The Big Reveal

Note: If you want to respond to the content of this post, please post in the comments. Any emails sent to me privately on this topic will be posted in the comments section, with or without the author's permission. I'm trying to keep people's comments/feelings on this public so I don't drown in negativity and criticism that surely will arise, as this is a tenuous and potentially life-altering post. 


Well, my banner gives a hint: I'm rebranding -- both the blog and myself. A lot of people (looking at you @Mottel) believe that people aren't brands, but other people (looking @jeffpulver here) believe that people are and can become brands. Whether I intended it or not, I am my brand and my brand is me. I'm Chaviva, the Kvetching Editor, and this blog is the face of that brand. Do I include every minute detail of my life here? No, gosh no. If I did, y'all would be overloaded and I'd end up looking like some narcissistic lunatic. That being said, I've always prided myself on honesty, forthrightness, and truth.

I was speaking with my therapist today, after several weeks of throwing things around in my head whether this post was going to happen. With that note up top there and with what I'm going to say, this post will serve as therapy for me, and I hope it will take the weight that I'm "hiding" something off my shoulders. I'm a firm believer that if you don't inform on your brand, someone else will, and that's how gossip and lashon hara begins.

I am a Jew. I don't fit in a box, and although I tried very hard after my Orthodox conversion to throw myself into the tidy box of Orthodoxy -- Get Married, Move to a Big Orthodox Community, Have Only Orthodox Friends, Dress the Part, Wear the Headcovering, Go to the Mikvah, Live and Breathe the Box of Orthodoxy -- it didn't work. My marriage failed, my life shook, and I uprooted myself to Denver where I now feel more like myself than I have in a good three years.

Slam Poetry. Music. Film. Writing. Smiling. Laughing. Feeling at peace in my own skin -- except, of course, when others send me emails or texts or chats telling me how I'm letting down the people who look to me the most as a beacon of conversion to Orthodox Judaism. I'm made to feel guilty for feeling happy.

And why am I happy? Why am I really happy? Because unexpectedly, in early November, while sitting at the local Starbucks (a shonda!) doing work, a fellow walked up to me and asked to sit down. While he stepped away, I fled. I was just divorced, I was pretty sure he wasn't Jewish, and I think he was hitting on me. Then, time and again I went into that Starbucks and we struck up a friendship. That friendship over movies and ridiculous YouTube videos and existentialism and family/emotional drama and our love of rodents and books and music and everything else led to now: I'm dating this fellow. His name is Taylor, and Taylor is not Jewish. Taylor's what he likes to call an agnostic-atheist, meaning that he respects everything that I believe but that he doesn't buy into any of it. Has it resulted in any contention? Not really, no. He leaves me to my Shabbat observance, recognizes my kosher-keeping, and the fact that we're both vegetarian (okay, so I eat meat when I go to @melschol's house) makes cooking for each other at my place a breeze. Right now, he's perfection for me. He makes me laugh, he makes me smile, he makes me feel okay being me.

Yes, I've taken to eating out at the two popular local vegetarian/vegan restaurants -- City O City and Watercourse. I can get my weird vegan kosher Daiya cheese, plenty of vegetables, and a bounty of gluten-free options in a city where the only kosher "restaurant" holds a monopoly on the kosher business and serves subpar food (want to open a kosher restaurant? sorry! it can't be anywhere near the one that exists -- va'ad rules). But guess who thinks it'd be cool to open a kosher vegetarian restaurant? Taylor. Go figure, eh?

What else should I put out there?

I've reconsidered having children, I've reconsidered marriage. The children thing has a lot to do with family things that are too private for me to detail here, and the marriage thing has a lot to do with, well, being married and it going so horribly.

Yes, I know what you're all thinking/saying: Chavi, you just went through a tumultuous time, this is to be expected, don't count anything out! Or perhaps, Chavi! Just go to Israel and study in seminary and figure out your Jewish self there! Oh I know, some of you are even thinking Chavi, you're rebounding! It'll all get better once you meet a nice Jewish boy.

