A reader recently shared with me a heartbreaking letter written by a professor at Princeton University.
Longing for Lakewood
I sit at my desk, Princeton’s iconic Gothic spires casting elongated shadows across the campus, and stare blankly at the clutter of books and papers. Anthropology is my life’s work. My father was a historian, my mother a philosopher, and I was raised in the warm, relentless glow of intellectual inquiry. God was a myth we dissected, an anthropological curiosity. Faith was for others—the distant, the unlearned.
But here I am, pen trembling in my hand, my mind and soul ablaze with doubts of a different kind… For months now, I’ve been sneaking moments to read the Torah and pouring over commentaries from Rashi, Ramban, and the sages. I feel like a spy in my own home, hiding sacred texts under academic journals.
My wife—a brilliant computer scientist whose algorithms are reshaping our understanding of artificial intelligence—would scoff if she knew. We share a life founded on shared principles of rationalism and atheism. Our dinners echo with laughter over the folly of belief, the stubborn persistence of religion in a world that should have outgrown it. My colleagues at the department are no different—secular to the core, champions of human reason.
And yet, here I am.
The first stirrings came unexpectedly, triggered by a student’s question about ancient Jewish practices. In explaining them, I found myself intrigued—not with the sociological implications, but with the profound resonance of the laws themselves. What began as professional curiosity evolved into something I can only describe as a longing.
A longing for Lakewood.
I’ve visited Lakewood only once, on an impulse, driving through its quiet streets. The sight of men wrapped in tallit, children walking hand-in-hand with their parents, and the palpable sense of purpose left me awestruck. This, I thought, is a community that believes in something bigger than itself.
I want that.
But how can I reconcile this yearning with the life I’ve built? My wife would never understand… My colleagues would see my beliefs as a betrayal of the very discipline I teach—a descent into the primitive, the irrational.
I feel trapped, torn between two worlds—Princeton and Lakewood, reason and revelation, my past and my future. The Torah speaks of a man being drawn to truth as iron to a magnet. I feel that pull, but my feet are stuck in the mire of my own making.
And so, I linger in this liminal space, yearning for a life I cannot yet claim, while dutifully living the life I have built. My students come and go, my lectures continue, and the campus bustles around me. But inside, a quiet revolution is underway—a revolution of faith, of identity, of longing.
I don’t know where this journey will take me. Perhaps I will find the courage to break free, or perhaps I will remain here, a secret believer in a world that values only the seen and the measurable. But for now, I hold on to the words of the Shema, whispered in the stillness of my study: “Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is One.”
And I hope.
By Trappedinthevoid
A guest post by Trappedinthevoid written to Irrationalist Modoxism
This letter reminds us not to overlook the deep potential within every Jew. We cannot judge or measure the value of others solely by their actions or what is visible on the surface. The neshama is irresistibly drawn to truth, like iron to a magnet.
It also serves as a powerful reminder of the strength within our communities and each individual. Even the smallest light has the power to pierce through the deepest darkness, illuminating the path for others.
Rabbi Shraga Freedman, Director of Living Kiddush Hashem Foundation. Rabbi Freedman is the author of Living Kiddush Hashem and A Life Worth Living (ArtScroll Mesorah) and Sefer Mekadshei Shemecha.
Living Kiddush Hashem was founded with the goal of imbuing every Jew with a powerful sense of mission — the mission to be mekadeish Sheim Shamayim in his or her own unique way.
Email [email protected] for more resources.
Visit LivingKiddushHashem.org.
