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uring the six years I volunteered in the role of president of the Orthodox Union, my wife and I were perpetually traveling. Our children were baruch Hashem all married, so we eagerly accepted scores of invitations to visit communities. We spent Shabbos in many Tristate communities; in other large cities such as Los Angeles, Chicago, and Toronto; and in small communities such as San Antonio; Halifax, Nova Scotia; and Santa Fe, New Mexico.

Shuls ranging from intensely yeshivish to left-wing Orthodox reached out to host us. Though we did not have opportunities to spend time with the ever-growing and increasingly pivotal American chassidish and Sephardic communities, my observations may nevertheless be of interest to those kehillos.

During our visits, my wife — who until recently was an active shadchan — would often meet shidduch prospects and their parents. I would deliver derashos and shiurim, and host the perennial crowd favorite, Q&A sessions.

But most valuable were the private conversations we had. I schmoozed with rabbanim and mechanchim, lay activists and ordinary community members. They would tout their accomplishments and concede their disappointments. In response, I would share lessons I had learned from my rebbeim and from observing other communities, all the while discerning for myself the keys to their successes and the factors that possibly contributed to their failures.

I hope the host communities enjoyed our visits, but admittedly I had personal goals as well. These visits gave me the chance to convey important values and messages; but they also gave me unrivaled opportunities to learn the true nature of the American frum community. And I did, in fact, learn a lot.

As expected, American Orthodoxy was shown to embody unrivaled chesed and caring, and to be ambitious and creative. We enjoy an unparalleled sense of community and possess a singular commitment to family. Although countless communal challenges loom, there is still a persistent, sincere, and meaningful degree of ongoing elevation of our community’s commitment to Torah and mitzvos.

But these visits showed me two areas in which we need to make new strides. First, I observed significant differences between communities in the degree of religious growth. Second, in every community, I noticed a gap — the ongoing growth in the avodas Hashem of adult frum women is being largely overlooked.

In the first area, I learned that a community’s drive for religious growth is more intense where two factors are satisfied: 1) approaches to avodas Hashem are developed that are bespoke to the particular group of balabatim; and 2) the balabatim are provided with an environment and experiences that allow their connection to frumkeit to become embedded into their identity.

In the arena of ongoing growth in avodas Hashem, I learned that communities are falling significantly short in providing women with either of these two necessary factors.

Successful Religious Growth

I investigated why certain neighborhoods showed more religious growth than others. Even within the same neighborhood, I often observed this in only select shuls. As is said in politics, all personal growth in Yiddishkeit is local. Massive chizuk events and guidance from visiting gedolei Torah are precious, but personal relationships with a rebbi and a kesher with a chevreh of bnei Torah have far more potent and sustained impacts.

I saw that two factors drive balabatim’s growth. First, they are more likely to thrive in their Yiddishkeit when they are equipped with tools for growth suitable and tailored for them, most often in talmud Torah. And second, frumkeit blossoms when each individual develops a deep sense of belonging and identity as a frum balabos, both by feeling that he is part of a chevreh growing in Yiddishkeit and by continually participating in actual activities with others that express commitment to avodas Hashem.

The initial stage of building Torah in America was the establishment of our incredible primary and high school system — day schools, chadarim, Bais Yaakovs, and mesivtas — in every community. The next phase was the growth of yeshivos and kollelim, accompanied by the normalization of post-high school yeshivah attendance, with advanced Torah study no longer limited to a privileged few.

After fulfillment of the radical goal of producing American bnei Torah, the next challenge was preserving balabatim’s commitment to frumkeit and talmud Torah that had been nurtured through their many years in yeshivah. As the balabos became increasingly ensconced in secular environments, his commitment to talmud Torah and shemiras hamitzvos was increasingly vulnerable. A movement was, therefore, generated to intensify ongoing, lifelong religious growth for balabatim. Some aspects of this movement developed organically, while others came about through thoughtful and creative design.

