Day 34: The Tapestry of Jewish Time by Rabbi Nina Beth Cardin Yesod in Hod, Foundation in Glory/Humility
I'll begin today with one of those nostalgic stories that makes me feel old: Back in my day, we checked out books by writing our name on the library card in a little sleeve inside the book. When I was converting to Judaism, this system was still in place in the Nashville Public Library system and my name must have been in every book about Judaism they had. Eternal thanks to whoever made the decision to include such a fantastic collection of Jewish books in the Nashville Library. One of the many books I checked out then was The Tapestry of Jewish Time by Rabbi Nina Beth Cardin, who I had the pleasure to meet a couple years ago when she came to Olam Tikvah as the Scholar in Residence. This book is one of her earlier works and, honestly, should be required reading for Jews. Her ability to lay out the complexities of the Jewish calendar and conception of time in Judaism is unmatched. And without the foundational understanding of how time shapes Jewish life, it's difficult to experience a connected Jewish life.
Day 19: As a Driven Leafby Milton Steinberg Hod in Tiferet, Humility in Balance
This book was one of the many books on my suggested reading list when I was converting to Judaism, and it quickly became one of my favorites. At the heart of the story is the conflict between faith and reason and the search for meaning and truth. The main character, Elisha ben Abuyah, has to navigate his relationship to his community and his personal doubts. His struggle is so relatable, and as a work of fiction, this book is able to present a more compelling look at the balancing acts of modernity and tradition, religion and philosophy, individualism and belonging.
When I sat before my beit din 13 years ago prepared to complete my conversion to Judaism, we discussed many things. We discussed the beauty and meaning of the Jewish holidays, the rhythm of the Jewish year, the comfort of Jewish rituals and songs. After I explained the feeling of awe (and hunger) I had felt on the previous Yom Kippur, but before I explained why I chose my Hebrew name, the members of my beit din paused and said, "We want to make sure you understand antisemitism and the risks you're taking to join the Jewish people." I said, "Yes, I do," and went on to talk about my lifelong love of history and about how, just four months earlier, I spent the hours before my engagement at the US Holocaust Museum (in fairness to me, I didn't know I was going to get engaged that night, but still). In seventh grade, I read The Diary of Anne Frank during study hall* without any context for what it was or how it would end, and when I finished it in class, I was glad to be sitting in the back where nobody would see me crying. In college as a history major, I took classes focused on WWII and one half-credit class with a visiting Israeli professor on the history of antisemitism. In short, by the time I had reached my beit din, I had spent years seeking to better understand this particular brand of hatred and oppression. Still, it was important for my beit din to confirm that I was starting out in Judaism with my eyes open. The foundation of a Jewish life has to take the good with the bad, with no exceptions. Becoming Jewish is all-encompassing.
Interested in reading further about converts' relationships to antisemitism? A Google search for "Jewish conversion" will bring up a lot of recent articles about interest in conversion following October 7:
*The Diary of Anne Frank was not part of a class curriculum; my study hall teacher just wanted us to sit quietly and read whatever we chose, and I had grabbed Anne Frank's book off the display rack by the desk in the school library. As far as I could tell, my middle school didn't have any comprehensive Holocaust education. I think some teachers taught Number the Stars in 8th grade, but mine didn't (though I did read Red Scarf Girl twice in middle school, so I'm well aware of the harms of Communist China).
Today, I would like to offer an excerpt from my conversion diary:
December 1, 2010
I realized today that God had answered a prayer for me when God finally brought me to Judaism. Kind of a divine revelation. For a year and a half I struggled with Judaism - how it is a religion and a culture, the fact that I didn't know Hebrew, the concept of sitting shiva, or the fact that the major holidays are emotionally wrenching. Every week at services, I asked God to give me a spiritual connection to something. I was paranoid that everyone knew I wasn't Jewish and I felt out of place. I look back on it now and it seems so stupid. Of course everyone knew I wasn't Jewish, but they included me in everything anyway. I was the one who put myself on the outside. Every week, I would go and feel awkward and pray for God to give me a spiritual connection. The problem was that I believed the tenets of Judaism, but didn't feel connected to it. I would leave services humming Lecha Dodi and say, "That was fun, but I don't feel closer to God," as if a relationship with God could be built over the course of one Kabbalat Shabbat service. I was so hung up on the things I didn't understand and my own discomfort, that I couldn't see the beauty of the relationship that was unfolding.
And then one morning I woke up and none of those things bothered me anymore. I've learned enough Hebrew to follow along at a reasonable pace. I understand the communal support structure of shiva that brings healing to the mourner. I found deep meaning in the introspection and hunger of Yom Kippur. Each of these things clicked a while ago, but I only realized it today, because I caught myself thinking about Judaism's dual nature as a religion and culture, as if I had never struggled with the concept at all. So, thank you, God, for answering my prayers so subtly that I didn't even notice it.
I spent so much of my early exposure to Judaism second-guessing myself, feeling out of place and self-conscious. I spent so much time begging God to give me a sudden epiphany that I didn't see the beauty of my Jewish life growing around me until I had been living it for a while. This is beauty in glory and gratitude. Never doubt that you are enough. Never give up on the life you want. Never stop striving for God. And be open to the beauty coming both gradually and all at once.
On April 8, 2011, I sat before my beit din in Nashville and answered questions about why I wanted to be a Jew. What had drawn me to this religion? What was my favorite thing about Jewish life? About the holidays? Was I prepared to face antisemitism?
In celebration of my 13th year of Jewish life (happy bat mitzvah to my conversion!), I'd like to share an excerpt from my conversion essay:
My inexplicable connection to Judaism has developed over the past two years. It started with a simple convergence of beliefs - my values aligned with the principles of Judaism. The focus on family, community, learning, and curiosity are all values that I share with Judaism and that drew me to the religion. My connection felt more logical than spiritual, and I knew that I could only convert to a religion in which I could connect in every way that I needed. I would settle for nothing less than a religion that matched my values, encouraged my growth, and, most importantly, left me feeling closer to God. For a long time, Judaism fulfilled the first two requirements, but did not make me feel any closer to God.
