M
y story starts years before I traded in my jeans and T-shirts. It began in college. I’d never seen a frum person in my life when I met that rabbi on college campus. With his long beard and tzitzit, I thought he looked like he’d popped out of a history book; I was shocked that he even existed. But as I got to know him, his rebbetzin, and the other young professionals who reached out to us college students, I realized that I liked what I saw in their lives: fulfillment, happiness, focus on family life. I wanted that too, but I knew I couldn’t be as religious as them.
Slowly, over the course of a few years, I began taking on more and more mitzvot, beginning with giving up shellfish (that’s a mitzvah, right?). I really didn’t know the first thing about Yiddishkeit. On the first Yom Kippur that I observed, I knew you couldn’t eat, but no one had told me you weren’t allowed to drink. Having as much water as I wanted certainly made fasting easier!
From there, I began making Friday night dinners with friends, which eventually progressed to becoming shomer Shabbat and shomer kashrut. I had big plans to keep those jeans and T-shirts, but I’m more of a go-big-or-go-home personality, so last (but certainly not least), I gave away all those beautiful designer jeans that I loved.
Today, when you see me, you’d never know I’m a baalat teshuvah. However, you can wear the shell, the skirt, the wig, the tights, and look like everyone else — but that doesn’t always mean you feel like you fit in. There are many things I and other baalei teshuvah struggle with that an outsider — who’s really an insider to the frum world, of course — would never know.
