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Meaning’s Search for Man

When I left religion, I lost the reason to get out of bed in the morning.

Aish had the only reason, and I left it behind. No longer was I doing God’s work. No longer was I saving the Jewish people, keeping the world afloat with every word of Torah I spoke.

Another day, another pointless existence.

There was no point in staying in Israel. So I left. There was no point in staying alive, but I did, because I had responsibilities towards others. But responsibility does not equal meaning.

And so it went, on and on, day after day. I processed trauma, I dealt with shit. Everything still pointless.

I used to find meaning in helping others, but it was harder to do that now. Volunteering opportunities are surprisingly menial – want to drive people to the hospital? Want to take a random kid to a park every week? That wasn’t my jam.

After four years, I finally found enough strength to start doing hypnotherapy again. I had trained in it while still relgious, and it was deeply intertwined with God. I had to extract God from the core hypnotic techniques, and I had to find the strength to be there for other people when my own energetic world was flimsy at best.

For the longest time, I had nothing left over to give, the ultimate paradox when you think that there is nothing more energizing to me than helping others. I couldn’t get the cycle started.

I learned to stare pointlessness in the face. To understand that meaning could be subjective, and did not need to involve other people or saving the world. In therapy, I found that I derive meaning from learning new things. From being creative for its own sake. Who knew.

And then one day, it hit me. After nine months of micro dosing to help counteract my anxiety. After three years of therapy to deal with complex trauma. After five doses of MDMA, monthly mushroom trips, and an Ayahuasca retreat, each laden with more shit than I could possibly have fathomed.

An idea.

It combined so many of talents and passions – technology, mental health, marketing, generosity. Everything is meaningless and we’re all gonna die, but this is what I want to do while I’m still alive.

Meaning from the inside out. Who would have thought?

And for the first time, it lasted. Aligned with who I am, it stuck around, instead of fleeing into the night like almost anything else I’ve ever gotten excited about. Six months later, and it’s still here.

A reason to live. A cause I can get behind. Something where, if I stop to feel it, I can actually appreciate the process of where I have come and where I still want to go.

I did not find meaning.

Meaning found me.

All And Nothing

“Judaism is not all or nothing,” they preached at Aish Essentials. “Do what you can, God appreciates it all, every bit counts.

Except, word on the street was that when you entered Intermediate I, Motty Berger had a class where he explained that it was all or nothing. Sorry, we lied, lol. Definitely the only time we’ve done that.

I do not know what secret laws Motty Berger revealed in Intermediate I, because I was too advanced to ever attend it.

But I do know that Judaism is full of alls and nothings.

Jews are the be all and end all. Non-Jews are accessories, the dirt under our feet in the world to come.

We had the secret of of true meaning and real happiness. Everything else was hopelessness and despair.

‘Here, want to hear my story of how I was depressed before I found religion? Of how I was looking for “something more” and found it in religion?’

“Do not believe in yourself until the day you die.” You could be 80 years old and ruin it all with a single blasphemy.

Kares. 36 ways for you to lose your place in the world to come, which is the purpose of all existence. And what do you get it for? Eating unleavened bread. Sex with a menstruating women. You’re one step away from a fate worse than hell, boy. It used to be that public lashes would atone for Kores. But we no longer have that option, unfortunately, so you’re fucked.

But don’t worry, this only applies if you do it on purpose. If it’s an accident, it’s just a grave sin.

Phew.

Shabbat comes in at 5:56. It ends at 6:32. You need 3.2 ounces on Matza on Passover, to fulfill your obligation. And 5.2 ounces of wine per cup.

Whip out your kitchen scale. Ignore your body weight.

So much for gradients. So much for God getting the bigger picture.

Seems like the law is in human hands, as well as our ability to predict how God will treat the sinners. Human judges exercise judgment, God treats everyone the same.

All and Nothing. Mostly nothing.

Consider Death

Everybody should —in their lifetime consider death, To wonder what it will be like to go to sleep and never wake up. the contemplation of death, and the acceptance of death, is very highly generative of creative life.

– Alan Watts

In my hypnotherapy practice, I tend to attract a certain kind of client.

These clients and I share a strong propensity for laughing at the darker sides of life – finding humor in death, suffering, and absurd voices that live in our head.

