Ask Chaviva Anything: Of Marriage and Mr. T

It's been awhile since I responded to some of the Ask Chaviva Anything questions, so I thought I'd go through and answer a bunch in one quick (hopefully) post. This round of questions is devoted to marriage and family life, in honor of celebration FOUR YEARS of marriage to Mr. T on February 20th.

Ready? Let's roll.

Did you go through the shidduch process with Mr. T?

For those of you not in the know, the shidduch process is a matchmaking process, wherein you rely on a third party to find a suitable, meaningful marriage match. The answer to this is yes! I actually used a website called Saw You at Sinai, wherein there are matchmakers around the world who look through your profile and answers to questions to find you a match. Then they pair you up with people and both sides get the opportunity to deny/accept the potential opportunity to talk or meet. I'd been on SYAS for months, and I can't even begin to tell you how many men declined the opportunity to even talk to me. As a divorced convert, I wasn't such an attractive match, it seems. I tried to be really open and not picky, so I accepted several potential matches, but the first one that stuck was Mr. T. His profile said he was divorced with a kid and was a smoker, but something about his photos and profile sang to me. Shortly after we met, he quit smoking cold turkey (I have asthma, so this was a deal breaker), and the rest is history. 

What / when will you tell your children about your first marriage?

Honestly, I don't know that I'll tell them anything about it. However, if it comes up, or they ask, or they're getting toward the age of marrying, I'll tell them about it, because I believe it provides a valuable lesson about expectations and when to follow your heart and when to follow your gut. My first marriage and that entire relationship is an example of so many things, primary among them happiness, what that looks like, and what you're willing to do in pursuit of it. 

When are you returning home, permanently?

Home is where the heart is. My heart is currently in Denver. If you're asking when we're going to return to Israel, the answer to that is when we have enough money and stability to get by for 2-3 years without worry. It is taking longer than we anticipated for that to happen. I refuse to put my children in the position of "living in the red" and struggling from paycheck to paycheck. It might be the Israeli way, but it's not the way I want to live my life. 

You seem to be having a rough time of it lately, between 2 kids & your job. Do you feel things would have been easier had you stayed in Israel? Or, despite the difficulties, is it still easier in the US?

No. Life would have been rougher had we stayed in Israel. Period. Also, since this questions was asked, I quit my job, and I'm finding that ONE THING that will make me happy, so I'm moving in the direction of finding my happy/stable/productive place.

Do you ever find yourself upset still at how hard it was for your husband to reimmigrate to the USA?

Absolutely, yes. Especially as Little T gets closer and closer to the age Asher was when Mr. T left, I start to see milestones that he missed, and it breaks my heart that he missed those opportunities with Asher, but it also makes me so happy that he gets to experience those with our daughter. 

Next up: Questions About Conversion! Stay tuned ... 

Have a question to ask? Pop over and ask with perfect anonymity!

Ask Chaviva Anything: Parenting and Jewish Divorce

Some great questions rolling in, and I'm so glad I get to answer them. Let's start with what might seem like a tough question, but one that actually has a pretty simple answer.

Hi Chaviva! My question is how would you handle a situation where Ash decides to be less religious or non-religious? I wonder because you fought so hard to become Jewish, so I can imagine that it would be a really sensitive situation for you. Would you accept him if he was not religious? Or mourn him? How would you try to bring him back to Judaism?

Once upon a time, after a very difficult marriage and divorce, I was left spinning, unsure who I was or what life was meant to look like. During that time, I made some questionable choices and ended up dating someone who was not Jewish (this was a few years after my Orthodox conversion, so I was, for all intents and purposes, a Jew). When it was revealed that I was dating a non-Jew (while still keeping kosher and Shabbat), I received hate mail, calls for my conversion to be revoked, comments on blog posts saying that I was the "worst thing to happen to Judaism," and harassment from people who had once been friends (mostly other converts, too). I was being pushed and shoved away from the Judaism that had so nurtured my soul and given me a home. I was being told I was not a Jew, I was being distanced from my family. 

But there were, during this time, a few (religious) friends who pulled me close. They sent me notes, they checked in on me, they reminded me that I had a home, that I was loved and that Judaism was not rejecting me. They gave me the nurturing and love that I needed to make the right decisions at the right time, and they allowed me to return. I really learned who my real friends and family were in Judaism, and I learned who was toxic and insincere. 

What this taught me, this entire experience that still hurts and stings to this day, is that Judaism teaches us that when someone strays or makes choices that don't necessarily jibe with Torah Judaism, we pull them close, we give them a space. If you push them away, they'll just move farther and farther away until they're lost in the crowd. The often-quoted adage is "hate the sin, not the sinner," and those who truly understand Judaism and HaShem hold tightly to that dictum. 

So, long story short ... I grew up not Jewish and found my way here. Mr. T grew up fairly Jewish, attending a Jewish day school and then a boys school and then had some wild and crazy teen years before returning in his early 20s. We've both lived our lives and experienced things that those who are FFB (frum from birth) perhaps not, and that gives us a unique perspective. Sure, I'd love for all of my kids to be as religious as us, but there's always the possibility that they'll be more or less observant than us, and I'm okay with that. Judaism is a journey, and as long as I do my job and give my kids a healthy view of Judaism and the outside world, they'll choose what is right for them and I'll respect that. I'll hold them close, give them a nurturing environment where they know that they are loved for who they are, no matter the choices they make. They will always have a home. 

Next question!

Thank you for admitting that you seeked marriage counseling! Did you and your ex-husband ever go through counseling? How was that experience different? I've been reading for years but I guess I still don't understand why you got divorced. It worked out for the best obviously but I can't help but be curious since it seems rarely discussed in the Orthodox world.

