The Color of Truth

Igrew up with a Jewish mother and non-Jewish father in New York City, a mere eight miles from where my husband, Akiva, was growing up in Williamsburg.

Back then, I’d never heard of Williamsburg or chassidim. Worlds separated us. We were the free, the cultured; every shining opportunity beckoning like the lights on the Hudson. They were primitive, extreme. Statistically, I should never have met one of them, married one of them, become one of them…

My family was traditional. We’d eat a Shabbat dinner and then watch TV. We’d have a grand Pesach Seder and then all drive home. My mom’s family was half-European, half- Spanish, and we had that Spanish intensity. My parents were hyper-focused on performance. They valued academia, we had to reach the top, go out there, and make careers for ourselves.

When I was 11, my mom was diagnosed with a brain tumor, and we moved to New Jersey. For high school I went to a far left Modern Orthodox school. There was a spectrum of observances and many of the teachers were from nearby Lakewood. I enjoyed school and made friends with girls who were more frum. I also became close with one of the teachers and sometimes went to her home for Shabbosim.