That feeling I was looking for can only be described as awe. I wanted a religion that not only preached what I believed and challenged me to be a better person, but that also filled me with wonder and a sense of God’s presence. I thought that maybe it was too much to ask for all of these things to align for me in one religion, but for a year, that was all I asked of God. I went to temple every week and prayed that God would connect me with something in all the ways I wanted. “It doesn’t have to be Judaism,” I bargained with God, “as long as it holds the same principles and has songs as fun as V’shamru and as beautiful as Mi Chamocha. Please, God, just give me that connection.”
There were other barriers, like learning Hebrew and the fact that I struggled to comprehend the dual nature of Judaism as a religion and a culture, but with time I became more comfortable with those aspects. Eventually, everything else fell into place for me with Judaism and all I needed was the awe.
God answered my prayers without warning. It was a random weekday, not long after the High Holidays, a year and a half after I had become actively engaged with Judaism. It happened as an epiphany after an otherwise slow, methodical buildup of comfort and understanding. I think I needed that comfort before I could fully connect in the way I wanted and needed with Judaism and with God. There is a concept in Judaism that every Jew, whether Jewish by birth or conversion, is born with a Jewish soul. This sudden epiphany I experienced felt as though my Jewish soul was ignited. This is when I decided to convert.
Today, I also so clearly see na'aseh v'nishma (we will do and we will hear) in my epiphany moment. I "did" Judaism - davened and studied Torah weekly, taught in the Sunday School, kept kosher - and only then did I "hear" God, did I feel fully at home in Judaism and called to begin my conversion process. When I emerged from the mikvah 13 years ago, my rabbis marked it not as the end of my conversion process, but as the beginning of lifelong Jewish learning and growth. So, happy anniversary to me!
Me (and other Jews by Choice): "I am a Jew by Choice." Jew by Birth: "We're all Jews by Choice." Me: *cringe* In the April 2013 issue of Sh'ma, Rabbi Justin Goldstein explained an increasingly common idea - that we are all Jews by Choice. This was not the first appearance of this sentiment and certainly not the last, but Rabbi Goldstein summarized the idea so well: "In our world, even the most stringently observant wake up each morning and make a choice, even if not a conscious choice, to be a Jew and live a Jewish life." There is plenty of evidence to support this idea - the ease of assimilation into mainstream American culture and rising rates of intermarriage make it easier to simply stop practicing Judaism or performing Jewish culture. Maintaining a Jewish identity in a world where it is so easy not to is necessarily an active choice that we all make. I understand that sentiment and I even agree with it. But I take issue with Jews by Birth laying claim to the phrase "Jew by Choice" as a way to express this idea. To that Jew by Birth above who says, "We are all Jews by Choice," let me say once and for all, no, we are not. I want to give him the benefit of the doubt and believe that when he says this, he means well. He means to include me, to say that we are the same, and I appreciate that. But it often feels like he is erasing a need that I have in that moment. I could just introduce myself as a Jew to him and frequently I do. When I "out" myself specifically as a Jew by Choice, it is usually because it is relevant to the conversation, often as a way for me to explain a gap in my Jewish knowledge. Maybe we're talking about summer camp or Hebrew school or any of the other childhood activities for which I have no first-hand experience. Maybe we're talking about family traditions surrounding Passover or he's recalling his bar mitzvah. Maybe it's December and I'm talking about going home to be with my family for Christmas. In that moment, I need him to understand a difference between the two of us that exists because I came to Judaism later in life and he did not. This common interaction is why I have stopped using the phrase "Jew by Choice" to describe myself, sticking instead, when need be, with the term "convert."
***
This is on my mind at the moment because of a series of posts that have been floating around the internet this summer about the phrase "Jew by Choice." The first, written by a woman who converted to Judaism, appeared in Lilith Magazine in June, and chronicles the author's personal Jewish journey and distaste for the term "Jew by Choice." She argues that: "The phrase 'Jew by Choice' is meant to be affirmational, but instead erases the ambiguities of my experiences and the experiences of so many others...How can I do anything but reject a term that dichotomizes what should be a messy spectrum?" At the end of July, Mosaic Magazine posted a response. This author (I'm not sure if he is a convert, but if I had to guess, I would say he was probably born Jewish) dislikes the term "Jew by Choice," because "the term conveys a false idea of what Judaism is about. Judaism is about a people—and no people can be a people, much less remain one, without a sure sense of itself that can in the main be provided only by birth, parenting, and belonging to a community from an early age. One can join a people only if there is a people to join—and only if one understands that choosing to join it is more than a matter of selectively identifying with some of its beliefs." Finally, a third author who was quoted in the Mosaic piece, responded with an attempt to clarify or more fully flesh out his experience of converting to Judaism. "I became Jewish because I hold a set of convictions that I see rooted in the Jewish experience...Of course, I understand and positively appreciate that my being Jewish also connects me to a people and makes me part of a broader community." I highly recommend reading all of these pieces in full.
Do you plan to take your future children to the mikveh to convert them when they are born? I've heard this question asked before as "Would you convert your children according to Orthodox Judaism when they are born?" I'm not entirely sure of the thought-process behind the question, but as far as I can tell, it is simply an extension of our existential struggle to define who is a Jew and it exposes the ripple effect that these debates have for future generations. I have to imagine that it also stems from a misunderstanding of the conversion process in the different movements of Judaism.
To be completely honest, I find the question pointless. Either, as a female convert, I am Jewish and therefore, my children will be Jewish or the question implies that my Jewish status is not transferable, which, to be fair, it is not in certain circles. The hard fact is that my conversion is not accepted everywhere. I am not Jewish by Orthodox standards, so by matrilineal descent, my children won't be considered Jewish in the Orthodox world either.
To be considered Jewish in every movement,* I would have to undergo an Orthodox conversion and take on an Orthodox lifestyle. I have considered converting again, even consulted an Orthodox rabbi about it, but in the end I decided that Orthodox life is not for me. I am happy with the Conservative Jewish life I have and I am accepted as a Jew by those standards. If I were to undergo an Orthodox conversion simply to be able to say that everyone considers me Jewish, it wouldn't be sincere. I am not strictly shomer shabbas or shomer negiah, nor do I want to cover my hair or give up my short sleeves and jeans. For me to convert in the Orthodox movement (at this point in my life, at least) would be a lie.
Given that I am not planning to undergo an Orthodox conversion personally, the point becomes moot when talking about my future children. For one thing, I highly doubt you could find an Orthodox rabbi willing to convert an infant if that rabbi didn't consider me to be Jewish and we were not planning to raise the child in an Orthodox household. Second, if I didn't convert in the Orthodox movement and don't plan to raise my children in an Orthodox community, what would be the point of converting them to Orthodoxy? If it is just so that no one can question their Jewish status, then I refer you back to my own reasons for not pursuing an Orthodox conversion.