I've actually written about it before, I'm pretty sure. I was much less open during my last marriage. All of our struggles and trials were kept quiet and out of the public eye, contrary to how I live much of my life. My in-laws were shocked, absolutely no one knew it was coming because darn if we weren't good at putting up appearances. I was depressed, anxious, and embarrassed that it wasn't working, but I managed a smile when I needed to. Of the 16 months we were married, we spent a year of that in couples counseling, with me in additional counseling on the side. Despite that, it just wasn't meant to be. It took a meeting with a rabbi, who posed an ultimatum to my ex. When he responded with "I'd like to think I'd choose my marriage," I knew it was done. I had to make the decision, and I did. 

Believe it or not, divorce is actively encouraged in the Jewish community (in the Orthodox world anyway), because if things aren't working out (for any number of reasons), both individuals have the right to move on and give it another go. There are even discussions about how one merits a series of partners (read about it: A Zivug or Bashert?). 

Hope this provides some semblance of clarity!

Have a question? Just ask: http://bit.ly/AskChavivaAnything

Agunot in the Age of Facebook

I just saw something on my Facebook timeline, and for the first time in my Jewish life it made me stop and wonder about the situation of the agunah and particularly what it means in this new age of technology and the ability to publicly shame someone.

An agunah is a Jewish woman whose husband has not granted her a get, or ritual divorce. A lot of times, a civil divorce has taken place but a religious divorce has not. For a religious Jewish woman, this means she is bound to that man until he grants her the get. He can remarry, and she can't. She's in a horrible status of limbo that there isn't always much to do about other than fight, fight, and fight some more in beth din (religious court) to pressure the man into just letting her go.

The reasons for not granting a get are boundless, and most of the time childish and trivial. It's a power play by men who simply want to be in control of a situation they've lost control of. It's both pathetic and sad.

There are so many women who are living as agunot. Back in the olden days, especially when men started leaving their wives and immigrating here there and everywhere, the Yiddish newspapers would post their photos, names, and where they ditched their wife in the hopes that locals would turn them in to the local religious courts so they'd do the right thing.

Nowadays, it seems, people are turning to other resources, like Facebook and website building to make things happen. On Facebook I spotted Set Gital Free, which is a website made by friends of Gital Dodelson. Her (civil) ex-husband Avrohom Meir Weiss (of the Artscroll Weisses) refuses to grant a get unless all of his demands (of money, visitation with their small child, etc) are met.

The site includes information about Weiss's family, a timeline of events (these people had a wedding night baby, folks, and separated shortly after the child was born, which is a common thing in religious communities, believe it or not), and information about how you can make a difference.

I don't think I'm the kind of person to pick up the phone and berate the family of some idiot who can't man up and let a woman go, but I'm not about to go campaigning on Facebook either. The fact that I'm even blogging about it has me a little perplexed.

I guess, in a way, I think it's interesting how we've gone from the Yiddish edition of the Forward's "Gallery of Vanished Husbands" to Facebook page and website please to free someone. I think it's socially and psychologically fascinating, and I'm curious whether it has any pull or works.

I guess, in a way, I'm helping the "cause" by posting something here. I can't imagine being stuck in this kind of situation, and I thank haShem every day that I didn't have kids with my ex and that our divorce (by and large) was incredibly smooth (I asked for basically nothing, I left with basically nothing). I've never understood the type of divorce where you ask and torture and try to emotionally and financially ruin someone. When I got divorced, I just wanted to be done with it -- all the money in the world couldn't have made me feel any better about the decision, even when I left essentially broke.

It's all quite baffling. Sad. And baffling.

If you want to help support the cause of agunot, check out the Organization for the Resolution of Agunot. 

Ask Chaviva Anything!: Of Observance and Conversion

Now, for another installment of ...

Don't forget to ask your questions, too.

The first question is bold (and a little presumptuous).

Given your many changes, what would you say to prospective in-laws who were questioning your ability to stay frum?

Simple: "Hello. I'm Chaviva. I want to marry your son just as much as he wants to marry me." What else is there to say? I don't think there's anything to say about my "ability" to "stay frum." I am what I am, and the right man and his family will take me for who I am, no questions asked.

The next question is a toughie, but a question that comes up a lot.

What is the most difficult thing about being a convert? 

Honestly I don't know how to peg just one thing. I suppose the easiest one to pick out is the feeling of never being completely up to snuff. At a recent Shabbat meal, we were discussing some of the bizarre traditions that it takes a while to get the hang of (let alone to seek out the origins of such things), and I quipped how for converts it's a long and dusty trail to get all of these things down pat with full understanding and comprehension. Someone pointed out that it's just as difficult for people who grow up Jewish or even for ba'alei teshuvah (people who don't grow up religious but "return" to religious Judaism). It was a true enough point, but what it doesn't account for is the fact that someone born Jewish who isn't quite up to speed on certain customs or traditions won't be scoffed at for his lack of knowledge. He'll be embraced, educated, and come out all the better for it. Oftentimes a convert will be scoffed at or questioned as to where exactly they did their learning and conversion. It's just not the same. Kiruv (outreach) is Jews converting Jews; it doesn't go far in the world of helping converts or wannabe Jews in fulfilling the calling of their neshamot (souls).

This last question is just as tough, and it hits on a problem with which I think all converts struggle.

One of the things I didn't expect when I started off the conversion process was the loneliness. I have great friends and family, but sometimes its hard for people to "get" it. What tips do you have for getting through without burdening the people around you with your kvetching about Jew-issues? 

