My Story 12

It took a long time for me to make sense of what had happened in my failed marriage. For many months, my home became almost a shrine to my first wife. I couldn't bear to remove the clothing she had left behind, or even wash the dish of the last meal she had eaten in my home. Our marriage had lasted from the end of May, 1976, until October. Both the get and the civil divorce took place in January, 1977. I was living alone in a large house in the country, across the road from a beautiful lake. But the beauty of my surroundings only seemed to put into bolder contrast the feeling that my life was, essentially over. I did have friends who supported me, but, for the most part, I was alone. My synagogue only had services on Shabbat, and most members lived elsewhere, and were only there for the summer. There was no one to talk to. About twenty minutes away, tucked away in a forest outside Mount Kisco, New York, was a tiny, mostly anonymous community, called the Yeshivah Farm Settlement. Their Yeshivah centered community followed the traditions of the town of Nitra in Hungary. They were not ideologically Hasidic, although they dressed that way. There was a Yiddish speaking Yeshivah, to which students came from all over the world, with a permanent community of about fifty families. I was to learn that there were many Hungarian communities, in a sort of satellite relationship with Satmar, that maintained a separate social and ideological identity. Although I had grown up in Williamsburg, the center of Satmar, until I was twelve, they were never more to me than "the refugees". Satmar has a very unsavory reputation for extremism. In some cases, this was not unjustified. But I found more the contrary to be true. Their rabbis were very learned, and gave little or no heed to the political opinions of official Orthodoxy. If it had a source, good. If the source was in the head of some "gadol" (all star rabbi), it would be examined, and, if found to be baseless, would be ignored. They were not afraid to challenge the Sacred Cows of the rest of the Orthodox community, and had little respect for the supposed "gedolim" of the "mainstream". While very careful to maintain their Hungarian traditions, they knew the difference between those and halachah. The long-time Rabbi of Satmar, Rav Joel Teitlebaum, had stressed to his followers above all, the obligation of loving kindness. Commenting on the statement in Ethics of the Fathers, that the world stands of three pillars; Torah, Divine Service, and acts of loving kindness, he boldly said: "The age of Torah scholarship is long gone. (This has become increasingly evident to me over the years). The age of fervent prayer took its place, but has now ended. All we have left is kindness". I was to experience this kindness on a number of occasions. I would go weekly to Nitra, to shop at their kosher grocery, and to immerse in their mikveh before Shabbat (once my local lake became too cold). People noticed my presence. One man said "whenever you come here, please stop by at my house". He and his wife would send me home with Shabbat food in abundance! It's not that I was poor, but I was alone. My culinary skills did not go far beyond boiling spaghetti. Here were homemade fish, chicken, fresh baked challah bread. Neighbors soon joined in, and gave of their own goodies. I had home cooked food for the entire week! They invited me to their special events, whether communal or private. They took me to meet their Grand Rabbi in Monroe, New York, on three occasions. They told me to come around whenever I was lonely. They became like family! It would be nearly a year until I was to meet and marry Sima. The wreckage from all the disasters and disappointments in my life, were now to be healed and rectified by this amazing woman. Not that there weren't disasters to come. But I was never alone again.That will be my next post.

