FALSE HOPE: THE FUTILITY OF TALKING TO RABBONIM ABOUT EMUNAH QUESTIONS

Part I: My first rabbinic encounter:

The first time that I frankly discussed my Emunah problems with a rabbi, I was shaking. Until then, the only people who knew about my struggle were my spouse and my brother. I was still in Kollel, and my life was falling apart. I eventually confessed to my wife that I was not sure I believed in God, much less in a God that gave a bunch of laws to a group of shepherds-turned-construction-worker-slaves, 3,300 years ago. My wife panicked, and her rebbetzin arranged for me to meet a very prestigious Rosh Yeshiva who had a reputation as a brilliant maverick. He was a genius par excellence, someone whose seforim were indescribably complex and only understandable by the biggest talmid chachamim. If anyone could straighten me out, it was him.

Before meeting him, I spent a day feverishly writing out my main issues with Yiddishkeit. I filled several pages with arguments, full of bullet points and arrows and last-minute ideas squeezed into the margins. I was desperate for someone to permit me to believe, but I was also profoundly aware of my bias to accept Judaism as real and get on with living my life.

The first time we met, I could not get the courage to tell him about my Emunah problems. I am notoriously bad at confrontation, and here I was sitting in front of my hero, a giant in Klal Yisroel, about to tell him that I was an apikores. I was too ashamed and I just couldn’t do it.

To his credit, he was a kind man and had the emotional intelligence to allow me to open up at my own pace. It was like a first date. We both sat there, a colossal elephant hanging over us, awkwardly talking about nothing for an hour. I could not pluck up the fortitude to tell him that I no longer believed. Eventually, I asked him if we could meet again in a few days. He agreed. The next time we met, he pushed a little bit.

“What is on your mind, my friend?”

“I am not sure that Yiddishkeit is real,” I said.

I found it incredibly difficult to say those words, and I looked at him, imploring him to help me. He did not appear too thrown-off by my admission, and he maintained his composure; however, our conversation was frustratingly unproductive. In short, I asked him what he considered his positive evidence for the truth of Judaism—how does he answer the question: "Why do you believe, Rabbi?" He responded by pointing me to several gematria and how utterly mindblowing he considered them. I countered that given the sheer number of possible word combinations, combined with the fact that almost all words will fall into a limited number of gematria values, it is inevitable that there would be numerous hits, some of them seemingly significant. I also countered that Muslims were also pretty proud of some remarkable numerical and word coincidences in the Quran.

The Rabbi changed the topic, pointing to the miraculous survival of the Jews and the fact that we reclaimed our homeland after 2000 years in exile. I registered the fact that this did not impress me.

Turning to negative evidence, I asked him how he squared a global mabul with everything we know about geology and animal biology. The Rabbi did not answer the question directly; instead, he discussed how much he enjoyed reading books about animals when he wasn’t learning. I assume that he was trying to indicate that he was well aware of the issues, and I should just trust that he had thought through the issues.

I then asked him how he understood the Gemara that permits killing lice on Shabbos because they spontaneously generate. He answered that he remembered Rashi or some other Reshon explains that the Gemara was not literal. He also admitted, rather stunningly for a well respected Litivish Rosh Yeshiva, that he would not be opposed to believing that Chazal was relying on the scientific consensus of their time. I was scandalized. He pulled a Moreh Nevuchim from his shelf and showed me that this was indeed the Rambam’s position.

We spoke a bit more. He asked me where I thought the universe came from if I did not believe in God? I countered that if everything needs an explanatory cause and cannot merely exist by brute fact, then God's existence also requires an explanation, leading to an infinite regress of Gods creating other Gods. He had never thought about the issue before and promised to think about it.