I think one thing you have to do is establish your Jewish "family" and find a few individuals who can and will be there for you to listen -- not necessarily to say "I understand," because no one really can -- to the ups and downs and everything in between. There's a reason I set up a support group for converts at all stages of the journey, but even still, all of our journeys are different and because we're all in the thick of it, we're not always the best listeners. When I was going through my Reform conversion, I had an amazing rabbi and congregation (not to mention online community even back then) that helped me deal with some of the loneliest of moments. When I was going through my Orthodox conversion, a family sort of "adopted" me and took me under their wing every Shabbat and Jewish holiday for nearly an entire year. They listened to me kvetch, they listened to me kvell, they were there through it all and to this day I consider them my mishpacha (family).

No one will ever full "get" what you're going through; we all have such individualized experiences with conversion that the best we can do is try to listen and offer encouragement. That's what I attempt to do when people send me emails or ask me questions. You just have to find a safe space with non-judgmental people who will truly listen without attempting to understand something that they really cannot.

I don't know if that helps. I hope it does!

Have a question? Just ask online!

Ask Chaviva Anything!: The Get

Don't forget to ask your own questions online!

Here's a doozy of a question, around which this entire post will revolve,

Was getting a get difficult? 

I say doozy because it talks about the topic of divorce, which honestly is something I am so very much over I sort of wanted to ignore the question. It's not a painful topic, it's more like, meh. The truth is I don't think I ever talked about the literal process of getting a get, or Jewish divorce document. There are a lot of resources online that walk you through the process, but the actual experience itself was pretty painless for me. In fact, it had a sweet ending from the rabbi. But I'm a bit ahead of myself here.

I asked for a get on a Monday. By the following Wednesday, I had it. By and large, the giving of a get and the organization of the whole thing doesn't happen this fast; most people were surprised at how fast a beth din (rabbinical court of three men) was mustered up for us. I had a friend come with me, which turned out to be a huge blessing because a lot of Yiddish was tossed around and she helped me out when they were talking to each other over something about what to write in the get itself.

The truth is that the get is a very simple document, and it is very short. Although the origins of the term get seem to be clouded in rabbinic tales and historic assumptions (my favorite is that the Hebrew letters gimel and tet can't be used to form a word, so thus a couple whose marriage fails cannot come together to create anything), the biblical term comes from Deutoronomy 24 and is sefer keritut.

The requirements for the get itself -- we're talking what it's written on, who is writing it, how it's written, how carefully it's written -- are incredibly important. The validity of a get can be chucked out the window for the smallest thing. The most interesting thing about a get is that it can't be predated and has to be hand-written then and there. (For a full text of the get document, click here.)

So yes, you're sitting in the room with the beth din, your soon-to-be ex, and a sofer who is using as steady a hand as possible to make sure that he doesn't have to write and rewrite the document.

In my case, it was the beth din, the sofer, my ex, and my friend in a classroom at a Jewish school in New Jersey. It was a stale room with a big board-room style table and fairly comfortable chairs. I feel like the entire thing took about an hour, and most of the time was spent with me talking to my friend out of nervousness, listening to the rabbis discuss my name and where it came from (one had to pull out a sefer to explain something about it), watching the sofer carefully dip his quill into a dirty pot of overly used ink with such precision ... and then came the ritual.

It was a very odd, forced, choreographed bit that I don't know if I fully understand even now. The document is completed, the rabbis look it over, it's properly dated and signed by the present rabbis, and then? We were informed of the documents contents if I remember correctly, the most important aspect of which are the lines,

And now I do release, discharge, and divorce you [to be] on your own, so that you are permitted and have authority over yourself to go and marry any man you desire. No person may object against you from this day onward, and you are permitted to every man. This shall be for you from me a bill of dismissal, a letter of release, and a document of absolution, in accordance with the law of Moses and Israel.

The rabbi took the get and folded it up into small packet. My ex took the document and dropped it into my hands, which were cupped with my palms upward. I took the get and was directed to walk toward the door, as if I was leaving. I stopped and walked back, and the rabbi took the get from me. Corners were cut, and the document was put away until our civil divorce was complete -- only after that would we get our official copy of the certification of our Jewish, religious divorce. Nice insurance, right?

After the entire thing was said and done, one of the rabbis dismissed the sofer, the other rabbis, my ex-husband, and my friend who accompanied me and took me into his office. I was pleased because it gave me a chance to ask about hair covering (about which he gave me the blessing from Rav Feinstein that as a young woman without children to uncover), but there was something that meant a lot more to me.

"I want to speak with you briefly," he said.

I walked into his office, and he said,

"You know, if someone walked in here and told me a convert and a born Jew were getting divorced, I would have thought you were the born Jew.  

"The reason," he said, "is that you seemed so much more involved and interested in what was happening, you seem more knowledgeable."

Wow. I'm permitted to any man (well, not a kohein), and this rabbi clearly thought there was something special there for me, and in that moment, it meant so much to me.

So, in a nutshell, was getting a get difficult? No. It was a cakewalk. Would I wish the experience on anyone? Never in a million years.

The Q&A of 10Q: Of Mattresses and Adulthood

The takeaway from this post, in case you don't get to the end: You don't become an adult by buying your first mattress, even if it's an incredibly expensive pillow-top with marshmallow-covered coils covered in cotton candy for a deliciously sweet night's sleep. Despite popular opinion, mattress purchases don't make adults. 

I started up with 10Q back in 2009. I was utterly boring, the only life-altering experience that pen put to page that year was my father's diagnosis of lymphoma. (B"H, he's in remission.) But my answers were not well-thought-out, in fact they were overly predictive and shockingly accurate.

Day 10: When September 2010 rolls around and you receive your answers to your 10Q questions, how do you think you'll feel? What do you think/hope might be different about your life and where you're at as a result of pondering these questions?

Your Answer: I think my life will be TOTALLY different in September 2010. I'll be an Orthodox Jew. I'll be married. I'll be in some type of advanced degree program. I'll hopefully be living in a new place, with new things.

