my parents passed the test long before I was dating. Though my choice to become a frum Jew is something I think they still don’t understand, we have never fought about it. Kashrus was the hardest issue for my mother. It hurt her when I wouldn’t eat her non-kosher cooking, and because of that, I was slow in my observance of kashrus. I was shomeres Shabbos for several years before I finally undertook to operate my own kosher kitchen within my parents’ home. This gradual, partial observance is certainly not ideal, but it did have the advantage of making my teshuva a fairly peaceful process.

I also have resisted the urge to try to be mekarev my parents to frumkeit. I have had them to my house for just about every Yom Tov on the calendar, but the restrictions really are too much for them. They are decidedly secular, and I know I cannot change that. I do not think it is my place to try.

Rabbi David Aaron of Isralight once asked why people raised in secular homes do teshuva while others raised frum go off the derech. He said the answer lies in how their parents treated their fellow human beings. When parents recognize the inherent value of every human being, their children will find it easier to accept the existence of a loving G-d.

A few years ago, my mother and I co-wrote an article on how we both relate to my teshuva. In it, I quote one of my seminary rebbeim who said that loving families will find a way to make peace in spite of religious differences. May Hashem bless the family that is klal Yisroel to be so loving so that we can tolerate each other’s differences and live in true peace.

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