One day last semester, I was celebrating one of the five minor Jewish fast days of the year. I’m someone who oftentimes forgets to eat—so one would think that fasting would be a piece of cake—but of course, as I walked into my afternoon lab, I was starving. For some reason, everyone around me seemed to be eating, and my stomach was rumbling. I commented to my friend in frustration that on a fast day, all I could think about was food. My professor happened to be standing behind me, overheard what I had said, and began asking questions about the fast: How long did I have to fast? Which fast was this? Why were we fasting?
As a newcomer to Orthodox Judaism, I was unsure of how to answer her questions. The truth was that I’d found out about the fast the night before and hadn’t had a chance to learn the particulars of the day. I’d assumed that the reasons were ones that I would support, and I made plans with a friend to go through the texts explaining the fast day that evening. So all I could do was mumble in response to my teacher’s scrutiny, embarrassed by my inability to answer.
I have come to understand and become very familiar with that look. My teacher looked disgusted, bewildered at how someone with a competent degree of intelligence could follow something so mindlessly. She couldn’t understand how I could just fast without knowing why, and assumed that I was somehow brainwashed into not thinking about my choices. Her look filled me with a deep sense of shame, not at my lack of knowledge, but at the fact that I’d fallen into that little box in her mind with all the other religious people. I was deeply upset with the way I’d misrepresented both Orthodox Judaism and myself, and by how, in less then two minutes, I’d managed to make my life and my choices sound silly.
Over time, I’ve come to understand how easy it is to oversimplify Orthodox Judaism, to decide that those who abide by the laws laid forth in the Hebrew Bible have just not thought about them enough. From an external lens it can seem like an oppressive religion in which the individual has little agency over his or her life, and in which women are considered to be second-class. A dress code of long sleeves, high necks, and skirts that cover the knees, or the fact that many women cover their hair after marriage, can seem ridiculous, old fashioned, and offensive. It can be very hard to understand why any woman would consciously submit to the religion.
In making the decision to become an Orthodox Jew, all these factors weighed on my mind. I made my connection with Judaism on the spiritual side. I found beauty and truth in the texts, but I still had a hard time with the practical aspects of Jewish law. Having grown up in a completely secular community, I wasn’t sure whether or not I could confine myself to Jewish tradition. But my belief compelled me to find a way. In my readings, I came across the following quote by Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik: “Judaism is first a discipline and then a romance.” As humans, we are confined by the limitations of our physical bodies, but we have the power to redeem physical shortcomings through actions. Our power to refrain from indulgence is precisely what sets us apart from animals. Soloveitchik was saying that Judaism does not confine me as a woman, but rather gives me the power to disengage, to refrain from indulgence in order to reach a higher spiritual level. Only by disengaging could I come to understand the true power of Judaism.
The truth is that I have never come across a group of people that put so much thought and time into the whys and hows of the way they live. As students in a secular college, our ideas and core values are challenged everyday. Whether we are in philosophy class or the East Campus party next door, we are constantly forced to reexamine and reassert the way we live and for what we stand.
Orthodox Jews believe in G-d. We believe in Torah, and we believe in the system. While that can sometimes mean acting on faith, it does not mean that we don’t think about our choices.
The author is a Barnard College sophomore.