My Ba'al Teshuva Story: Part 4, Coming Home

The final part of my story I relate to Parshas Lech Lecha. Lech lecha literally translates to "go, go to yourself." What does this mean? How can go to yourself. Are you not already there? I wrap up this portion of my story through the lens of this particular parsha because many times we are in fact very far from ourselves. More often, I think, than we realize. I also chose Lech Lecha because Avraham Avinu is more to me than the first Jew, or a righteous soul. He is the very essence of what I strive for and cling to in my daily life as an Orthodox Jew: emunah and bitachon, loosely translated as faith and trust in G-d. 

In an amazing Torah vignette available here, Rav Matisyahu Salamon Shlita, explains the difference between emunah and bitachon.

Emunah is a “concept” or a “theory”, while Bitachon is Emuna in action, or the application of Emunah into ones everyday life and actions.

Therefore, a person can theoretically be a “Ba’al Emunah” [master of emunah] without being a “Ba’al Bitachon” [master]. However, if one is truly a “Ba’al Bitachon”, then he must also be a “Ba’al Emunah” – and by definition!

As I conclude this particular series of posts, I also want to iterate that although I am honored to use the term ba'al teshuva to describe my yearning for and movement toward traditional Orthodox Judaism, I am by no means complete in my process. I have so much to learn and feel such immense joy in the vast opportunities out there in which to do so. I pray that I always regard my growth with humility and awareness of how little I truly know. May I always regard those who've helped and supported me through this with the kindness and gratitude due. And, finally, may I always strive with pure intentions to learn, grow and refine.

I look back now at that little girl in the preschool yard, or the frightened teen praying the only way she knew how from a hospital bed, or even the obstinate young adult declaring with false confidence that she didn't need, want or have anything to do with G-d or Yiddishkeit. What was it that brought me to this moment? Was it the times of ease and comfort? The simplicity and beauty of feeling the warmth of the sun on my face as a toddler sitting with her knees up to her chin in the synagogue sanctuary? Was it the yearning to wholeheartedly understand and experience the sensation of being drawn to holiness when immersed in Shabbos evening prayer?  Was it the pain of destruction and self-sabotage? Actually, it was all of that. And more. Truly the most consistent and inherent characteristic that has fueled my pintele yid into a full-fledged fire that burns and yearns for G-d is the very fact that I have emunah.

Emunah is like a muscle. If you do not exercise it through acts of bitachon, it grows weak. For years my emunah was dormant. It was there, but it lay untouched. Emunah was the feeling of being stirred from within by prayers I couldn't even read at the time. Emunah was the unique tendency to call out to G-d in both times of joy and times of sorrow. Emunah was precisely the path to the connection I so longed to feel, and yet, without bitachon, without action and trust, it remained fleeting; impossible to sustain. The emptiness, disconnect and sense of disorientation I felt was not because G-d was far from me. It was, in fact, a longing, a gentle nudge, a reminder that G-d is so very close.

In an oft told vignette, a man asks a wise rabbi, "how far away is G-d?" The learned scholar responds to the man and asks him to face east. And face west. "And now," he asks, "how far was it from east to west? That is how far away G-d is."

When I decided again to begin taking on certain mitzvos and learning about Orthodox Judaism, I resolved to go at a more comfortable pace. I realized I could not maintain new habits without putting time, thought, and energy into how and why I was choosing to take them on. Certain aspects of practice came and come more easily than others. Certain mitzvos seem to "make sense" or "feel good." Others did not present in that way and I felt reluctance or hesitance in making changes. It boils down to the fact that even regarding those mitzvos which do make sense or feel good, we don't as humans fully understand the power or reason behind any of G-d's commandments. Observing a particular commandment at any given moment is truly in its most simplistic sense an opportunity to connect with G-d. It is the means by which we bring G-dliness to this physical realm and at the same time, make this world a place in which G-d can reside. 

The greatest hindrance to my process was and always has been my own self. A belief that I always had to be perfect and correct in everything I did often got in the way of me making any move at all; I became stagnant. Additionally, I had the expectation that emunah, faith, was something we feel at the same intensity at all times. However, like any other feeling in any other relationship, the feelings we have toward G-d ebb and flow in intensity. I am always close to G-d. No more do I feel that angst and disconnect. There are times of the day or days at a time that I may feel this stirring less intensely and times that it rages with full force. It is very much like a flame. It sometimes dances with the breeze. It sometimes cowers in the wind and grows very small indeed. It sometimes burns with an intensity that could light up the darkest room. The important thing, however, is that it burns eternally regardless of the breeze, the wind, or the ambiance of the room. 

Not everything I do or strive to do comes naturally or easily. Some of it does. Some of it is like second nature. Some of it requires flexing that emunah muscle and remembering that true faith is also accompanied by a healthy measure of doubt. In those moments, I must let go and let G-d. I must act out of bitachon and trust that G-d will do the heavy lifting when my cargo becomes too much to bare. When G-d told Avram to go forth from his land, from his birthplace, from his father's home, he could only rely on emunah and bitachon. He had to have faith and he had to act on pure trust alone. He was given test after test; he did not falter. 

The collective flame of the Jewish people burns bright today because of our faith and our trust. Through test after test, our flame may have at times diminished but shall never be extinguished. I am encouraged by this and humbled by others on a similar path to mine. For many of us, it seems we've left our land, our birthplace, our home. One of my greatest stumbling blocks, however, was the belief that none of those past things had any place in my present life as an Orthodox Jew. I spent energy on trying to separate the 'old' from the 'new' rather than realizing how very much a part of the 'new' the 'old' really is. I am where I am today because of where I came from. I was inspired and encouraged in different ways but equally by all the members of my family, by friends, by complete strangers. In essence, being a ba'al teshuva is not a characteristic that makes me so different from who I was beforehand. Rather, it is the embodiment of becoming who I already was. Through continued emunah and acts of bitachon, through the kindness and compassion of G-d, I continuously feel--again and again--the warmth, comfort and gratitude of coming home. 
Over twenty years ago, a little girl looked for G-d all around a Jewish nursery school. Today, that grown woman knows exactly where G-d is: He is here within me and, at once, He is also everywhere around me.