That’s different!

I transitioned from virtual estrangement from Judaism to an observant lifestyle in Jerusalem, then gradually abandoned some of the mitzvot and settled into a compromise between extremes.

By SHLOMO DROR
Shlomo Dror with his grandchildren in Hong Kong (photo credit: Courtesy)
Shlomo Dror with his grandchildren in Hong Kong
(photo credit: Courtesy)
My Lithuanian grandfather, Louis Friedlander, made “aliyah” to America at the start of the 20th century. The Baltimore sweatshop where he worked drove him to find a different life. He moved to Moultrie, Georgia, became a merchant, and raised a family. All of his descendants, including my father, Matt z’’l, devoted themselves to assimilation. I attended public schools, an Ivy League college, finished my PhD, raised my own family, practiced psychoanalysis, and joined the Rotary Club.
Things changed when I became a bereaved father at age 60. Overwhelmed, I spent a year reevaluating my priorities. I decided to visit an old friend in Bat Ayin, a small West Bank “settlement.” We learned Torah, made shmurah matzah by hand, and prayed the Mincha afternoon service every day for a month. Israel gained such a hold that I had to come back. Once here I couldn’t leave. Not one person could possibly have foreseen me ending my days with the Patriarchs and Matriarchs of my people, but that’s the choice I made.
This life was close to unfathomable for a boy who never heard the word “kosher” until high school, never knew anyone who kept Shabbat or lit candles, didn’t know that Passover required a relentless effort to remove hametz from our homes and hearts, and lasted a week (not just a single night as in my family). People are heard saying “Shabbat Shalom” and “Chag Same’ah” to friends and strangers alike.
Gilda Radner, famous for playing Roseanne Roseannadanna on “Saturday Night Live,” used to react whenever someone reconnected her with reality by saying in a bemused way, “That’s different [from what I thought]! Never mind.” And I was Gilda now, saying, “That’s different from what I thought.”
The changes went beyond geography, professional status, and family configuration. The cultural, linguistic, and religious milieu was so different from childhood in the small-town, Christian South, it was as if I had relocated to China. Society was improbably variegated. Significant numbers were indigent, narrowly educated, worked as laborers, or spent whole lives in full-time Torah study. In contrast to the secure, confident world I left behind, not a few Israelis were anxious, disillusioned, and pessimistic.
During the first prolonged bombardment of Sderot, Israelis by the busload went there to boost morale. On the road into town, the driver gave a running commentary: “On the right, Romanian Jews live, next door Czechoslovakians, Syrians on the left, then Argentinians; Brazilians, now French Jews on the right and then Russians.” Jews from nearly every corner of the globe – what a demonstration of the “ingathering of the exiles”! What better validation of the Torah’s prophecy could you ask for?
Yet, I couldn’t help notice how every “tribe” lived in exclusive, closely knit neighborhoods. The uplifting feeling of unity in times of crisis was a stark contrast to the virtual cold war between the secular and Haredim (ultra-Orthodox) playing out in daily life. The antipathy between secular and religious sectors, and their competition for political policy and muscle in my new (and ancient) homeland shocked me. It’s a heartache for people of all religious orientations. The resolution would require widespread acceptance of a concept completely out of reach at this time.
Rabbi Abraham Twerski wrote: “The Seer of Lublin said that people should choose the path that is proper for them. By the same token, they should respect ways that are different than their own. It is so tragic to see divisiveness between Jews with sundry backgrounds, and even more tragic when such difficulties are allowed to create friction within families.”
Where do I fit in? I transitioned from virtual estrangement from Judaism to an observant lifestyle in Jerusalem, then gradually abandoned some of the mitzvot and settled into a compromise between extremes. Once I worriedly confessed this to my rebbe, who casually said, “That’s what every ba’al teshuvah (one who has “returned” to God) does eventually.”
An incident with a friend illuminates my moral quandary. After a luncheon celebrating a family celebration, he criticized several of my departures from Halacha. Surprised, I said, “I thought you said you aren’t observant.”
He chuckled and replied, “You’re right, but the Judaism I don’t observe is Orthodox Judaism.”
There’s no standard category for my own Jewish lifestyle, but in his honor I coined the term “unorthodox” Orthodox Jew! That’s me now.
I’ve changed a lot since I got here, so far from my surviving son, Jesse and his wife, who live in Hong Kong with their son and two daughters. Farther indeed in outlook and goals from my family still living in the US, “the old country.” With candor and irony I call myself an “unorthodox” orthodox Jew. That’s who I am now and for the foreseeable future.
The writer is a retired psychoanalyst who lives in Jerusalem


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