My sessions tend to be highly existential, and my approach makes little attempt at whitewashing what I like to call the Incredible Darkness of Being. This is often called a pessimistic world view, usually by people who, in my opinion, are afraid to call it realism.

Or maybe I have an overly large negativity bias, that’s definitely an option as well.

The clients I tend to get along best with share the same world view. Life is overrated, now let’s make the best of it. Or not. Because if you’re looking for someone to convince you to stick around, that is not gonna be me.

Louis C.K. jokes that he’d kill himself just to win an argument. I think there are many arguments people can make for killing themselves. People often invoke the anecdotal stories of attempted suicides who, at the last minute, regret their attempt. What you don’t hear about as often is the people who try to kill themselves over and over again.

My point being, I believe the choice is yours, and I am glad not to be bound to any external ethical code of conduct that commands me to save lives at all costs or report suicidality to the authorities.

(One client of mine works in mental health and is quick to remind me that she knows exactly what to tell the authorities so they leave her alone and let her die in peace.) You had no choice about coming into this world, but you sure as hell should have the option to leave it, if you so choose.

But while you’re still around, examining death, dancing with it, can have some real advantages, and I employ them in work with others.

It gives perspective. I sometimes do guided end-of-life mediations with clients where they simulate their own deaths in their minds. It helps them remember their priorities, reconnect with the people who are most important to them, and keep their daily challenges in perspective.

It gives relief and restores choice. If your life is miserable enough, which it is for many people, just knowing that you have a way out can be a big consolation. A client of mine has amassed enough opioids to kill herself, and she sleeps with them by her side to comfort her.

Knowing you don’t have to be here is often what you need to actually continue sticking around. To quote the legendary Louis C.K again, “no one can make you do anything, because you can always kill yourself.” It’s the ultimate freedom.

You can use it as a catalyst for growth. Very often when we try to grow or change, there’s a voice that whispers to us that if we make this change, we will literally die. Core changes to how we operate, letting go of deeply ingrained beliefs that shape how we perceive ourselves, can be so threatening to our psyche that if feels like we’ll cease to exist if we change.

When these situations come up, I use our shared blasé attitude towards death to my advantage. “You say that if you change this pattern you’ll die? Well, what’s so bad about that.” By pitting the part of yourself that fears death against another part that craves it, you can find the strength to go further, dive deeper, and explore what lies on the other side of the darkness that inevitably lies within.

I invite to die a little inside. It’ll do you good.

Systemic Trauma

Why must drag our next generation through the dregs of the holocaust?

So that it doesn’t happen again? Baloney.

It’s happening right now. It could happen again in a heartbeat. And if it happened to anyone else but your own ethnic kin, you’d be a lot less bothered.

So let’s take 17 years old to a concentration camp.

I am of the opinion that the world is shit enough as it is. That innocence doesn’t need to be systemically eradicated by a visit to Auschwitz. Let it die its natural death.

The people who will be most impacted, read: traumatized, by the experience, least needed it in the first place. Do you think you or I need a reminder that at the turn of a moment we can because sadistic minions at the mercy of a megalomaniac? We either are or aren’t ready to run towards that electric fence.

Let us get through the day. We are all trying to be the best people we can be. The nicest. The kindness.

But trauma begets trauma. And scarcity begets animosity. And fear, well, fear is on the insignia on the SS and on the mission statement of any holocaust remembrance program.

Holy Shmita

The Bible: And every seven years, leave your land fallow and do not farm it. And I promise I shall give you such blessing on the sixth year that it will suffice you for the the sixth, seventh and eighth years. For I am the lord God, and I always do as I sayeth.

Aish: This is totally a proof of God, because it is so dumb and preposterous that no one would have agreed to such an outlandish claim unless God himself had revealed Himself to the entire nation in a mountain of smoke.

The local charity organization: Please support our fund to help impoverished farmers who have decided not to farm for an entire year to fulfill God’s word and have definitely not benefited from a bumper crop on the sixth year. May God bless you for your kindness.

Aish (having been quiet for over 5 seconds): Look at all the biblical prophecies that have come true!

The national religious court of law: See that Jewish farm? We actually sold it to a non-Jew this year, so those cucumbers are good to go. Farm away.

