![]() ![]() Unlike ultra-Orthodox people who left their communities and call themselves OTD (for “off the derech,” or path), my journey did not include ripping off a wig like Leah Lax recounts in “ Uncovered: How I Left Hasidic Life and Finally Came Home,” or losing custody of my five children like Shulem Deen in his fabulous memoir, “All Who Go Do Not Return.” Coming from an excellent co-ed religious high school, I did not have to learn English or math like many members of Footsteps, an organization that assists Jews who left the ultra-Orthodox life. But, in the end, I realized that none of it was that exciting for outsiders. It took me about a decade to go from identifying as modern Orthodox to what many of my friends on the same journey called “ex-Orthodox,” or “XO” for short. And also, Judaism is not about the pursuit of happiness, anyway.” “What kind of question is that?” he told me. I’d ask my bordering-on-ultra-Orthodox father provocative questions - “Would you rather I be happy or keep Shabbat?” - which his bordering-on-genius, Talmud-trained brain couldn’t even compute. There was so much to unpack: the guilt I felt getting into a car on a Saturday afternoon, my stomach issues when I first began eating non-kosher chicken, my anger at a boyfriend who wanted to keep the fridge light on for the entirety of Shabbat. When I started becoming less religious in my 20s, I thought maybe there was a book in it. ![]()
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