My Story 9

One of my favorite movies is the 1970 hit, Little Big Man. It was very controversial, and set off several law suits. It was the first movie, to my knowledge, that told the story of the Old West from the point of view of the Native Americans. The film had moments of laughter, and moments of tears. It was about a white settler, whose family was wiped out by Pawnee Indians, but who was adopted by Cheyenne Indians. Throughout the movie, he goes back and forth between the White Man and the Red Man, with the White always coming out as morally inferior. Throughout the movie, there is the looming presence of General George Armstrong Custer. He is rarely on screen, but he is constantly causing bad things to happen. He so much wants to become President, he is happy to kill men, women and children in order to achieve that. At the beginning, he is a hero. As the movie progresses, we see that he is an egomaniac. He eventually has the hero's family killed. In return, the hero tricks him into the battle of the Little Big Horn, where Custer is killed. Custer goes from hero, to a mentally unstable man, to ultimate villain. He remains a great American hero, but we learn that the idol has clay feet.
In my life, my General Custer has been, and continues to be, "Rabbi" Shlomo Carlebach (1925-1994). Carlebach came from a long line of great German rabbis. He and his twin brother, Rabbi Eliyahu Chaim Carlebach, were born to their parents late in life. I had heard that they were born through a blessing of the previous Lubavitcher Rebbe. I once asked their mother about this, who replied "Ach! We went to many Rebbes". Both brothers were educated in the prestigious, but very anti-Hasidic, Lakewood Yeshiva. Both excelled in their studies. First Eliyahu Chaim became drawn to Hasidism. Later, his brother Shlomo followed suit. Shlomo put out his first album of original Hasidic songs in the mid 1950s. His career was encouraged by Bob Dylan and Pete Seeger. He began giving concerts, which were very well received. His music became a part of the liturgy of synagogues across the spectrum. You have undoubtedly heard his melodies, and just assumed that they are ancient Jewish songs. He began to attract a following of "groupies". Many Orthodox rabbis were scandalized by the fact that he held mixed-gender concerts, but some felt that this was fully justified, in order to bring young Jews back to their roots.  Moshe Feinstein, when questioned if it was not forbidden to listen to the songs of this "heretic", responded that he isn't a heretic, but merely overly lax in his observance. His music was to be considered "kosher". Carlebach would walk into a room. All would rush up to him for hugs and kisses. He would embrace all. calling them "holy brothers" and "holy sisters". I must admit, I was very taken by his charisma and dedication. I chalked up his laxity as being like one who is trying to rescue a drowning person. If he refuses because the drowning person is a scantily clad woman, the Talmud calls him a "Pious Fool" (Hasid Shoteh). Yes, as far as I was concerned, the man was a self-sacrificing saint. True, he was persona-non-grata in many communities. Even the Lubavitcher Rebbe had thrown him out. But he was SO COOL. Yes, rumors circulated that there was a dark side; a side of sexual abuse, but most people simply cried "lashon hara" and the reports were squelched... until after his death. I had seen him captivate an audience. I had seen him bring people who were distant from Judaism back by the thousands, often at great personal expense. But reports of abuse, some from girls as young as twelve, were trickling out. I chose not to believe these reports. (I never claimed to be smart). When I returned to New York to learn about Breslov, I was still single. Moreover, I was unemployed, albeit by choice, and no young woman would consider me for marriage. Then, on a Wednesday evening in March, 1976, a young woman came into a class on Breslov, at which I was also in attendance. My friends said "this one is for Jeff!" She had come from Boston to New York to learn about Rabbi Nachman. She was a follower of Shlomo Carlebach, who often quoted Rabbi Nachman. She appeared to be the woman of my dreams. She needed a ride after the class, and I offered her a lift. We wound up conversing for many hours into the night. She was knowledgeable. She was spiritual, She was prayerful. She seemed too good to be true. For the next several weeks, I chauffeured her around New York, taking her to classes and lectures. Three weeks later, we were engaged. Two weeks after that, we were married. Shlomo co-officiated at our wedding, together with one of the Breslov rabbis with whom I was studying. In the wedding pictures, one can see the Breslover rabbi wincing from pain at having to see and hear Carlebach. But I was ecstatic. All these rabbis just didn't understand...or so I thought. I was soon in for the trauma of my life.