I asked if we could meet again. We met three more times, each time discussing various moral and scientific issues with the Torah. After our next meeting, he started to press me to drop these issues, asking me while I felt it was ok to hurt my family. I too, began to more forcibly press him to give a valid explanation justifying his belief. He eventually started becoming impatient, “Natan, just cut it out already” (“it” being my Emunah questions). We ultimately stopped meeting, both vowing to stay in touch, yet neither doing anything to retain the connection. The last I saw him was when he visited me when I was sitting shiva on my father. His visit touched me. But that was the extent of our connection.

Part II: The Problem:

This story may sound humdrum, but it is its blandness that makes it so remarkable for me. Since that encounter, I have spoken to numerous rabbonim of various stripes and flavors. Most of my encounters were painless, if slightly frustrating experiences, some of them turned sour, and I was desperate to escape when we finished the meeting. Few were positive experiences. I have also spoken to numerous people about their experiences, talking to rabbonim about their Emunah questions. The consensus seems to be that these conversations are rarely beneficial and typically only inflame whatever larger issues are going on with the person and their quest for truth.

Something is afoot; why is it so numbingly futile to talk to rabbonim about Emunah questions? Each Rav is different, but I have seen a trend, and I propose that there are eight basic reasons why these conversations break down and never seem to end in a mutually satisfactory resolution:

1 – The questioner knows too much:

The discussion of the Torah's divinity covers a large terrain of subject matter. A person researching the validity of a global flood will need to gain familiarity with the basic concepts of geology and world history. An exploration of the Kuzari argument requires some basic knowledge of myth formation and sociology. An exploration of the six days of creation in the light of modern science requires knowledge of evolutionary biology, genetics, as well as basic physics. Of course, it is almost impossible to become an expert in every topic, but basic familiarity is a prerequisite to understanding the substantive points of conflict and the various proposed resolutions.

Many of us, when grappling with our ever diminishing Emunah, researched the relevant topics like our lives depended on it. For us, whether Rabbi Gottleib’s “no false NET” or William Lane Craig’s Cosmological arguments were sound could make the difference whether we would lose our family and kids, or whether we can go back to living our lives. For many people who go OTD for intellectual reasons, by the time we walk into a Rabbi’s office, we have read many books on archeology, biblical criticism, theology, evolution, and critical thinking.

Conversely, with very few exceptions, most rabbonim have very little exposure to this sea of knowledge. Rabbonim in America attain their positions in a variety of ways. Some attend semicha programs and work their way up the ranks, starting with small community positions. In the yeshiva world, there are various programs that people study in to become considered a viable candidate. Roshi Yeshivas do not need any qualifications other than enough financial backing to rent a building and the charisma to convince some bochurim to follow him.

Proficiency in addressing the intersection of science, morality, and the Torah is simply not required, or common. Many rabbonim possess well-rounded knowledge of hashkafa – but that knowledge is limited to “in the box” issues. How does one balance yiras shamayim with Ahavas Hashem? What is the best approach for overcoming shimiras eynaim issues? How can one find meaning in learning all day? How should one balance Iyun and Bikeyus? When does Yiras Shamyanim turn into unhealthy OCD behavior? These questions are well within the wheelhouse of most rabbonim. They are not trained, however, on how the system itself is justified when viewed against the conclusions of the various bodies of human knowledge that have accumulated over the past two hundred years.

(At this point, a certain number of you are ready to punch the screen. “My Rabbi knows everything! How dare you paint all rabbonim with one brush!” Ok. You are correct. I am telling you about my experience with numerous rabbonim. From everything I can see, they are almost universally ignorant on these topics. Perhaps your Rav is different. But maybe, instead of making assumptions, approach your rabbi and find out the scope of his knowledge. Ask him what books from “the other side” he has read. I have found that people's intuitions rarely align with reality regarding the answer to the above question.)

In my experience, most rabbonim viscerally know that Yiddishkeit is true, but they have never spent the time to fully articulate or justify their thoughts. Those that display some elementary knowledge on the topic of science and religion studied these ideas exclusively from Frum sources. They read Rav Avigdor Miller and Rabbi Keleman when they were Bochurim.