And there we have it. Chaviva the future seer. By September 2010 I was married, at NYU, and living in Teaneck, New Jersey. Moving on ...

In September 2010, I'll admit I'm shocked to read that I was really serious about this aliyah business. The thing is, I knew that my ex-husband wasn't interested. What was I playing at?

Day 6: Describe one thing you'd like to achieve by this time next year. Why is this important to you?

Your Answer: One thing I'd like to achieve by this time next year ... probably to have functioning knees. And a HIGHER level of accuracy and fluency of Hebrew. Oh, and more progress re: aliyah!

I will admit that my knees have gotten a lot better since moving to Colorado, but my Hebrew has waned quite a bit. I hope it's like riding a bicycle and the moment my feet hit the ground I'm all over the mamaloshen. 

But then there's the kicker in 2010. The fact that I didn't know what was coming in 2011. I read these words and realize the naivety that fills them. I was overly optimistic, and it shows. Yes, already four months into the marriage I was in therapy -- for the first time in my whirligig of a life.

Day 9: What is a fear that you have and how has it limited you? How do you plan on letting it go or overcoming it in the coming year? 

Your Answer: A fear? Opening up, seeking help, committing to therapy. I've gone twice, and both times I felt apprehensive and tried to cancel. I don't expect it to get easier, only harder. But for now, it's right. It's helped me already fix things with myself and my husband. Over the coming year, I want to get even better, to commit to it, and to make it make me healthy.

And then part deux.

Day 10: When September 2011 rolls around and you receive your answers to your 10Q questions, how do you think you'll feel? What do you think/hope might be different about your life and where you're at as a result of thinking about and answering these questions?

Your Answer: I think I'll feel ... more empassioned about ending up in Israel, either happier or depressed about my academic situation. I hope that I'll be happier in my marriage. I hope therapy will help. I hope that I'll be overall HAPPY.

I might not have gotten the happy in September 2011. But I sure as hell got insight. 

But still, there's that Israel thing. Man it peppered my life more than I knew over the past several years. It's like HaShem is plotting me a map ... backwards. 

The funny thing about my 10Q from 2010? I didn't fill out the final question: What are your predictions for 2011? Maybe I knew the year would be as unpredictable as it really was. Maybe it was my subconscious protecting itself from what it knew was coming. 

Reading back on all of my answers from the three years I've participated (wow, so much has happened in three years, yikes), I'm eager to answer this year's questions, mostly because I finished a hard cycle of therapy, cut off some cancers in my life, reevaluated what I need to make me happy, sought the advice and counsel of some amazing friends, and came to terms with my divorce and subsequent pendulum swings. This has been a year of inexplainable inward evaluation, teshuva, and realizations. Despite being an adult since I was a kid, despite having had to grow up very early, I think this might be the first time I've ever felt like an adult. 

I thought it was when I purchased my first mattress when my then-boyfriend Ian and I broke up back in 2007. I felt adult. But I hadn't yet learned to deal with emotions and feelings like an adult. I was still on the "fix everybody, every possible person -- except yourself" journey. 

So when the questions come, I suppose I'll say, "I grew up this year." Maybe not financially, and maybe I still enjoy the childlike fantasies of curling up with a good book and sipping hot cocoa and eating rice krispie treats. But I did grow up. I grew up, and I grew in. Into myself, that is. 

Lech Lecha, friends. 5773 is the year. 

Ask Chaviva Anything!: Did Divorce Hurt?

It looks like I'm back in the swing of finally answering so many questions that people have asked. This one was asked in late December. If you have something to ask -- no holds barred (although, really, it doesn't mean I'm going to answer it if I find it inappropriate) -- just click here.

I know this questions thing is a bit old -- but I hope you can still answer. I know your divorce was amicable, but does it hurt you at all that your ex-husband has moved on so quickly? I'm thinking such a short time for a person to move on is a bit strange.

My opinion? It is strange. My ex met his now wife about two weeks after our get (religious divorce) was finalized, and they were engaged a few months later. They recently got married, and I wish them all the mazal and happiness in the world. But yes, I find it quite bizarre. To get married five months after a religious divorce and two weeks after a civil divorce seems, well, fast. Really fast.

Ultimately, I think it comes down to how we choose to cope with major events in our lives. Having lived in Teaneck in the community that we lived in, I know that there is a pressure to fit the mold of being married, considering kids, toying with buying a house and so on. If I had stayed in the area, I probably would have done the same thing.

But I coped by getting out, starting fresh, and figuring out what kind of life I wanted for myself, outside the mold of the expected. A lot of people think I've gone off the deep end by not officially affiliating as "Orthodox" per se (although, let's be honest, it's the closest thing denominationally to what I am, but my dating a non-Jew more or less shoves me out of that camp even though we all know a million people on the Upper West Side have done it, are doing it, or are not concerned with shomer negiah). Would they think the same if I was a divorced born-Jew? Who knows.

Does it hurt? Of course it hurts. When we divorced, I lost the only Jewish family I had ever known -- and let me tell you, that family was the most amazing family a girl could ask for. I lost two bubbes, in-laws who had a pride in me that shone so brightly, tons of cousins (who, thankfully, still talk to me), and so much more. That was the big hurt, losing family. I was so entrenched in their lives, their histories, their genealogies. Hearing my former father-in-law tell me he was proud of me was something that I cannot even put into words. Losing that destroyed me. And when I think about the divorce now, it's the thing that hurts the most.

Wait, I'm lying. Well, half-lying. The thing that ultimately hurt the most was feeling replaceable. My ex found his new wife within a few weeks of our get, within a few weeks of me asking for the darn thing. After all, I asked for the divorce and a week later we were at the beth din making it happen. Knowing that the empty space of "wife" could be filled so quickly is something that continues to damage me. Rejection is hard, and between September and November of 2011, I was rejected by several people who I had given so much to. That rejection tore a piece of the fabric of me, and it has yet to be restitched.

