All Who Go Do Not Return

It's very hard to judge a book like this, where the author undergoes a life-changing transition. Inconsistencies pop up everywhere. So many examples - in the beginning, he is a reluctant icnoclast, but towards the end he reveals that he was expelled from Yeshiva at an early age. He complains about money but at times he buys all kinds of stuff. He worries about going to the library, but at other times he has loads of secular books in his home. None the less, a heartbreaking story.

I've had a growing curiosity about Orthodox Judaism (as I first discussed in my review here: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1785091630) from my continued professional proximity to the frum community. I have friend who's prone to the same flights of curiosity that I am and we sometimes egg each other deeper into bizarre obsessions: we've spent far too many Monday nights browsing the Orthodox fringe of the internet. Far from my previous misguided notion that “Lubavitch” was a synonym for Chasid, I've come to learn that there are dozens of different Chasidic groups, each with their own flavor, mores and mysticism. Shulem Deen joined the strictest and most isolated of them, the Skvers.

This is truly Judaism as I do not know it. A world where children can barely read and write English; teenagers marry people that they've met for only a dozen minutes and books of all stripes are looked at askance unless they're literally siddurim or one of the accepted commentaries. The idea that people could pass into this life as a baal teshuva, or pass back out and come OTD (with good enough English to write a memoir) is basically unthinkable.

But beyond the voyeurism of getting to see a slice of life in the punnily named New Square, I found Deen's memoir haunting. I found his relationship with his wife, Gitty, unspeakably sad. I was touched by his insight into the experiences of his estranged children. And I was moved by his struggle to find a place for himself in Judaism.

What really struck me was the subsistence life Deen was given – his bare kollel stipend, struggling to make ends meet over a perpetually expanding family, the disdain he received for leaving the kollel. And the emotional subsistence: the distinct limitations on with whom he could interact, what he could do for leisure, what he could do for work; every interaction within his marriage carefully scripted. I found it terribly sad, and I found Deen's writing very evocative of his confinement.

I got into a fight with someone on the internet, who said he wished American Jewry were more Israeli: “where the synagogue you don't go to is Orthodox.” Deen's memoir made me think of that – to me, non-Orthodox Judaism is this beautiful place, where there's room for a spiritual and Jewish life, while simultaneously exploring any range of beliefs about the existence of G-d, and gender and math and secular jobs. It made me sad that for Deen his ability to have an identity and existence meant abandoning that.

OTD memoirs are in vogue lately, but it's clear there's a reason that this is the most famous – Deen is a truly gifted writer and his talent with words is matched only by the depth of his soul-baring introspection.

Having a hard time putting into words what I thought. It was quietly heartbreaking. Will think on it and share more later.