The short answer to this question then is no, I don't plan to convert my children. If I consider myself Jewish and my community considers me Jewish, then my children will be Jewish by the same measure.
If my children grow up and decide to become Orthodox, they will have to undergo their own conversion process. Hopefully, growing up as a Jew in a Jewish home will make that process easier for them, should they choose to pursue it.
*The Orthodox community is not a cohesive organization and not all converts are recognized as legitimate Jews by different rabbis within Orthodoxy. Even if a convert is universally recognized by the American Orthodox establishment, the Israeli rabbinate may not accept them.
Last month, I co-led a discussion about Ruth and modern-day conversions for Shavuot with my synagogue's young professional group. Their questions about conversion and life in the Jewish community as a Jew by Choice were insightful and thought-provoking. This question in particular has stuck with me.
How do you feel about people who convert for marriage? Three years ago, Rabbi Cosgrove at Park Avenue Synagogue in New York proposed a new approach to Conservative conversions that he hoped would solve the movement's intermarriage crisis: convert the non-Jewish person right away for the marriage. He seemed to think that if both parties were Jewish, even in name only, they would become a "Jewish household." I took exception to his plan at the time and I still think that it would be detrimental to those converts, like myself, who chose to convert to Judaism for ourselves. What Rabbi Cosgrove failed to acknowledge is the stigma surrounding conversion for marriage, which is seen by many in the Jewish community as a sign of the person's insincerity, lack of commitment to the Jewish people, and/or unthinking adoption of a Jewish identity that they don't full understand.
So how do I feel about converting for marriage? Personally, it makes it harder for me as a convert, because there will always be people who assume that I converted for Marc and attach that stigma to me. I've worked hard over the years to learn and grow Jewishly, to develop an identity and place for myself in the Jewish community, so to have it written off as a decision that Marc made for me in a way is hard.
Part of me would like to think that cracking down on conversion for marriage would alleviate the stigma, but I know that people come to Judaism in all sorts of ways. A recent article in defense of those who convert for marriage proves that being motivated by love for an individual does not preclude one from developing a sincere, personal commitment to Judaism. After all, Ruth's conversion was prompted by her love for Naomi, but it blossomed into her acceptance of Judaism, the Jewish people, and God.
Day 49: Malchut in Malchut, Leadership in Leadership We made it to the end of the Omer! Tonight is Shavuot, the holiday that celebrates our receiving the Torah at Sinai after the exodus from Egypt. But before we celebrate our physical and spiritual freedom with cheesecake and late-night learning, we have to reflect on the 49th day of the Omer, leadership in leadership.
At our Passover seders 49 days ago, we all sat around our tables and read from the haggadah, "In every generation, each person must see himself or herself as if he or she personally experienced the Exodus from Egypt." Over the past 49 days, we have counted the Omer as if we were on a personal journey from slavery to freedom. It is also said that every Jewish person who had ever or would ever exist was present at Sinai when God gave us the Torah. Much of Judaism is about the collective - praying together, studying together, eating, mourning, and celebrating together - but I am reminded today that it is also an intensely personal experience. Each Jew understands Judaism in his or her own way. Each Jew embodies the seven sephirot of the Omer differently. Each of us comes with our own lens on the world which causes us to interpret the Omer differently. Even from year to year, my perspectives on the days of the Omer have changed as my experiences have changed.
Leaders must be able to balance the personal and the communal, their personal goals with the welfare of the people they lead. As the first convert, Ruth stands as the model on which conversions are based, a perfect example of leadership in leadership.
"Wherever you go, I will go; wherever you lodge, I will lodge; your people will be my people, and your God my God." (Ruth 1:16)
She is leadership in leadership, because her choice to convert shows an understanding and acceptance of this fundamental piece of Jewish life and leadership. She not only undertook a new personal identity and life, but also embraced the fact that doing so would make her part of the collective Jewish people.
Day 24: Tiferet within Netzach, Spirituality within Endurance
I have written about my conversion many times here. It is, after all, the reason I began blogging in the first place. One post in particular aligns perfectly with today's Omer reflection:
"I participated regularly in Jewish services, holidays, and study for over a year before it finally all clicked for me. Looking back on it, it makes sense that I would only feel a connection to God through Judaism after becoming comfortable with it in all the other aspects I was exploring, but at the time it seemed like I suddenly felt closer to God out of nowhere."
You can read the entire post here, but my point today is that sometimes spirituality requires endurance. For years, I wanted to feel closer to God, to fully believe in something. I had connected on a logical level with Judaism long before I connected on a spiritual level and if I could have simply willed spirituality on myself, I would have. Instead, I stuck it out the long way, enjoying the parts of Judaism I had come to love and doing my best to wait patiently for the rest to come together.
This semester for my field placement at JPDS, I am finally being forced to learn Hebrew in a real way. The third, fourth, and fifth graders know more Hebrew than I do, which makes it hard for me to help them with their Hebrew translations for Judaic Studies, but there are two new students to the school this year who have no Hebrew background, so I have volunteered to tutor them in the aleph-bet.
As an aside, I should mention that, while this is a Jewish Day School, it is also a community day school and they have a number of non-Jewish students enrolled (whether because it is better than their public school options, within walking distance of their homes, or any other reason that a parent would enroll their child in a private school). These two students - a boy and a girl - are not Jewish, so the Hebrew is new and hard for them, but they are so focused on learning it. Time for me to channel their drive, dust off my Rosetta Stone, and give Hebrew another try myself!
During our first lesson today, we reviewed the difference between בּ (a "b" sound) and ב (a "v" sound) and between ד (a "d" sound) and ר (an "r" sound), coupled with different vowels to make different sounds, like "da-beh" or "reh-va." Aside from the Hebrew, I also wound up teaching them about what it means to be Jewish. They were both shocked that I am not from Israel, have no family in Israel, and am not fluent in Hebrew. "But I thought you were Jewish!" the boy said with obvious confusion. We had a quick discussion about what it means to be Jewish, but the duality of Judaism as a people and a religion was a question that took me over a year to understand and three years later, I am still not good at articulating an answer. If the history of the Jewish people has taught us anything, it is that there is no easy answer to that question.
