My Self-Expression Is Being Stifled

Real, authentic avodas Hashem is excruciatingly private. At the end of the day you stand before Hashem alone

In Mishpacha’s recent serial, All I Ask, by Ruti Kepler, I was immediately drawn to the main character Yanky. You see, I’m a female Yanky. I, too, was born and raised within a particular framework of a closed chassidish community. And that’s where I learned what I can be, but also what I cannot be.
It’s a warm and vibrant community and there’s a lot to admire and appreciate. But there’s no room within it for my own unique style of growth, my own flavor of the spiritual, my own version of being a bas Yisrael and eved Hashem.
I am not disillusioned. My faith is strong and my connection to Hashem is real and deep, but I am sad and frustrated. Sad that I cannot express my individuality within this community and frustrated because my self-expression is being stifled.
As a thinking adult, if I could step back and actually choose, I know which lifestyle, which community, Rav, and shul would add richness to my life and complement my goals in ruchniyos. But the expectation is that we stay within the community into which we were born. We don’t choose differently, so no waves are made and no heads turn to see somebody who marches to the beat of her own drummer.
I envy Yanky.
Beaten by the Beat
Miriam Kosman is a lecturer for Nefesh Yehudi, an affiliate of Olami, and teaches Torah thought to hundreds of university students throughout Israel every week. She’s the author of Circle, Arrow, Spiral, Exploring Gender in Judaism and a Family First columnist.
Firstly, I’d like to validate your pain. The need for spiritual nourishment is as real and ravenous as the need for physical sustenance. When your community doesn't understand those needs, or worse, makes you feel inadequate or defective for not being satisfied, the invalidation makes the hunger sting even more.
I also want to commend you for being so clear that the pain you’re feeling is about a possible mismatch between you and your community's brand of Yiddishkeit not between you and Judaism itself or between you and Hashem, chas v'shalom.
Tragically, the inability to make that distinction sometimes results in the choice to throw out Hashem and His Torah with the bathwater, instead of moving over a few (figurative or literal) miles to join another frum community that more closely aligns with one's personality or inclination. Therefore, nuance here is critical.
Still, I think it's important to stress that Yanky's apparent success notwithstanding, switching communities is a big (and often traumatic) step with major ramifications. It’s easy to underestimate how much we gain from being part of a community—even an imperfect one. In general, a community gives us a framework in which to settle ourselves and our families, and helps us to form our identity and spiritual aspirations.
More specifically, the particular benefits of insular communities— the high standards of kedushah, the protection from the ugliness of the outside world, and even the judgment mentality (which often irks us, but keeps us on our toes)—are often cavalierly dismissed as insignificant by those who leave. And then they discover that exposure to the big world has its own challenges.
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