My Story 8

My Shabbat with the Breslov community in Williamsburg was indeed a breath of fresh air. The entire day was spent in prayer, singing, Torah study. There was a spontaneity in their Jewishness that I had never known before. At the same time, I gathered from things said, that there were factional problems in Breslov. The next day, I visited a Hebrew book store and discovered that a Breslov classic, "Rabbi Nachman's Wisdom" had recently been translated into English. I saw that the translator was Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan; a little-known figure at that time. I had known him several years before, when I was working for Hillel. I had been the rabbi of the Ohio State Hillel, and he had been the rabbi of the Hillel at Hunter College in New York. We had met at a director's conference. We were both hired and fired about the same time. We were not the types Hillel was interested in. I gave him a call. He remembered me, and we had a wonderful conversation. I asked if he was Breslov. He replied "No, I see nothing to gain from declaring one's self to be a member of one group or another. All you are doing is closing yourself off from everyone else". He made it very clear, however, that he adored Rabbi Nachman, his books, as well as the books written by his followers. I told him about my experience in Williamsburg. He informed me that, in fact, there were five different Breslov factions in the New York City area, each consisting of about twenty-five people. There were clashes of ideologies, as well as personalities. I found out from him that my warm reception in Williamsburg was at least partially due to this dispute. There was a running debate between Breslovers as to whether these teachings were meant for all, or only for a small group. Some were printing books, and distributing them at street corners, either for free, or for a minimal price; usually five cents for a full-size hardcover book. These groups would even make cheap knock-off editions of books published by other factions. The Williamsburg group, on the other hand, believed that Rabbi Nachman's teachings were meant to be kept secret. If Rabbi Nachman wanted you, he would find you! My experiences with coming across two books, seemingly out of nowhere, seemed to prove their point. Rabbi Kaplan went on to describe the various groups, which he knew intimately. Some were composed of outwardly Hasidic, Yiddish-speaking people, who were either born into Breslov, or, more commonly, had come to it from other forms of Hasidism. These were loose confederations of like-minded people, who gathered together for inspiration and camaraderie. On the other hand, some groups were composed of people who were raised Modern Orthodox, escaping the superficiality of that approach. They were joined by baalei teshuvah, and converts. I was to learn that Breslov was the most convert-friendly of all Jewish groups. Rabbi Nachman considered converts to be essential to G-d's plan. However, these groups were led by strong personalities, who demanded complete loyalty. They were essentially Hasidic Rebbes in their own right. One of the groups was overwhelmingly female! Some dressed in Hasidic garb, others were clean-shaven, and wore American dress. Some were staunch supporters of Neturei Karta, the vehemently anti-Zionist faction in Israel. Some were Zionists. Rabbi Kaplan pointed out the benefits of diversity. He was not thrilled with the cult-like features of some of the groups, but believed that the leaders of these groups also had much to say, and should not be ignored. I gave notice at my Cincinnati synagogue and returned to New York to learn about Rabbi Nachman. His teachings were unlike anything I had learned before or since. In fact, everything else seemed almost trivial in comparison. I lived for the next year (1975-1976) with my parents. My four and a half years in Ohio became a wonderful memory. But I was headed now in a different direction. It would be another ten years until I met the man whom I now consider my teacher. More about him in another few posts. Only then was I able to tie together all the loose ends in Breslov. Right now, I was observing, absorbing, and trying to apply all the new and wonderful things I was learning, even while I was confused and disturbed by the factionalism. In a way, I was born in 1975. Like an infant, I was starting again from the beginning