Because of this, when confronted with someone who claims that Yiddishkeit is false, they resort to weak, mostly emotional based, arguments. Below I provide a list of the most common arguments that I have seen rabbonim deploy. Engaging in these sorts of arguments quickly charges the air with negative energy and has a propensity to turn the conversation sour. Even if the conversion survives without fully degrading into a “you are willing to turn your backs on the six million Jews who died in the gas chambers to eat cheeseburgers?!” both parties usually leave unsatisfied.

2 - Rabbonim find the conversation religiously offensive:

Most people who pursue roles as Roshi Yeshiva, Rabbonim, or community mentors are deeply religious people. By and large, they do not watch movies or TV, refrein from reading non-Jewish newspapers of books, and pursue lives fully within the confines of Shulchan Aruch. For people living such spiritually refined lives, engaging with apikorsus is mentally challenging. Even I, OTD for a number of years now, find it disconcerting listening to a Jew who has converted to Christianity. I remember my instinctive revulsion when I watched a clip of a Jewish person get baptized. Intellectually, I knew that my reaction was irrational – Christianity brought this woman happiness, why was I being a prude, but viscerally something recoiled inside of me.

Of course, Rabbonim are inevitably exposed to the failings of human beings and are called to provide guidance on people struggling with infidelity, drug addiction, and other issues that a regular Frum person would not typically be exposed to. But there is something particularly jarring and unsettling for rabbonim when talking to people who are apikorsim. According to Halacha, it is forbidden to listen to apikorsus, much less discuss and consider heretical viewpoints. (Although the Gemara rules that one should know how to answer an apikores, the Gemara is quick to qualify that this does not mean that one is allowed to actually engage, rather those answers are for internal knowledge.)

I recall sitting in a Rav’s office debating Judaism. The conversation was tolerable, if unproductive. However, at one point, he presented a simplified version of Pascal’s Wager (“Even if you have questions, doesn’t it make sense to keep everything mi’safik? If you are wrong you will go to gehenom!”) I responded that, according to his logic, he should, at the very least, get baptized. Sure, it isn’t a great act from a Jewish perspective, but by getting baptized, he is avoiding Catholic hell, a far scarier place than Judaism’s version of hell. By getting baptized and living a Jewish life, he is guaranteed not to experience purgatory according to two religions. If all that mattered was risk allocation, why was he putting all his eggs in one basket? The moment I said the words “you should get baptized,” the entire air changed. It was like someone saying Hitler without appending “Ymach Shimo ViZicho” or saying Jesus instead of Yoshke. He was rattled, and immediately escalated the emotional hostility of the situation.

I remember reading another story of a woman who realized that the (well known) Rav she was talking to was muttering “Resh shin eyin (wicked)” under his breath as she was telling him about her non-belief.

The fact that rabbonim are “pure” religionists means that these conversations are often unsettling for them. Most frum Jews react badly when an OTD person says “Yahweh” instead of “Hashem,” and, on some level, this discomfort extends to all declarations or assertions of non-belief. Therapists often face this same discomfort when treating people with issues that trigger them in some way, but therapists are trained to compartmentalize their feelings and remove their discomfort from the conversation. Rabbonim do not receive such training. As such, it can become difficult to navigate Rabbonim's comfort level when having conversations involving apikorsus.

3 - The Rav has no interest in hearing the other side:

There are few things as unenjoyable as engaging in a one-sided conversation with a person who is not open to considering his prior beliefs on a particular topic. Part of the futility of talking to rabbonim is that there is a huge disparity in openness between the questioner and the Rav. Many people who go OTD have done everything in their power to cling to their faith. They have accepted all sorts of tenuous and far-fetched ideas in the name of believing in the truth of Judaism. Now, from their perspective, a commitment to rationality forced them to face accept non-belief. Yet, when they enter the conversation with the Rav, most questioners have seriously contemplated both sides of the equation, and are often desperate for the Rav to provide them with the tiniest sliver of a rationale to believe in Judaism.

