4. Unshackling Orthodoxy

As I grew into my teenage years, I made more non-Jewish friends and attended a non-Jewish school, which helped me come out of my shell and meet new people. We played imaginative chess every day without any chess board on the train to school, we got up to 9 or 10 moves before we lost it. I found myself surrounded by more reflective individuals, leading to a break with religion and exciting new experiences, including meeting girls and discovering different perspectives.
I felt like I was a bit of a theory, a bit transparent, which fits with my spiritual journey today. My feeling of being unsure manifested in speech and communication, but it didn't come with insecurity. Growing up in a loving home provided a sense of basic security, and my love for nature added to that. You know, I spent all the time in the garden, even though it was just a garden, lying on the grass with my nose into the earth. Just in nature, listening for hours to blackbirds. Even though I sometimes felt separate from myself, I didn't feel insecure because my childhood was secure and nurturing.
Later on, during my academic studies and my hippie days in London, I got deeply into city life, forgetting nature completely. By the late 60s and early 70s, city life was destroying me with its self-destructive habits, smoking a lot of dope and drinking and living wild, without taking care of my health. I then realized I needed nature again, remembering my childhood as a place of health and psychological well-being, and I started to look for ways to move out of London.
I had a lot of communication problems with my father, who was a kind, religious Orthodox man. Both my parents, as refugees, tried hard to fit into society and learn the codes of behavior. My mother would always say, "Because that's what one does." They were conditioned to follow norms due to their refugee background. I, on the other hand, questioned these norms and couldn't explain myself to my father. He would tell me to go to synagogue or wear a hat or certain clothes, but I couldn't explain why it didn't fit me, which affected our connection and my communication.
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During my early teens, I felt a bit isolated and struggled to find friends, but my childhood was generally happy. I enjoyed playing alone in the garden, watching birds and butterflies. My father, who was the gabbai of the synagogue, had clear expectations for me to follow religious Orthodox practices. At around 14 or 15, I decided it wasn't for me. I realized Orthodoxy was about control and fear of the unknown, I saw it as a shield against life's uncertainties, which I found exciting.
Even as a child, I was aware of adult ignorance — didn’t want to become one, really — because I saw adults doing such stupid things. Then came the hippie period, and I was very tuned in to it, still aware of that same ignorance.
I often felt like a social outsider, especially in school. I didn't have many friends because the other kids were always talking about football teams and other things I couldn't connect with. It wasn't deep insecurity, but rather a sense of being alien and not flowing naturally with others. This made me feel lonely and isolated at times, though I did find a few people I could connect with. I wasn't involved in sports or team activities, and I wasn't a leader. However, the teachers trusted me as a responsible, quiet boy, giving me certain tasks and status in school. Despite feeling like an outsider, school was generally a happy time for me. I loved learning and took up hobbies like photography, focusing on nature and its intricate details.
Later, during my PhD at the National Institute of Medical Research in London, I spent nights alone with powerful microscopes, photographing crystals and bacteria as art. I also taught yoga to scientists, who thought I was eccentric. England was a good place for eccentrics, and my education journey led me to Oxford University. There, I faced a dilemma between pursuing art or science, eventually choosing science due to my love of nature. I studied biochemistry but also met proto-hippies and alternative-minded people, which was a creative and exploratory period.
We were the post-war generation, bursting with creativity, and I found myself among others who were pushing boundaries. Despite being a good student, I lived on the edge, balancing society and fringe elements. This borderline between order and chaos was the most creative place for me, fueling my creativity. At Oxford, I would stay up all night hanging out with these crazy people, often visiting together an Indian restaurant ‘Jericho’ that would stay open late especially for us, having the cooks as part of it. We embraced an alternative way of looking at reality while pursuing our degrees, sacrificing sleep for our explorations.