My Story 7

I knew my romance with Chabad was over. But where to now? The other well known Hasdic groups seemed forbidding, and weren't that open to outsiders anyway. The "Yeshivish" communities seemed to needlessly delve into minutia, mostly about topics that didn't really affect people's lives. I viewed them as much ado about nothing, or at least very little. Modern Orthodoxy seemed superficial and artificial, as well as  downright dishonest. (That is still my feeling).The Hirschian approach of the German community seemed to be more about civics than G-d, with a strange fascination for German culture, together with a weird denial of German antisemitism.(There were never more than five Nazis!) As I mentioned, my Cincinnati German congregation was Orthodox, but few of their children were. Many had rare volumes of Jewish religious literature, some centuries old. When one of the members passed away, their families brought their entire libraries to the synagogue for eventual burial. I would often browse through these stacks of ancient tomes, choosing some to keep for my own library. On one such occasion. I found a small booklet that was not old. It was "Tikkun HaKlali" (the General Remedy), Rabbi Nachman's recommended ten Psalms, which he urged people to say often. I didn't know much about Rabbi Nachman., What I did know, was mostly from a 1970 book called "Nine and a Half Mystics". It was written by a Reform rabbi, Herbert Weiner. He had spent the 1960s researching various groups of Jewish mystics. His chapter on Breslov was quite enthusiastic, but he had given the distinct impression that it was depressing. This particular volume of Tikkun HaKlali had something special, though. It had the "Seder Hayom"; the 'order of the day" for a Breslover Hasid. This included spontaneous prayer to G-d, in one's own words. There was sharing burdens with friends. There was joy. There was study, turned into prayer. There was facing the reality that we fall far short of what we should be; including our rabbinic leadership, but reversal was easily possible.  Everything I had been feeling was right there! Wait...the booklet had a name written on it. I needed to talk with that man! I asked around, but no one had heard of him.I mentioned it to one of the Chabad people in Cincinnati; a young rabbi who was a teacher in the local day school. "Breslov? Ha! I have a lot of their books. Breslovers would come into the Lubavitch Yeshiva in Montreal and hand them out. We called them 'Breslover Comic Books. The rabbis said it was forbidden to read them. I"ll give you all that I have". I had been given a treasure! One book was all about individual spontaneous prayer (Hitbodedut). One was about remaining strong in the face of adversity. One was an interpretation of Shabbat and Holidays and what they should teach us. It sounded so wonderful...on paper. They all dealt with disappointments, and how to rise where we have fallen. Besides my disappointment with Chabad, I had just been turned down for a position I was sure I had in Beloit, Wisconsin. I wanted that job so badly, I could almost taste it. I was twenty-six, single, and very lonely. I thought I had found "the one", but she decided she could not accept a religious lifestyle. I was beyond disappointed on MANY levels. All that I read in these books gave me great hope! But who knows if this stuff is real? Wait...there were names and phone numbers of three rabbis on the back of the books. Two of them, alas, were non-working numbers. The third number did work.  The rabbi's wife answered, who explained to me that her husband, Rabbi Hershel Wasilski, was hard of hearing, and could not speak on the phone. However, the next time I would be in New York, he would be happy to meet with me. I immediately took vacation, and went to my parents' home in Brooklyn (Coney Island). I called the rabbi, and he invited me to come to his apartment in Williamsburg on Wednesday night. We spoke for several hours. He explained to me the basic teachings of Rabbi Nachman, as well as the history and ideology of the movement. He gave me many more books. He suggested that I study one teaching in Likkutei Moharan, Rabbi Nachman's main book, every day. He told me to recite the prayer connected with the teaching composed by Rabbi Nachman's disciple, Rabbi Natan. I was also told to speak to G-d every day for ten minutes, in my own words and language. Do this for ten days, and then come to him for Shabbat. He walked me to the elevated train which I would need to get back to my parent's place. Just as we approached the station, a train pulled in, and pulled out. The hour was late, and I knew the next train wouldn't come for at least half an hour. The rabbi said to me "You think you missed your train? You did not miss your train. If that had been your train, there is no way you would have missed it." I had never looked at things that way. He was talking as if...G-d were accessible. I had understood that He was separated from us by many heavens and portals, only to be reached through ancient, special prayers, and then only if recited properly. For the first time, I felt I had a G-d. I spent the next ten days with my parents, in whose home I could not eat. There was a kosher burger joint a few blocks away. I got in touch with some old friends, who were shocked that I was considering leaving Chabad, for a movement that no one had heard of. "You're becoming a WHAT?!?!". There were only about 200 Breslovers in the U.S. at the time. The Friday before going to Williamsburg, I was deep in thought as I walked to the burger joint for lunch. Would this prove to be real, or just another disappointment? I had been with Chabad for eleven years. Could I really start over elsewhere? My thoughts were interrupted as I passed a store that sold old junk; lamps, chairs, tables, that had seen better days. The proprietor came out of the store and said to me "Mister, can you read Hebrew? I have a Hebrew book that you can have cheap". Lo and behold...it was a Likkutei Moharan! I nearly jumped out of my skin. What were the chances? This was a sign! I went to Williamsburg, and showed the tiny Breslov community (about twenty-five people) the book I had found in Cincinnati, as well as the one I had just purchased. They looked at both. they were incredulous. "The one from Cincinnati...we know the man whose name is written on it. He lives in Jerusalem. He has never been to America, let alone Cincinnati".

