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http://www.jewishworldreview.com --
SEVEN YEARS AGO, had I encountered the woman I am today, I would have pitied
her: long sleeves and an ankle-length skirt in the middle of summer; no
driving, writing, talking on the phone or cooking from sundown Friday until
sundown Saturday; recently married to a man she'd never touched -- not so much
as a peck on the cheek -- until after the wedding. I'd have cringed and
dismissed this woman as a Repressed Religious Nut. Now my pity -- or at least
a patient smile -- is for that self-certain Southern California girl I was at
25.
I grew up in Tucson, the older of two daughters, in a typically
upper-middle-class, well-educated, liberal Jewish family. My dad is a
physician, my mother active in the local Jewish community. My religious and
ethnic identification consisted of fund-raising for Jewish causes, Israeli
dancing and Sunday brunch: bagels and lox.
As a gawky 13-year-old, I had a bat mitzvah, along with the obligatory party
at a posh country club. If G-d was there, I didn't notice. The most
religious person I knew was my high school English teacher, a Southern
Baptist for whom I wrote polemical essays questioning all religious beliefs.
Through my research and experience (which consisted mostly of listening to
Bob Dylan and Pink Floyd, skimming the "Marx-Engels Reader" and having deep,
earnest discussions with friends), I concluded that religion was, at best,
irrelevant in an enlightened, late 20th century world. At 16, I joined the
group American Atheists.
But, generally, I did what teenagers do. I spent the scorching Arizona
summers watching soap operas and lying by the pool at my friend Annie's
house, comparing tan lines. We crossed the border into Mexico to buy
tequila, sneaked into dance clubs with fake IDs, philosophized about life
and boys, felt immortal.
I continued my liberal pursuits in college in Philadelphia, and after
graduation, I drove my Honda with its "I'm Pro-Choice -- And I Vote!" bumper
sticker to California. I took advantage of all Los Angeles had to offer; I
ate sushi and gelati, played beach volleyball, studied kabala and once went
to a "Nam-myoho-renge-kyo" chanting session, where a skinny woman with
bleached blond hair swore that the incantation had secured her her latest
role, as Victim in a new slasher film.
I was living in a Beverly Hills basement with a gay friend at the time,
working for the National Organization for Women, helping organize pro-choice
rallies. I also did stints as aerobics instructor, waitress, cashier, SAT
tutor. Finally, I entered USC as a graduate student in journalism. In the
next few years I wrote for the Los Angeles Times about miniskirts, paisley
and the plight of L.A.'s lovelorn. Then I worked for Teen magazine, penning
endless variations of "how to get/dump your guy" stories and answering
hapless teenage girls' letters in Teen's "Dear Juli" column. While I loved
my spacious office with its view of the city, I also found the job
mind-numbing and depressing. How many ways, I wondered, could I teach a girl
to flirt?
I moved to a Beverly Hills "adjacent" apartment, complete with ceiling fans
and high arches. There I was--25 years old, finally having achieved what
should "do it": a promising career, friends, things. Yet I felt as though
something was profoundly lacking --- as if I were a Ferrari engine stuffed into
a VW Bug.
Though I was at times excited, even ecstatic, I rarely remember being
content or truly joyful. Though I believed in spirituality, religion was the
"opiate of the masses," a crutch for emotional and intellectual weaklings
and conservative Republicans. I favored Tarot card and palm readers and a
particular psychic who told me I was Napoleon in a past life.
Then one night, a friend and I dropped in on an Orthodox Jewish gathering
near my apartment--not so much to find enlightenment as to meet guys. I
don't recall what, exactly, but something the rabbi said resonated. I
decided to take a class. I certainly had no intention of
becoming--ick!--religious. I just wanted to learn more about Judaism's
philosophy and mysticism. As for those archaic laws? How dare anyone tell me
I'm restricted from certain activities because I'm a woman or that I have to
dress a certain way to protect my dignity.
I'm a passionate person. During the past seven years, however, I've decided
that it may be easier to be passionate about the wrong things than the right
ones. I thought I was open-minded, thoughtful, yet I really just believed
what every other liberal, educated, cultured person I knew believed. I was
tolerant of everything except "intolerance." My only absolute was that there
are no absolutes.
