Sometimes, I feel guilty, because becoming observant hasn’t made my life smooth-sailing or even happy. I remember that everyone around me- all the frum people around me, including role models and rabbonim, and just the people on the street- have problems, and difficulties, and being frum didn’t automatically make it easy for them, so why should it be my cure-all? But there’s still a part of me which wonders. Which despairs. Which weeps. Because, when things are hard- really hard- everyone else seems to be able to say, it’s in Hashem’s hands. Or, I have emunah, I’ll get through this. Or they can just daven and their worries disappear, even if the source of their worries doesn’t. I wonder why I’m not like this. Is there something wrong with me? Because those things bring me no comfort, no reassurance. I know it’s the right thing to do. To daven. To say Tehillim. Is it a sign I don’t have emunah? Is it a sign I’m a bad Jew? I expect it all to click suddenly into place, and maybe I’ll be able to leave it to Hashem and learn to stop caring about the small things. Because really I think that’s what this boils down to. Small things. But all these small things which effect me so deeply merge together to form a massive void, a hole in my heart. I suppose I resent kiruv in a way. Because of this. I was never like the rabid baalei teshuvah, as I called them, who went straight in at the deep end, rather my transition was slower. But despite loving Chabad and despite still being frum, I still don’t have that much love for what they tell you in kiruv. Kiruv rabbonim (and rebbetzens) are amazing. They’re selfless and wonderful people and it’s because of them that I’m sitting here now, writing, not taking part in some harmful activity or the other. And I understand the importance of that one mitzvah which tips the scales. But I guess I’m still slightly hard on kiruv. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m the only one with this hole in my heart, which I expected Judaism to fill.