The charedi court of law: What a preposterous claim. Y’all are a bunch of heathens. You can’t just sell your land to a non Jew and then farm it. What you can do, however, is sell you whisky to a non Jew and drink it after Passover.

This shit writes itself.

Well, Take Care Then: A Polyamorous Journey to Nowhere

“I’m poly,” I wrote her. “So it’s complicated.”

“How come I’m only finding out now?” She wanted to know. “Most poly people put it in their profile. I am not poly.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I forgot to add it.”

“Well, take care then.”

We had hit off unusually well. Most of my conversations on dating apps are dead on arrival.

I have slightly better luck on Jswipe than on Tinder: apparently not being blond and six foot two disqualifies me from most Canadians; being five foot six with a massive nose makes me a total Jewish catch.

She divulged to me that she’d had some past trauma. I asked her if there was anything I should avoid saying or doing that might trigger her. She said no one had ever asked her that before.

We were making plans for a call, maybe even a date. Those milestones that seem miles away through the endless swiping, swiping, swiping. “I have 36 new likes, would I like to pay to see who liked me?” I would not.

Then polyamory came up, and it was over.

“You are capable of loving more than one person, of navigating the emotional complexities inherent in multiple romantic relationships? I want nothing more to do with you.”

Here’s what could have been. I could have been a total bro. Chad McGoldberg. Met up, divulged nothing, kept her around for a few months, slept with multiple women, keepin’ it casual. Then moved on on a whim. As long as nothing gets too serious, and there’s no reason why it should, this can go on for years. Tell me that the person you’re seeing tonight hasn’t slept with someone else last night and another person tomorrow?

But it’s not official. There’s theoretical monogamy on the theoretical horizon. We might settle down and have kids one day. Who knows? We’re still feeling it out.

Give yourself a title, make it formal, and you’re out on the streets. Poly.

I once had a woman refuse to date me because I called myself a libertarian. I thought it meant believing  in minimal government intervention. I didn’t realize it came with an assumption that I was a gun toting asshole.

Similarly, I recognize that Poly also comes with its own associations. With militant evangelists who tout it as the only way to be, and who vilify jealousy; with people just using it as an excuse to sleep around, with hippy communes. Like vegans, but with relationships.

But still, it seems unfair. Why is that the one thing I’m expected to put in my 400 character bio? Do other people put in their commitment levels, their desire to have kids, their fucked up relationships with sex and intimacy?

What if I’m actually single right now? What if she’s slept with more people in the last month than I have in the last year?

Well, take care then.

God forbid there should be something in my life that is normal, conventional, the easy route. I am destined to always be forging my own path, while glancing to the side as the rest of the world takes the high road.

There’s no app for that.

In No Way Are You Absolved

After my last post went Shalom Tzvi level viral (as defined by the odds in which someone shared it with my grandparents), lots of people emerged from the woodwork. And they had a lot to say, being people and all.

They wanted me to know that they were happy for me, that they’d known I’d come around, that they were glad to see I was finally over it, had healed myself, and recognized that Aish wasn’t so bad after all.

Also, do I still live in Toronto and let’s catch up sometime.

I did not take this well. It is clear to me that people will use my current post to whitewash some of the older stuff I’ve said. This, even though the gist of everything I’ve said until now still stands and my detailed criticism of the Kiruv movement, Orthodox Judaism, and religion in general, still stands.

In sharing my own personal healing, a transformation from emotional pain to just intellectual criticism, a lot of the punch will get lost. With less ‘fuck you’’s, my points will be just intellectual musings and debates, and we all have plenty of those on the internet.

I also didn’t appreciate only hearing from people when I was supposedly doing well. (As an aside, you can’t always tell how well I’m doing by what I write about. Stay tuned for an upcoming post on suicide.)

I can understand some of the places this can come from – people may have thought I was angry at them in particular, even though this was largely untrue. And people often don’t feel comfortable around the messiness of raw emotions – anger and grief. We don’t quite know what to say when paying condolences, and the more tragic the situation the less the clichés in our back pocket can serve us.

So here are some things I’d like to say:

The fact that I have healed in no way absolves you of your responsibilities towards the thousands you have hurt. The ruined marriages, the stifled psyches, the falsehoods and the whitewashing, these are all real and you played a part in it. It’s as basic as Richard Dawkin’s point that there is no such thing as a religious child – there are only your opinions indoctrinated into an unsuspecting human.