For example, local full-time kollelim became a core element of frum communities, along with morning and evening kollelim for balabatim. Talmud Torah has increasingly become de rigueur across the American Orthodox spectrum, stimulated initially by learning Daf Yomi with the Schottenstein Shas. Nearly every shul we visited hosts one or more daily Daf Yomi shiurim, and thousands more learn Daf Yomi on their own or with virtual shiurim. More recently, many shuls have adopted additional creative Torah initiatives, such as Kinyan Masechta, Smichas Chaver, and Oraysa.

Simultaneously, there has been a significant movement toward smaller kehillos, even in large cities, and often, even single shuls develop multiple sub-kehillos. This provides balabatim with a more intimate and personalized frum environment. While smaller shuls have their pros and cons, the trend has introduced at least two significant benefits. First, it has enabled increasingly effective rabbanim to deploy their energy and approaches in a more precisely targeted manner. And second, smaller shuls generate an increased sense of identity and chevrashaft.

The Concern for Women

Women’s frumkeit has always been assumed to be self-sustained. Girl’s schools and seminaries produced thoughtful, passionate bnos Yisrael, and it was the norm for women to take the lead in creating a Torah atmosphere in the home. But as societal roles have shifted, so have the spiritual challenges for frum women.

A century ago, Sarah Schenirer, under the guidance of gedolim, addressed the threats to women’s frumkeit from post–World War I social challenges. Today, a new set of challenges has emerged. Women, like men, are increasingly immersed in demanding careers and exposed to the distractions of today’s American society.

Yet unlike men, who have tefillah b’tzibbur, talmud Torah, and rebbeim, many women lack structured opportunities for growth and developing a sense of belonging. As with Sarah Schenirer a century ago, today’s thoughtful and creative minds must take measures to halt the erosion of adult women’s commitment to Torah and mitzvos.

I had a discussion three years ago with the board of a large shul that was struggling to meet its budget. The shul’s $2,000 family membership dues failed to cover the costs of their wide range of daily men’s learning programs. When I asked about programming for women, there was an awkward silence. Finally, someone mentioned the women’s auxiliary monthly Rosh Chodesh program — for which the women had to raise their own funds. I asked whether they thought it curious that “family membership” dues were allocated exclusively to the needs of the men.

Similarly, in a recent funding strategy session for a neighborhood community center for frum women, I learned that attendees at women’s shiurim very often pay an attendance fee. I noted how unusual it would be for men to be asked to pay to attend a local shiur.

But just as we have not appreciated the need to address the changing roles of women through programs and activities, so too have we failed to appreciate the paucity of opportunities for women to receive one-on-one personal mentorship, guidance, and inspiration.

Undoubtedly, there are extraordinary rebbetzins who share their wisdom, hearts, and souls with their kehillah. But like other women in the community, rebbetzins are increasingly compelled to pursue independent careers to help support their family. With rebbetzins already laden with increasing demands outside the home and internal household duties, it’s often unfair and unrealistic to expect them to also serve the religious needs of local women.

And while some rabbanim are comfortable and available to teach and privately counsel women congregants, others are not. In fact, many community rabbanim do not view women’s religious engagement and avodas Hashem to be part of their job description.

Finally, many men can also find rebbeim in roshei yeshivah and roshei kollel, in addition to their community rav. By contrast, few women have an ongoing connection to a rosh yeshivah or rosh kollel, and it is uncommon for seminary heads and teachers to regularly visit America to keep in touch with former talmidos.

Some might argue that women don’t require the same level of attention as men, since their roles as wives and mothers are inherently connected to avodas Hashem. But this perspective is shortsighted. While it is true that raising a family is a profound expression of Torah values, women also need personal chizuk and guidance. And let’s not forget that most women today will spend decades beyond their child-rearing years looking for meaningful spiritual fulfillment, and other women are simply not blessed with children.

Encouraging Developments

Several years ago I helped establish the OU’s Women’s Initiative, which, among other projects, created an online Nach Yomi program currently joined daily by several thousand women. I continue to learn of extremely impressive efforts to help women grow in their frumkeit. Some are single neighborhood projects, while others are nationwide programs, establishing modules within various local communities. Alas, there are far too few of these efforts, and they are all woefully underfunded.

