From Inspiration to Struggle: The Journey of a Baal Teshuva

Moshe asks: "I’ve been a baal teshuvah (returnee to Judaism) for 12 years now. In the beginning, I felt a tremendous sense of elevation and closeness to God. It seemed easy to fight the yetzer hara (evil inclination), to change habits, and to invest effort. But recently, everything feels heavy and difficult, even just day-to-day routine. I’ve asked others about it, and they tell me this is normal, but I feel like they don’t really understand me. What should I do?"

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Dear Moshe,

In the battle with the yetzer hara, the first stage of teshuvah is full of powerful spiritual tools. It’s like being given massive bulldozers. Leaving behind a comfortable and familiar world requires real mesirut nefesh (self sacrifice), like splitting the sea and tearing away from ingrained habits. Because that stage is so hard, God provides extra help, and we experience feelings of elevation, closeness, ecstasy, and delight. That’s how it is at the start of teshuvah.

This is exactly what happened at the Exodus. A whole nation followed God into the desert, into a barren land, and they were given wondrous revelations — splitting of the sea and Mount Sinai, but these were only temporary gifts, quickly withdrawn. Afterward, the long and grueling work began, the journeys and struggles toward entering Eretz Yisrael. That too was part of the process of growth, and of coming closer to God.

The same applies to us. As we continue in teshuvah, we need to confront deeper layers hidden in our psyche. The “husks” (kelipot) at this stage are thinner, more subtle, and therefore more resistant. They can’t be smashed with the same giant hammer. In fact, direct blows only make them harden and multiply, like the plague of frogs. A head-on battle at that intensity is no longer sustainable as it would burn us out. The work now becomes subtler, not a war of absolute good versus absolute evil, but a fine discernment between shades that are harder to distinguish.

This shift exists everywhere. Children’s stories paint villains with sharp teeth and scary faces. Later in life we discover that “evil” often comes in ordinary, polite, smiling faces, but remains destructive nonetheless. In the laws of Shabbat, we learn that separating wheat from straw is only the first step. There are also fine husks within the grain itself, removable only through delicate sifting. The work gets subtler and more refined.

The Kabbalists explain that even within us there are kelipot surrounding the soul. Some can’t be smashed, because the shards would take essential parts of us along with them. Aggressive destruction can clip our wings, leaving long-term damage. Instead of breaking, we need to gently split, redirect, and transform.

Once, there was a miraculous tool — the shamir worm, that could split stone without leaving any dust. That was hidden away. Now we fight a nearly impossible battle, but there is hope. It has been compared to firing artillery: you rarely hit on the first shot, but every miss allows you to adjust. Seven times the righteous fall and rise again. Every fall is part of the process and every attempt brings us closer to the mark. All God really asks is that we keep trying.

When we’ve reached the stage where the jumbo hammer can be put away, the kelipat nogah (shining peel) which is a mixture of light and darkness, requires a gentler approach, through song, joy, and dance.

Many who are not baalei teshuvah are unable to fully understand this. They assume our struggles are like theirs in areas of marriage, parenting, and livelihood and they suggest the usual answers such as more Torah study, more prayer, more effort, more acceptance. All of these are true, but they miss something essential that’s unique to us.

I once heard Rav Becher explain it beautifully: For baalei teshuvah, the entire year is Elul. How true! This is what our friends who grew up religious don’t grasp. All year long, we live with an inner tension, like immigrants in a new land, constantly proving our identity. A stranger cannot understand that we live with the weight of Elul every day of the year.

Of course, we need Torah, prayer, acceptance of God’s will, and personal responsibility. Without them, we’re at risk. But beyond all that, we need a unique effort to create stability and peace of mind in daily life.

While it is difficult to specify all types of efforts, to create an island of sanity and a pleasant routine, there are three conditions:

1. Shalom bayit – Despite challenges and differences, the key is “love covers all faults.” Invest in quality time, joy, and affection. A home filled with love provides strength to grow.

2. Financial independence – Not just a paycheck, but self-realization. Hashem gave us talents to develop. If we don’t, frustration sets in. “Honor God with what He gave you.” True livelihood means fulfilling your potential.

3. Living with joy – Rebbe Nachman’s golden rule: strengthen yourself to be in joy, always. Even when it’s hard, even when busy. Buy your wife a gift, play music, give your children positive experiences, dance with them, or by yourself. Fill life with joy. Only then can we not just survive, but truly enjoy life.

The path of teshuvah is challenging and comes in stages, but it equips us with real tools to face reality, to mature, and to live with deeper, truer closeness to God.

Above all, never forget that we didn’t come here just to scrape by, to get through, and hope for the best. We came with a mission — to bring all our strength, insights, and life experience, and sanctify them within the world of Torah, with unity and love.