Later on in Judaic Studies, while my female student struggled determinedly to translate Parsha Vayetse - eyes flicking back and forth between the text and her vocabulary sheet to find סֻלָּם and scribble "ladder" above the Hebrew, circling the prefix and suffix on the word וְרֹאשׁוֹ in order to find the root meaning "head" in the middle of the word - she said in frustration, "I wish I was Jewish! Then I would already know Hebrew." If only being Jewish came with Hebrew proficiency that could be downloaded into your brain! Lacking that, we will have to stumble through the language together.
At this time last year, I was in Israel for the first time and getting ready to celebrate the beginning of 2013 in Tel Aviv. As 2013 draws to a close, I cannot help looking back on it as one of the most eventful years of my life so far. In this year, I have been to Israel twice, celebrated my 25th birthday, successfully counted all of the Omer, and (most recently) moved to Birmingham, Alabama. Not all of my memories are positive; this is also the year that I lost my grandfather and experienced anti-Semitism first-hand for the first time in my life. I can only hope that, in 2014, I will build up more good memories and not so many bad ones.
Let's take a quick look back at my most popular blog posts of 2013: 5. (95 pageviews) Taglit Mayanot Day 3 This was the day we met the IDF soldiers who would accompany us on our trip. 4. (98 pageviews) Taglit Mayanot Day 1 On our first full day in Israel, we went hiking and I had schwarma for the first time! 3. (99 pageviews) Taglit Mayanot Arrival On the night of December 27, 2012, my feet touched the land of Israel for the first time! 2. (104 pageviews) Mourning Online I found out about my grandfather's death on facebook, prompting me to rethink what we post and how we interact online. 1. (172 pageviews) Response to Rabbi Cosgrove's Conservative Conversion Proposal Out of the 117 posts I have written, this is the one I am most proud of. As a convert to Judaism, I was disheartened by the turn that Rabbi Cosgrove and some Conservative rabbis took in their stance toward the conversion process. Rabbi Cosgrove proposed relaxing the USCJ's conversion regulations to make it easier for interfaith families. As the USCJ continues to debate interfaith marriage and conversion, I hope that at least some of these 172 pageviews were people in a position to effect change within Conservative Judaism.
Yesterday, at the USCJ's Centennial conference in Baltimore, they discussed (among other things) the future of conversion within the Conservative movement.
A panel of four rabbis led "How Open A Tent? A Dialogue About Conversion" to answer: "What should the Conservative Movement's stance on Conversion look like in the years to come? How do we define our communal boundaries, differentiate our stance from our brothers and sisters to the left and to the right of us - and be responsive to the Jewish community we serve? This session will be an open discussion with four rabbis in the field, with a robust give and take on their recommendations for the future." The panel featured Rabbis Elliot Cosgrove, Ed Feinstein, Michael Siegel, and Deborah Wechsler.
At the same time, Rabbi Adam Greenwald discussed "Conversion as Courtship: Helping Newcomers Fall in Love with Judaism." The description of his talk is: "The journey to becoming Jewish is like falling in love, encompassing flirtation, desire, heartbreak, and transformation. Join the director of the largest conversion program in the nation for a discussion about practical strategies for welcoming new Jews with warmth, integrity, and love."
I wish that I could have attended the conference this weekend, especially these two sessions. This conference is Conservative Judaism's "conversation of the century" and its "reset button" as the movement attempts to change with the times. It is especially obvious in light of the Pew survey on Judaism in America that something needs to change if the USCJ wants to stop losing members. Other topics at the conference included engagement, technology, and theology - all vital conversations to the USCJ's future. According to the Pew survey, 2% of the American Jewish population are converts (Jews who were not raised Jewish and had no Jewish parent). That 2% is split up among all the Jewish streams (the survey did not break them down into movements), so with such a minute population and so many other issues to address, you might ask why the USCJ devoted five rabbis in two sessions at its five day conference to the issue of conversion? It could be related to the rising rates of intermarriage that the Pew study also reported. It could be a signal that the USCJ is considering a more active approach to conversion, like the Reform movement did in the early 2000s. Whatever the reason, I am glad they included it in their overall conversation about the future. Individuals in the Conservative movement have already gotten the ball rolling on conversion policy discussions! In March, Rabbi Elliot Cosgrove suggested (much to my dismay) converting potential Jews first and teaching them about Judaism after. Rabbi Harold Schulweis, one of Rabbi Ed Feinstein's co-Rabbis at Valley Beth Shalom, is among the growing number of rabbis in the Conservative movement who advocate more actively reaching out to potential converts. Rabbi Michael Knopf writes beautifully about the passion that Jews by Choice find in Judaism and how that can translate to Jews by Birth. These discussions are important, because they highlight a growing understanding among Conservative Jewish leaders that attracting potential converts is all in how they are addressed. There are a million reasons why a non-Jew might consider conversion - theological agreement, cultural affinity, introduction through a Jewish friend or significant other - and acknowledging them where they are and providing support as they ask the many Jewish questions they will have, is important in convincing them to turn their interest in Judaism into a fully Jewish life. I am excited to see these discussions becoming part of a movement-wide conversation of change.
It is fitting that the USCJ should start to rebuild its new identity this weekend, during Parsha Lech Lecha. This past Shabbat, as the USCJ Centennial began, we read Lech Lecha, in which Abram was told to go, to leave his home and to become the first of a great people. Lech Lecha is the reason that converts to Judaism take a Hebrew name ending in "ben/bat Avraham v' Sarah" symbolizing that step away from where they were raised toward a new spiritual identity. Jews by choice know a thing or two about building a Jewish identity from scratch, so maybe we can help the Conservative movement.
John Mayer's song Waiting on the World to Change came out at just the right time to really speak to me. It was 2006, I had just graduated high school, and I was looking forward to becoming an adult with real power over my life, which seemed woefully out of my control.
I had been politically frustrated since 2001, when 9/11 had shocked me into paying attention to the the political world around me. I was old enough to start to understand the effects of political decisions on my life, but too young to have a say, and by 2006, I was frustrated with an American political landscape in which we fought two seemingly endless wars against the idea of terrorism and domestically failed to come together, even in the face of Hurricane Katrina.
I had been spiritually adrift for years and my frustration with the world at large only made me more skeptical of God.
My universe literally changed when scientists announced that Pluto was not a planet after all. My beloved Cubs could not change their terrible luck and ended the 2006 season in last place in the National League.