More of an answer than you bargained for? It's been hard to not write about the divorce. I've gone through all the stages of grief and then back again. Knowing what I suffered while in the relationship -- mentally and emotionally -- and then knowing that everything started over so quickly for my ex-husband made me wonder if I was living in some imaginary dream world for the 16 months we were married. It's a fog to me now, and I'm lifting the fog slowly but surely. Thankfully, I have amazing friends here in Denver like @melschol and back East like @heysuburban and, of course, Taylor, to remind me that I'm not replaceable.

The upside is that I've never felt like a failure in marriage. I just made a few stupid mistakes of trusting, revealing, and believing that I won't make again unless it's with the right person at the right time.

Ask Chaviva Anything!: Conversion, Divorce, and Observance

It's been quite some time since I did an installment of Ask Chaviva Anything! so I thought I would take a bit of time and hammer one out. These questions all came from the same person back in November, so I hope they're still reading and will be pleased that I'm FINALLY answering their questions! If you have questions for me, feel free to ask away.

Some of these will be heavy. Are you ready?

I'm curious to hear your self-observations on your religious practice (1) Before you were married,  (2) while engaged, (3) while married, and (4) while divorced. Did you find yourself more strict in certain areas at different phases, less strict?

This is a most excellent question. How to answer? I can say without flinching that my religious practice before I was married was much more "full" if that makes sense. My observance was about me, and me alone. When I got engaged, I was able to begin looking at other observances that I was to be taking on come marriage time. While married, I began to feel a little lost. Living in Teaneck, NJ, my religious practice became more rote because it was easy to be Jewish. You didn't have to think about practice or observance; everyone just did the same things, ate at the same places, went to the same synagogue. I think that while I was married I regressed a lot in the sincerity of my observance. Now that I'm divorced, I'm in a place of reexamining my religious practice. As a result, you might say I'm "less strict" than I was while married or even engaged, but I think that is probably a natural progression for many when divorce comes. Either that, or you throw yourself into strict observance to fill the void. But right now, I'm in a comfortable place.

Could you walk us through the thought process you had when choosing to leave the NY/NJ area as a new single with hopes of remarrying?

Well, for starters, I didn't have hopes of remarrying, and to be honest I still don't. Leaving NY/NJ was a simple choice. I needed to be someplace where I could clear my head and start fresh on a life that was all my own. This wasn't the first time I've done this. I picked up and moved to Chicago once on a whim, and did sort of the same thing when I quit Chicago and headed for Connecticut. I'm a move-on, start-over kind of person. It's just how I function.

That first month after the religious divorce -- the get -- I was in a head-spinning place of "Meet someone super religious right now and get married to them right now." Luckily, I got out of that headspace. My ex-husband went that route, whereas I went a different route. I reevaluated my family background, my religious headspace, my wants and needs, and at the current juncture, I have no desire to get married or have kids. There are a lot of reasons for this that I haven't discussed on the blog (shocking, I know), but it's a decision with which I've definitely made peace.

What systems of support do you wish existed for the potential convert, convert engaged with a beis din, and the convert post facto (a Jew)?

The essential system of support should simply be whatever community the convert -- at any stage -- lives in. There shouldn't be a need for some kind of special community or foundation to support the convert, but that's an unfortunate reality and it is why there are organizations devoted to assisting converts in Israel. So I run my Conversion Conversation Group on Facebook for individuals at all stages of the process, and I've found that just having a safe space away from the eyes of rabbis and the prying community has helped so many feel comfortable.

If you could pick one time period of Jewish history in which you could witness (i.e., live through it) what historical period/events would it be?

Without a doubt the Middle Ages. It was such a tumultuous and inspiring time to be a Jew, I think. I would have loved to meet Ovadiah ha'Ger, Maimonides, and the like. There was so much movement between Europe and North Africa, and I think that experiencing Egypt during this time would be quite beautiful. On the same note, I would have loved to float around Europe at this time!

What mitzvos do you feel most connected to? The least?

Without a doubt, I feel deeply connected to prayer -- simple things like the Shema and Modah Ani. They keep me on a cycle of waking and sleeping, living and dying. I also feel deeply committed to kashrut, the true roots of kashrut and what it means to understand food and consumption. On that note, I'm also connected very much to tzniut, in all of its forms, but especially in speech. As for those I'm least connected to, that's a good question. I suppose taharat ha'mishpacha (family purity), largely because the span of my marriage that I observed it, it was a dismal experience. Mikvah in that realm, too, held little comfort for me. That being said, when I observed mikvah for conversion, it was an incredibly powerful experience.

Also: I think that living in -- or at least regularly experiencing -- Israel is a huge mitzvah. That's probably the one I feel most connected to overall!

How connected to your "old life" do you feel?  Meaning how has your mentality changed since becoming more observant/converting in terms of world view, politics, priorities?

The truth is, I don't think that I've changed much, outside of feeling more worldly and interested in how the world functions and how it understands religion, peoplehood, race, ethnicity, and identity. Converting to Judaism and becoming more observant has taught me that our (the Jews) greatest enemy is ourselves. I find it constantly troubling how Jews are willing to join forces to fight outsiders but insist on continuing to judge and break down one another. (A great example: Reform Jews recently spoke out in support of Beren Academy when they were told that their basketball game couldn't be rescheduled. How is that relationship the rest of the year?)

I think, if anything, that I've simply come to be who I always was: curious and searching, believing with a sound mind and full heart that there is one G-d and that our actions in this life are what matter the most. Those are values and a mentality that I have held since I was a child, and those are the things that led my neshama to really thrust itself into the spotlight and led me to realize my Jewish self.