Conversely, most Rabbonim never seriously considered non-belief, nor are they open to hearing arguments in favor of non-belief. They have no desire to change their minds and often greet arguments against Yiddishkeit with extreme hostility. More than that, trapping them in a logical argument is, from their perception, religiously unacceptable.

I remember talking to one learned person who seemed curious about how it was possible to not believe. We talked, and I pointed out an error in one of his arguments. He was quiet and admitted that he did not know the answer to my question. The conversation moved on, but the next day this man called me, distraught.

“I need you to know that no matter what I might have said, I do not want you to have the impression that I agreed with even one iota of what you are proposing is the truth.” He was genuinely terrified that he has committed the grave sin of heresy. He quoted Rav Amnon of Mainz's story. The alleged author of Unisna Tokef, who, per the legend, deserved to have his limbs and tongue cut out for not immediately disavowing a proposal that he convert to Christianity. When faced with a logical argument on Yiddishkeit, the man was distraught that his silence implied that he was now tainted with hearsay by association.

All this leads to one bottom line – when a questioner goes to talk out his issues with a Rav, the conversion is lopsided. The questioner usually has the mental and emotional capacity to consider the Rav’s points and is, in fact, often eager to listen to the Rav. In contrast, the Rav possesses neither the religious freedom nor the emotional desire to intellectually engage with the questioner's point.

4 - The Rav just wants you to shut up and do mitzvos:

Many rabbonim believe that practicing mitzvos has an inherently spiritual effect that can change one's outlook. Per this understanding, “sefakos” are often the result of a spiritual illness, and that the questions will dissipate by themselves once the underlying spiritual disease is cured. Practically, this means that rabbonim seem hell-bent on getting the questioner to commit to keeping various mitzvos – even if they do not believe. This is frustrating because rabbonim can be quite pushy in this regard, often to the point of not recognized the pain and trauma that such harassment can cause.

Furthermore, it often feels like the Rabbonim will say anything, intellectually honest or dishonest, sincere or manipulative, as long as they can “score a victory” by getting you to commit to keeping some point of Jewish law. This, again, makes honest and productive dialogue difficult.

5 – Rabbonim are uncomfortable not being the leader in the conversation:

Rabbonim, because of their position, are often in the teacher/leadership/mentor role in any given conversation. I have found that the longer a person occupies such a rule, the less they can consider their positions' truth. When talking to a septic, this position is implicitly challenged. The questioner often knows more than the Rav on the topics being discussed. Furthermore, the very nature of the skeptical inquiry threatens the Rav's position, casting him out of the role of “wise, all-knowing mentor” into the role of “ignorant follower” who is living his life based on a mistake.

I remember a particularly jarring conversion with a Rav. I was exceedingly polite and friendly, but I consistently pushed back on all the arguments that the Rav advanced. I thought the conversation was going ok, but apparently, the Rav was nonplussed. In the end, he snapped, “Just remember your place – I am the Rav, and you are not. We are not equal.” I was shocked by his anger and vitriol. Never had I seen such a statement of authority reveal such weakness.

6 – Rabbonim tend to co-opt your story into their vendettas:

Rabbonimm disagree with each other, and they often perceive the harm caused by the approach of different communities. Almost every time that I have spoken to a Rav, they have, at one point or another, attempted to co-opt my problems in Yiddishkeit into their own narrative. "You did not go OTD because of the reason you say you left, rather, you went OTD because yeshivas learn too slow/people are not allowed to explore their interests/the shidduch crisis/the reliance on government programs." It can be a challenge to counter their point, saying, "No, that may be a fair criticism of my community, but that has nothing to do with why I left." This insistence is often met with resistance and them further insisting that I am not in touch with “the real reason” why I left.

