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“Deborah Feldman was raised within an insular, oppressive world where she was taught that, like a woman, she wasn’t effective at independent thought. But she found the pluck and determination needed to make the break from that world and contains written a brave, riveting account of her journey. Unorthodox is harrowing, yet triumphant.”—Jeannette Walls, #1 bestselling author of The Glass Castle and Half Broke Horses

“Feldman provides for us special insight in to a closed and repressive world. . . . Her memoir is fresh and tart and utterly absorbing.”—Library Journal

“Nicely written . . . [An] engaging possibly at times gripping insight into Brooklyn's Hasidic community.”—Publishers Weekly

“A remarkable tale.”—Kirkus Reviews

“Feldman’s evolution as well as her look in the closed community make for fascinating reading … her storyteller’s sense along with a keen eye for details give readers a you-are-there sense of what it really is like to be different when everyone else is the same.”—Booklist

In the tradition of Ayaan Hirsi Ali’s Infidel and Carolyn Jessop’s Escape, Unorthodox can be a captivating story about a young woman determined to live her own life at any cost.
The Satmar sect of Hasidic Judaism is really as mysterious as it's intriguing to outsiders. In this arresting memoir, Deborah Feldman reveals what life's like trapped in a religious tradition that values silence and suffering over individual freedoms.

The child of the mentally disabled father plus a mother who abandoned the community while her daughter was still being a toddler, Deborah was raised by her strictly religious grandparents, Bubby and Zeidy. Along having a rotating cast of aunts and uncles, they enforced customs using a relentless emphasis on rules that governed anything from what Deborah could wear and also to whom she could speak, as to what she was in a position to read. As she grew from an inquisitive young girl to an independent-minded young woman, stolen moments reading regarding the empowered literary characters of Jane Austen and Louisa May Alcott helped her to imagine an alternate strategy for life. She had no idea the easiest way to seize this dream that seemed to beckon to her through the skyscrapers of Manhattan, but she was determined to discover a way. The tension between Deborah’s desires and her responsibilities like a good Satmar girl grew more explosive until, with the chronilogical age of seventeen, she found herself trapped in a sexually and emotionally dysfunctional marriage with a man she had met for just thirty minutes before they became engaged. As a result, she experienced debilitating anxiety that has been exacerbated through the public shame of experiencing did not immediately consummate her marriage and thus serve her husband. But it wasn’t until she had a youngster at nineteen that Deborah realized over just her very own future was at stake, and that, regardless in the obstacles, she'd have to forge a path—for herself and her son—to happiness and freedom.

***

From UNorthodox:

I have secrets too. Maybe Bubby is aware of them, but she won’t say anything about mine easily don’t say anything about hers. Or possibly I have only imagined her complicity; there's a chance this agreement is merely one-sided. Would Bubby tattle on me? I hide my books within the bed, and he or she hides hers in her own lingerie, and once per year when Zeidy inspects your home for Passover, poking through our things, we hover anxiously, terrified to become found out. Zeidy even rifles through my underwear drawer. Only once i make sure he understands that this is my private female stuff does he desist, unwilling to violate a woman’s privacy, and move onto my grandmother’s wardrobe. She will be as defensive as I am when he rummages through her lingerie. We both know that our small stash of secular books would shock my grandfather more than a pile of chametz, the forbidden leavening, ever could. Bubby might get away which has a scolding, but I might not be spared the entire extent of my grandfather’s wrath. When my zeide gets angry, his long white beard seems to lift up and spread around his face being a fiery flame. I wither instantly within the heat of his scorn. “Der tumeneh shprach!” he thunders at me when he overhears me talking with my cousins in English. An impure language, Zeidy says, acts being a poison on the soul. Reading an English book is even worse; it leaves my soul vulnerable, a welcome mat create for your devil.







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