In August, when Waiting on the World to Change was released, I was saying my last goodbyes to my high school friends and packing for college. As an 18-year-old college-bound woman, I stood on the edge of adulthood. I looked into a future that was set on a political trajectory that I did not like, but that was, nonetheless, full of promise, because, as John Mayer pointed out, it would soon be our generation's turn to try our hand at running things. College and adulthood would bring with it a chance to have some real power in my own life. All I had to do was wait a little while longer for the world to change.
It's been seven years and many things have changed. Personally, I have graduated college, held two full-time jobs, lived in three different cities, converted to Judaism, and gotten married. When I actually take the time to reflect on them, my personal accomplishments bring me real joy and fulfillment. From time to time, I feel like a real adult who has intelligent things to say and relevant life experiences.
The world around me has changed too. Some of those changes give me real hope that I live in a good and reasonable world. My first presidential election saw young voter turnout increase in numbers that surprised analysts and I thought that maybe my generation wouldn't have to wait that long to start making a difference. Encouragingly, the Affordable Care Act was passed to make strides toward real needed health care reform, Don't Ask Don't Tell was repealed, and support has swelled for gay rights, and during the last GOP primary, candidate Jon Huntsman warned Republicans against becoming the "anti-science party." I am also heartened by the possibility of Hillary running for president again in 2016 and becoming the first female president.
Despite all this, the world is not changing fast enough. The last seven years has also given rise to the Tea Party and a dangerously antagonistic Congress that seems intent not on moving forward as a nation but on stopping anything constructive from actually getting done. As I write this, Senator Ted Cruz is going into his 10th hour of continuous railing against the Affordable Care Act. It is the second time that the Tea Party has tried to use the nation's budget as a negotiating tool to change laws that they do not have the power to change in the way they were meant to. We have seen more mass shootings than I care to count anymore. After each successive Tuscon, Aurora, Sandy Hook, and Navy Yard, we are left less and less time to mourn before the screaming matches and blame games begin, all of which lead us nowhere. These things and so much more frustrate me and I am tired of waiting on the world to change. I have run out of patience for the unreasonable people on all sides. If we continue to wait for our turn, I'm afraid we will inherit a world so completely screwed up that we won't be able to fix it at all.
At the same time, underneath my frustration, I try to remind myself that loudness does not equal political support. If there really is a silent majority out there of sane people, please, for the love of God, speak up now. At this point, I don't even care what you have to say as long as it is logical and you can argue it without resorting to the negativity that pervades current discourse. I will work on finding my voice and gaining the confidence to speak my mind and I can only hope that others will do the same.
I have spent the past two years of my professional life preparing to send 1150 athletes and staff and over 300 supporters to Israel for the 19th World Maccabiah Games with Maccabi USA. It may be the hardest I have every worked in my life. I certainly never would have guessed two years ago that a job with the title "Administrative Assistant" would require 20 hour days halfway around the world helping to "Build Jewish Pride through Sports." But our small office staff of eight people and our amazing volunteer staff did manage to make a positive impact on our athletes. I heard stories from athletes and parents about the impact of the Wall, singing Hatikva at the Opening Ceremony with 9000 Jews from around the world, or their gold medal games. Everyone walks away from the Maccabiah with a story. I even managed to carve out time (on Shabbat, within official work functions, or in the dead of the night) for a personal life of sorts, for my own development. Here are some of my highlights.
Jerusalem I was there for five days in the middle of my trip. I barely slept or ate in the days leading up to the Maccabiah Opening Ceremony and I forgot my phone one night when I went out (a friend went back to get it for me). Still, Jerusalem feels like home. It is instantly familiar, even though I was only there for a few days on Birthright in January. Somehow, despite being completely directionally challenged everywhere (even places I have known my whole life), I always know where I am and how to get home in Jerusalem. I didn't even pay attention to how we got anywhere, but I could always find my way back. It must have been a miracle.
The Western Wall I think that I could go to the Western Wall a million times and have a million different experiences. My first time at the Wall was on Shabbat with Birthright. My second time was the following Sunday afternoon. This time, just six months later, with the Maccabiah was entirely different. This time, I visited the Wall with a large group of athlete's parents and supporters on our Mission program. We went on Friday afternoon before Shabbat began, held our own service, got through the small early crowd to touch the Wall, and walked back against the flood of foot traffic. I was struck this time, as I was last time, by the enormity of the Wall. It is huge. Each individual brick is massive. Standing at its base, I was simultaneously tiny and a part of something strong and powerful.
Home Hospitality Shabbat Our Mission program offers a Friday night Shabbat dinner with an Israeli host family. The dinner required advanced sign up, so that each American family could be paired with an Israeli family in Karme Yosef, a town between Tel Aviv and Jerusalem, who would take them into their home for dinner. The night began in embarrassment as half of our families dropped out at the last minute or just didn't show up for the bus, leaving their Israeli host families with no guests and more food than they needed. A woman named Michal took me home with her in place of one of my no-show families. Her son was home from the army for Shabbat and her mother and four-year-old niece were home finishing up dinner when we arrived. Not long after, Michal's husband, younger son, and nephews came home. He announced that they had not gotten to synagogue on time, so they would welcome Shabbat in the living room, where Michal and I were sitting. I expected to join them in their Kabbalat Shabbat, but the women moved to the dining room while the men sang Lecha Dodi and prayed. Michal's sisters and their children arrived and joined us in the dining room. I was suddenly concerned that I was in a home that excluded women from the prayers that I have come to know and love, but I was worried over nothing. We came together ten minutes later to bless the wine and challah and then we ate too much food. The conversation around me was an excited mix of Hebrew and a bit of English as people talked over each other. Every few minutes, Michal said, "Inglit" to remind her family to include me, but I was happy to try to catch familiar Hebrew words out of their conversations.
After dinner, the women left the table, but I was deep in conversation with Michal's husband and one of her nephews about Judaism in the US. They wanted to know how Israel was portrayed in the news and about the different branches of Judaism that we have and how they function as Jewish communities. I think I had the most fun answering the question, "How do you marry a Jew when you have so many other options in America?" I actively decided not to try explaining that I had converted and instead spoke from what I know of my husband's upbringing and the importance that I will someday stress to my children about dating or marrying someone Jewish. I have through before about the Diaspora and Jewish continuity, about interfaith dating, love and marriage, but it had never occurred to me that it might be a novel or even alien concept in Israel. How do we instill the importance of Jewish family in children? I have friends who are mostly secular, but who still would never think of dating someone who wasn't Jewish. That is something you have to actively decide and work for in Diaspora, but not something they really deal with in Israel. It was a really great conversation and a fantastic way to start my last Shabbat of the Maccabiah.
