Shoshi’s Story

Shoshi is 25 and was raised in the Stamford Hill community in London. She is currently living in Switzerland where she is studying for her IB (International baccalaureate) after which she would like to become a pilot or a robotic engineer.

Hi Shoshi, could you describe your family’s religious background?

My family was raised within the chassidish community in Stamford Hill, there were ten children. The girls were all sent to Satmar school and the boys to Skver cheder but my father didn’t subscribe to any one sect of chassidus.

My father is a ger (convert) and had been through the hoops of Chabad and other smaller chassidish groups, he now follows an eclectic mix of chassidish traditions with the additional Sephardic and Kabbalistic spin.

My mother is a BT, she became very frum over a rather short period of time, cutting off ties with her family and everything else along the way. She took every minhag and chumra seriously by taking it one step further, from tights thickness to skirt skirt length, amount of tehillim to tzedakah over family needs.  My parents had an arranged marriage, surrounded by their manipulative, controlling and coercive advisors. Both my parents learnt Yiddish and that became the 614th mitzvah.

Our household was extremely frum. We spoke only Yiddish, the girls always had to wear tights outside of the bedroom, and always had to dress modestly. Newspapers or fiction books were not allowed to enter the house, even the frum yiddish newspapers were considered shmutz, (dirty). Kashrus was followed to the tee and things like negel vasser, brachos, washing one’s hands the designated amount of times were just some of their favourite obsessions.

My mother vocally opposed anything secular, and would consistently contact the school and teachers about anything that she considered excessive promotion of English language and ideas such as a sketch based on the book Heidy, or a song with English lyrics.

My father constantly bashed and laughed at Rebbes and Chassidim despite dressing chassidish and playing that game. To me, it highlights his hypocritical and disrespectful view of everyone else’s interpretation of yiddishkeit, he believes that his interpretation is the only possible truth.

Do you feel you had a happy childhood?

I didn’t have a particularly happy childhood, my family didn’t fit into the square mold because my parents were not FFB (frum from birth). Also, I was often neglected and left to fend for myself as a result of incompetent parenting. There were a few, actually only one teacher who supported me and made an effort at making sure I was okay.

There was a lot of mental abuse, not so much due to religion but more due to untreated mental health and poor parenting.

Additionally, the school did little to help with social inclusion or support which certainly didn’t make matters easier.

I occasionally had friends, it wasn’t something I stressed about, I was more concerned with making sure I remembered to do everything parents would typically do.

I taught myself to swim and I volunteered a lot after school – I thoroughly enjoyed it and it exposed me to different families and activities. I would take children with special needs ice skating and horseback riding, I would then secretly go myself a few times to have lessons. I was eventually going to the rink 4-6 times a week but my parents took little interest in my well-being and therefore didn’t notice – which suited me fine.   

Would you say that, having a ger and a BT as a parent, you were being discriminated against?

Yes, the community is very suspicious of people who come into their communities. In the chassidish community they are rarely treated as equal, rather more like second class citizens. It takes two to three generations to overcome the stigma.  

How old were you when you started having doubts?

I don’t remember a poignant moment, there were enough contradictions in plain sight for doubt to be inevitable. Little incidences of non-Jews being kind, something we were told they weren’t, or my finger staying in tact after accidentally turning the light on on Shabbos, not dying after eating candy on Yom Kippur (fast day), etc. These small violations of ideas, that my parents obsessed over, definitely got me thinking. Also, I never had the typical dreams like all the other ‘good’ frum girls had so by default it felt as though I didn’t fit in.

I would add that the extent to which the community piled on more rules and decrees made me doubt its authenticity, it stank of control and pretentiousness.

My thoughts became clearer as I grew older, I would say I was about 13 when I realised that the lifestyle I grew up in is not something I wanted to pursue. I secretly purchased a radio (a big no-no!) and I would listen for hours, most of the topics were foreign to me but I still listened and the little bit I understood made me think.

Would you say that your circumstances caused you never to have felt comfortable in the mold?

Yes, I’m creative and curious. Both are recipes for disaster in the chassidish community where I grew up.

I never dreamed of marrying and having loads of babies. The idea of being bound by a lifestyle of poverty for the sake of Torah was far from appealing. The tzniut, (modesty) rules alluded me, I would abide by them purely because I didn’t have a patience to argue but it never carried any value.