The Second-Time Single Trend

I didn't know there was a name or a category for what I am, but someone sent over a Tablet article today that gives me one of those fancy ways to describe myself: "Second-Time Single."

Now, I know that I'm not technically single because I'm currently in a very happy relationship with Taylor, but for the greater Jewish and Orthodox world, what I'm doing isn't dating, it isn't serious, it isn't real in a sense. "She'll come around!" they say. "She's divorced and acting out!" they say. "Let us know when you're ready to date a Jew again!" they say.

At any rate, the article is quite interesting. I don't know that if any of these kinds of Second-Time Singles events would have "saved" me from my current situation as I don't think I was ready to date when I met Taylor. Sometimes, life just happens. I am glad, I will say, that the Jewish community is attempting to do something for the demographic of 20s, 30s, and 40s who are divorced or widowed -- it's a lonely, confusing road.

Statistics about the number of Orthodox second-time singles are hard to come by. Dr. David Pelcovitz, professor of psychology and education at Yeshiva University, said that while there is no “reliable, solid, empirical source” for such information, “there’s a sense that there are more divorces. It’s incredibly unscientific but, for example, when I give talks at rabbinical conferences, I ask, ‘How many of you have experienced a divorce in your community in the past few years?’ You get more people raising their hands. When I ask the people who are doing work in Jewish divorce courts, they tell me that they seem to be busier.”

I think a lot of people fall into bad relationships after divorces just to continue fitting the mold of their community. It's as if there's a conveyor belt of spouses ready to go just so everyone can fit that perfect get married, move to a newly marrieds community, have a baby, buy a house, move to a family community kind of plan. I worry about a lot of people I know who get back into it too quickly.

Also, I have to say -- not unpredictably I might add -- that (in the article) the shadchanim (matchmakers) that set up Second-Time Singles often set them up with other Second-Time Singles, and that grates my cheese. I think it's one thing that will never fade in the Orthodox community: Once you get divorced, you're damaged goods so you get married off to another divorced individual or an older individual. It's the same with converts, as matchmakers often try to pair them with other converts. I understand the sentiment -- oh, we've been through something similar, right? -- but no two people go through an experience and come out on the other side the same, so why try making that connection?

Maybe I'm just grumpy today. Anyway, let me know what you think about the article.

Gam Zu L'Tovah: I No Longer Am Consistent

I thought about making a podcast. I thought about writing a cryptic slam poem. I thought about just saying that this blog has taken too much out of me and I've passed up on many a chance to focus on me, to be and live for me. But this blog has been my baby, my internal dialogue, my therapy. You guys are the flies on the wall of my mental canvas. You get to see the inner workings of a stranger. The world gets to see the inner workings of a stranger. So what would be stranger than me simply disappearing from the blog, citing stress, questioning everything I know about myself, family drama that cannot even be described, and new people in my life?

The weirdest thing about being divorced is feeling like I was never married. Is that normal? Is it normal to look back and think, where did the past three years go? Who was I? Was that even me? Don't misunderstand: I got married because everything seemed to fall into place. I sought the physical and emotional comforts that marriage and relationships provide. But looking back and reflecting on it all, I did myself a great disservice denying my own feelings about the whole thing. To put it more simply: I have no clue who that woman was over the past three years.

There are clear moments: Graduate school, my Orthodox conversion, Israel. But all of the things that should matter, that should stick with me are as if a fog. Like watching a tragic movie with a tragic woman who wants nothing more than to be that image of the Orthodox woman living the Orthodox life with her Orthodox husband in an Orthodox world. And I got that. I dressed the part, I spoke the part, I ate the part, I lived the part. I was that person that people strive to be, and for those who read this blog and look for guidance on conversion to Orthodoxy, I was that example to follow.

And all of the important stuff was honest. It's the superficial stuff that I'm starting to wonder whether it was real. I believe everything -- I believe and have a firm conviction in all that Orthodox Judaism provides and demands, but I've hit this point where, because I'm unraveling who I was for three years, I don't know that I am capable of following through as that person. Not right now.

Man. I sound like I'm being cryptic. Like what I should say, what I want to say is so obvious. But, you see, I've placed myself under the microscope of so many people, at least 55,000 a month. And as you start to question yourself and where you're going, it's like the sun is shining so bright you're on the verge of combustion. In the Jewish community, for me at least, the fear of retribution, exclusion, denial are beyond words. The fear that, if I decide that eating out at a vegetarian restaurant is something in which I want to dabble that I will be rejected wholly by those around me. That if I decide that I'm interested in someone who isn't Jewish that my readers and friends will look at me with judgment and horror.

Oh how the mighty might fall.

In one of the segments of Ask Chaviva Anything! someone asked whether I put too much emphasis on being a convert, and I said that it's impossible, because being a ger is the very fabric of who I am. It defines my social life, my diet, my clothing, my approach to everything in life. A Jew can go "off the derech," and we scoff and laugh and pray that they come back into the fold, no matter how nominally affiliated he or she is. But no matter how not Jewish he or she chooses to date, he or she will always be Jewish. An ancestor's ketubah or picture of a grandparent's grave, and matters are solidified. A convert? Well, I have a folder that holds both my Reform and my Orthodox conversion certificates. Pieces of paper signed by modern rabbis in a modern rabbinical court in an environment installed with processes and circumstance. But those papers can disappear, they can be questioned, they can be enough to cast away someone indefinitely.

I sound dramatic, I know. But this is a glimpse into my head, my life, my world right now. People tell me that HaShem never gives us something that we can not handle, and others say gam zu l'tovah (this, too, is for good). And that makes me wonder why I currently find myself in the circumstances that I do. The more difficult thing, however, is that I feel good. I feel right. I feel happy. For the first time in a long time, I feel like me.

