Dear Rebbe,
For as long as I can remember, I always wanted you to be proud of me. While we have had many ups and downs over the years, you raised me like a son, and I am forever grateful for everything you have done for me. You taught me how to think, how to quiet my mind and fully engage with an idea. You imbued me with the courage to discard preconceived notions and see things for what they are – not what I want them to be.
We haven’t spoken much in a long time, and the truth is that I have been avoiding talking to you. You are likely wondering what happened to me. Why did I leave Kollel and pursue a University education? What caused my inspiration and dedication towards Yiddishkeit to dissipate? When did the Ben Torah that you invested so much energy into creating disappear?
I know that what I am about to write will hurt you, and I am sorry. I do not want to cause you pain, but here is the naked truth. Long before I left Kollel, I had already stopped believing in Yiddishkeit. I left Kollel because I could not take the dissonance of living such a stark double life any longer. I no longer believed that God appeared to our nation at Har Sinai, or that the Creator of the Universe dictated the Torah. I could not take the sheker any longer, so I left.
I know that such an idea sounds ludicrous to you. How can someone not believe in such self-evident truths? How can I possibly think that I am smarter than Rashi and Tosfos, Rav Akiva Eiger, and the Ketzos? Who do I think I am to abandon our mesorah that goes back 3,330 years based on my intuitions about reality? How can I be so selfish to cause so much pain to those who care about me?
Those are all excellent questions. But I beg you to allow me to explain myself; sometimes good questions have good answers.
My transition did not happen overnight. Slowly and arduously, over a long number of years, I was exposed to various questions and ideas that caused my worldview to irrevocably shift away from the ikkiry Emunah.
It started naturally enough, a few hashkafah questions regarding the nature of Hashem and the system of justice in the world. When I approached you with these questions, you advised me to stow them away until I was a zaken, you told me that the problems would confuse me and that nothing good would come from my inquiry. I said I would listen to you. But I disobeyed. You trained us to pursue truth, and something smelled off. I became obsessed with finding reasonable explanations to my questions, but the deeper I looked, the more I realized that something was very wrong.
Reading this, I know that you likely want to shout at me, "Fuhn a kashya shtarbt men nisht" – "you won't die from a question." Of course, you are right. Many ideas in this universe cannot be contained in our primitive mammalian brains. Nevertheless, consider the following reality: Sometimes, an object may appear perfectly smooth, but if you look very closely, you will notice a seam, a break that exposes the underlying core of the object. At the time, I did not know it, but I had discovered a crack in the edifice of Judaism – there were elements in our belief system that were incoherent. My initial questions were merely a fulcrum, propelling my vision past the mental constraints imposed by Yiddishkeit.
You taught me to challenge all my assumptions. Yet, when I began peering at the foundational principles that undergird our religion, instead of finding pillars of steel, all I saw was loose sand and emptiness.
I know that after you read this, you will revile me as a wicked evildoer, an apikores who has forfeited his share in the world to come. Perhaps you will pity me, looking at me as part of the collateral damage that preempts the coming of Moshiach. I am the vessel that broke in the potter's hands, the grape too weak to withstand the shaking of the vine, the student who caused his Rebbe's face to blacken.
I know that I am wasting my breath, but I wish you could still be proud of me. I am not any different than the talmid you always loved and cared about. Please, Rebbe, I am still me. Everything good that you taught me is still inside me, shaping who I am. You should be proud of my courage and intellectual honesty. I risked everything and cast aside all my assumptions about reality – and what I found was that Yiddishkeit is not valid.
Do not ask yourself where you went wrong: you did not go wrong. No one failed me, and I am not broken. The only thing that has changed is that—after deep introspection and investigation—I have arrived at conclusions about reality that are at odds with our Emunah. I believe that any rational person who is exposed to the ideas and arguments that I have been exposed to will agree with my conclusion.
Rebbe, please believe me – I did not make this decision as an excuse to be porik ol or to run after my tivvos. You know that I was happy and contented with my frum life. What reasonable, rational person would jeopardize their marriage, their ability to raise their children, their livelihood, and their entire social network – all in the pursuit of some intangible tivvos. By choosing to leave Yiddishkeit, I had to accept the reality that you will never look at me as a source of nachas; that you will reject me forever from your life. Do you think I would throw away our relationship for some transient and intangible carnal pleasures?
Forgive me for belaboring the point, but to reiterate, before you dismiss my choice as an immature attempt to throw away the responsibilities of Yiddishkeit, please give me the benefit of the doubt. Yiddishkeit gave every moment of my life meaning. I was successful in yeshiva and I was (and am) a balanced, stable father of a growing family. The truth is that my nigyus was so deeply skewed in favor of Yiddishkeit that it took me many years to have the strength to face my questions candidly. Perhaps, just perhaps, it is your negyus that is making you conclude that people only reject Yiddishkeit to pursue their tivvos.
I know that you will condemn my choice, but I ask you to open your mind just one tiny drop. Every day you proudly affirm that you believe with perfect faith in the tenants of our religion. But how praiseworthy is such a blind affirmation? You taught me to think for myself, yet I know that no matter what I say to you, you will never question the truth of Yiddishkeit. How can you say that you are right, and I am wrong, if you are never willing to open your mind to examine your core beliefs objectively? Why do you have such emunah shelamah? Because you feel Hashem in your life? Because you have emunahs chachamim? Because you trust our mesorah? Because you have tasted the joy of learning Torah? Because you perceive the depth and wisdom encoded in the words of Chazal?
I submit that I once believed in the Torah for all those reasons, but I changed my mind. There are many proofs and ideas that one can present for accepting the truth of our religion. Still, ultimately, after careful examination, they are insufficient to carry the burden of proof that they are being asked to bear. We have discussed thousands of ideas over the years, and I freely admit that I have been wrong many times in the past. Nevertheless, I must follow what I believe. It was not easy for me to conclude that the truth claims of Judaism were false, and it took me many years of brutal investigation to reach that conclusion.
Part of me wishes that there was a Supreme Authority guiding the world, some external Force before whom you would submit your judgment for approval. Such a Force would peer into my heart and would undoubtedly vindicate me. It would tell you that my choice was not a product of passion or pain. I am not making excuses to justify throwing off the yolk of heaven. Of course, everyone has biases and internal forces shaping their thought process, but my decisions regarding Yiddishkeit were made despite my deep overriding love of Yiddishkeit; despite the terror that I would lose my wife and children; despite the inertia that grinds us down and makes us accept the status quo; despite the panic of facing the utterly unknown; despite the cords of friendship and comradery that bind me to my community; despite the sense that I was betraying my ancestors who died al kiddush Hashem; despite everything, I must follow the truth. I hope that one day you can find it in your heart to accept me, not as a nebbuch case, or a sinner, but just like you always have - as me.
Always your talmid,
Ben Torah