We found our way to frumkeit. But would we ever merit a family?

As told to Hadas Afik by Ahuva Ohr Bukovza

I

grew up on Kibbutz Nirim, in the south of Israel, living a typical kibbutz lifestyle. I walked around barefoot. Every cow in the barn was my friend and I knew every detail of every flowerbed on the kibbutz.

My family was, of course, completely secular. It was only when I was in high school and started spending the occasional Shabbos at more traditional friends that I first saw what a Shabbos table looked like.

Not that they were particularly religious families. But they made Kiddush and there were candles; I connected to this spirituality and felt drawn to Shabbos. I would have loved to have Shabbos at home, but on Friday nights my family just ate supper together as usual; there was nothing particularly special about it.

I wanted it so badly, I started looking for opportunities to go away for Shabbos as frequently as possible. Slowly, I gravitated to a more Torah-oriented lifestyle. I felt like I’d found something I’d lost, even though I hadn’t realized it was missing. I had emunah from age zero, it just took years until I learned to call it by its name.

When I was 18, I took significant steps toward becoming shomer Shabbos. I stopped traveling or talking on the phone on Shabbos, and I tried to refrain from chillul Shabbos as best as I could. I also began to attend shiurim, which really helped me advance in Torah knowledge.

My parents didn’t take it well. They thought it was some crazy fad. Or maybe that’s what they hoped — their greatest fear was that I’d become observant and be estranged from them. They knew that if I was frum, I wouldn’t be able to eat with them, and even living at home would be complicated. They were terrified of losing me.

For a long time, I’d been learning and growing without any outward changes, so no one really knew what I believed or how I felt. But when I was 19, I stopped wearing pants and switched to skirts exclusively, and suddenly, everyone knew I was becoming religious.

“You’ve finally outgrown your teenage issues, and now this!” my mother complained.

But I knew that it was actually the religious growth I was experiencing that was responsible for my new “maturity.”