Many of these programs are led by extraordinarily talented and passionate women who could certainly scale their efforts if provided the requisite resources. Moreover, many more women’s initiatives would be likely be launched, both locally and nationally, if communities were prepared to support prospective organizers.

Women are also increasingly being offered high-quality shiurim — some inspirational, others academic. Many classes are offered online, and others are taught in-person, often through shuls. But it would be extremely valuable for shiurim to be organized in small groups and in more intimate settings, to provide women with a sense of camaraderie and belonging.

Women, perhaps even more so than men, would thrive when belonging to a chevreh who focus together on growing in avodas Hashem. While shiurim are certainly one forum, many women may find religious growth in participating with a chevreh in other aspects of avodas Hashem. Such groups should be guided to explore additional avenues of growing in frumkeit together.

Next Steps

Gedolim with whom I have spoken share my concerns and eagerly support appropriate efforts. But as I have noted, all such efforts require significant funding, which thus far has not been sufficiently forthcoming.

I recently urged a leading philanthropist to take a pioneering role in funding women’s programming. He dismissed the need, noting that the broader spectrum of frum women are, themselves, neither clamoring for religious growth nor requesting programming. I responded that most balabatim also did not clamor for learning opportunities, but rather responded positively to prodding and encouragement, and began to increase their learning only after significant communal effort was invested.

Philanthropists and communal leaders, both national and local, have a responsibility not merely to respond to requests but to also introduce ideas and opportunities that will stimulate worthy aspirations. During this critical stage in our community’s growth, we need to appreciate the urgency of the need for adult women’s religious growth, and we each need to play a role in providing avenues for its achievement.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1042)

The post The Next Frontier in Religious Growth first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

Resilience seems to be one of the buzzwords of this pandemic. Why are some people more resilient than others during challenging times, and what can we do to strengthen our own resilience? It seems like there are two different types of people when it comes to pandemics: the survivors and the thrivers. The difference really is about how people respond to stress and upheaval. The survivors struggle to adapt but manage to get by, while the thrivers take advantage of the challenge presented to them as a springboard for growth.

I’ve been thinking about how this is true in relation to spiritual resilience as well. If resilience is the ability to bounce back in the face of adversity, spiritual resilience can be understood as the ability to stay close to Hashem during challenges. Some use those challenges as a spiritual motivator for themselves and those around them, and others seem to be treading water in survival mode as they struggle to stay connected to Hashem.

We can each think of our own spiritual level over the past eight months. Was it difficult to pivot to davening at home? Was it difficult returning to shul? Did the private worship feel authentic, or were you eager to rely again on the usual communal constructs? Has your emunah been bolstered during the challenges that COVID presented, or has it taken a hit? In the overwhelming moments, do you struggle with your spiritual obligations, or do you more readily turn to Hashem, Torah, and mitzvos as a source of comfort and support?

Between lockdowns, virtual schooling, working from home, possible illness, and other significant disruptors, many have found that it has been difficult to add anything to their plates these past months. Yet the Yamim Tovim came as scheduled on the Jewish calendar and preparations needed to be made. Parents were juggling working remote with Zoom schooling, but the house still needed to be cleaned for Pesach. The regular religious obligations, such as davening and Torah learning, still need space, even though so many new requirements and realities have crammed up our schedules. The question is, are they just another thing to add to the overwhelming to-do list of the day, or is it in fact that very commitment to Yiddishkeit that gets us through the day?

(It is important to note that the emotional wellbeing of many has been impacted negatively due to the pandemic. According to the CDC, more than four in ten Americans are struggling with mental health issues associated with COVID. Individuals struggling with mental health issues may experience a feeling of being burdened by mitzvos, as their coping abilities are jeopardized, and should seek the guidance of a competent rav and psychologist to provide guidance.)

WHAT MAKES A PERSON spiritually resilient, and how can those of us who “aren’t feeling it” develop it?