I can't think of many people who deserve to go to hell, but the people who teach of its existence to vulnerable children are prime candidates. - Richard Dawkins

This is happening around us all the time, and while Aish has millions of dollars to prop up its image, I am one dude with a keyboard making a point. Even if Aish is a mixture of good and bad, as my last article concurs, there is still a lot more garbage that goes unmentioned in the day to day narrative.

I am also grateful to the few individuals who stood by me throughout it all. A few key people (one of them is a Rabbi) did not give a shit about the fact that I was covered in emotional shit and stuck around, doggedly, persistently, regardless of what I said or did. These are the people who stand out in my mind, if not as better friends, at least as more emotionally capable ones. Their support of me then meant much more than the hand clapping I’m receiving now.

A part of me did not want to write this. “Why shit on the parade?” it asks. “You’re finally on people’s good side again, don’t you want people to like you? Don’t you want people to see you as someone who adds positivity to the world, who will support your future projects to do good (Tikun Olam, bitches)?”

To which I reply, I most definitely do want everyone to like me. But I didn’t get this far by always saying the right thing that I or everyone else wanted to hear.

No matter what I say or do, some people still seem to think that I’m the shit. When I’m dating, 90% of women don’t notice I exist and 10% are crazy about me. I would like to keep throwing mud at walls, western and otherwise, and let stick what may.

I Had a Dream

I was back in Aish Hatorah.

I guess like positivity childhood memories that resurfaced after I’d dealt with parental trauma, my subconscious felt I was ready to find some good beneath the wreckage.

The building was even bigger and more magnificent – and more rambly. I wandered through towering mazes of limestone and glass. This was the Old City, we don’t organize things into grids and straight angles here. Every curve is unique.

And feelings came back. Of being at home, surrounded by like-minded people who spoke English and were idealstic and knew about the world. Of knowing exactly what the right thing to do was at any given time. Of the satisfaction that comes from putting in a full days of work – except that a full days work was arduous yet simple: how many times had I read this chapter, this page?

My default mode is to look back and remember how meaningless all that effort was, how useless it was to my future. Suddenly a different perspective was there. It was meaningful then. It felt good then. I was at home then. They live in paralel universes, my two selves; and as long as they don’t come in contact with each other, they can coexist.

The Old City, too. Damn, that place fucked me up. But, what a cool place to grow up! Twisty, turny roads. Millions of tourists a year. Who else gets to explore thousand year old church caverns during school recess?

There are people who I still cannot look in the eye, even in my minds eye. Noah Weinberg, Yitzchak Berkowitz, Yirmeyahu Zilberman. Partially because of what I’ve said about them – I don’t think I’d be able to say the same in person. They remain, in my mind, larger than life, the result of knowing them during my formative years, in positions of power, having been pedestalized by the world around me.

Their flaws are more apparent than ever, humans with at least as many flaws and quirks, who somehow ended up in charge of other people. But I also remember their smile. They all had brilliant smiles, when they chose to use them. Why, for fucks sake, was that so infrequently? They sometimes giveth, but they mostly taketh away, reverting back to that façade of intensity, “have you done God’s work today?”.

But the leaping feeling in my heart when they smiled – goddamn, I had pleased the king, and my heart soared. It was the perfect ratio to keep all daddy issued, validation seeking humans in their orbit, addicted to the fleeting smile the rare nod of approval, not knowing when they’d get the next fix.

Aish was built from the ground up to suck people in to its agenda, to bend them to a very specific will and way of life. But I can finally see how, from their perspective, they were doing the best possible thing. And I am also able to transfer more responsibility off the institution and back on to the individuals who got sucked into it. Goddamit, you really thought as a 20 year old who studied some philosophy, you’d be able to come rescue your brother from what you believed was an actual cult by debating professional rabbis?

There were people who came through Aish and moved on. Most did, in fact. The few who got caught in its grate had something else happening inside – gaping childhood wounds, massively under-developed parts, which they sought to fill and compensate for with the help of An Idea. It gave them permission to be the workaholics they always wanted to be, to crush their pesky emotions beneath the iron fist of intellect.