7 – Rabbonim will try to psychoanalyze you:

Perhaps the most unsettling element of speaking to rabbonim is their incessant attempts to hunt for disorder and attempt to psychoanalyze why you made the “irrational” choice to leave. Endemic to the frum community (and many other fundamentalist communities) is the belief that people only leave because they either (1) want to be “porek ol” and abandon responsibility to enable a hedonistic life of endless cheeseburger orgies, or (2) they were hurt/molested/abused and are broken. No matter how much evidence Rabbonim and the community receive to the contrary, these narratives wield enormous influence.

Personally, as much as I loved learning and was a happy and well-adjusted member of the Frum community, I was also very hurt by Yiddishkeit. I had a string of abusive Roshi Yeshivas that have caused all sorts of damage to my mental health. To this day, I have trouble communicating effectively with authority figures because of the abuse I suffered at the hands of various Rebbaim. I have been physically beaten, emotionally abused, and endlessly tormented by religious authorities. I was also very hurt by Judaism’s emotional morass of directives regarding masturbation.

That said, I loved Judaism and derived enormous meaning and fulfillment from Yiddishkeit. I did not leave because I was hurt. I left because there is insufficient positive evidence for Judaism's truth claims to meet their burden of proof to be sustainable. Nevertheless, I am very hesitant to share my painful experiences with Rabbonim, because, invariably, the moment they learn that religious authorities somehow hurt me, they become deaf to any intellectual points I raise. To them, all my arguments are now relegated to the dustbin of excuses made by a hurt person trying, nebbuch, to escape his past.

Many rabbonim also seem blind to the fact that many people who leave would love to stay if they could. Many people who leave are giving up everything they care about – all their relationships and stability and community – and it is not fair to imply that the reason they left is to “indulge their tivvos.” Sure, perhaps some younger people chafe under Judaism's restrictions and flirt with more permissive (and often heather) lifestyles, but those people often end up coming back once they find their equilibrium. But many of us leave “against our will,” so to speak. We wish we can stay but simply cannot justify our belief in Judaism.

In his lectures, Rabbi Mechanic often brags about a girl who approached him with a long stream of questions regarding the veracity of Yiddishkeit. He waited until she finished her long list of questions and then just asked her, “who hurt you?” According to him, she broke down sobbing and told over her story of abuse. Rabbi Mechanic uses this story to illustrate that questions are just masks used to excuse leaving. One day I hope that Rabbi Mechanic gains the self-awareness to realize how pig-headed he acted in that story.

Perhaps more than any other harm, Rabbonim hurt us when they second guess our motives and psychoanalyze our personality, trying to fit our story with their preconceived narrative of why people leave.

8 – They will attempt to delegitimize your previous religious devotion:

Another unfortunate habit that rabbonim have is trying to delegitimize our prior religious devotion. Many rabbonim operate under the assumption that someone will never leave or question as long as they experience the truth and beauty of “true Yiddishkeit.” As such, when someone comes to them who was formally religious, rabbonim tends to try to undermine and downplay the questioner's prior religious devotion. They latch on to any imperfection in our prior conduct or upbringing and say, "ah-ha, look here, if only you leaned more Breslov Chassidus/Gemara bi’Iyun/Musser in a more/less relaxed environment with more/less open-minded/closed-minded rabbonim who put a greater/lesser emphasis on Derech Eretz/middos/intense Torah study/Chassidus/being well rounded - then you would have never left.”

This approach hurts us. For many of us, our religious experience was indistinguishable from tens of thousands of others. Many of us devoted our lives to Yiddishkeit. We sacrificed and paid our dues in blood and tears. To have that wiped away is infuriating and deeply painful. It is also clearly a classic no true Scotsman fallacy and is a desperate ploy to explain away people who question your approach's validity.

Part III: Common themes and arguments presented in these conversations with some basic rejoinders:

If you are going to meet a rabbi, here are the common themes and arguments that they will likely present, along with the reason these arguments are invalid:

• You cannot argue about Yiddishkeit until you finish shas with poskim 101 times.

This is a false attempt to shut down legitimate inquiry. Remember, we are talking about a book that features talking donkeys, sticks that turn into snakes, animal sacrifices, and contains a litany of scientific and historically dubious facts. As long as a creed makes claims about the nature of the universe, truth-seekers can test those claims without requiring some vast knowledge of the creed’s tenants.

