Yehudis Fletcher is almost exactly my age. Yet when I was 18, swanning off for a youth movement gap year, carefree and with the world at my feet, she was being thrust into hastily arranged nuptials, having endured a tumultuous and often traumatic childhood involving prolonged sexual abuse, parental neglect and almost no actual education. Nor did that marriage offer a shred of happily ever after.
It’s a wonder she managed to carry on. Not only that, she went on to build an impressive life in this country beyond the stultifying constraints of Charedi Judaism and establish a think tank dedicated to combating religious extremism. Now, 20 years later, having come out as a lesbian, she has written a memoir.
On the face of it, it follows territory previously traversed by writers such as Shalom Auslander and Deborah Feldman. But those books, while mining similarly troubled adolescences in cultish Orthodox Jewish communities, tended to play those experiences for humour, or at least for their shock value. Fletcher’s book is equally frank and uncensored, but differs in that it is a heart-wrenchingly sad portrait of a lost childhood. After all, others she encountered in that same world did not experience disinterested parenting or cruelty at every turn. Nor were they all victims of Rabbi Todros Grynhaus, convicted in Manchester of seven counts of indecent assault in 2015 (Fletcher was one of two girls who brought the charges) and she is balanced enough in her reporting of religious life to acknowledge that. Yet she also makes clear how the systemic flaws within these communities operate.
Equally, those books were written from the perspective of having left Charedi Judaism behind, which Fletcher, somewhat unbelievably, has not chosen to do. Instead, she has forged a life between; now happily married to a Jewish woman, campaigning in public life for the rights of Orthodox women and children via her think tank Nahamu, and generally refusing to conform to expectations. But her children attend Jewish schools, she still identifies as Charedi, and Shabbat and other elements of Jewish life continue to bring her enormous joy. “It was harder for everyone, including me, to fight this battle and make changes to myself and my world from the inside,” she explains. “But I already had roots and I already had an identity.”
She writes simply but compellingly, with vivid detail about her peripatetic childhood across Scotland, Israel, Manchester and beyond, with anecdotes that offer some levity, like watching Will & Grace DVDs under the covers, a small act of defiance while securing her get, or finding her sartorial style as she moved from Stamford Hill to Hackney’s hipster locales.
I learned, through the crude medium of WhatsApp, that my family’s love was conditional
My jaw was on the floor as Fletcher revealed the malice of her family as she tore up the rules and they prioritised keeping up appearances. “I learned, through the crude medium of WhatsApp, that their love was conditional.” That’s the ultimate tragedy of these communities; you’re either in or you are out, and one false move even among a family member can leave you ostracised. Abuse, violence, illegal schools and other problems are covered up in the name of preserving face. Few are like Fletcher and have the courage to seek a different way.
I’d have liked more about the fallout of her decisions on her children, although I can understand Fletcher guarding their privacy. And I am still full of questions around how her delicate balancing act can sustain. Mostly, I hope writing this book has found her some closure and resolution. “Every so often,” she notes, “I bend over double, winded by the excruciating cost of my freedom.” And yet you realise, the cost of staying was even higher.
Chutzpah by Yehudis Fletcher
Doubleday