Because here’s one thing that Judaism, and religion in general, really sucks at – helping you actually become a better person. The externally imposed rules hide your own boundaries from your self, and you get almost no tools to handle what you do find. Judaism’s mussar movement is like doing surgery with a screwdriver. In the dark.

In my dream, I was as tired as I was during most of the classes I attended in real life back then. But there was also a feeling of grandeur, and of belonging. I stood up in the room and apologized. “I am sorry for things I said,” I said. There was the unsettled feeling when two parties have fought and are made up, the shaky ground that comes right afterwards. They called me up to the Torah. I read it myself, like I used to, Parshas Ha’azinu. I still got it.

It’s been six years almost to the day since I left religion. The amount of tears shed and pain processed has been truly unbelievable. Thank god for MDMA. I am grateful to finally be moving on. The wise people of Facebook knew this all along. “Get over your shit, stop being so angry, move on!” they suggested.

You see that bucket of tears? That’s mine.

It needed to be filled before I could follow your nuanced instructions.

It’s full now, are you happy?

Because I am.

Oh, the Shame

Shame is a bitch.

A motherfucking cuntbusting[1] bitch.

Of all negative emotions, it’s the one that hits me the hardest, because it challenges my very existence.

To stare in the face of your shame is to stare into the gut clenching void that says “you suck too much to be here at all.”

What I’ve learned is that shame can come from many places, and not just from being actively shamed in your childhood.

If you didn’t get nurtured enough as a child, you can feel unworthy of existing.

If you’ve been through traumatic events, you’re ashamed of being broken.

 I realized I could not look people in the eye, could not actually be seen, could not in any way grab attention because what people might see was too much to bear.

People would see just how broken I am, how much pain I experience. People might acknowledge my existence, in direct contrast with a part that would like to disappear, ashamed to wake up in the morning.

Ashamed to want.

Wanting is for humans, bitch. You’re too broken to deserve anything. Especially sexuality, which is so closely linked with our primal needs and validation. You definitely cannot want sex or intimacy.

Fear of rejection was not just fear of an uncomfortable feeling. It was one step away from spiraling into a void, total emotional annihilation.

It explained my fear of success as well.

To succeed is to be seen. It means being noticed, looked at, acknowledged. The greater the success, the greater the shame of how unworthy I am of any of it.

Now dance with that for 12 hours.

At a recent ecstatic dance festival, I danced with these feelings for hours. They would rise up, a tightness in my back, in my sternum, that would become so overpowering that I’d collapse on the ground with a head rush.

Then keep going.

 You want shame? I’ve got shame for days.

People who see me dance often want what I’m having. Dude, it sucks.

I’m crying on the dance floor.

Don’t worry, all good. I got this. I always got this. Anything other than that would be shameful.

Suddenly, instantly, magically, I’m embraced by at least three women. Jewish Israeli mothers with children of their own. “Let it out,” they say. “We know where you’ve been.”

It’s soft in there, and safe.

I feel grateful. And ashamed of crying. So I cry about that too.

I shift my feet to get more comfortable. There’s a fear that any slight movement might make them go away. Any sign of life might end this. And who are you to be comfortable anyway?

They stay.

I realize that artists are the bravest people in the world, because they put their souls on a stage.

I realize that the key to moving through the world is to present your truth fully and unconditionally, gathering the people who resonate with you along for the ride. You cannot control the response. Just keep expressing unconditionally, without need for reciprocation.

I realize that there are two ways to cope with shame – to be held back by the fear and avoid the world, or to cut off those parts and move through the world with scripted callousness. I know many people who do the latter. Both do their own type of damage.

I realize that experiencing love lies on the other side of shame, because until then all love sent your way will fall short, deflected by the armor of your unworthiness.

I can’t tell you how to move out of shame – it’s such a perfectly self-perpetuating cycle where acknowledging it makes you an even more shameful person. You’re ashamed of the shame.

But I hope that you can find something in you to start looking at it in the face. Maybe just a peek at first; glance at it, then avert your gaze.

Push yourself to the limits of how much you can be seen.

We’ll be here. We’ve been seeing you the whole time.


[1] I experienced a lot of shame with this word. It came to me, but then I second-guessed myself.

What if I insult people? What if people dislike me because I’ve used it? What if I didn’t realize it’s the most insulting word in the English language? What if it offends women? I really want women to like me. What would that mean for my sense of self?