And perhaps all of those point are valid, but I've heard them from every angle. Rationalize things all you want, but this is who I am right now and this is how I'm happy right now. The truth is, I don't think I ever fit into the clean Orthodox box I thought I did. I wanted to, I tried so hard, but the Orthodox I fell in love with and the Orthodoxy I practiced were two different things. It doesn't make my past posts any less valid or significant, and I hope people still read and learn from them. I'm a Jew. An underconstructionist, rebranding Jew.

I'm still kosher, I'm still shomer shabbos. I still believe firmly in everything that makes Judaism work and functional. Torah m'Sinai. The important thing is that I'm not letting myself stop. Some of you may think I'm regressing, pouring into the plight of intermarriage and diluting the Jewish pool. And you'll think what you will, and I'm okay with that. I've come to peace with it.

This is my derech. My derech to which HaShem is privy. In the end, yes -- I'm a public figure, people associate and look up to me, I impact lives -- but at the same time I'm a person who is just as confused and searching as everyone else. The difference is that I've forced myself into the public eye and have to continue to stay true to myself and my readers.

As always, this is just the beginning. I'm going to let my haters be my motivators this time.

Gam Zu L'Tovah: I No Longer Am Consistent

I thought about making a podcast. I thought about writing a cryptic slam poem. I thought about just saying that this blog has taken too much out of me and I've passed up on many a chance to focus on me, to be and live for me. But this blog has been my baby, my internal dialogue, my therapy. You guys are the flies on the wall of my mental canvas. You get to see the inner workings of a stranger. The world gets to see the inner workings of a stranger. So what would be stranger than me simply disappearing from the blog, citing stress, questioning everything I know about myself, family drama that cannot even be described, and new people in my life?

The weirdest thing about being divorced is feeling like I was never married. Is that normal? Is it normal to look back and think, where did the past three years go? Who was I? Was that even me? Don't misunderstand: I got married because everything seemed to fall into place. I sought the physical and emotional comforts that marriage and relationships provide. But looking back and reflecting on it all, I did myself a great disservice denying my own feelings about the whole thing. To put it more simply: I have no clue who that woman was over the past three years.

There are clear moments: Graduate school, my Orthodox conversion, Israel. But all of the things that should matter, that should stick with me are as if a fog. Like watching a tragic movie with a tragic woman who wants nothing more than to be that image of the Orthodox woman living the Orthodox life with her Orthodox husband in an Orthodox world. And I got that. I dressed the part, I spoke the part, I ate the part, I lived the part. I was that person that people strive to be, and for those who read this blog and look for guidance on conversion to Orthodoxy, I was that example to follow.

And all of the important stuff was honest. It's the superficial stuff that I'm starting to wonder whether it was real. I believe everything -- I believe and have a firm conviction in all that Orthodox Judaism provides and demands, but I've hit this point where, because I'm unraveling who I was for three years, I don't know that I am capable of following through as that person. Not right now.

Man. I sound like I'm being cryptic. Like what I should say, what I want to say is so obvious. But, you see, I've placed myself under the microscope of so many people, at least 55,000 a month. And as you start to question yourself and where you're going, it's like the sun is shining so bright you're on the verge of combustion. In the Jewish community, for me at least, the fear of retribution, exclusion, denial are beyond words. The fear that, if I decide that eating out at a vegetarian restaurant is something in which I want to dabble that I will be rejected wholly by those around me. That if I decide that I'm interested in someone who isn't Jewish that my readers and friends will look at me with judgment and horror.

Oh how the mighty might fall.

In one of the segments of Ask Chaviva Anything! someone asked whether I put too much emphasis on being a convert, and I said that it's impossible, because being a ger is the very fabric of who I am. It defines my social life, my diet, my clothing, my approach to everything in life. A Jew can go "off the derech," and we scoff and laugh and pray that they come back into the fold, no matter how nominally affiliated he or she is. But no matter how not Jewish he or she chooses to date, he or she will always be Jewish. An ancestor's ketubah or picture of a grandparent's grave, and matters are solidified. A convert? Well, I have a folder that holds both my Reform and my Orthodox conversion certificates. Pieces of paper signed by modern rabbis in a modern rabbinical court in an environment installed with processes and circumstance. But those papers can disappear, they can be questioned, they can be enough to cast away someone indefinitely.