Furthermore, this position is also almost always presented in bad faith. The rabbi himself does not believe the argument. If presented with it, point out that the rabbis likely rejected atheism without reading a single book on cosmology or evolution. They rejected Mormonism without reading The Book of Mormon. Sure, in a perfect world we'll spend a lifetime analyzing every proposition before we reject it. But we only have a finite amount of time in this world and we are forced to make decisions about where to invest our energy using imperfect information. We all do this, and it is the fallacy of special pleading to insist that Judaism requires a lifetime of inquiry before it can be dismissed as unlikely.

• Without Yiddishkeit, life would have no meaning

This argument fails on multiple fronts. Firstly, it is irrelevant. This is akin to arguing that Christmas would be less exciting if the Santa Clause were fake; therefore, let's assume that Santa is real. The negative implications of facing the truth are not a valid reason to avoid investigation. Humanity has always been better off facing the world as it is, rather than hiding our heads in the sand, pretending that an invisible entity is controlling our destiny.

Secondly, a sense of meaning is just that, a sensation. For most of us, we derive a sense of purpose from caring for our family, bettering our community, and doing our part to make the lives of those around us a little bit brighter. This sense of meaning is not lost even though one can be aware that there is no real cosmic significance to our actions. Life does not have to have an ultimate “why” to be meaningful. To argue that atheists cannot find meaning in life is akin to arguing that a biologist cannot fall in love once he learns that love is just a function of brain chemistry. That is not how humans operate.

Lastly, religion doesn’t provide some grand answer to the meaning of life. Rabbis often claim that meaning comes from “doing what we were created to do,” but why is that true? If fidget spinners were conscious, would they derive endless satisfaction and meaning from being used as toys for some bored office workers? Fulfilling one’s purpose only has meaning to the extent that the underlying purpose has meaning. So, the real issue is, why did God create us? What was his motivation for creating the world? Like the matrix, Judaism begins glitching when it tries to explain this level of abstraction. “Because God wanted to do good.” What does that mean? Why is that not incoherent? And, importantly for our discussion, why are we being created for God to scratch his "do good" itch make our lives meaningful?

In sum, whether we are willing to accept it or not, meaning is in the eyes of the beholder. For all its pompous claims of ultimate meaning, religion does nothing but push the ball back a step or two. Finally, the question is irrelevant for someone who cares about the truth.

• You are finishing what Hitler started:

This is a particularly nasty, yet perniciously effective, appeal to emotion. I found the idea that I was betraying my grandparents and ancestors who died for our religion deeply disquieting. But like all appeals to emotion, this argument fails because it is irrational.

Yes, our grandparents had some mistaken beliefs about the world. Some other evil people (with different false beliefs) have prosecuted our ancestors for possessing those erroneous beliefs. That is not a reason to cling to those wrong beliefs, despite their lack of truth. You do not need to stand on a mountain of error and sacrifice your intellect on the altar of blindness simply because that is what everyone before you has done.

Furthermore, there is a more profound point here that is worth teasing out. Would it be so bad if Judaism stops existing? Our culture and religion contain a trove of precious ideas, and those ideas are worth preserving. Yet, like any manufactured creation, our faith is also riddled with the effects of human failings. Yes, if all Jews wake up are realize that their religion is human-made, most will likely leave, and our culture will change and possibly fade away. But this isn’t a bad thing. This is the process of humanity growing up. Rabbis who make this appeal are like children insisting that no one graduate middle school because fifth grade has the best treehouse. It is time to grow up.

• You want to run after hedonistic pleasure

This argument is a natural result of living in a profoundly restrictive environment. When I was a teenager, I assumed that anyone with unfiltered internet was likely watching porn all day long. Similarly, Rabbis often look at the freedom that comes with shedding Judaism and believe that hedonistic indulgence must be the prime motivator of anyone leaving.