Late Night Theology Toward the end of my trip, I gave up on sleep so that I might have a semi-social life. One night, a volunteer manager and our Team acupuncturist came to visit our hotel in Tel Aviv and the three of us talked about religion, life, and the universe until 3:00 AM. It was exactly the kind of conversation I always want to have, but have trouble finding someone willing to openly discuss their beliefs. We talked about Judaism, Christianity, conversion, the meaning of religion for each of us personally, and our souls/selves in relation to our physical bodies. It was a great discussion to have on very little sleep while in Israel overlooking the Mediterranean.
Over the past few years, almost every time that my grandparents were in the hospital, I found out through Facebook. It was almost a miracle eight months ago that my mom got a hold of me by phone when my grandma died before I saw it online. I was not so lucky last week when I woke up to the news on Facebook that my grandpa had passed away. My immediate reaction was grief, followed swiftly by the angry thought, Who posts this news on Facebook at 5:30 AM? It is terrible to see your grandfather's death mixed in with a George Takei joke and a cat video. My parents would have had to call me in the middle of the night in order to catch me before I saw it on Facebook, not that they could have gotten a hold of me with my phone on silent for the night anyway.
News travels fast these days, but I don't think I'm the only one who still prefers to learn some news the old fashioned way. I think this article, Grief in the Age of Facebook, sums up how we handle death on Facebook very well. Mourning online is new and strange and I'm not sure that I like it. I can see some of the benefits. My grandpa's funeral is tomorrow and I live at least 750 miles away from anyone who knew him. My family members have posted their own eulogies of him online with dozens of sympathetic comments in response. It seems to be a good way to express grief and to be comforted by friends and family near and far. It's like a virtual shiva, without the food.
And yet, I have not participated in these Facebook status memorials, nor have I changed my profile picture to include him. I did when my grandma died, but the sympathy, no matter how sincere, felt hollow to me. Facebook is where I post interesting articles and weekend photos. It's where I "like" a friend's bad puns and argue politics with family. No matter how close a relationship we have in real life, a Facebook comment can't convey the crack in my voice and a "like" is not a hug.
Despite all this, I felt compelled to write this blog post, which is not so different from a Facebook status. Mourning is hard and everyone handles it differently. Eight months ago when my grandma died, I didn't know how to mourn, and I still don't know what I'm doing now. While this virtual world can't replace old fashioned mourning, I will share this story of my grandpa with you anyway in hopes that it will help.
The last time I spoke with him was last month, on what would have been his 57th anniversary. After telling me about how much he missed my grandma, we started talking about the last time we saw each other - at my wedding almost one year ago. It was a nice ceremony, he said.
"How do you like being Jewish?" he asked.
"I love it," I responded. I am very open about my conversion, but none of my extended family members have really asked me about it, so I haven't talked about it much with them.
"You know, the Jews don't believe the Messiah has come yet."
"No, we don't."
"The Catholics think he came already." My grandpa was a devout Catholic and I got nervous that this would turn into a conversation about my eternal soul, but it went in completely the other direction. He said, "But, you know, I think there are plenty of ways to get to heaven or whatever you believe in. I think your grandma is in heaven." My grandma was not a devout Catholic. "As long as you're a good person, you'll get there; it doesn't matter what religion you practice."
I agreed.
Then he asked, "Do you do all the blessings? You know, wash your hands before you eat and bless the wine and bread?"
"Yes! We have a new wash cup that we got in Jerusalem this winter on Birthright."
"See," he said, "I know things about Judaism."
And that's how I spent the last conversation with my grandpa talking about religion, practice, and the afterlife. z"l Grandpa Earl, I love you.
When I was little, I loved the stories from the Old Testament. My favorites were Daniel and Joseph, but I could recount the basic stories of others too. Noah and the flood, Sarah's barren woes, Moses leading people to freedom. But I couldn't tell you anything about Ruth. I learned most of my Biblical knowledge as a child from a book called My Little Bible, which told Bible stories from the Old and New Testaments in 10 sentences or less. The stories were meant to summarize complex Biblical people and events into lessons for toddlers. As you can imagine, summarizing the Bible in language for little kids can be hit or miss, but I think most of the stories did a decent job of getting to the general point. For example, here is the story of Esther:
Brave Queen Esther
Haman hated God's people, the Jews. He tricked King Xerxes into making a law to kill all the Jews. Esther was the queen, and King Xerxes loved her. But Esther was a Jew. She bravely told the king about Haman's trick. The king became angry and had Haman killed. Brave Esther had saved God's people.
Point to Esther's crown.
This story, and most of the others, explains who the main characters are, how they are related, and the motives for their actions. Haman is hateful and somehow connected to the king. Esther is Jewish and brave. Knowing these facts is essential to understanding what happens in the rest of the story. This, on the other hand, is the book's summary of Ruth:
Ruth and Naomi
Ruth married Naomi's son. But the son died. Then Ruth and Naomi moved to a country called Judah. Naomi's cousin Boaz lived there. He had a big wheat field. Boaz let Ruth pick up grain from his field to feed Naomi. Boaz soon married Ruth. And they had a son named Obed. Naomi took care of Obed.Do you know any babies?
I read these nine sentences over and over, but the story just didn't make sense to me. I wanted to know why Ruth lived with her mother-in-law instead of her own family and why they moved to Judah. I didn't understand why Naomi took care of Obed instead of Ruth and Boaz. Besides all that, I couldn't find a point to the story and every other Biblical story I knew seemed to have some kind of lesson. So I gave up on Ruth. I didn't come across her again until years later when I was planning to convert to Judaism and then suddenly Ruth had a point. The story of Ruth is a conversion story.
"For wherever you go, I will go; wherever you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God." Ruth 1:16
Today is Shavuot, when we read the story of Ruth (the whole story of Ruth), and thus it is a time to talk about Jews by Choice. Over the past week or two, your local Jewish paper likely featured an interview with a convert or an opinion peace about welcoming the "other" into our communities. You will probably also find a story entitled "Shavuot: The Neglected Holiday" or "What is Shavuot?"