I sound dramatic, I know. But this is a glimpse into my head, my life, my world right now. People tell me that HaShem never gives us something that we can not handle, and others say gam zu l'tovah (this, too, is for good). And that makes me wonder why I currently find myself in the circumstances that I do. The more difficult thing, however, is that I feel good. I feel right. I feel happy. For the first time in a long time, I feel like me.

People are fluid. Our experiences are fluid. From one moment to the next, we cannot expect consistency from either ourselves or others. We're impacted by our environments, our emotions, our genetics, resulting in an ever-changing sense of self that should never stand still. Drastic changes, we assume, must be attributed to some life-altering event or emotion. However, in truth, it seems to make sense that we would be constantly in flux, changing, inconsistent. After all, that's why Judaism has so many installed proscriptions of how to live -- consistency. Everyone works better on a schedule. Or do we? I guess what I'm saying is that we expect too much from ourselves, from others, in the way of consistency. We expect people to have patterns, and when the pattern is thrown, we assume the worst.

Don't assume the worst, please.

Also: As an aside, if you didn't see Mitch Albom's "Have a Little Faith" on TV the other night, then you need to find it and you need to watch it. It had me in tears at the end, and I don't cry easily. The only movie I ever cried during was "My Best Friend's Wedding." But in the movie, the rabbi (played by Martin Landau) poses the following (and I'm paraphrasing) Why didn't G-d create one perfect tree? Why did he create multiple trees, spruces, pines, oaks? It's the same with man and our beliefs. There are many ways to G-d, not just one. (And this, folks, is my comfort.)

The Fingerprint of HaShem

Clouds rolling in over the mountains in Centennial, Colorado. 

Something funny happens when you get divorced. At least it did to me. While visiting home in Lincoln, Nebraska, I was tempted with the urge to throw it all away. To go out to my favorite treif (not kosher) restaurant. To just throw all caution and devotion the wind and give it all up.

But it was fleeting. Incredibly fleeting.

My dad lamented that he couldn't take me out to eat, and I managed to find some kosher meat at the local Trader Joe's and made some meatballs and brussels sprouts. I was content. I stood my ground. I stood up to the inclination to give everything up.

And then something else funny happened.

I joined Frumster.com, a frum Jewish dating site. Yes, I've only been divorced for a few weeks, but something in me said "find a husband already! You're not a spring chicken! You want a family! Find a super frum guy to guide you! You're a converted divorcee, you're going to have to work hard to find a husband!" I found myself looking only at the men in black hats and beards -- there's something dashing about a Lubavitcher or devotee of Hassidus. Something that says, "Wholly devoted to HaShem, wife, family, Torah, life." It's too soon.

I know what you're thinking: Chavi's gone off the deep end. She's going to become a Lubavitcher and start praising the rebbe as mashiach or something. (PS: I love Lubavitchers.)

The funny thing that happens when your life stops and starts again in a new place with a new haircut and new people is that you're tempted -- in good ways and bad. Throwing it all away, taking up the uber-frum torch. And every day is a challenge. Every day I wake up after a sleepless night and think to myself "Who am I? What has become of me? What does HaShem want from me?"

Clearly, I guess, I'm not ready. I'm not ready to move on, but I'm tired of being here. I mourned my marriage for six or nine months, give or take, and the fatigue of feeling alone has worn me down. I have already made many good friends here in Denver, and I absolutely adore the community. I love being able to see the mountains no matter where I am or where I'm going. It's like witnessing the fingerprint of HaShem every moment of every day.