The truth is that while yes, leaving religion comes with the removal of restrictions, there is a mountain of impulses chaining people to Yiddishkeit. When a person leaves, they are often ostracized by their family. Married parents face a high likelihood of divorce and ugly custody battles. Friends suddenly become cold, or worse, saccharine and manipulative in an attempt to get you to return. More than anything, one of the central desires of most people is stability and a warm, loving group of friends and family. All that is put in jeopardy when facing the prospect of leaving religion. Social stability aside, many people have a difficult time overcoming the inertia of their present situation. The outside world is scary, and what is familiar, even if it is not perfect, is preferred over the unknown. Like teenagers who cannot think past porn, Rabbis often seem incapable of appreciating these decisions' complexity.

• You were molested/abused

As discussed above, this is a malicious attempt to undermine legitimate inquiry. The assumption is that these questions must be excuses for hiding some pain. The truth is that even as a (disgusting) attempt at diversion, this argument fails. It is likely true that some people found their eyes opened by the suffering they experienced in the Frum community.

When we are hurt, part of us recognizes that something is very wrong, even if we do not know how to articulate those feelings. This can lead someone to investigate further and explore the multitude of potential reasons why Judaism is intellectually unsustainable.

The triggering event that leads one to probe deeper is often less important than what the questioner ultimately discovers. The triggering event is meant to highlight the seam in the façade that exposes the mask, but it is just the start of the journey. Pain and abuse are effective triggers, but it is silly to assume that all subsequent questions are now excuses.

• You never experienced "Real" Judaism:

As discussed above, this argument implicates the classic “no true Scotsman” fallacy. (Person A: "No Scotsman puts sugar on his porridge." Person B: "But my uncle Angus is a Scotsman and he puts sugar on his porridge. “Person A: "But no true Scotsman puts sugar on his porridge. Your uncle Angus must not be a true Scotsman.") This "people who go OTD were never really on-the-derech to being with" argument fails because there are not sufficiently relevant differences between the various strains of orthodox Judaism to affect the arguments against the truth of Judaism. Whether one is Breslov or Brisk, the issues are generally going to be pretty similar. For the questioner, the problem is binary: Did the Sinai event happen? What are the evidence and counterevidence for this proposition? Highlighting your particular flavor of Judaism will not affect the core issues that implicate that question.

• You can feel Hashem if you open your heart:

This argument fails on multiple fronts. Firstly, it can be (and often is) used to justify any religion. While you may feel Hashem filling your life when you pour out your heart on Yom Kippur, Christians feel that same feeling when they pray to their god. This sense of spiritual connection is just a feeling, and feelings have been historically ineffective ways of figuring out how the world works.

Like everything we experience this sense of “feeling Hashem” is just the product of our brain. With the right priming or the use of various psychedelic drugs, people can predictably achieve these same states of ecstasy and spiritual connection that the religionist feels when connecting with what they perceive to be as their deity.

• Do you think that you are smarter than the gedolim?!

Almost every single Rav that I have spoken to has raised this argument. I suspect that the reason this argument is so intuitive to rabbonim is twofold. Firstly, Rabbonim spend their lives enmeshed in a world exquisitely attuned to rabbinical hierarchy. A prime component of paskening is understanding the relative weight of various rabbinical authorities and how they interact. From their perspective, a novice does not have a right to argue with a gadol, and as such, an appeal to authority makes sense from their perspective. Secondly, people tend to mistake piety with correctness. It is somehow assumed that a holy rabbi is more likely right about his worldview than us regular people.

Whatever the motivation, this argument fails on multiple fronts. Firstly, in terms of raw intelligence, this argument fails because there are far more genius Christians or Muslims than Jews. Considering only the people's opinions in the top .01 percent of human intelligence, that yields 14,300 genius Jews (14.3M / 1000), most of whom are irreligious, and 2,168,000 Christian geniuses (2.168B / 1000). If what mattered was brute intelligence, we should become Christian.

