Converts becoming Rabbis

Apparently, it’s really common for converts to Judaism to become rabbis. Hell, one of our Hillel rabbis is one of them. Another of them wrote the book The Choosing, which you all need to read. One of my friends told me not to be the “stereotypical convert.” He asked me not to become a rabbi. I knew that there were people who converted and became rabbis, but I wasn’t aware that it was some kind of stereotype in the Jewish community. Rabbis Hillel and Akiva were both descendents of converts – this is often cited as proof of the good converts bring to the Jewish people. Basically, converts are no less capable of being leaders in the Jewish community than born Jews. But the idea today is that converts get excited about their learning and Judaism and want to continue it, so they become rabbis. I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing. If you love something so much of course you would want to help others find that same love and of course you would want a profession where you could be totally immersed in the thing you love.

I thought about what my friend said to me, and honestly, it’s a silly thought. Me, a rabbi? I would make a terrible rabbi. My voice is terrible, I don’t like when crowds of people are looking at me, and I take things way too personally. I become invested in people I shouldn’t become invested in. I will worry about them day and night. (I have to deal with this as a future teacher.) Plus, I just don’t want to be a rabbi. I wonder if converts really do just get excited and become rabbis, not really thinking about the job that “rabbi” brings with it. As a congregational rabbi, the congregation is your boss but you’re the authority. What a complicated relationship. You’re responsible for children, teens, adults, and the elderly. Plus all the interfaith stuff that happens in big cities these days. Sure, you can choose not to participate but that won’t help bring peace to your Jewish community. I don’t think I’d ever be comfortable doing interfaith work as the sole representative of Judaism in dialogue with a priest. It would just weird me out too much.

Becoming a rabbi is a big commitment and it can’t be made lightly. I’ve seen the way converts can burn out on Judaism. They don’t give up (well, I’m sure some have). But they go in observant/committed and after a few years they’re tired of it. It’s hard… Now, add in being a rabbi to that. You’ve spent years of your life plus tons of money on an education for a job you maybe don’t want or aren’t cut out for and then you start resenting the religion that got you into this mess in the first place. I’m not saying this is exactly what happens. I’m just saying it could happen and that’s probably why my friend asked me not to become a rabbi.

I’m not thinking of becoming a rabbi. Since I was 16, I have been committed to becoming a teacher. That dream has changed slightly in that I’ve changed which subject and which type of school I want to teach in. But other than those two things, I’ve been consistent with my life goal and from the beginning I’ve found Judaism to go right along with it. Judaism values education and educators. Judaism values civil rights and equality. Judaism values the individual. I never once thought of changing my life course because of Judaism. I think about Judaism enhancing the course I’ve been on since I was in the tenth grade when a teacher half-heartedly asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I want Judaism to help make me a better person and a better teacher, because that’s who I am. I don’t want Judaism to change me. Becoming a rabbi would be changing who I am, and that’s not OK. No matter how much I love Judaism and love learning about it, I can’t change who I am.

Luckily, Judaism values life-long learning. I can take as many classes as want at my synagogue or JCC. If I ever save up enough, I could study at Pardes or another university in Israel one summer. My learning won’t cease after the mikvah and it wouldn’t have to if I didn’t go to rabbinical school. And one day, G-d willing, I will get to teach Judaism to my children. That is all I need.

Looking Down on Others

Never look down on anybody unless you’re helping him up – Jesse Jackson

At one of our recent Torah study sessions, my friend explained the Jewish world in an interesting way to me. Jews look down on those who do more and those who do less than they do. For example, a Conservative Jew doesn’t understand why the Reform don’t observe Jewish Law as much as he/she does, but looks down on the Orthodox for doing more. The idea is that you’re lazy if you do less and you’re crazy if you want to do more than *I* do. Now, most Jews might not admit this and definitely wouldn’t word it this way, but he has a point. Among the movements, there is a lot of tension. They all have different ideas. But what it always comes back to is level of observance and I think this can be the hardest thing for converts to deal with. My friend for a long time was struggling with what kind of Jew he is but ultimately concluded he was still a Conservative Jew, because he was raised that way. Converts have to pick for themselves what movement to associate with and what level to observe the various laws. The whole looking down on anyone who observes differently than you do is annoying, superficial, but somewhat true, at least in my experiences.