And the uncovering of my hair? Well, I'll admit to you all that it isn't what it's cracked up to be. Maybe it's just that the girl who cut it didn't do a good job or something, but I feel like I'm trying to step back and be someone I'm not. I'm trying to go backward when all I can do is move forward. A marriage changes you, relationships change you. And yes, it changes your hair and how you feel about it, too. I chose to uncover because according to Rav Moshe Feinstein, there is a leniency for young women without children, especially when they relocate to a new community. I asked one of the rabbis on the beth din of the get (divorce), and he advised me to uncover, so I thought, score! Uncovering! Hair liberation! But after you've covered, it's just not the same. As much as I kvetched about hair covering, I miss the ease of throwing on a hat. My head is plenty cooler on a hot day, but I don't know that that alone is worth it. I'm sure I'll write plenty more about my hair covering, and I'll give you the various sources for uncovering after divorce -- stay tuned.

So where am I? I have no idea. I really want to find a nine-to-five gig so that I can have a reason to wake up in the morning and do something with myself. Right now I feel a little lost. I need to get back into parshah study and learning, because I know that there is something that HaShem wants and needs of me, I just don't know what it is.

I guess we're all waiting for our sign.

A Response: Dating During Conversion

I've been pondering a response to Kochava's Why You Shouldn't Date During Conversion blog post, and I think I'm finally in the right mood to write it. In short, I almost completely disagree with just about everything she wrote (but I do adore her, so it's no personal :D).

The long-dating couple before my first beth din meeting in NYC in November 2009.

As you all know, I converted Reform in 2006, many moons before meeting my now husband Tuvia. I started attending an Orthodox shul in Chicago in 2008, many months before meeting Tuvia. I moved to Connecticut, and almost instantly I met Tuvia, who at that time was in a sort of religious oasis -- he'd grown up in a religious community, gone to a Conservative day school for 15 years, been incredibly active in Hillel during college, and after college even attempted to find a Conservative synagogue, but with no luck. When I met him, he was in what I like to think of as an "either way" kind of space. But in one of our first conversations, I told him plain and simple: I'm a Reform convert going Orthodox, and if you're not going in that direction, then let's not waste each other's time. Tuvia was willing to go on the journey with me, and that journey had a lot of challenges, but none that I regret.

I knew about the complications of dating while in-process, but after speaking with a lot of people and doing my own research and soul searching, my conclusion was that you're damned if you do, damned if you don't. I frequently tell those in-process that this is how it works:

If you're dating a Jew while in-process, the community and rabbis will think you're converting for marriage. Some will be okay with that, some won't. If you're not dating anyone while in-process, the rabbis will be highly concerned over how on earth you'll ever land a husband, being a convert and all, and post-conversion will insist on setting you up with other converts (which is fine, but it pigeonholes converts, much like the Jews of Color community, which often gets set up with other Jews of color -- again, fine, but pigeonholed). Catch 22!

Tuvia and I started studying with a rabbi for my Orthodox conversion in January 2009. It's funny how it was all a review for me, but it was largely new to Tuvia, who really enjoyed learning. I struggled for many months with whether Tuvia was doing Orthodoxy for me or for himself, and I didn't want there to be a developed resentment in our relationship where I became the religious zealot of a convert and he became the unwilling participant in a love conquers all situation. (This falls under what Kochava wrote as "if your new partner isn't orthodox but you're in the orthodox conversion process.") We had a lot of discussions about it, and Tuvia assured me that he was doing it because he wanted to -- not for me. And things moved forward. (Although, let's be honest, this still haunts me, and Tuvia knows it.)

Perhaps we were blessed, but our community had zero problems and didn't react negatively at all to our situation. In fact, many people in the community thought that Tuvia was the one going through the conversion process -- not me. The decision to start observing shomer negiah was largely mine, but Tuvia understood the importance and was more than willing to go along with the observance. Was it easy? No, but for us, it was a powerful mitzvah to take on in our journey together. Many in the community were actually impressed/shocked/flabbergasted that a young modern Orthodox couple would even observe shomer negiah, believe it or not. But we held to it, because it was powerful spiritually for us (well, at least me).

We never faced chastisement, and we were upfront and honest with the beth din about everything.

The only major problem that ever came up, in the entire time of our dating and studying and going from community to community and Israel and to the two beth din meetings I had leading up to my Orthodox conversion on January 1, 2010 was the following question, posed by my beth din during the first meeting.

If you knew you were going to convert Orthodox, and you'd decided to do so before moving to Connecticut, why on earth would you join JDate (that big, ugly, non-Orthodox dating service) with the intent of meeting someone? 