My parents, coming from the background they do automatically made them second class citizens, the community is very harsh and unaccepting of BT, converts and anyone who comes from ‘outside’. They might claim it to be otherwise but the actual reaction is not authentically welcoming or excepting.

If I decided to forgo the basic human needs of acceptance, abandon my interests and hobbies, my curiosity and love for learning maybe it would have been possible. But that would mean not being me, but living my life as someone else which stands against a value important to me – integrity.

Could you describe your process of coming out of the closet as being OTD?

I’m quite blunt and literal, and although I never made an official coming out, if anyone asked I answered honestly.

I left home at 18 whilst I was still religious, My jobs were still based within the community but in my own time I would not keep Shabbos or kosher.

I was employed to work at a very religious, frum and heimish summer camp for children with special needs. At first, the camp directors had a problem with me because I wore jeans outside of camp which they assumed meant that I was a bad influence and that I wouldn’t follow the rules in camp. We resolved that issue and I was allowed to work at the camp. After camp and after a counselor realised I didn’t fit into their perceived stereotype of what OTDers are, and that I wasn’t there to influence anyone else to leave yiddishkeit  but rather, I was doing my own thing respectful of those around me. They also understood that I had, what they considered a challenging upbringing they wanted to give me a chance of seeing yiddishkeit from another perspective, or what they believed to be a ‘better perspective.’

It was then that I was taken in by the directors of the camp, they were quite affluent and had an influential position in their community. They had a frum and heimish house, quite a typical beis yaacov family. They were friendly and kind but hadn’t a clue what to do with me. I wasn’t well socialised and I just went along with the idea of acting frum but it was all very superficial and it wasn’t going anywhere. I didn’t keep Pesach that year and when I told the family they were shocked at my lack of remorse for eating bread on Pesach. I left a while later and didn’t bother pretending to be or act frum anymore. It wasn’t like I would have become their child, I was just their kiruv (outreach) case. After leaving the family I moved into a flatshare with non-Jews.

At that point I would occasionally still dress up the way they expected in order to go to see my siblings or friends but I’ve mostly stopped doing that. I’ve had a few comments about posting things on social media on Shabbos but if anyone has a problem with that there is always the unfriend option.

I’m respectful of the fact that I have siblings still within the community, so I don’t prance around Stamford Hill much, but I’m very much out and open.

So how has life been for you since then?

I moved to Switzerland in mid 2012, when I was 20. I started as an au pair which allowed me to see how other families lived. When I finished my au pair job I tutored at an international school in the Alps.

I observed people, read books, watched documentaries and tried to decode the foreign world I had entered.

I had a couple of very good friends from when I would go ice skating and they were instrumental in exposing me to outside culture. I’ve met my fair share of undesirables but I met some incredible friends along the way, all of whom taught me a little bit more about life, to become more streetwise, filling in the vast gaps of film and music, technology, opening me up to the world friendship and individuality.

I continued working with children with special needs in various families and schools in Switzerland. I occasionally visited family and friends, lost some and kept some.

Determined to allow myself the opportunity I was denied to finish my education, I spent the academic year of 2015-2016 self studying for my IGCSE’s  (exams on individual subjects usually taken at 16) whilst working full time. I loved poetry and sociology. I started from first grade physics from understanding that everything is made of particles to more complex equations and concepts, It was fascinating.

2016 was one of my toughest years as I met the black dog called depression which nearly took my life. It was my most challenging year because I realised that the world will never be a beautiful peaceful planet but one that is ridden with war, hate and judgement. At the same time, it was one of my most successful years because I passed all my IGCSE’s and I was awarded a scholarship to finish my education at an international school.

I still remain at a cultural disadvantage in many respects and there is a tremendous gap in my knowledge which I am trying to fill over time. I make faux pas and I often drop yiddish phrases. It is what makes me me.

How did your family react to you leaving their derech?

My mother lost it and could only think about her image and how my shidduchim prospects will be ruined. My father seemed to take it better, he said he expected it because I was too inquisitive and curious.