My Story 6

Rabbi Sharfstein arranged for me a position as the assistant rabbi of Cincinnati's Orthodox German Jewish Congregation, New Hope. This was an unlikely match; I, a 24 year old Hasidic baal teshuvah, in a congregation of mostly seventy and eighty year old stayed, very formal immigrants who had escaped from Germany on the eve of the holocaust. But they were proud Germans nonetheless. Arguments about politics, all too common in most synagogues, centered there not on then President Richard Nixon, but whether Kaiser Wilhelm was or wasn't a great man. All were proud of their war records in "the war to end all wars". They were not comfortable with any displays of emotion, or even talk of spirituality. Judaism was, for them, about how to be a good neighbor and citizen. Some were actually observant, others were there in the name of clinging to the German Jewish tradition, which was, I was to learn, very different from anything with which I had been familiar. They referred derisively to other Ashkenazic Jews as "Ostjuden" (Eastern Jews). Some would chide me for how I could hope to be a rabbi when I had not studied Goethe. Most of their children were in the local Conservative congregation, and most of their grandchildren were intermarried. I was specifically instructed not to mention this from the pulpit. My salary was minimal, but it afforded me the opportunity to study daily with Rabbi Sharfstein. Rabbi Sharfstein was, in my eyes, the epitome of the ideals enshrined in the Chabad literature. He was learned, wise in the ways of the world, compassionate, and open to people who were not like him.He even had non-Jewish friends, which was unheard of in the Chabad I had known. I would come to his home every day. I would pose a question, and he would give me a two hour discourse; tracing the issue from Talmud through responsa literature. He would open books that covered many centuries of rabbinic thought. Although very loyal to Chabad and its seven generations of Rebbes, he was knowledgeable in, and respectful of, other approaches. Nevertheless, he was very open about who "the bad guys" were at various stages of history. He was dismissive of the Mishnah Berurah, the widely accepted non-Hasidic early twentieth century halachic work, because of its extreme interpretation of halachah, as well as its anti-Hasidic prejudice. He preferred instead the Aruch HaShulchan, which was published at the same time as the Mishnah Berurah, but re-examined halachah based on classical sources, letting the chips fall where they may. It was he who showed me that in American Yeshivot, the Aruch HaShulchan had been the standard text for halachah until about 1950, when the heads of Yeshivot switched to the far more conservative Mishnah Berurah. This gave me perspective on the "Yeshivish World", and the dynamics behind political issues it was dealing with. Rabbi Sharfstein had risen from a modest teaching position, to become the de facto Chief Rabbi of Cincinnati. He was in charge of supervising the kosher slaughterhouse, the bakery, three butcher shops, running a Beit Din to deal with community disputes, as well as conversions and divorces. He took me to the various places he was supervising, showing me how he kept them kosher, as well as the pitfalls that needed to be avoided. He taught me how he could make the kitchen of a non-kosher hotel kosher for a community event. He put me on his Beit Din, which afforded me practical experience in ways that few rabbis ever know. In many ways, that was the most productive learning experience I had ever known. Everything was amazing for a year and a half. Then a turn of events occurred that radically challenged him as well as me. He decided that the time was right for a Chabad house in Cincinnati. The powers that be in Brooklyn sent him a protege of the Chabad house rabbi I had just "escaped" from. All I had experienced in my ill-fated Chabad house experience had now come to Cincinnati. After a few months, Rabbi Sharfstein ordered the new man out of town. He received orders from New York, including from the Rebbe himself, that he must take the man back. It was a crisis for my beloved rabbi. He felt that everything he had built in Cincinnati over two decades was crumbling. At the age of 46, he suffered a massive heart attack. I visited him in the hospital. He said to me "Jeff, I want you to know that this is because of him". He never opened up to me how he reconciled the treatment he had received at the hands of the Chabad organization, including the Rebbe, with the new reality. But he maintained his faith and commitment. I realized that I could not do the same, although I stayed in touch with him until his death in 2008. But where to go?