People are fluid. Our experiences are fluid. From one moment to the next, we cannot expect consistency from either ourselves or others. We're impacted by our environments, our emotions, our genetics, resulting in an ever-changing sense of self that should never stand still. Drastic changes, we assume, must be attributed to some life-altering event or emotion. However, in truth, it seems to make sense that we would be constantly in flux, changing, inconsistent. After all, that's why Judaism has so many installed proscriptions of how to live -- consistency. Everyone works better on a schedule. Or do we? I guess what I'm saying is that we expect too much from ourselves, from others, in the way of consistency. We expect people to have patterns, and when the pattern is thrown, we assume the worst.

Don't assume the worst, please.

Also: As an aside, if you didn't see Mitch Albom's "Have a Little Faith" on TV the other night, then you need to find it and you need to watch it. It had me in tears at the end, and I don't cry easily. The only movie I ever cried during was "My Best Friend's Wedding." But in the movie, the rabbi (played by Martin Landau) poses the following (and I'm paraphrasing) Why didn't G-d create one perfect tree? Why did he create multiple trees, spruces, pines, oaks? It's the same with man and our beliefs. There are many ways to G-d, not just one. (And this, folks, is my comfort.)

There's More Than Lemons, Chavi

As I'm sure you can all tell, there's a lot of tension in my life these days. Divorce, moving, readjusting my entire idea of what it means to be me. It's weird how this life change, more so than any other I've experienced (and I've moved a lot and changed communities a lot) has really shaken me to the core, making me reconsider what I want, where I'm going, and what makes sense to me in life.

Don't worry, I'm still a committed Orthodox Jew. I'm just trying to figure out what that means.

After the divorce, a lot of people commented with gam zu l'tovah -- this too, is for good. I find myself saying it a lot, although I don't find myself saying it to others much. I think that the phrase can really confuse the emotions. Bad things happen to good people, life changes, and the world keeps spinning, but staying positive is the hardest part.

I'm infamous for focusing on the negative. My friends have told me that, my exes commented on it, and even my therapist says that I need to figure out a way to get out of it. I can't take compliments, and when the world hands me lemons, all I see is lemons; at least, all I focus on is the lemons. I might make lemonade, but I'll still be looking at those darn lemon peels.

Since September, I've gotten a speeding ticket, rear-ended a car, had my phone stolen, become quite broke, left my car windows open so my passenger seat was full of snow, and ... well, there's more. But again, I need to refocus.

When I went out to my car this morning and opened the driver's side door only to notice that I left the window cracked (this is Denver, it was warm yesterday, snowy today), I felt relieved that the wind blew the snow in the opposite direction. Then I looked at my passenger seat: snow everywhere. Yes, I'd left the passenger window open, too, and I wasn't so lucky. I stood there, in the snow, smiled, shook my head, facepalmed, and laughed at myself.

Gam zu l'tovah. 

It's taken everything -- all the lemons -- over the past several months to bring me to a point where I can laugh at my misfortune.

My place in life has always been as a caretaker. I take care of people, I help them, I guide them, I counsel them. This is both my greatest attribute, I think, and my greatest flaw. Why? Because I forget that I'm here, that I'm also on a journey and that my problems, my concerns, my feelings are just as valid as those who I am here to protect, guide, and speak out for.

I have a lot going on, and I want to than you all for your patience, your kindness, your outreach, your love. I'm trying to get over the lemons, but it's going to take a while. But as long as I can figure out how to laugh at myself, I think I'm going to be okay.

The Hair That's There: You Can Never Go Back

So I know you're all wondering: What gives on the hair-uncovering, Chavi? My most-read posts on this blog are in the vein of hair-covering and mikvah and all things involving shomer negiah, so it must seem weird that I uncovered when we all know that even divorced women are supposed to continue covering their hair, right?

Also, I know that it might come as a shock to some that I uncovered so soon after receiving my get. Around 1 p.m. on September 21, the get was given, and I walked away an unmarried woman according to Jewish law. (I'll write about the ceremony itself, so consider this a "to be continued.") I know of some women who throw off their sheitel or hat or tichel immediately as they walk out of the room, but I couldn't do that. I was still undecided about my uncovering. I got a boost of confidence and support, however, from the rabbi who headed up the beth din (rabbinical court) of the get ceremony. After he shared some very kind words about me (which could go either way for boosting the convert's self-esteem -- ask me if you want to hear the story), I mentioned that I knew Rav Moshe Feinstein's ruling on a divorced woman's hair-covering, but I know that there are leniencies. My query was based on the following:

[Rav Feinstein] is concerned for the divorcée who needs to get on with her life. In one text, he gives a divorced woman permission to uncover her hair for dating purposes (IM EH 4:32.4). The young woman wants to be able to meet men for matrimonial purposes. She is afraid that a head covering will automatically indicate that she is currently married. Rabbi Feinstein is persuaded that her motive is legitimate and so allows her to remove her head covering. But, he warns, there are conditions. She must inform the man as soon as possible that she is divorced. He will not allow her to mislead a man just to dispel an incorrect first impression so that she might eventually marry. 

The rabbi, impressed with my citation of Rav Feinstein, said, "You're young, you have no kids, you're relocating to a new community, and you want to remarry, yes?" I responded yes to all and he advised to uncover as necessary. 

So here I am, uncovering my hair. It took me a few days, until that following Sunday, actually. After having hacked my hair off a few times during September, I was in need of a serious shape-up haircut. I pulled into Lincoln, Nebraska, checked into my hotel, and went to get a haircut. When I got up that day, I showered and debated whether to cover on the way to the hair-cutting place, but just grabbed a hat and shoved it in my purse -- just in case it didn't feel right. I walked out into the cool Nebraska morning, sun beating down on my freed tresses, and for a split second I felt a freedom, a release, like I was reclaiming my independence, my personality, my happiness. 

