I Rejected Jewish Observance—Then I Married a Man Who Embraced It

On our first date, my husband, Jeff, told me he was taking classes at an Orthodox synagogue, discovering meaningful traditional Jewish teachings. In fact, he was thinking of becoming Orthodox himself. I wondered if there was something wrong with attractive man I met.

I had grown up with a wealth of positive Jewish experiences through our Conservative synagogue, camps, and youth groups. Culturally, emotionally, and gastronomically (pass the brisket, please!) I felt solidly Jewish. I believed Orthodoxy was outdated, rigidly conformist, and troubled by its gender inequalities. I respected Jeff’s spiritual search but couldn’t see Jewish observance working for me.

I respected Jeff’s spiritual search but couldn’t see Jewish observance working for me.

My worldview was politically liberal, and I assumed that all Orthodox people would be politically conservative, so that even if I found value in Orthodox teachings, embracing them would threaten this self-image. No way could I face this, nor the prospect of alienating my friends. We were already enlightened. Why rock the boat?

Why did Jeff and I keep dating? He showed promise as husband material in a number of promising ways. We had excellent chemistry, never running out of things to talk about, though I didn’t feel we needed God invited into quite so many conversations. We also enjoyed doing a lot of the same things, such as taking long walks through the city and hiking. And despite our growing religious divide, we shared many values and priorities, such as my wish to work part-time while raising young children.

He made me laugh and I was touched by his kindness and respect toward his parents and grandmother. I wouldn’t admit it at the time but I admired his commitment to prioritizing spiritual goals along with career and material goals, something I hadn’t thought about doing. His concern about balancing material success with a spiritual foundation made me think.

Jeff took me to a housewarming for a couple who had recently become Orthodox. I noticed the bookshelves were filled exclusively with religious books and my mouth went dry. I also ran into an old college friend—formerly a stage actor and dancer—now sporting a kippah and beard and married to a heavily pregnant woman wearing a wig. His new life was unrecognizable from his former one and I wondered if he felt he had sacrificed an essential part of himself in becoming religious. I was fixated on the married women’s attire: long sleeves, midi skirts, and head coverings. Panicky, I told Jeff we had to leave.

I was fixated on the married women’s attire: long sleeves, midi skirts, and head coverings. Panicky, I told Jeff we had to leave.

We dated for nine months before I agreed to attend a class about the weekly Torah portion, my first-ever class taught by an Orthodox rabbi. I was shocked to hear him discuss the marital strife between Abraham and Sarah over raising Ishmael in the same home as their son, Issac. Nothing in my Conservative Jewish education led me to realize that our matriarchs and patriarchs had been real human beings who wrestled with real-life conflicts, and that the Torah offered takeaway lessons for the ages.

I learned that Judaism emphasized raising each child according to his or her own personality and needs. Further, God told Abraham to listen to Sarah—literally, to “heed her voice” because she felt that Ishmael presented a threat to Isaac and needed to be sent away. So Judaism wasn’t the knee-jerk sexist religion I had assumed it was. Women’s voices were heard.

Despite my grudging appreciation for much of what I was learning, after each class I pounced on anything that struck me as outdated or sexist.

“Just because we don’t understand it doesn’t mean it’s wrong,” Jeff said. “Maybe we need more information before judging.”

Jeff and I married nearly three years after our first date, enjoying friendships with other formerly secular couples and individuals who had placed their bets on Jewish tradition, a life simultaneously ancient and countercultural. By then, while still a bit skittish, I was confident that the Torah’s framework for human interactions, personal and business ethics, taming one’s ego, practicing gratitude, and working to connect to God would enhance my life, marriage, and our children’s lives. I did see some conformity, but no more so than existed in the secular world.

Studying Jewish wisdom inspired me, filling a void I hadn’t even known existed.

I was surprised at how observing Shabbat and holidays offered a grounding rhythm to life. Studying Jewish wisdom inspired me, filling a void I hadn’t even known existed. I saw how Jewish values, especially those linked to how we use words, can either further our relationships or erode them.

In the community we joined, I didn’t lose myself or my individuality. I had other married women friends who also didn’t cover their hair, something I was only ready to take on a few years later. I never felt judged for it. In fact, while our rabbi expected us to work toward our spiritual growth, it was clear that we each needed to do this at our own pace, just like parents are taught to educate their children according to their particular way of learning.

Aiming for Judaism’s high standards in ethics, morality, and self-discipline stretched me to become a better and more fulfilled person than I would have been otherwise.

I chose to become an observant Jew more than 35 years ago and I am still learning and working on it today. I discovered that the Torah was not a dusty, 3,300-year-old artifact but a sophisticated guide to human nature and character refinement. Aiming for its high standards in ethics, morality, and self-discipline stretched me to become a better and more fulfilled person than I would have been otherwise.

I feel grateful each and every day that I didn’t bolt—as I nearly did—from making the hardest decision of my life to engage more deeply with Judaism.

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