19 August 2007

Changing Oneself

While in university I received counseling for... something or other. I was in graduate school and had a good life, working on a doctorate in Comparative Literature with a dream girlfriend (non-Jewish, for the record). But something was getting me down, bad. The girlfriend shot up warning flares, and I said, you're right; I'm going to do something about it.

I have never been afraid of counseling and consider seeking help even when one doesn't need it far preferable to needing it but not getting it. Besides, it was subsidized by the university health services, and I struck up a rapport with the psychologist from the beginning, so it seemed like a great thing to continue.

The doctor helped me understand that I mostly needed help coping with the two women in my life — my erstwhile girlfriend and my mother — both of whom were watching me pursue Judaism, and besides that, cross cultural boundaries where they were not prepared to follow. Much of what we dealt with toward the last of ou sessions was my growth in Judaism compared to the persons around me, in a mostly non-Jewish environment.

I wonder how many budding ba'alei teshuvah go to the university's health clinic to speak with a Christian psychologist in order cope with ba'al teshuvah issues. I wonder how many of those are not Jewish.

We discovered that the biggest sources of frustration, as concerning my mom, was her belief that changes to oneself were undesirable. She regretted my years spent in university education if they meant that I would change who I was. College was for getting a career so you could be financially secure - not for rewiring your mentality.

This philosophy is perhaps related to the differences between the Israeli Orthodox vs. the American Orthodox (or Lakewood vs. Balitmore) approach to secular education. The former is so afraid of those changes, knowing how inevitable they are, that it does not want to risk it. Better to stay in an insular environment than to end up with a hashgafah radically different from that of your parents and mentors. The latter approaches education cautiously but willingly, knowing that there is an inherent value to the arts and sciences. And, plus, that career-and-financial-security thing.

ButI was loving the experience so much that I was prepared to extend it indefinitely. If someone had approached my on the campus lawn and offered a 16-year degree program in Everything You Want to Know with a guaranteed livable stipend, adjusted for inflation, I would have ripped my shirt sleeve back for the blood sample.

The biggest reproof she believed she could give me was, "I haven't changed, YOU are the one who has changed". Or the heart-wrenching, "What has happened to my boy? I did not raise you like this".

My counselor and I would agree: indeed I have, thank you. That is the purpose of education.

You might have empathy for my mother's position, having a son who rejected his family's religious and cultural heritage to be what I became. I'm occasionally reminded of that by Jewish naysayers who ask me, "How would if your child grew up and said she wanted to become a Christian?" (Yeah, yeah, whatever. That can be the subject of another posting.)

But I believe it is an untenable position that making changes in one's life, even a total rehaul of one's most dearly held life principles and points of reference, is inherently wrong. It will not hold up to logic, and more importantly, it goes against Jewish philosophy. Otherwise, there would be no such thing as mussar.

The dean of a yeshivah for ba'alei teshuvah here in Yerushalayim has a famous dictum that he tells parents who accuse his institute of brainwashing the guys who attend there. He tells them, "We don't do brainwashing here. Our job is dry cleaning."

And although I felt my identity in jeopardy when I began attending that very yeshivah, I recognize now that my real problems were often elsewhere, and sometimes in my own imagination. The me of four years ago could have looked at me now superficially and said, "Listen to you, penguin boy. You became with the rest of them." But I would argue that as much as I fought to retain my identity, I also picked my battles. I allowed change to happen where it needed to happen.

An example: recently, when pursuing a new job that would have been a total a change in career, I needed to provide references to my prospective employer. But after four years in Israel, three of which I had spent in yeshivah full-time, and a couple more years before that having been out of university, I had a tough time knowing who to go to. Who would be able to vouch for me, either academically or in the career world?

I ended up asking my Gemara rabbi to be a reference, and explained to him half-apologetically that I cannot ask my old professors because I'm hardly the same person that I was five years ago.

"I should certainly hope not", was his quick and cheerful answer.

1 comment:

haKiruv said...

Very interesting post. Do you still maintain contact with your mother?

I've found that with my parents, it's their lack of maturity that is the big wall between us.