My siblings have had many discussions about me behind my back, initially they were critical and unsupportive. Many live overseas so I had little contact with them to begin with. They also think I’m going through a stage, or that I’ll come round later. I have a couple of siblings who are recently encouraging about my pursuit of education.

Their biggest confusion actually seems to be about my lack of interest in fashion and materialism. The general assumption of OTD = drug and sex was far from the route I went down and it took them a while to adjust.

When I still had contacted with my mother she would always ask what I ate, what time Shabbos came in, she never showed any interest in my well being and always looked to find something to criticize…she is a toxic person and I have chosen to cut contact.

In mid 2014, I called my father who is very academic and is always reading and learning to a meeting on my terms, and he agreed to come. We had more of a curious discussion, I approached it from a very non-confrontational place. I asked him how he can justify denying us education, what made him think bringing us up in Stamford Hill and Satmar was a good idea – now those are big questions to which he had little answers ‘I didn’t know, I didn’t think..’ but it took a tremendous amount of mental preparation from my side in order to arrive absent of anger rather than with pure curiosity and openness, I am therefore very pleased I did it. It had an unplanned element of closure to it which made dropping contact, with him as well, far less emotional.

Do you think there are any differences between going OTD if you were raised in London compared to, let’s say, New York?

Yes, it is different in terms of support networks and available organisation. There are fewer developed programs in the UK. Also, the community size in the UK is quite small, once you are OTD you can’t really walk around the frum area without meeting people you know, and some people will make your visits uncomfortable by publicly telling you off, screaming at you or at best ignore you.

I think the biggest difference in OTD journeys, regardless of the community, is family. How much the family will cower under community regulations (tznius police…), how much non-judgmental support they will show you and how much mutual respect there is between you and your family.If you don’t have family support, you are pretty much on your own. The were no organisations when I left, there are a couple now who try to provide advice, support and information.

How do you currently see your own future?

I see myself finishing my education and completing further education. One of my goals is to sponsor an OTD’ers education as soon as I have the means.

I would like to be a positive statistic to show that it is possible to succeed as an OTD’er.

I see myself continuing to live a secular life alongside the occasional kugel or zemirot kumsitz. I hope to feel more integrated within society in the future.

Everyone tells me I should write a book and publish my art, maybe one day. The world is limitless..

What advice would you like to give to people considering to go OTD

It is a journey. There will inevitably be many ups and downs along the way.

Perhaps the most important thing is to develop a network of supportive, trustworthy and respectful friends. Work up the courage to ask for help when you need it.

If you are struggling with mental health challenges try to do something about it – it might save your life and it can make your journey much more enjoyable.

Don’t cut ties unnecessarily, however, don’t hold onto toxicity.

I found that counting to 10, waiting for 10 minutes or contemplating big decisions over a few days always helped me find a calmer less impulsive approach to people, ideas and change. One doesn’t always need to have an answer instantaneously.

You probably won’t find out who you are right away (if you do, please share the formula) so be kind to yourself and be patient.

Choices can only be made with the knowledge we have, so read, learn and ask.

When you reach a place of happiness, pay it forward. We need to be here for each other not just as OTD’er but also as humans.

My Own Derech

Living in the heart of a major frum community, I thought there was no one like me. I either had to decide to remain in the community and keep going to shul even though I didn’t believe in Hashem, or I had to go off the derech and completely let go of all the things I liked about Yiddishkeit – or so I thought. Having to make this choice was very stressful, and having to make it alone was brutal.

But then one day, listening to NPR, I heard the story of Samuel Katz, chasid turned atheist turned Fulbright scholar ( When he mentioned an organization called Footsteps that supports people who are finding their own derech, I took the bus in to New York for their next event. That evening changed my life because I discovered that many, if not most, who leave traditional Orthodoxy do not go “off the derech;” they find THEIR derech of Judaism. I didn’t have to choose all or nothing after all!! For instance, one person told me how she still celebrates Shabbos, but if she wakes up Shabbos morning and wants a coffee, she’ll use the coffee maker. It may sound simple, but for me, it opened up a different world!

I later discovered the marvelous Off the Derech Facebook group, which provides an online community for hundreds of people who understand each other, as they find or have found a place within or without Judaism that suits their beliefs and makeup, and Off the Derech Torah Discussion Group, which is wonderful for people like me who still love learning Torah. Since I don’t live near Footsteps, though, I’m still working on finding an in-person community that is ideal for me.