So I left it in.

You Still Suck

Julia Haart would like to tell you about her shoes, boobs, and oppressive Orthodox upbringing.

Recent Netflix productions like Unorthodox and My Unorthodox Life have been painting Orthodox Judaism in a shitty light, and prompting a wave of defensive responses on social media, a la enlightened Orthodox Jews like Rabbi Doniel Katz and such.

A sample defensive post that popped up in my LinkedIn feed. While I was trying to do business, yo. #myorthodoxlife

The gist of their message is this: “How dare you accuse us of being primitive, backwards people? We, in fact, have degrees, have careers, and are happy. So very, very happy. Do not accuse us of being oppressed women, because, in fact, we have 17 kids, AND a career. We wear fashionable clothes, believe in science, and basically, are just like everyone else, except better, because we have the secrets of a Meaningful Life™.”

Before I explain why this premise is bullshit, two caveats. First of all, I think Netflix’s content is unrealistic fluff and I refuse to watch most of it. Julia Haart and her over-dramatization of everyday life for the sake of reality TV, is nauseating. And despite my eye-catching title, this post is not intended as an attack on any individual person, but rather on Orthodox Judaism as a whole.

Because, yes, Orthodox Judaism is bullshit, and I don’t care how many degrees or careers or smiles you have.

My main points:

Asking oppressed people if they don’t mind being oppressed is not a thing. I don’t care if it’s a woman speaking about her own experiences. If she was raised from age zero to believe that showing her elbows is wrong, and that she must cover her hair when she is married, then she can’t even conceive of any alternate reality. I believe in certain objective freedoms that all people deserve EVEN IF THEY DON’T ASK FOR THEM, and being allowed to show your elbows freely and get divorced when you want to, is on that list.

Other religions do this to, and you are very quick to mock them when they do. The “Empowered Muslim Woman” is definitely a thing, and it’s much easier to spot the absurdity of it when it’s not your own culture.

A classic, courtesy of the internet.

There are still a lot of things you can’t or won’t do, you’re just glossing over them. Ok, ok, you have a degree AND you made dinner. There are still a lot of limitations on being an Orthodox Jew, even when you live in the more liberal America (Israel is coming up next). There’s multiple halachic limitations, from Shabbat to Sex to Sins galore.

There are entrenched primitive beliefs that people are choosing not to focus on when they tout their surprisingly materialistic accomplishments. It is still very common in Orthodox Jewish media outlets to not show any pictures of women whatsoever. This is just a small example of an absurdity Orthodox Women take for granted, although there are much bigger issues that should be addressed as well.

There’s generally less quality education for men, even if women have the better end of this stick because they don’t need to spend as much time studying Torah. And even the degrees as a whole are shittier, if we call a spade a spade. Not that I’m a huge believer in pedigree, but many of the degrees Orthodox men and women obtain are shitty Excelsior College degrees that are basically a joke. I know this because I have this exact degree. So you manage to deceive the average person with your diploma mill degree. Very nice.

Orthodox Judaism is a single collective. This is my most important point, if I had to pick just one. At the end of the day, Orthodox Judaism of America considers itself part and parcel of Orthodox Judaism in Israel. From extensive financial support, to sending your kids to Israeli institutions after high school, to looking up to Israeli Rabbis with the highest regard, Orthodox Jews of America have their cake and eat it too – they soak in the liberal materialism of America, while basking in the spiritual glow emanating from the holy land.

And as long as you have not distinctly distanced yourself from your fanatical cousins across the pond, or in New Square and Williamsburg for that matter, you are complacent in their actions.

You are condoning men getting married at 19 after three dates to the first woman they meet. Men getting zero religious education and women getting an education that is not formally recognized by the Israeli government (and thus effectively useless). Condemning all technology as the work of the devil, even as the rest of civilization marches firmly into that new era. Covering up sexual abuse and protecting abusers.

You are complacent in all the bullshit that the extremists around you practice in the name of your religion, unless you specifically condemn and distance yourself from it, and I haven’t seen any Facebook posts about that any time recently.

All the people raising the roof about low quality Netflix productions which cast them in a bad light would be better served to ignore Netflix and their own reputation and focus their attention and indignant posts on the actual problems that lead to these allegations in the first place.

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