Lech lecha

I want to share something personal. My decision to lead a religious life created a lot of conflict between me and those close to me. It was very difficult because throughout my childhood and youth, my family supported me. Our home was always warm and loving. I don’t blame anyone, and I hold no resentment. The country’s atheist past left its mark. It seems that, for many parents, it’s especially important to pass down their beliefs, values, and worldview to their children. When children choose something fundamentally different, it hurts. And there is fear: what if this child someday «becomes a burden» with ten children? What will they live on in old age? Where will they find work, and how will they get an education? And what about the grandchildren?

Many people who were born religious often ask newcomers, “And how did your parents react to your decision?” Please, never ask this. The percentage of positive reactions among secular people to “becoming religious” or accepting Judaism is nearly zero—with rare exceptions. At best, they simply don’t care.

The chapter «Lech Lecha» («Go to yourself») tells about how Abraham, through observing nature, came to understand that G-d exists, that He is the Creator and ruler of the world. Abraham, like me, “crossed the river.” He was born into a non-Jewish family in Charan, Mesopotamia, and his father sold idols. Oral tradition says he was to be burned for abandoning the local religion. Abraham left his home, his country, and his people and went forward, not knowing his destination. G-d told him: “Go to yourself.”

This is also true for everyone who has become religious or undergone conversion. We left one world to come into another and to find ourselves. The world told us, “The most important thing is to be attractive, beautiful; the main thing is to be smarter and shrewder than everyone else; the main thing is to save for an apartment, to save for old age; why have many children? Just have fun, they’re ungrateful anyway!” But I felt that this wasn’t my essence. It was like a bright, beautiful candy wrapper—like chewing gum, but with nothing inside. Even the elevated pleasures of classical music, literature, and art led me somewhere close to the goal but never exactly there—in fact, they led anywhere else.

When I began to study the Torah, it opened my eyes to a new perspective. It’s not about miracles or myths—the Torah is a guide, a compass on how to live here and now. The most important thing is to know how to use it. And to be yourself.