It was a chilly winter evening at
the beginning of the Spring 2015 semester, after class, when I took the
Columbia University Intercampus Shuttle from the Morningside Heights Campus, to the Columbia Medical Center in Washington Heights. At that
point the driver of the 4:20 shuttle already knew me by name, as I was taking
that shuttle on a weekly and sometimes bi-weekly basis. My maternal grandfather, may his memory be a blessing, was hospitalized for months
at CUMC, up to his passing just two months after that. Over the 7 months that
he was there, he wasn’t alone even for a single second, should it be a weekday
or weekend, an ordinary day or a holiday, in rain or in snow. Between his 16
kids (kids and in-laws), and tens of grandkids and great-grandkids, the family
took turns being with Zaidy. My mother was there about twice week, and every few weekends,
and whenever I could I would take the 20-minute shuttle to the medical center
to spend time with my beloved Mommy and Zaidy. After all, I was
the only one in the family to live in Manhattan, and the only one in the entire
extended family [1]
to be part of the very university that became an integral part of our family
life for months.
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| My (old) Columbia ID |
That day I arrived at the Milstein Medical Building at the same time as my mom got out
of the car that drove her from Brooklyn. The security at CUMC is adequately
tight, and every time my mother came to visit, doesn’t matter how many times a
week, she had to go through the security check-in. That meant walking up to the
Visitors Counter, show a government ID, say whom she is visiting, and do a
quick bag-check - she was no doubt used to it at that point. As always my mom
was happy to see me; no matter what, her love - unconditional at the time - to the kid she saw as her oldest
son was strong. We walked in through the revolving door, and out of instinct my
mom approached the security desk. As she was pulling out her non-driver's
license, [2] I pulled out my Columbia
ID - which always gave me access to the medical center, no questions asked.
Seeing my ID, the security guard asked me on my mom: “Is she with you?” and
when I said yes, he just let us both go up without having to check in.
For my mom, this was the first time
she faced firsthand what she knew for the last year, but never wanted to face
it: her kid - myself, is part of the very same prestigious institution the
family chose to take care of their crown - my grandfather. Mom’s first response,
turning to the guard, was “Yup, my kid is just a showoff.” but as we entered
the elevator to go up to the ICU on the sixth floor, my mother turns to me and
said: “I see, you are doing something useful you’re your life.”
She said that in a tone of mourning
rather than pride of her daughter's accomplishment. It is quite possible that
she was the first mother to visit Columbia Medical Center because she believed
in the effectiveness of the Columbia machine, and at the same time be upset,
sad, and ashamed that her kid is part of that very same institution.
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I was only a young teenager when my
cousin, [3] the now award winning
actor, Luzer Twersky, left the Hasidic community. Luzer
was the first person in my entire extended family [4] to commit one of the
harshest sins possible in my family; going Off the derech - leaving the community. At the time our family went out of its
way to demonize him and degrade him. I remember being told the worst things
possible about him. From claims that he is mentally ill to claims that he is a
criminal. The reasons why he left ranged from being insane to just a sinner who
likes sex. We were told that it is certain he will end up a drug addict, in
prison, or dead. Compassion to a family member that is going through a hard
transition? none at all. At that point I pretty much believed it, while I was
secretly watching his path hoping that maybe one day I will be able to follow
in his footsteps. The possibility that in a few years he will have earned a few
film awards, and have a fairly successful acting career, just didn’t cross my
mind.
Luzer wasn’t the only one that was
demonized in that way. Every time someone left, the families and the whole
community establishment rushed to explain it in any way possible - besides the
possibility that they were looking for a better life outside the confines of
one of America’s most isolated communities. We were told that everyone who
leaves ends up either mentally ill, a criminal, or dead. As with Luzer, the
community would get creative in creating a story of why they left, always
negative, and usually along the lines of mental illness or desire to be sinful
and lustful. Without question, up to about ten years ago, without any support
groups or social media, that was what most of us believed. In addition, they
were sadly right more times than not. Without a solid education or baseline
knowledge of how to live as a civilized human being in the outside world,
topped with family rejection leading to financial breakdown, very few people
were actually successful after leaving. I don’t think anyone took statistics of
these leaving prior to 2003, but from what we know, a lot of them sadly ended
up in bad places physically, mentally, and/or emotionally.