But it was fleeting, as all things are. 

I went to the cuttery, showed a picture of my hair from before I got married, and said, "Can we do this, please?" After she was done, I felt that feeling of freedom again. Like, I'm back to the old me! Huzzah! But again, fleeting. I went home to see my family for the first time since May, and I think they were happy to see the hair open and free -- I'm not sure they ever got the whole hair-covering thing to begin with. I toyed with grabbing the hat from my purse and covering up, just to feel a little bit like the married me again, but realized that just as mucha as I couldn't go back to my old haircut, I couldn't go back to covered, married me. 

Who am I? Maybe I just need a new 'do. 

It's funny how much our hair controls our feelings and who we are. It feels horribly wrong, too. It feels shallow and vain. 

So I wake up every day and look in the mirror and let out a huge, heaving sigh because I have to do something with this hair that no longer expresses who I am but that I have anyway. I want to grow it out, to get a cute bob or something, like my dream sheitel, but that's going to take time, and growing hair out when it's been short is a huge pain in the tuches. 

Or maybe I won't grow it. Maybe I'll give up and when winter rolls around go back to my most favorite knit hats that I sported all winter last year, when I was married. I do know several women who were uncovering for months only to start covering again after realizing the same thing I did.

You can never go back. 

G-d willing, I'll get married in the right time and get back to hair covering, a place that I feel is home now. Who woulda thunk it, eh? 

**Most Popular Posts of All-Time in order:

• Taking the (Hair) Plunge
• Modesty, Shomer Negiah, and Me
• Swallowed Up in the Mikvah
• The Mikvah is Lost on Me
• (And a few bumps down:) Covering Your Hair: Leprous Plague

An Unanticipated Start to Renewal

This week, we begin the High Holidays of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, holidays that are juxtaposed with a bittersweet sensation of happiness and reality. The book of life, the book of death. At this time every year, I beg for new beginnings, for insight, for clarity, and it's an appropriate time of year because it's also the season of my birthday, which happens to be Rosh Hashanah on the Hebrew calendar and September 30 on the Gregorian calendar. I'd really wanted to do something jazzy like Kate did for her birthday, where she listed tons of awesome facts -- known and unknown -- about her from the most minute to the deep and meaningful. Had I written that post a month ago when she posted her's, I probably would go ahead and post it anyway, but I can't put myself in a mindset of cataloging and celebrating these 28 years of life that I've been given. But I'm distracted.

Ever since I was a kid, I'd always wanted to be married by 27. I'm not sure why, but it was some kind of goal that I could work for and 27 seemed like enough time to sow my wild oats and then settle into a life of marriage, have kids and be someone's wife. So I hit that goal, with four months to spare.

What I never anticipated, however, was being divorced by 28. I also never anticipated moving back to Denver -- where I lived six years ago for a summer at The Denver Post -- alone.

This blog has watched me on a unique journey into and through Judaism as a convert, and now, I suppose, it will document what it means to be a single, converted, divorced Orthodox Jewish woman pushing 30 living in the Rocky Mountain state.

Why Denver? Well, I didn't have this blog back in 2005, but if I did, you would have heard me sing the praises of Colorado as the healthiest place on earth. The moment my wheels hit Colorado, I felt the need to eat healthy, to be healthy, to feel healthy. I went through a heartbreak there, but it didn't smack me in the face like it did elsewhere, because I was mentally and emotionally healthy. I was able to cope and move on. When I lived in Denver, I went running and walking, I ate fresh vegetables and maintained a mostly vegetarian diet, I explored the state, I got out. I did things. I was happy, I was healthy, I was positive about my future and confident in who I was. Everyone keeps telling me Denver's a horrible choice because there are no single frum folk there. To that, friends, I say, "I'm not interested in dating at the moment. Seriously?"

Why not Israel? Divorce is a big enough shock to my system right now. I need a change, so I'm starting small with a move to Denver where I can regroup, clear my head, and find some inner peace. The balagan of Israel is too much for the tender state of me right now, so stay patient. I haven't ruled it out. After all, the world is my oyster at this point.

What happened? As much as I know y'all want to ask this question, and as much as I want to answer it, this blog isn't the place for it. Evan (aka Tuvia) and I are divorcing amicably after spending most of our marriage trying to make things click into place. Not everyone works out in the way that you think or hope they will, and that's the crapshoot of life, folks. I was at an all-time emotional low when the decision was made, and since then -- a mere couple of weeks -- I've already started to feel like there's a silver lining in this. Gam zu l'tovah. (Even in this there is good.) Just know that Evan and I gave it all we had, and the marriage didn't work out.

What now? Well, I'm on the hunt for a Denver job. So if you know someone, let me know. I've applied for a few, and one responded that I'm overqualified, so I'm afraid that this is going to be a constant refrain that will frustrate the bejeezus out of me. As for school, it's on hold for now with the option to return in the spring, but I'm not sure what's going to happen there. I think in the past year, I outgrew what I thought the program could provide me. I want to continue learning, so maybe I'll hop off to Israel to seminary or something. Seriously, world = oyster. But right now, I really need to find work in Colorado -- so help a Jewess out!

I suppose I have a lot to think about, and you're all along for the ride. Why I chose to uncover after the divorce, what the Denver community is like, and, most importantly, what do I want out of life?

Thus, the High Holidays -- a time for renewal -- couldn't have come at a better time. Or maybe HaShem had this all in the books. After all, everything happened so quickly, the move, the divorce, everything. I felt almost forced to be in Denver by the High Holidays, and it has happened. My 10Q email arrived the day of my get and reminded me of what I foresaw in 5771, and it was foreboding in a way. What is HaShem trying to say to me? And what does it all mean?

Stay tuned, folks. It's going to be an interesting 5772.