My Story 5

Completing my Master's work in one year, I was faced with a choice. I could continue towards my PhD, with a view to an academic career, or go into the great unknown of the world beyond New York. Everything inside of me pushed me to the latter choice; I wanted to spread Torah and Jewish spirituality. I asked the Dean of the Chabad baal teshuvah division what I would need for smichah (ordination). He said "Let me test you right now". He tested me not on the usual halachic requirements, but on the Kabbalistic and Hasidic teachings I had been learning from my Chabad teachers. He was satisfied, and wrote me out a certificate on the spot. It was not the standard smichah; but rather the honorary smichah given to those who are dedicated, but not yet ready to be halachic decisors (Poskim). That was the smichah they gave for baalei teshuvah. (In the next two years, I was tested and ordained with standard smichah by three prominent rabbis. When I moved to Israel, I received smichah from the Chief Rabbinate). The campus rabbi who had set me straight about aggadah, recommended me to the international Hillel office, which placed rabbis in campus positions all over the world. I had just turned twenty-two, was full of idealism, and was ready to change the world! They first placed me as the assistant director of a Hillel in  Madison, Wisconsin. The director was a Conservative rabbi, who, at 35, was dying of a heart condition. He realized that any Assistant Director was being groomed to replace him. He had booted two previous rabbis (both Orthodox), leaving copies of complaints about them sent to the Hillel International office for me to see. The complaints were actually rants against Orthodoxy. Soon, I saw letters about me. I resigned. I was then placed as the assistant director of the Hillel at Ohio State University in Columbus. I loved the work, and happily put in a seventy hour week. I was the same age as the older students. I would drink beer with them, play darts, and talk to them about Judaism. One of our members messaged me recently that he found a 1972 publication that listed me as the Chabad representative in Columbus. But, alas, this Paradise was not to continue. Members of the local Jewish community complained to the International Office that my dress was too informal (overalls, OSU sweatshirt). The faculty of the Jewish Studies department at OSU were offended that I was teaching "an emotional interpretation of Judaism". After two years, I was fired. The Orthodox rabbis in Columbus, afraid of the power and influence of one of the faculty members, remained silent. The Conservative and Reform rabbis wrote letters in support of me, (as did much of the Christian Clergy) but to no avail. Sadly my "dream job" came only at the beginning of my career. In the meantime, the first Chabad House had opened in  Cleveland. The Director said that he admired what I had done on campus, and wanted me to come work for him. I consulted the Lubavitcher Rebbe, who advised me to take the position "for the meanwhile'". Little did I know that I was in for a major trauma, which took me years to work through. No sooner had I walked in the door, than the Director said to me "Jeff, I don't care how many people you got to keep kosher or keep Shabbat in Columbus. If you didn't bring them to the Rebbe, you did nothing". I had never heard anything like this in my then nine years in Chabad. "We're going to Case Western University tonight, to speak with Jewish students. I want to see what you can do. You're on". I welcomed the opportunity. If I do say so myself, I think I did pretty well. "How was I?" I asked the Director after the session. "Terrible. You used a word we never use; "G-d". Kids don't relate to G-d. We are here to "sell" the Rebbe, not G-d.. Next week, you will see how it's done". The following week, we returned to the university. A similar group of about thirty students was in attendance. He chatted them up, looking for a person who was vulnerable, but to whom the others would relate. He found his target. A young woman asked "What is the Jewish view of the afterlife?" He went on the attack."You phony! You don't know how to live this life, so you ask about the next? Your whole life is one big lie!" She broke down crying. Several others joined her. "What shall I do?!?!" "I can't help you. But, there is a plane out tomorrow morning at nine. Be on it, and I will send you to Crown Heights, Brooklyn, where you will be helped". Five students were on that plane the following day. I wasn't sure how I felt about what I had just seen. I would see more of this in the coming weeks; people coming for a Shabbat meal would have their entire sense of self-worth destroyed in an hour, only to be sent to Brooklyn the next day for re-education. It didn't end with students. The Director boasted on a radio program "Give me one half hour with Gifter (Rabbi Mordechai  Gifter, the Rosh Yeshiva of the Telz Yeshiva), and he'll either become a Lubavitcher, or else give up Judaism altogether!" When I pointed out that some things being done at the Chabad House were not in accordance with halachah, He told me "If you're really mekushar (connected with the Rebbe), it doesn't matter". This was much bigger than the aggadah issue. Was I part of a sinister cult? I made frantic phone calls to Chabad contacts I had. Much to my surprise, I learned that, unbeknownst to me, two factions had grown up in Chabad, and the gulf between them was growing. One was concerned with bringing people to Judaism, albeit with a Chabad spin. The other stressed the uniqueness of the Rebbe, with connection to him being the primary message. The latter group was excited about his alleged  Messiahship. THAT was the mission! This group would come to be known as the "Meshichists" (Messianics).There were, in fact, two separate kiruv (outreach) organizations within Chabad, one representing each of these approaches, It boggled my mind that the Rebbe had never taken sides in this! I wrote several letters to the Rebbe, describing what I had seen. They went unanswered. I contacted Rabbi Zelig Scharfstein, the unofficial chief rabbi of Cincinnati. I  had contact with him in the past, conferring with him on halachic issues. He was Chabad, but a man of tremendous openness, combined with erudition. He was to become a major influence in my life. I told him that I was ready to give up Chabad, but was frightened that there was no alternative. He assured me that what I had seen was an anomaly. He agreed to find me a position in Cincinnati, and I could study with him daily. This was a fantastic opportunity. I stuck with Chabad...for the meanwhile.