Secondly, smart people remain devout adherents to silly belief systems because it is challenging to overcome the power of indoctrination of one's youth. Suppose one is raised in a community that accepts certain beliefs, and those beliefs are hammered continuously into his or her brain. In that case, it becomes almost impossible to extricate oneself from those beliefs later in life.

Judaism, in particular, has several “fail-safe” mechanisms that ensure most people will never question. These include the fact that it is forbidden to consume heretical material. It is even prohibited to think a heretical thought. The story is told that people once found Rav Baruch Ber running around like he was on fire. When his talmidim calmed him down, he explained that a kefirah'dick idea had popped into his head, and he was so overcome with anguish that he lost control and started running around trying to get the thought out of his head. Rav Baruch Ber was undoubtedly brilliant, but consider how difficult it would be for him to analyze if Yiddishkeit is true dispassionately.

Another way Judaism discourages questioning is by shunning anyone who rejects the faith. To this day, parents will sit shiva on their children who leave. Even more enlightened parents will sit shiva on a child who marries a non-Jew. Another barrier is the enormous fences that the Torah builds between Jews and non-Jews. Without access to people with differing ideas, Judaism creates a powerful echo chamber, leaving little room for new ideas to enter.

Given this backdrop, it is certainly understandable why the gedolim, for all their greatness, end up merely being not qualified to opine on the truth of Judaism.

Part IV: How to approach conversations with a Rabbi:

The bottom line is that these conversions are often uncomfortable and rarely productive. Yet we often engage with them, either because we want to appease our family, or because we are desperate for answers. Given the situation, here are a few tips to make these meeting manageable:

• Think about what you hope to gain from the conversation. If you are indeed looking for answers to your Emunah questions, I would suggest to temper your expectations. Unless the Rav is known as an expert in this field, do not expect him to have any relevant knowledge other than the essential talking points from the common kiruv books. Your time will be far better spent reading the literature on the topic and reaching out to the specific authors of the kiruv books themselves. Most authors are happy to talk to people who reach out to them politely. (Even better, create a Facebook account and join the "Respectfully Debating Judaism" group. We have hundreds of members from multiple backroads with expertise ranging across numerous disciplines. It is a great place to explore issues of Emunah in a respectful and intellectually rigorous setting.)

• I believe that people should act authentic with other people and it is wrong to try to manipulate others. That said, often, a Rav can be a pivotal ally or enemy when navigating relationships with your parents, family, and spouse. If you are talking to someone influential with your loved ones, it is in your best interest to make them as sympathetic to your position as possible. To that end, from a strategic perspective, it is wise to be friendly and reverential. Politely demur when they insist on pushing you to religious commitment but do your best to avoid being confrontational.

• Try to avoid getting into specific Hashkafa questions. An excellent way to deflect these conversations is by politely asking the Rabbi what books or research he has conducted on a particular topic. Show that you are well prepared and ask him which specific viewpoint in subject X he wants to discuss. Usually, the Rav will recognize that he is out of his depth and revert to more stable ground. Additionally, as a rule, allow them to have the final word.

• Frame your issues as “questions” or “sefakos,” not as positive assertions of disbelief. “I have a hard time understanding how event X happened, given fact Y,” rather than, “I think event X is unsubstantiated.” Never describe yourself as an atheist. Be quick to say “I do not know,” even if what you mean is “I have a very low credence of this proposition being true, Thor and Odin will sooner be real than what you are advocating, but there is always room for a one in a billion trillion chance, so in that sense, I do not know.”

• Try to get them to like you. Be smart. Please recognize that these Rabbis have power and influence over the people in your life and that it is wise to try to get them to be your ally. Make it that, should your parents/family/spouse ask the Rav if they should cut you off or take some other adverse action against you, that, for the Rav, answering in the affirmative will feel like an act of betrayal. Gaining their loyalty requires being friendly, deferential, and studiously avoiding presenting yourself as a hardened non-believer.