Yet, as much as I fought and rebelled, I was drawn to the Orthodox world. I
recognized something profound there--the values, the consciousness, the
sensitivity to others. I examined my world view and myself in a different
way. I began to see that in a society in which individuality,
self-determination and freedom of choice are the highest values, I had, in
fact, been limited by pressures I didn't even recognize. I had been
conforming to what's considered "normal," its definition changing every few
years. Now, for the first time, I understood what I had always felt, that I
had an essence, a soul. I glimpsed a higher meaning to life and the
infinitely deep layers of existence leading to the Ultimate Existence:
insight into which a 25-year-old--even one with a personal trainer and her
own advice column--might not be privy.
To the shock of my family, which was half-sure I'd been sucked in by a cult,
I quit my job, sublet my beautiful apartment and traveled to Israel to
continue my studies. The Torah (Judaism's Bible) and its volumes of
commentary address every aspect of the human condition. It proscribes,
prescribes and describes in amazing depth and detail. And it infuses people
with the bigness of character and soul I had always admired but rarely
experienced.
I spent many months grappling with the "female" question. So much of what I
saw in the religious way of life seemed at odds with what I thought I knew.
But at one point I had to ask myself: What have I been told by my schooling
and my society, and what do I really see in the world? What is my
experience? My answer: Men and women are significantly, dramatically
different, emotionally and physically (and now, I realize, spiritually).
Judaism addresses these differences. I looked--really looked--at the
religious women around me. I had never met stronger, more emotionally and
spiritually refined, capable, loving, non-neurotic women. Or more sensitive,
respectful, devoted men. More happy, psychically intact, cared-for children.
I wanted that.
Everywhere, I see people driven by external achievement; I see the pain, the
struggles, the Prozac nation. Becoming observant does not make a weak person
strong. It is not a quick fix for a lifetime of emotional damage. But the
Torah's guidelines provide the boundaries and tools for inner healing and
transformation. Now, being "religious" frames everything I do, say and
strive for. I knew that the man I would marry and I must share the same
priorities and values.
My husband -- a successful businessman -- and I met in New York, through a
mutual teacher who knew us well. I'd spent plenty of time engaged in the
rites of Los Angeles-style dating. This was a whole different ritual. In
venturing into this shiduch -- which, loosely translated, means "date"--we had
agreed to an express purpose. We were to decide if we were a match--and with
far less dillydallying than in most modern courtships.
Aaron and I spent hours together eating Chinese food, playing miniature golf
and pinball, ice-skating, boating in Central Park. I came to respect his
integrity, his strength and his constant striving to do and be better. (And
he's cute!) Four months after we met, we began a 10-week engagement. (My
mother, who had spent a year planning my sister's nuptials, was aghast.) We
never touched, but got to know each other, unclouded by the bond of physical
intimacy, which so often super-glues the wrong people together.
People look at Orthodox women as repressed. But I often think about a truer
definition of repression. When I see women in skimpy clothing, intimately
involved with men they barely know, I think: "Wake up, girlfriend! You think
men are seeing your soul? Thinking about your needs? About who you are? Your
body has become your self." The real feminine mystique consists of a woman's
private side, the richness of her inner world.
I had been living the Cosmo fantasy. Now I feel as if I've awakened from a
long, sweaty dream. Once I aspired to make it as a writer, and perhaps get
married and have a kid or two along the way. Today, although I still work as
a freelance writer, it is not my identity. I live in a religious community
outside Manhattan, full of the type of people I used to look at with pity,
even contempt. My goal is to become like these women: sensitive, strong,
fantastic wives and mothers--not, as I once thought, because they had been
subjugated for centuries and didn't know better or because they were lacking
self-esteem, but because they recognize that the most important thing a
person can do is to develop character by giving, building and supporting
another.
A Jewish wedding revolves around making the bride and groom happy. After the
ceremony, but before the dancing--what exuberant, unabashed dancing!--Aaron
and I went to a separate room to spend a few private moments. There, he held
my hand for the first time. That small gesture had a richness and intimacy I
could never have
Jewish World Review Sept. 21, 2000 / 20 Elul 5760
WHAT'S A NICE COSMO GIRL LIKE YOU ... DOING WITH AN ORTHODOX HUSBAND!?
By Andrea Kahn
Andrea Kahn is a former reporter for the Los Angeles Times and editor for
TEEN Magazine. She currently lives in New York with her husband and
freelances for a variety of publications. Comment by clicking here.
