My friend, battleworn, sometimes I am still deep in the darkness. I have found though that the darkness is different than what it used to be. Six months ago (and before) so much of the darkness was self-imposed, a direct result of my addiction. How difficult it is to rise up when one is emitting the darkness onesself! I return to the event that finally shook me enough to take action and take it seriously beyond anything I had done before. It was Shabbos Parshas Vayeishev, which this year fell on the Shabbos immediately prior to Channukah. Nobody in this town really knew me then, so there was no way anyone could have known, but I was called up for the fourth aliyah. The aliyah of Onan. I know the aliyah is primarily about Yehudah and Tamar, but to me it will always be the aliyah of Onan. I am not exactly fluent in Hebrew (or rather I should say not fluent at all), but I knew the history of Onan was in that parshah. As soon as I returned to my seat and checked my Chumash, I found my suspicion was true. I have rarely felt that kind of fear in my life. Oh, I have felt the fear of nearly being hit by a car or a panic attack from the sudden barking of a vicious dog on the other side of a fence. This was different; I would call it existential fear (those of you who have ever read 20th century continental philosophy will perhaps understand what I mean). To explain: most fear has a specific object to which one can point, a car or a dog, for instance. One cannot point at G-d, though, as if He were a specific object. He is beyond our so-called objectivity, limited as we are. In one school of existential philosophy, they spoke of something called Angst, which roughly translates as dread. For these people, fear had an object and dread or Angst did not. This is what I experienced: for the first time in my life I knew what it was to fear Hashem, truly and deeply. I know that many say that fear really means awe, but I am not sure that is really the case. At any rate, that moetzei Shabbos, I acted out for the last time, and I felt sick. The next evening, I lit the first candle on the Channukiah and I began to have a new light in my life. It was just a few days later that I began posting on this forum.
So I had learned yiras Shemayim. I still needed to learn ahavas Hashem. I have has no such dramatic experience in this arena (as yet). It is just the day by day effort of committing myself to Torah study, trying to keep Hashem foremost in my thoughts, doing mitzvos, etc. Looking back, I realize that gaining yiras Shemayim was actually a great gift from Hashem, who actually does love me. In fact He loves me enough to give me a big enough smack to get my attention.
Many things in my life are not yet resolved, and at this point seem far from it. I still have deep concerns about the Yiddishkeit of the rest of my family and what will become of us. I honestly don't know if my marriage will survive in the long haul. My wife has said how deeply she loves me, but she is not at all attached to Torah and Mitzvos. If I (and the beis din) knew the doubts my wife had about observance, I doubt my conversion would have happened three years ago. The fact is though, that it happened. I am fully committed to Yiddishkeit and to klal Yisroel. I cannot and will not turn back. It has led me to confront the deepest, darkest part of myself and brought the light of Torah into my neshamah. That light will also come into my family life. May it be that the light of Hashem and His Torah will draw my wife and children, and not drive them away. May it also be, that I should be a light to draw them closer, and not such a jerk that I drive them away. I have spent some time reading the Garden of Peace, so I hope that the latter won't be a problem, but continuing review of that book certainly won't hurt. It is difficult to be alone in my family, insofar as Torah is concerned. They observe a minimum of kashrus, Shabbos, and taharas hamishpacha, but only so I can actually live with them. G-d willing, things will change for the better and soon.