For me, well, I didn’t even know that being “off the derech” was a thing. Of course, in the back of my mind, I knew people left orthodoxy, but I didn’t know that people talked about it, not in the way I needed to talk about it. I thought maybe they left and disappeared, somehow melting into the secular world. But I needed people to be there, I needed validation that I wasn’t alone, and that I wasn’t damaged or a bad person for leaving. I also needed someone to say that I wasn’t a failure, for having become a baalat teshuvah and then having left—twice.

If it wasn’t for the internet, I would have surely gone crazy. My first Google searches were awkward attempts at understanding what I was going through, and trying to put a name on it. “Leaving orthodoxy.” “Stopping orthodox Jewish observance.” “No longer religious, help.” Silly phrases like those led me to others which named my condition. “Off the derech.” Those words opened up the world of the off the derech bloggers—people like me, who had also left orthodox Judaism. Blogs like Abandoning Eden and Formerly Frum were empowering. I no longer felt alone.


Not Alone

Being the token orthodox Jew in a small rural town was lonely enough. We had moved here because it was cheaper and closer to my husband’s job. I made a place for myself as a sunday school teacher and organized rosh chodesh events for the women who were eager to learn more of what I had grown up and spent my whole life learning. But as my observance and faith waned, I started to feel like a hypocrite and an outsider. Now I was the only ex-orthodox jew around and I thought in the entire world, no one else had left their orthodox upbringing. I was all alone. Then by chance I discovered an old college friend living near by, who I remembered had thrown off her orthodox upbringing, and by the time she and I had become friends, she was a completely secular jew. Reconnecting with her opened up a whole new world to me. We talked about dealing with family and their reactions and to my amazement she mentioned their was a whole burgeoning community of ex-orthodox jews in the NY area. That night I searched the world wide web and discovered my people. I found blogs of people who had been on the same journey as I, and one blogger mentioned a facebook group called off the derech. I had no idea about facebook groups, but I joined this newly activated group and became a facebook addict. Off the derech has become my virtual community, but on occasion I have actually been to face to face meet ups with my compatriots and it is like returning home. I’ve also begun to expand my network of ex-religious friends, especially since joining the local UU church. Unitarian Universalist is a community of both non-believers and eclectic pick and choose spiritualists, who come together to support our freedom to choose our own path. I still feel like no one understands me like a fellow otder, but the local community has helped me organize high holiday and chanukah gatherings and we are even planning a “freedom” seder in conjuction with the local reform synagogue. Working together with my online otd community to create a website has given me an additional sense of belonging, that I haven’t experienced since going otd.


Documentary on BBC about Stamford Hill OTD People

Off the Derech, Heart and Soul – BBC World Service

The charity helping Orthodox Jews who want to break away from their faith


I think skepticism is part of my nature. I have always been one to question and probe, but until my last year in high school, I hadn’t thought to question my belief in god or the practice of my religion. During that year we had a weekly “mishmar” class that dealt with Jewish philosophy and that is where I started to hear both my fellow students and myself start to express doubts. I think that is very natural at that age, and at the time I felt like my rebbe provided me with some good answers, though I continued to seek deeper theological understanding. I really wanted to understand what god was. This type of probing was too intellectual for the seminary students and teachers in my year in Israel program, and my belief began to founder, while at the same time I felt compelled to increase my stringency in halakhic observance. The upshot I guess of the seminary experience was to learn what god supposedly wanted, but not what god was. I started coming up with my own answers, that I later learned were similar to Spinoza’s god is nature. It helped me keep davening and I remained observant. Though I flirted with conservative Judaism for a bit, I kept coming back to orthodoxy, where I was most at home. I skirted the edge of orthodoxy, however, and stopped following chumras, reinterpreted and accepted the most lenient opinions, and became increasingly disappointed with the clash between my liberal, feminist views and the orthodox establishment. It took me 20 years to get out of this limbo state of adherance to Judaism and doubting. Ultimately I had to make up my mind that I didn’t need to believe, I didn’t need to follow anything but my conscience, and that I could be myself.