My Story 4

My feelings towards Chabad were extremely positive at that point. I have never, before or since, seen a group of people so completely dedicated to their ideals, that they would go to the ends of the Earth to bring Judaism to their wayward brothers and sisters. Money and fame didn't seem to drive them. There is no group without a few bad apples, but, as far as I could see, the overwhelming majority "walked the walk". This was before Chabad emissaries were ubiquitous. True, rabbis had been sent out to communities in order to teach and guide, but these were mostly "poskim", rabbis well versed in Jewish law, who often became the main rabbinical figures in their towns. It would be several more years until young families were sent out, usually big on enthusiasm, less so on erudition. There were, however, aspects that troubled me almost from the beginning. First of all, there was no indication that what I was being taught was a special interpretation of Judaism. This WAS Judaism. Everyone who was Orthodox believed the same things, but many were too full of themselves to admit that Chabad was the best, nay the only way. Everything had a single answer. Those rabbis and groups who openly opposed them were people who, deep down, rejected G-d. Non-Jews had a lower soul, and were barely human. I had then, as now, many non-Jewish friends. I had great difficulty seeing them as anything but human, and fine human beings to boot. This gave me great anguish. (I later realized that they were speaking from the pain of two thousand years of relentless persecution, worse in Czarist Russia than most places, and still worse under Communism). The two most famous non-Chabad Orthodox rabbis in New York were often spoken about in mocking terms. (This changed many years later, when both came to visit the Lubavitcher Rebbe. They both became "kosher"). As I began to read more, and speak with other Orthodox Jews, I was hearing very different ideas. When I asked the rabbis who were teaching me, they either said "So, if good is good, then better isn't better?" or simply "those people are seriously mistaken". The famous "openness" of Chabad was really an openness to accept everybody into their organization, not an openness to accept other ideas as potentially valid. Once a person became Lubavitch, total conformity to their customs and traditions was demanded. Even other forms of Hasidism were seen as "watered down". There was only one Chassidus, which only Chabad proclaimed clearly and openly. I gained a lot in terms of knowledge and spirituality, but I was faced with ideas that were very difficult to accept. They supported Talmudic science over modern discoveries. For them, the Sun still circled the Earth. Insects were formed from filth and decay.The one that troubled me the most was their insistence on a literal interpretation of aggadah in all things. That there once existed giants bigger than the mountains, or that BILLIONS of people lived in the Land of Israel until the Romans slaughtered them, was very hard to swallow. A pivotal event in my life and thinking occurred around this issue. I started college in 1966. The campus rabbi was Modern Orthodox. As baalei teshuvah were still exceedingly rare, he was curious how I was relating to what I was learning and experiencing. I told him that I found it very rewarding, but that the aggadah was putting a wedge between me and full acceptance of Judaism, and I wasn't sure I could continue. To my amazement, he said that Judaism does NOT accept the aggadah literally, and this was backed up by RAMBAM. I went back to the rabbi who was teaching me, and told him what I had heard. "NOOOO! RAMBAM never said that! He is lying!" A few days later, I met the campus rabbi, and told him that he had lied to me.(Remember, I was only seventeen). "I lied to you?!?! Let's look at what RAMBAM wrote". Sure enough, there it was in black and white, in his commentary to the Mishnah, RAMBAM wrote that the aggadah is allegory, Anyone who does take it literally is a fool, and should keep his mouth shut, so we should not all be considered fools. I was stunned. I went back to the rabbi who was teaching me. "Oy! Why did he show you that? I didn't want to confuse you!" I now knew that I wasn't necessarily being given truth, but was being sold a party line. I cannot deny that I would not be where I am if not for Chabad. I am grateful for all they did for me. But I began to see that I must learn sources for myself,  hear all ideas, but seek the truth on my own. I began to go to lectures given by various rabbis, and I dove into sources. I began to see that what I had been taught was a combination of extreme stringencies, as well as extreme leniencies. It all boiled down to Chabad traditions. I began drifting away from the Chabad book of customs, and more towards the classical codes, and the responsa literature. I thought of going elsewhere, but where? Modern Orthodoxy seemed to me superficial, and even schizophrenic (it still does!). I attended graduate school at Yeshiva University. Many of the professors were also Orthodox rabbis. But they made a distinction between what we should DO, and the "truth". For instance, my main professor believed that we are observing the Shavu'ot holiday on the wrong date. I asked him if this was not heresy. "No, I keep it according to the halachah. I just think the halachah is wrong". I was shocked. This was both heresy, and hypocrisy. Perhaps what I had learned at Chabad was correct; there was nothing outside Chabad of any value. I stayed with Chabad for another four years after graduate school. What changed? That will be the next part of my story.