Talk about a great question. Mad props to my converting rabbis. This is a great question, and the funny thing is, I really don't have a good reason. I hadn't been on JDate for probably a good two years, back when I was living in Washington D.C. from 2006-2007. But there was this funny feeling I had, especially after my good friend Reuven visited the Lubavitcher rebbe's ohel and davened (prayed) for me to make a shidduch (match) with a nice fellow. I moved to Connecticut mid-August 2008, and I joined JDate almost instantly when I arrived. Within a few days, Tuvia had contacted me, and the rest is history. It just felt right, oddly enough.

When I explained this to the rabbis, they sort of cocked their heads sideways at me. But they understood. If anything, they understood that I'd helped bring one Jew -- Tuvia -- closer to mitzvot and observance through my own actions and passion for Judaism. I think that this, above all else, allowed my beth din to see that I wasn't doing this for marriage, and that if anything, I was bringing a little light into the world through Tuvia. They asked Tuvia, many times, what his background was and how he'd arrived at Orthodoxy, because they also wanted to know that he was truly into Orthodoxy and not just along for the ride with me. But neither of us had a problem with this. (This also falls under what Kochava wrote as "if your new partner isn't orthodox but you're in the orthodox conversion process.")

All this being said, I understand where Kochava is coming from. It doesn't always work out so swimmingly. Plenty of people drop out of the process, plenty of people intermarry when they get fed up with the process, and yes, it happens. But, and I believe this firmly, if you meet someone while you're in-process, and you fall in love, and you know that this person is your one, then the passion that existed before you met that person will shine through, and your beth din will be beyond cognizant of this. It's all about planting your feet firmly and saying, "I am a Jew, I am meant to be a Jew" and your story will tell itself.

Does this work for everyone? No, but I'm not a believer in sacrificing your happiness for an assumed opinion of the institution of Orthodox conversion. Believe it or not, conversion still works on a case-by-case basis (except maybe in California, but in all things, exceptions exist ... it is Judaism after all). To write off your happiness for fear of chastisement by a rabbi or the community just means you're letting yourself be bullied. Be happy, be confident. It can be worth it.

Jdate and Studying

Well, I did it. I took the plunge. I bit the bullet. I threw myself into it.

I paid for a one-month JDate account. Yikes!

I know, I know. I know what you're thinking and saying and you can shake your head and scoff and chide me all you want, but, well, there was a fellow who piqued my interest and I just had to join to send him a note. Call me impulsive, I guess. But, as it turns out, we're several days later and although that fellow hasn't responded, another fellow and I have been conversing via JDate e-mail. I didn't expect to hear anything so quick, but, you know, it is Connecticut and there doesn't seem to be many people on JDate.

I guess my biggest beef with JDate is the general secular population. I mean, different strokes for different folks, but as a friend said recently ... as time has gone on, there's a lot less J in the JDate these days. At any rate, I'm just feeling out the waters to see what happens. I'm an adventurer, okay?

I will note, though, that a mere seven months ago I blogged about searching for a nice Jewish guy and how I was having problems because I was looking for a fairly religious fellow because I was "somewhere between  Reform and Conservative" ... oh how the times have changed! And so quickly!?

In other news: I did my first official homework tonight, and it was for my Modern Hebrew class. I was so worried about learning the script, but it's almost second nature to me now. It seems so strange and odd looking, but once you get going on it, the letters just flow out from the pencil like a beautiful waterfall. The letters still look weird, but it all seems to fit together nicely. Essentially, what I'm saying, is that it feels good to have this done and my stomach ache is waning and I'm feeling better about everything. Now? I have to plow through Genesis 1-25 and search for common themes and the like. The problem? I'm reading it like I'm preparing a d'var Torah and I can't seem to get very far without picking something apart ... eek! Focus, Chavi, focus! The upside to everything school-related, though, is that I've found another student around my age who lives in the Graduate Housing (he's a Jewish undergrad, post-Navy) who has become the new study buddy. In it alone? Not anymore!

A quick ditty on my way to bed.