Shavuot is a learning holiday. It is an all-night Torah fest. You come together with others to pray, read and discuss texts, eat cheesecake, and then learn some more. These are all things that I love. I also love Shavuot because it allows me to connect to the Jewish people in a way that is often difficult. Much of Jewish life is generational, but Shavuot highlights the idea that there is a Jewish soul within every Jew, whether they were born Jewish or chose Judaism, and that we were all at Sinai. It is also the favorite holiday of many converts to Judaism, because of its connection to Ruth. Since my conversion, I have come to understand and appreciate Ruth in a way that I never would have otherwise. So this Shavuot, I celebrate the Torah and Ruth.
Rabbi Elliot Cosgrove of Park Avenue Synagogue in New York has caused quite a stir in the Jewish blogging community over a recent d'var Torah, entitled "An Immodest Proposal."
There is so much I want to say about Rabbi Cosgrove's "back-of-the-napkin," "trial balloon" proposal, but right off the bat, I would like to make a general observation about the conversion conversation. I would appreciate seeing the topic of conversion discussed more often in its own right, detached from the intermarriage issue. Yes, sometimes the two topics are related and warrant a joint discussion. However, just because some of us may have "found" Judaism through a relationship with a born-Jew, doesn't mean we converted "for" them or that the discussion has to include anything more on the interfaith aspect than that. I have ranted about my frustration with converting "for" someone on multipleoccasions.
Moving on! Rabbi Cosgrove's sermon is worth reading in full, but I am going to pull out my "favorite" parts to discuss here. Please feel free to share your thoughts on my critique or on another part of his sermon in the comments!
"And while some of my Reform colleagues do not perform intermarriages, the unintended consequence of this patrilineal resolution, as you can imagine, is dis-incentivizing the act of conversion altogether. After all, if a rabbi will marry you and the kids are Jewish anyway - why go through the whole rigmarole at all?"
This is just one of many comments that Rabbi Cosgrove made throughout this sermon lamenting the "dis-incentivizing" of conversion, but why exactly are we "incentivizing" it? What happened to turning a potential convert away three times? And if the potential convert considers conversion an annoying "rigmarole" as a means to a handful of specific ends (a Jewish wedding and Jewish kids), then maybe they shouldn't be converting to Judaism in the first place. When you convert, you are supposed to count yourself among the Jewish people, take on a Jewish identity, and accept the mitzvot, so "why go through the whole rigmarole" if that's not your intention?
"Probably the most famous narrative about conversion in the Talmud is the story of the would-be-convert who approaches first Shammai and then Hillel, asking to learn the entire Torah while standing on one foot. Shammai hits him with a stick – effectively telling him to get lost. Hillel, famously, converts him right away, telling him 'That which is hateful to you, do not do your fellow. That is the entire Torah. The rest is commentary. Go and learn.' The order of events is often missed, but it is instructive for us today. First Hillel converts, then Hillel teaches. First you join and then, once you are a vested member, you figure out what it's all about."
I love this story - so much so that it inspired my blog name - but I think that it is being misused here. The life of a convert, just like that of a born-Jew, is (or should be) a life of continuous learning. Knowing "what it's all about" is not a prerequisite for conversion, but there are a few things you should know before committing to be Jewish for the rest of your life. In this story, Hillel teaches his convert "the entire Torah" before converting him. Traditionally, we read the entire Torah in a one year cycle (three years in some synagogues), so I could just as easily cite this story as precedence for the common practice of requiring one year of study before conversion.
I am also a bit confused as to how Rabbi Cosgrove's "convert them first" plan would actually be implemented. He suggests regularly scheduled conversion times at the beginning of every month with follow up classes about Judaism in which the convert would be automatically enrolled, with no guarantee that they would actually attend, of course. That aside, would they go through the beit din and mikveh right away? Would the beit din still ask them if they were ready to take on Judaism, the good and the bad? Who could possibly answer that question at such an early stage? Not only that, but at what point would you circumcise a male convert? I can't imagine that a man would agree to circumcision without fully understanding the significance of it and deciding to commit fully to a Jewish life. Coming to understand, appreciate, and love Judaism takes time and learning. He cites "na'aseh v'nishmah" ("we will do and we will hear") as another reason to convert first, teach second. I have commented on this phrase from Exodus 24:7 before in relation to conversion, so I will only say here that I think Rabbi Cosgrove is ignoring a key element of "na'aseh v'nishmah," namely that when the Jews originally said it in Exodus, they were already Jews. The "we will do" part that came first was about taking on the mitzvot, not an entirely new identity as a Jew.
"Quite frankly, given the option of being misled by would-be Jews lacking integrity, or running the risk of losing potential Jewish households, I would choose the former over the latter any day of the week. I am in the business, we are in the business, of creating Jewish homes."
I have to wonder how often, if ever, Rabbi Cosgrove deals with converts or potential converts who are doing it for themselves out of a personal love of Judaism and desire to be part of the Jewish people. His outlook strikes me as incredibly hurtful to that group of us, as we are the ones who would be (and currently are) lumped in with those "would-be Jews lacking integrity" and forced to overcompensate to prove our integrity. I, for one, appreciate the slow learning approach to conversion. I not only appreciated the time and effort my rabbi took with me during my seven month conversion process as an important preparation for Jewish life, but I appreciate it now as a way to safeguard against Rabbi Cosgrove's "would-be Jews" who cast suspicion on the rest of us.* I think the Rabbinical Assembly (the Conservative Movement's association of rabbis) put it best in their position paper on non-halakhic conversions: "These objective halakhic criteria, which alone protect the purity of Jewish identity, should not be compromised in the interests of an ultimately meaningless Jewish unity."
*I know I'm coming across as incredibly harsh here, so let me just state for the record that I am not at all suggesting that rabbis close their doors to potential converts. I am (and this should be obvious) pro-conversion. My negativity here stems from consistently for multiple years now being on the defensive about my conversion from people who question my motives and the motives of all converts. That said, it's not all bad. In fact, I think it's safe to say that most people I tell are genuinely supportive.
I will end on a note of agreement, because I like to stay positive.
"...it strikes me as problematic verging on hypocritical to ask or expect converts to live according to a lifestyle that I do not demand of the rest of synagogue membership."