For at least a decade, I felt like I had a problem that had to be fixed. I desperately wanted to find some rav, some teaching, or even some segula that would cure me of my apikorsus. I spoke to countless rabbanim and frum scholars, and I would get some answers that made sense at the time. But later, when I realized those answers had holes, the questions just came back stronger. After many years of this psychological limbo, I finally had a turning point when I discovered that I actually had no problem at all. I realized it’s actually a good thing that I don’t believe claims that go against what we know today from science, philosophy, and modern Biblical scholarship, and that if anyone has a problem that needs fixing, it is those who make such claims, not I.



I thought I was the only one. You know, the only baal teshuva to go off the derech. Surely, no other BT had gone off the derech before me and my little family. Except that I wasn’t yet thinking about it in those terms. I was thinking that we had to flip the circuit breaker, or we’d lose a refrigerator filled with food, including all of the food for Shabbos. I was thinking how ridiculous it sounded to ask a non-Jewish neighbor to press a button for us. I was thinking how if there was a god, why would he want us to suffer yet another financial loss, and this time, for something we could control ourselves? It was several more months before my husband, children, and I left orthodoxy completely. And those months were filled with questions that that nobody could seem to answer in a way that made sense to me.


Steve Miller’s Story

Steve is 25, married, and has 3 kids. He was raised Chassidic and turned Atheist two years ago.

Hi Steve, could you describe your family’s religious background to us?

My parents are part of the Ultra-Orthodox Hasidic sect, called Bobov.

As in most other Hasidic sects, we grew up sheltered from the outside world. Movies were forbidden, there was no television at home, and even listening to the radio was frowned upon. Boys and girls were kept separated to the extent that I never chatted with any of my girl cousins! From age three and on, we wore a large yarmulke and grew long sidelocks. When we turned thirteen, we were required to follow the community’s bland dress code which consisted of a black beaver hat, a black suit and a white shirt. When a beard would start to grow, we were not supposed to shave or trim it, not even a bit.

Secular education was limited to a mere two hours a day, beginning at age seven and ending at age thirteen. From age thirteen and on, we studied nothing but ancient Jewish scripture. Going to college was forbidden because they teach about Evolution and the classes are mixed gender.

Yiddish was my first language. I grew up with parents who occasionally spoke English between themselves so it naturally rubbed off. But at age 22, when it was time for me to find a job, my vocabulary was at the level of your average American eight year old kid. Writing was even a bigger challenge and I had to spend countless hours with a dictionary and a thesaurus, figuring it all out on my own.

Did you have a pleasant youth?

Not really. All of our actions were dictated by the community and strictly enforced in school. My choice of clothing was dictated by the community. When I was 5 years old, I was sent home from school for showing up with sneakers that had white soles! My choice of music was limited to only a handful of Hasidic singers, the others were considered harmful to a Jewish soul. Even some of the mainstream orthodox singers were openly condemned!

Being a curious child and a deep thinker by nature, I feel like my childhood has been wasted on learning ancient Jewish laws that had little to no practical value. I had questions, but I was silenced. I was curious, but discouraged from exploring. I had nowhere to spread my wings, nowhere to exercise my own will. No chance to nurture my personal passions. Instead, it was expected of me to devote my entire life to studying the Torah.

Indulging in materialistic pleasures was strongly discouraged to the extent that eating nosh (sweets) was considered not in line with the reason why God sent us down on this world.

I carried around guilt my entire life, feeling that I am not a good enough Jew. I could’ve always learnt a bit more or managed with one hour less sleep, thus having more time in my day to serve God.

What was even more disturbing was the threat of hell. Being a naive child, I really believed that I would be judged after death for every little misdeed, even for things such as owing someone five cents. I was pretty horrified for what would await me after death.

So, to answer your question, the answer is no. My childhood was quite unpleasant.

So you couldn’t wait to throw off the proverbial yoke?

Not really. I grew up thinking that this lifestyle was normal. I was raised with it, so I never really knew better. My own desires and passions were so suppressed that I didn’t even realize that I had any.

It never occurred to me that leaving was an option. I just accepted my fate and expected it to remain that way forever. In fact, this lifestyle was so normal to me that I had planned on raising my kids the same way. Only later, when I lost my faith and stopped following everything blindly, did I open my eyes and realize how wrong it was. But the reason why I left my former life had nothing to do with the way I felt about it. It was solely due to a change in ideology.

