How should we relate to Jews whose spiritual searching takes them away from traditional Judaism? Maimonides argued the honest pursuit of truth is the highest form of religion and it will inevitably lead to Torah. His critics pointed out that this is not always the case. People can easily lose their way; straying beyond the boundaries of our beliefs and practices. What then?
Recently, there has been a spate of books in which formerly Orthodox Jews describe their exodus from observance. Most recently, American novelist, Tovah Mirvis has written a compelling memoir tracing her departure from Orthodoxy, The Book of Separation. It has rocked parts of the rabbinic world.
Mirvis was once a poster-girl for Modern Orthodoxy. She attended the finest Modern Orthodox schools and spent a year in an Israeli seminary. She married a religious Jewish lawyer, covered her hair, observed Shabbat and sent her children to religious schools.
For forty years, she lived an observant lifestyle; authoring successful novels while suppressing her doubts and sticking to the rules. But she felt fraudulent. When her philosophical doubts and her desire for greater independence became overwhelming, she divorced and set off in pursuit of a new life.
Mirvis’s story challenges all who care about faith. One rabbi suggested that it should be compulsory reading in Jewish schools to provide our teenagers with the space to grapple with their own questions in a supportive environment. Others responded that it’s irresponsible to force students to confront questions that are better avoided.
A third group dismissed the book as a cynical attempt to put a fine gloss on Mirvis hedonistic abandonment of the rigours of Jewish life. “If you have to read it”, wrote one rabbi, “get a copy out the library, so Mirvis won’t profit from sales of this book of treachery”.
Judaism’s classic heretic was the first-century rabbi, Elisha Ben Abuya. His inability to regain his faith seems tragic. Even in his heresy, he continued discussing Torah with his former students. He could have been a great rabbi, but his doubts led to a collapse of faith from which he saw no way back.
The crescendo of his story comes on a journey that he takes with his student Rabbi Meir. At a certain point, the heretical teacher looks down from his horse and still sensitive to his student’s spiritual welfare says, “Meir, you must turn back, for I have made the necessary calculations and we have reached the boundary beyond which no religious Jew may travel on Shabbat.”
Elisha’s preoccupation with protecting his student’s religious observance parallels the most challenging part of Mirvis’ story; her approach to her children’s religious upbringing. The discussion opens with her son’s request to celebrate Halloween, something which was taboo in their community. Tova consults with her ex-husband who responds, “It’s your day with the children — your choice”. From then on, she makes her decisions unilaterally; taking her son out to a non-kosher pizzeria and watching television with the children on Shabbat.
Her actions raise difficult questions about our attitudes to marriage and parenting. Was Tova’s ex-husband, who remained religious, entitled to expect that she would continue to raise their children in accordance with the religious values that they shared when they married or are these policies trumped by Tova’s new-found autonomy? Are young children entitled to religious and cultural consistency or are they better served by a truthful relationship with each parent regardless of where they may have ventured?
As Tova Mirvis recounts her lonely and sometimes clumsy departure from religious observance, we find no easy answers. It may be too soon to know how her children were affected by her choices. Yet, by the end of the book, we find Tova celebrating Passover with her parents, baking Purim pastries with her children and celebrating her sister’s wedding alongside her ultra-Orthodox family. She’s reached a kind of inner peace with Judaism, albeit far from faith.
This memoir is not an attack on Orthodoxy; it’s a personal tale of a painful journey. Reading it was like sharing an intimate conversation with a close friend about her deepest struggles. Tova’s path is not mine, but I respect her frankness. Perhaps, as Lord Alfred Tennyson wrote, “There lies more faith in honest doubt . . . than in half the creeds”.
Rabbi Meir remained loyal to his teacher. He even continued to learn from him, even after Elisha lost his faith. The rabbis suggest that, “He ate the fruit and discarded the shell”, meaning that he learned to distil what was valuable and to draw on that wisdom while rejecting the heretical ideas. Meanwhile, we are told that God always kept the doors of return open to Elisha (Chagigah 15b).
Some have snubbed Tova Mirvis, but I hope there will also be rabbis who reach out to her in a sensitive and thoughtful manner, so that this brilliant spiritual seeker will once again feel welcomed in our communities of faith.
Gideon Sylvester is the United Synagogue’s Israel Rabbi