This is part of that 8 percent of my blog that isn't necessarily "on topic" as far as being about Judaism. But really, well, it is, since just about everything in my life relates in some way to my Jewishness. Prepare for utter irrelevance and general blabber.

So I went to the dermatologist today after having put off a small procedure for months and months. It was quick doing, but required a little procedure that means I have to replace some bandages on three different spots for about the next two weeks until said spots are healed. Barring any tests coming back positive or weird, this is just routine for the sake of being safe (I'll just say it has to do with my moles/beauty marks, of which I have about as many as the stars are numerous and the Jews are bountiful).

As I was laying there with the doctor asking me the typical questions (What do you do? Oh you're leaving? What will you study?). He asked why I'd put off coming in for so long and I explained that it was because after my ex and I broke up, I worried about being able to do the bandaging since I didn't have anyone around to help. Then he started asking how I came to Judaism and the first thing he said was, "So was your boyfriend Jewish?" He couldn't see my face, but I grinned that "seriously" kind of grin and said "Nope." He responded with the "Oh, well, everyone I know who has converted to Judaism did it for marriage" line. I said that, yeah, typically, a lot of converts to Judaism tend to be those who do it for spousal reasons, but that we are the few, the proud, who convert purely out of a personal calling. Now, I know plenty of people who convert for marriage end up being more devout than there spouses and I'm not knocking anyone here, but I just think it's interesting that he'd assume!

Of course, my real irritation with the entire visit was that he decided to do the procedure differently so as to make things easier on me since I am a poor, defenseless, helpless lass without a man or other person around to help me take care of the bandaging. After he left the nurse shook her head and explained a few easy ways to get things done -- "I've been all alone and had plenty of excisions, you'll be fine" she explained, with a grin and sarcastic tone in her voice.

At any rate, that's just a little ditty about what I'm medically up to. Not that anyone cares, but, well, someone might.

Jewish Un-Dating and Un-Praying.

For those of you who don't know, I'm presently buried under a pile of snow!!!!!!

But really, I must kvetch, if only for a second, about how it is seemingly difficult to meet a nice, single, observant Jewish man. I think maybe it's because I'm somewhere in this gaping hole between Reform and Conservative. Maybe I hang around the wrong circles. I mean, don't get me wrong, if I met someone in Chicago now and then hopped along to graduate school wherever that would put us in quite a situation. But truly, I think it might be more complicated than one would think. I've met several nice men in the past month or so, all of the Jewish variety, but most either "quirky" or oblivious. Then there are the MySpace messages that arrive with blunt messages stating that said messenger is such and such feet tall and does such and such and happens to be Jewish and it would appear is looking for a committed mate. No fun flirtation, no dancing around things, but straight let's get to the point kind of action. Then there are the people on the train who see fit to accost me at 8 a.m. to attempt to get my phone number and name and other personal details. Fact: I do not, in fact, look good in the morning. I look grouchy and tired and irritable. Yet still, sometimes, there is persistence. I refuse to sign up for JDate again, simply because, well, I met some nice guys, and even dated one for about three or four months, but it just doesn't produce the kind of mate a nice Jewish girl like myself is looking for.

So where does a nice Jewish girl like me meet a nice Jewish boy who happens to be religious (not in an Orthodox sense, but religious and passionate as I am)? I mean, I can think of at least three or four nice Jewish guys I know who sort of -- in composite -- make up the perfect Jewish spouse. But, well, they're all married.

Anyhow. After two advances in the past 12 hours I had to write. And anyhow, Chavi, just remember, graduate school will bring an abundance of nerdy, academic Jewish types. Right?

And now for the daily dose from Chabad.org, delivered conveniently to my e-mail inbox. I particularly like this one, actually.

B"H
Unpraying---------

Do not pray.

Prayer means there are two entities, one entity petitioning a higher one. Instead of praying, connect.

Become one with your Maker, so that divine energy will come through you and into our world to heal the sick, to cause the rain to fall...

A Daily Dose of Wisdom from the Rebbe
(words and condensation by Tzvi Freeman)
Shevat 25, 5768