When do you believe that your apostasy started?

It started on Rosh Hashanah, when I was 23 years old.

I was reading an article about cults, when I suddenly noticed that my own community is structured pretty much like a cult. We are isolated from the world, our personal choices are dictated by our community leader, we have an us-versus-them mentality, we are encouraged to live and socialize only with people from our community, questioning is strongly discouraged, and when we come across anything that is against the faith, we immediately shut down and don’t allow ourselves to even think about it. Those are the exact characteristics of your typical cult.

The thought that followed was: if cult leaders can manage to get people to have unshakeable faith in their false ideologies, then this proves that a person can be absolutely convinced that a false ideology is true. I immediately realized that my beliefs might in fact be false too and I’m just not realizing it, just like cult members don’t. I figured that perhaps, Judaism started out just like a cult and just grew into something large and established over many years.

How did you go about searching for the truth?

The first thing I did was to search for evidence that Judaism is a true religion and that it was not like all the other false ones (that people believe in just because they were raised with it). I conducted a thorough search through every piece of Jewish literature I was able to lay my hands on. I was hoping to find at least one compelling argument as to why I should believe. I was surprised to find that all they talk about is how important belief is. I found chapter upon chapter talking about the importance of faith without offering anything to strengthen it.

I later found (on the Internet) that Judaism does offer some arguments to support their faith. As of today, I’ve heard of four forms of evidence for Judaism: Mass revelation, divinity of the Torah, miracles, and near death experiences.

If I had approached a rabbi demanding evidence, he would certainly dump some of those arguments on me, adding a teaspoon of manipulation, just enough to make me doubt my stance and make me feel guilty for not believing. I didn’t trust these rabbis, and rightfully so. Some of those rabbis are professional manipulators, and as a salesman, I knew all too well how easy it is to use tactics to get people to do virtually anything. I wanted to review the evidence and scrutinize it on my own and reach my own conclusion, without a rabbi breathing down my back.

So I Googled it. I searched “proof for Judaism” and I found online articles that offer those above mentioned arguments.

I took the time to scrutinize all of them. And I found many many holes in the so-called evidence. It was as if someone was so desperate to prove the veracity of Judaism that they willfully ignored the fallacies in their arguments. The mass revelation never actually occurred, the Torah shows no signs of divinity, and so on.

At this point, I didn’t know anything about Evolution or about the Big Bang. In fact, I still believed in God. The only thing I lost my faith in was in Judaism. I figured that perhaps God exists and He created everything. But the notion that He wants us to worship Him, might just be not true. Perhaps, God never communicated with Abraham or Moses, and they were just like those cult leaders who lie about their communication with God. Or perhaps, Abraham was hallucinating and sincerely believed that God spoke to him. After all, they weren’t aware of mental illnesses like hearing voices and hallucinations, in those days.

I noticed that all the other religions, all of which are considered to be false according to Judaism, believe in their religions for the same reasons we believe in ours. Almost everyone follows the religion that they happen to be born into. They all believe that their prayers are answered. They all claim to have amazing miracle stories. They all claim to have evidence (that crumble when subject to scrutiny). It was clear to me that if my parents were Christian, I too would think that Christianity is the one and only true religion. I was left with absolutely no rational basis for believing in Judaism (or in any other religion).

At that time, were you able to share your experiences with someone else?

No. I kept it a secret for over a year. I was afraid that my wife would divorce me the minute she learnt about my beliefs. I was also sure that my mother would suffer a heart attack.

Losing faith in Judaism is serious business. It would likely ruin the blissful lives of my wife, my parents, my in-laws, my grandparents, etc. Too many people would be hurt and it was very possible that at least some of them would cut off ties with me.

In addition to that, I stood a great chance to lose business from clients who wouldn’t want to support a heretic.

I stood to lose too much if I were open about it. So I chose to hide it and to live a double life.

How long were you able to keep leading a double life and how did it come to an end?

It lasted for little over a year.

During that year, one of my sisters, who unbeknownst to me, left the faith many years before me, came out openly as non-religious. At first, I was afraid to confide in her. I was so paranoid that I didn’t trust even one person with my secret. But after a year, this double life started taking its toll on me. I felt miserable. I kept on dwelling on the fact that I could’ve been free if only I’d be willing to accept the consequences. I felt like a slave, contemplating whether the cost of escaping is worth the freedom.