I don't think that this double standard is something I have discussed on my blog and, to be honest, it's not something I think about much anymore, but it used to really bother me during my conversion process and right after my conversion. Converts are often held to a higher standard than born-Jews when it comes to keeping the mitzvot. My legitimacy can be called into question, unofficially or officially, if I am less observant. However, if I had been born Jewish, then I would be Jewish without question, even if I ate a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich every morning and never observed Shabbat. It used to really bother me that there are Jews who wouldn't consider me Jewish, because I didn't convert in their movement, while born-Jews get a free pass in a sense. I'm not really sure when that stopped bothering me; it just slowly phased out of my thoughts. My observance of the mitzvot is between me and God and it doesn't make a difference to my level of observance what the Jew down the street does or doesn't do. Nonetheless, I appreciate Rabbi Cosgrove's acknowledgement of this issue.
Shabbat Shalom! Don't forget to "spring forward" this Sunday for Daylight Savings Time!
This is the transcription of my Birthright journal, where I chronicled my day by day activities and thoughts in Israel. To start at the beginning, click here!
January 5, 2013
Berel's conversion comments yesterday have continued to bother me all night and day. As a rabbi, Berel is an authority figure (whether or not he wants to be) and for him to have portrayed such a negative image of non-Orthodox converts is damaging. The fact that there are people who convert for the wrong reasons and that there are rabbis who perform insincere conversions makes it hard enough for me to be a Jew by Choice without Berel perpetuating these negative stereotypes. I regret not speaking up last night.
We went out to Ben Yehuda Street after Havdallah and I told our tour guide, Ariel, about my conversion. We talked about my conversion process and about why I was offended and upset by Berel's comments yesterday. I did not have a "quickie" conversion. After a childhood of dissatisfaction with religion and an agnostic adolescence, I was ready to find God again in a way that would make me happy. After a lot of soul searching and research (and on the advice of an internet quiz), I decided to try Judaism with my now-husband. Judaism is hard - the language barrier, the cultural differences, the concept of peoplehood, and so many more obstacles make it hard to break into. Looking back on it, I still can't figure out why I stuck with it through feeling like an outsider and tripping over Hebrew words. I have given up on things for much less. I think it was Lecha Dodi; I left services every week with the tune to Lecha Dodi stuck in my head. I hummed it without knowing the words. It was like that one tune wormed its way into my soul and hooked me. I started going to synagogue on a weekly basis just to hear it and then I started reading books and blogs on Jewish theology and watching Woody Allen and Marx Brothers movies. I immersed myself in Judaism for over a year before starting the official conversion process with my Reform rabbi. That process took another seven months and in that time I became more observant - starting with weekly Torah study, then keeping kosher style, and (as much as possible) not spending money on Shabbat. On April 8, 2011, I met with my bet din and went to the mikveh. I did it all for myself with the sincerest goal of igniting my Jewish soul for all eternity. Now I am somewhere on the more traditional end of the Conservative movement and my time in Israel has only strengthened my Judaism. Telling Ariel about my conversion and my frustration made me feel better and I was able to enjoy the rest of our night out.
Ben Yehuda Street
Ben Yehuda Street was excellent, even in the rain. This was also the first place we have seen bagels in Israel in the entire time we've been here. There was a lot of shopping and food and I managed to get most of the gifts I was looking for, including one for our own home - a hand washing bowl. I'm excited to use it before our next Shabbat dinner!
I am transcribing my Birthright journal, a day by day account of my time in Israel. To start at the beginning, click here! January 4, 2013 Hebrew word of the day: Lizkor velo liskoach (לזכור ולא לשכוח) = Remember and never forget
Yad Vashem
Yad Vashem was overwhelming, just like the Holocaust. There is so much significance and meaning just in the grounds and the architecture of the building. The museum is surrounded by beautiful gardens and trees. Within the gardens are monuments representing the lives lost. The museum itself sticks out of Mt. Herzl at the beginning and the end. You enter in the light and exit in the light with views on both ends of a beautiful and thriving Jerusalem. In order to reach the end, however, you must travel through the depths of the mountain and bear witness to the horrors of the Holocaust. There is so much material there that it is impossible to see it all in one day, let alone the three hours we were there.
The Menache Yehuda Market was also overwhelming, with so many shops and a mad crush of people. After the market, we prepared for Shabbat and went to the Kotel.
There are not words to describe the Kotel, but I'll try anyway. There is an overpowering sense of spirituality and unity at the Kotel. Singing songs surrounded by others who are singing the same songs and saying the same prayers that I say at home is an amazing and intense feeling, like being a family. We struggled past a throng of people to get up to the wall. It is a miracle that anyone is able to move in such a tightly packed crowd. Finally, all the women on our side of the mechitza made a giant circle and sang songs. It was incredible.
The modern feminist in me hates to admit it, but the mechitza was not the oppressive and segregating force that I have always thought it would be. When we arrived at the airport last week, our Mayanot coordinator, Abi, taught us a chant. With our arms around each other's shoulders, we chanted "Achim, achim, achim achim achim! Simcha, simcha, simcha simcha simcha!"Achim means brothers and simcha means joy. At the Kotel, as a large group of women, we did the same chant, but instead of achim, we shouted loud and proud, "Achayot, achayot!" "Sisters, sisters! Joy, joy!"
Unfortunately, the night ended on a sour note. After an awesome Shabbat dinner of banging on tables, we had a session called "stump the rabbi" with Rabbi Berel. One of the first questions was about conversion. Berel is a Chabad rabbi (for the Chabad opinion on conversion, check out this video), so I wouldn't necessarily expect him to see my Reform conversion as valid in his movement, but he went beyond that. He told a story about a woman who converted, but on her death bed when God didn't heal her, she turned back to Jesus. Berel went on to say that non-Orthodox conversions are quick things. He said, "You pay the rabbi $900 and you're Jewish. If you don't want to do it the right way [Orthodox], then you should choose a different religion." My husband argued in defense of non-Orthodox conversions without telling anyone that I converted. A few other people spoke up about having a parent who converted. I didn't speak up. I want nothing more on this trip than to be Jewish without question. Telling people that I converted requires a certain amount of trust. They have to trust me when I say that I converted for myself and not for my husband. I'm not sure that a twelve day trip will foster that kind of trust. I certainly didn't want to get into such a heated conversation after such an overall amazing day.
To hear more of my thoughts about conversion, keep reading!