In 2012, when I was beginning my
own journey out of the community, everyone in my life rallied around to
convince me of my upcoming colossal failure. A lot of people were called in - so to speak - to ‘save’ my soul, and try to prevent me from moving forward. From
my father who has a lot of experience working with “teens at risk,” [5] my paternal grandfather with
whom I had a very personal relationship as my spiritual mentor, to my
great-aunt, Rebbetzin Feige Twerski, a world renown kiruv speaker. The underlying message I got from all of them was that
one thing is clear: there is simply no way I will ever succeed in life outside
of the community. However, the biggest reason why that didn’t work in 2012 as
well as it worked with others in 1992, was that I have seen success stories.
Thanks to organizations such as Footsteps and Hillel, social media such as the Facebook group Off the Derech, and online projects such as It Gets Besser, I knew that success is possible. To my family and community
however, my success, and the success of my fellow journeyers leaving the
community, was seen as a threat of itself.
From the first moment I started
planning to leave the enclave I grew up in, I knew that one of the most
important steps towards success would be education. Here once again everyone
was enlisted to convince me that I will never succeed in academia. As a matter
of opinion, I believe that they knew that education is actually the path to
success, and wanted to do everything possible to ensure that doesn’t happen. I
clearly remember a moment when I was studying for my GED in my father’s study
at home, [6] and he came in and said,
“I know you, and I can promise you, you will never succeed in college.”
In the end, as a direct result of these messages I started pushing myself
to prove them wrong, and to work hard to get somewhere in life. I will admit
that part of the reason I applied to NYU and Columbia was because even my
parents recognized that these are top schools. Knowing that pushed me - at least a bit - to work hard on my SAT's, admissions essay, and so on.
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| My Columbia acceptance lette |
I will never forget the look of
shock, dismal, and disappointment on my father's face when I showed him my
Columbia acceptance letter. Throughout the next year - while they were still
talking to me - they constantly hated it when I mentioned being at Columbia,
studying with leading professors, and later on making political connections.
They didn't know how to deal with it, and even more how to convince the rest of
my family that I am NOT successful.
To that extent, I have to admit, my
mother saying “I see, you are doing something useful with your life,” while
sincere, was a challenge not just to herself, but to the entire community’s basic
belief system. However, I am proud to say, and to be just one of the living
examples, that everything is possible. No matter what our communities and
families are tell us, we can be successful. Nothing is off limits, not even the
Ivy League, or the third best school in the United States of America.
This post was inspired by an inquiry by my dear friend Shulem Deen, regarding what we (the OTD community) were told growing up about what happens to these who leave.
This post was inspired by an inquiry by my dear friend Shulem Deen, regarding what we (the OTD community) were told growing up about what happens to these who leave.
[1] For context, just my grandfather’s
father’s kids, grandkids, great-grandkids, and great-great-grandkids, make up
about a hundreds of college age people. I almost certain that I am the first of
them to go to college.
[2] Non-driver’s license is the most
commonly used form of ID in communities were driving for women (and sometimes
even man as is the case with my family) is considered taboo, and pretty much
unacceptable.
[3] Luzer is my second
cousin on my father’s side, and later first cousin through my ex wife. Just like in royal families, the royal Hasidic
families – namely descendants of Hasidic rabbis, marry each other all the time,
so there is a lot overlap in family trees. Even in my own marriage, my
great-grandmother, and my ex’s grandmother were first cousins.
[5] Teens at risk didn’t usually refer to drugs, or at risk of joining
the neighborhood gang. Usually it meant boys that have smartphones god
forbid, talk the girls, or just don’t want to study 10 hours a day at
religious schhol.
[6] As
depicted in this video: https://youtu.be/xnoT1Y-sHXI?t=40s, produced by the It Gets Besser Project.