To fake this double life, I had to put up a show as if everything was normal. I had to spend hours every day praying, all the while believing that prayer is meaningless. I had to keep all the nitty-gritty details of the Shabbos laws, all the while believing that I will not receive any reward for it in the afterlife. It was tough. Doing things that have no meaning, cannot be sustained for too long.

Thirteen months after I lost my faith, I came to a point where I couldn’t keep it in me for much longer. I opened up to my sister. Getting it off my chest was so liberating!

She introduced me to a Facebook group with people who are in a similar situation. To keep my identity secret, I joined the group using a pseudonym.

Learning from others who shared my challenges, was extremely valuable. It gave me the courage to start moving forward. A few weeks later, I finally felt ready to join a live meetup where I met others like myself, thus revealing my identity to a few more people. Over time, I slowly became more and more comfortable to reveal my true status.

Despite lacking the courage to tell my wife, I started to let down my guard with the hope that I’ll be caught. I so badly wanted to be open with her. It wasn’t long before my wife figured it out and told my in-laws and my parents. I never actually had the courage to break the news to any of them so I was relieved that she did it for me.

What are some of the basic misconceptions about OTD people in your opinion?

There are many. In my opinion, the most prominent misconception is that those who leave the fold, do so out of pain. Some even go as far as painting those who leave as emotionally disturbed, to the extent that they can’t think logically.

While it’s true that many leave because they were hurt by the system, it’s not the case with everyone. Many (probably the majority) leave simply because they lost their faith.

The community would rather further the myth that the only reasons for leaving are pain and poor rationale, than admitting that there are good reasons for losing one’s faith.

One would think: If so many are leaving, wouldn’t that raise a red flag? Wouldn’t people start thinking that something must be wrong with Judaism? Reinforcing the myth solves that problem. By making them believe that those who leave are just in pain, and that deep down they still believe, it all makes sense and it keeps them from asking questions.

And it doesn’t even surprise me. They did the same in Soviet Russia under Communism. People who wanted the leave the Soviet Union were painted as mentally ill. Something is surely wrong with them, because what normal person would want to leave such a wonderful country.

How do you see your own future?

As of now, I am an Atheist and I already lead a completely secular life. So, regarding my personal life, I’m basically there already. The only two things I have yet to break through is, walking around my jewish neighborhood without a yarmulke and driving there on Shabbos.

One of my goals for the future is to write a book, exposing fundamentalist religion. I’m already doing it in the form of short articles on blogs and on Facebook, but I believe that a well articulated book will have a stronger impact. 

My hope for my kids is that I’ll be able to raise them without the negative aspects of the ultra-orthodox lifestyle. Ultimately, I want to raise them with the proper tools. I want to teach them how to think logically, how to question things, and how to evaluate claims, so when they grow up, they can make their own choices of what lifestyle they want to follow.

What advice would you like to give people who are considering leaving the fold?

My experience and the experiences of my friends showed that, although the transitioning stage wasn’t easy, it was well worth it.

When I first lost my faith, I was sure that I’ll never actually have the courage to come out and tell anyone. I was sure that I’ll die with my secret. I couldn’t fathom the idea of myself becoming the outcast of the community. I didn’t think I’ll ever have the courage to shave my beard. I didn’t think that I’ll ever be able to face my parents and tell them that their oldest son, the one that they had their highest hopes for, the one that spent four years in kollel (Rabbinical College), the one that promised to raise generations of holy orthodox children, will no longer be following in their footsteps.

My advice would be: surround yourself with people who are going through the same thing and learn from them. I found the “Off The Derech” Facebook group to be very useful. You learn from others that are struggling with similar challenges. I made very little progress in the first year after losing my faith. It was only after I joined Facebook and I saw how others progress, that I gained the courage to start taking baby steps that eventually led me to greater achievements.

It’s a tough journey but it looks worse than it is. When you don’t know the future, you prepare for the worst and hope for the best. But it usually doesn’t turn out as bad as you’ve imagined. Give it some time and you’ll find yourself doing things you thought were impossible!