When I was an idealistic 20-year-old whose goal in life was to marry an up-and-coming kiruv rabbi, I had the wonderful opportunity to take an internship at Aish UK in Hendon, a neighborhood of London, in June 2001. I didn’t know a soul there, aside from hearing about Elana Rosenblatt, the sister of my college friend who organized the internship. I would be doing marketing work in the office and some Partners in Torah-style learning on the side.

I lived in an apartment with strangers and learned how to grocery shop with pounds and use the Tube, and the local Aish rabbis and their families graciously hosted me for Shabbos meals.

As soon as I arrived, however, I was made aware that the director of Aish UK, Rabbi Shaul Rosenblatt, was dealing with a family illness and would not be very available. His 29-year-old wife had been battling stage-four cancer for the previous three years, and it did not look good. Over the six weeks that I was there, Elana steadily deteriorated. But what I witnessed, which made such a life-long impression on me, was that in response, the Aish community just got stronger. The energy in the office was palpable. They weren’t going to let this defeat them. They weren’t going to succumb. They were going to do more and be more — for Elana.

I had never been exposed to this idea before. I imagined that a community who was losing their rebbetzin would be broken, depressed, hopeless, and isolated. Instead this community in Hendon seemed to be invigorated. They were on fire, and they were unified for one singular purpose. It was all about what mitzvah we could do, or what Torah we could learn, for Elana. They taught me that we had to become better people in her merit.

I honestly thought what they were doing was superhuman. It didn’t even seem natural. But they were so sincere, and it was clear that the spirit of the Aish UK community most certainly got them through this most challenging time. Only over the years have I realized that our response to adversity is the only thing we can control, and not the adversity itself.

After I returned home, I was deeply saddened to hear that Elana passed away that August. I have always wondered about what happened to Rabbi Rosenblatt and his community. Until I recently stumbled upon the book he wrote, Why Bad Things Don’t Happen to Good People.

In his book, Rabbi Rosenblatt reveals that he wasn’t born with spiritual resilience. Rather, it was chiseled through trial and error, and by being married to a righteous woman who modeled it every day. The book details the understanding he developed with his wife that helped him deal with his incredibly challenging circumstances. As he writes in the preface, “We all go through pain in our lives. No one is exempt. What makes some people different from others is how they rise to the challenge of their pain.”

Rabbi Rosenblatt presents messages and mindsets necessary for training ourselves to be spiritually resilient — how to go through hardship with grace and have a healthy attitude toward adversity (all with the recognition that we’re human and sometimes need to cut ourselves a little slack).

The crux of the book — and the message for those of us yearning to develop our resilience — is this:

Elana and I made a decision when she first became ill. We didn’t have a choice as to whether or not she would have cancer. But we did have a choice as to how we would respond to that cancer. We knew that we could allow ourselves to despair, that we could hide ourselves away from the world and accept our fate. Or we could decide to be happy with the goodness that we had. We could make sure we enjoyed our time with each other and our children and enjoyed our lives in general. We knew that we could grow closer to G-d at this time or we could move further way — and, whilst we were human and there would be times that we would lose perspective, nevertheless that choice was within our hands much of the time.

How we view our pain is what builds our resilience muscles and propels us to bounce back. The book proves story after story that so much of our experience is in our mind. Our power resides in our mentality. As Rabbi Rosenblatt writes:

We can hide from pain, we can experience pain with or without dignity, or we can appreciate that pain is one of G-d’s greatest and most versatile gifts to humanity. It allows us to make meaningful choices about how we want to live our lives. It offers us the opportunity of independence. It shakes us out of our apathy and into reality. And it pushes us to achieve and accomplish in a way that we otherwise never would.

Being spiritually resilient means not allowing the pain to sever our relationship with the source of the pain: G-d Himself. We are all growing our resilience, the harder this gets. Reading about people like the Rosenblatts, whose struggles and triumphs honed not only their approach to suffering, but their bitachon, tefillah, and gratitude, is what we all need right now in our own little corners of this pandemic-ridden world.

Alexandra Fleksher is an educator, a published writer on Jewish contemporary issues, and an active member of her Jewish community in Cleveland, Ohio.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 833)

The post Growing Our Resilience Muscles first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.