O pinion
of many immigrant parents
who sacrificed so their children
could reap the benefits of the
“goldene medina” are captured
in the classic movie “The Pride
of the Yankees,” whose screen-
play is credited to two Jews,
Jo Swerling and Herman J.

Mankiewicz. When Lou Gehrig’s mother
discovers her son signed with
the Yankees in order to pay for
her medical issues, she blasts
his decision.

“Baseballers are good-
for-nothings,” she chides.

“Loafers in short pants.” (Mrs.

Gehrig wasn’t Jewish, but
she might as well have been
speaking Yiddish.)
It was not uncommon in
those days for Jewish athletes
to change their names to
both hide their religion and
not offend their families who
considered such a profession a
“shanda,” a disgrace.

Hank Greenberg, the Hall
of Fame outfielder for the
Detroit Tigers, set the bar
high when he not only kept
his name, but chose to sit out a
crucial game that fell on Yom
Kippur. It was not so much that
he was observant, but that he
wanted to honor the traditions
of his people. That made him
a folk hero — and not only
among Jews.

Same for Sandy Koufax, who
declined to pitch the opening
game of the 1965 World Series
for the Los Angeles Dodgers
because the game fell on the
Day of Atonement.

The way the game is played
now, with players no longer in
the lineup every day, Steinmetz
and Kligman’s teams could
allow them to “keep the
faith.” In fact, their religious
backgrounds might well make
them drawing cards.

Getting drafted, however,
is no guarantee that a player
will actually make it to the big
leagues. Steinmetz was the 77th
overall pick in the draft, a slot
that could get him a signing
bonus of more than $800,000.

Teams are usually reluctant to
My Ex-Orthodox Life Isn’t Glamorous,
But My Story Should be Told
BY DAINY BERNSTEIN
NUMEROUS REVIEWS of
the Netflix reality series “My
Unorthodox Life” have been
written by Orthodox Jews,
who complain that it presents a
negative and one-sided view of
Orthodoxy. I write from the perspec-
tive of an ex-Orthodox Jew,
and while my reasons may
differ from those of Orthodox
people, I agree that this show is
a travesty.

But while many object to
its depiction of Orthodoxy,
my complaint is with its treat-
ment of the ex-Orthodox.

Presumably a story of ex-Or-
thodox empowerment, it has
exactly the opposite effect.

Let’s start with truth-telling.

In depicting Julia Haart’s
life as a fashion mogul, the
show provides details about
the Orthodox community
she left but without appro-
priate context, and sometimes
with outright lies. Conflating
her non-Chasidic commu-
nity in Monsey, New York,
with Chasidic communities is
typical of these distortions.

For half a decade now, I’ve
been involved in efforts to
counter negative stereotypes
about ex-Orthodox people
and promote openness, under-
standing and acceptance
between those who leave and
their families and communities.

Those who leave the
Orthodox community are
often subject to accusations —
See Kaplan, Page 24 often from gatekeepers of the
JEWISHEXPONENT.COM life they left behind — that they
lie or exaggerate about their
upbringing in order to garner
the sympathies of secular
audiences. This is untrue for
most ex-Orthodox people, who
simply want a chance to tell
their truths.

Telling authentic ex-Or-
thodox stories is part of that
effort, but Haart’s story is
not authentic. It is a carefully
curated and staged reality
show that sets back efforts to
gain Orthodox understanding
of ex-Orthodox experiences.

I grew up in Borough Park,
Brooklyn, in a community
stricter than the non-Cha-
sidic community Haart left,
but not as strict as the Chasidic
Williamsburg community in
two other Netflix offerings,
“Unorthodox” and “One of Us.”
I was an oddity because I was
pursuing a doctorate in English,
unlike most of my peers who
taught in Jewish girls’ schools or
got degrees from Touro College
— with separate hours for men
and women — in preparation
for jobs that would allow them
to raise a family.

I left at age 25 after I had
completed college and begun
graduate school. The years
after I moved out of my
parents’ house were fraught
with emotional pain as I
attempted to navigate a world
completely unfamiliar to me
while maintaining a relation-
ship with my family — a far cry
from Haart’s catapult to wealth
and success. Most ex-Orthodox
people struggle to find their
feet in an unfamiliar world and
might fail if not for a network
of support, both financial and
emotional. In one episode of “My
Unorthodox Life,” an Orthodox
girl named Sara reaches out to
Haart for help and advice on
leaving the community. The
sequence encapsulates how the
show feeds negative Orthodox
perceptions of ex-Orthodox
JEWISH EXPONENT
people. Rather than advising
Sara on jobs or referring her
to organizations like Footsteps
designed to acclimate the
formerly Orthodox to the
secular world, Haart gives her
a makeover — and a vibrator.

The episode plays into the
stereotype that the ex-Or-
thodox are waiting to get their
hands on vulnerable Orthodox
people and ensnare them in a
life of sex and depravity.

Many ex-Orthodox people,
myself included, get messages
from Orthodox individ-
uals reaching out for help in
navigating their break from
religion or community. No
one in my experience advises
a 19-year-old to become a “sex
bomb” or move out of her
parents’ home with no support
system in place.

Via text and in person, I
listen to individuals’ stories,
anguish, dreams and plans. I
provide links to college scholar-
ships, ideas about careers they
never knew existed and advice
about finances and apartment
hunting. I listen to them rant
about their families and gently
advise them to think twice
before saying all that to their
parents because they might
want to maintain a relation-
ship and not burn bridges. I
tell them about how I tried to
make it work with my family
and where I think we all went
wrong, resulting in my choice
to end contact with my parents
and some siblings. I tell them
about the pain of knowing that
other siblings cut me off.

Stories about ex-Orthodox
people deserve to be told. Starting
with Deborah Feldman’s explo-
sive 2012 memoir “Unorthodox:
The Scandalous Rejection of My
Hasidic Roots” (upon which
the Netflix series was loosely
based), mainstream audiences
have been eager for stories
about escape from what they
perceive as a repressive religious
community. Since then, with the
market open to ex-Orthodox
stories, memoirs like Shulem
Deen’s 2015 “All Who Go Do
Not Return” and Tova Mirvis’
2017 “The Book of Separation”
have added emotional nuance to
the story of leaving rather than
focusing exclusively on shocking
details of a closed world.

Movies and TV shows
generally reach a wider
audience than books, but
they also rely more on shock
value. We need movies and
TV shows about the authentic
emotional journey of leaving
Orthodoxy. Only when these
stories are told can there begin
to be healing for ex-Orthodox
individuals and for their
families and communities.

Haart’s series sets back
efforts to repair rifts between
those who left and their
families. We need a show that
depicts the raw emotion that
comes with choosing a path
our parents and communities
don’t approve of, with entering
a world we’ve been told is
unfeeling and will eat us alive,
with reaching for our dreams
and failing multiple times
before we succeed. A reality
TV show, in other words, that’s
grounded in reality. l
Dainy Bernstein studies American
Haredi children’s literature and
teaches literature and composition
at Lehman College, CUNY and is the
editor of a forthcoming collection
of essays, “Artifacts of Orthodox
Childhoods” (Ben Yehuda Press).

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AUGUST 5, 2021
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