Here’s how I know his explanation of the Jewish World is true. I’ve been a running joke in my friend group for almost the last year and a half. I try not to let it get to me, but it’s really getting old. Every time I know something, people laugh. Of course I know, I read about Judaism and the Jewish world for hours a day, why is that funny? When people find out I study Torah with this friend, most people find that strange and ask why. You’re going to services on Saturday morning, why? You’re going to an Orthodox Seder and not the Hillel Seder? Why? Why not? Some people are over it; some people are not. The question is becoming more important to me as I move deeper in my journey because this joke could turn into, “well you’re not actually Jewish” or “you’re not a born Jew” once I’m converted. I mean, people have already made comments like that to me. I know that this is an unavoidable part of being a convert, but it’s not cool when it’s coming from people you trust. How could I ever stand up to strangers if I can’t even deal with my friends who don’t like when I’m more observant or knowledgeable than they are? 

See, my friend let’s me disagree with him. He’s a pluralist in that way. But most Jews I meet are not, even if they think they are. If they’re Reform, they’re Reform because they like being Reform and don’t really get the Orthodox. If they’re Orthodox they don’t understand any movement that doesn’t accept and observe the Torah as the literal word from G-d. It’s really tough. For the sake of argument, let’s say there are 15 million Jews in the world (different censuses say different things). That means there are 15 million ways to be a Jew. And we add one more for every convert who joins the tribe. No two Jews are the same. Judaism is almost 4,000 years old. There is a lot to be learned and infinitely many ways to interpret the Torah. If someone finds meaning in the way they observe, why do you get to look down on them? Ask yourself first if you find meaning in the way you’re observing or if you’re doing things blindly. Ask yourself is this what G-d intended when He commanded this action? 

The G-d of our Fathers

I feel like it’s a pretty common thing for converts to research their family trees looking for Jews. We want to know if we are inheriting something, perhaps it’s like a gene that has skipped several generations or the people before us ignore it or were unable to act on it for whatever reason. In general, people want to know where they come from. This is why ancestry.com is a flourishing online business. I actually did the two week free trial last fall through ancestry.com and I learned some pretty interesting things.

First, let’s start with what I already knew. My father’s mother’s father was a Jew. He converted to Lutheranism. My grandma was raised a Lutheran then converted to Catholicism when she met my grandpa. It was a big drama at the time because Christians are suspicious of Catholics, obviously. No one ever really knew why my great-grandfather converted away from Judaism or when. He didn’t talk about it much. This makes perfect sense if you think about it. He took on a new religion that believes Jews are damned to hell. Why would he talk about ever having been one? And back then, people didn’t discuss personal things like that anyways; I can’t imagine religious conversion coming up for family conversation.

When I started searching on ancestry.com, I eventually found my great-grandfather. I had sat with my grandma to find out her grandparents names to make sure I was finding the right people. Eventually I found his parents who were born in Saratov, Russia. I had never heard of this city. I looked it up. It falls outside where the Pale of the Settlement was (where most Russian Jews lived). I thought maybe he wasn’t Jewish and it was a strange family rumor that had started. He was strange so someone said he was a Jew, my grandma heard it and told my dad who told me? I researched this little town further and I came to the conclusion that my grandma was right all along: he was Jewish and his parents lived in a Jewish town.

Saratov was a small town with about 40 Jews living in it. It was one of the few towns outside of the Pale where Jews could live successfully. The only reason I was able to learn any of this about Saratov is because the town makes the history books for sad reasons. In 1853 there was a blood libel case. [If you don’t know, blood libel cases are when Christians accuse Jews of using a Christian’s blood – usually a child’s – for ritual sacrifice, common around Passover because of the link to the Pascal Sacrifice. If a Christian child were found dead, Jews were blamed.] Two Christian children were found dead. Different sources say different things, but I know that Jews were hanged for it. Some say up to eleven Jews were accused. I don’t know exactly what happened with my family but I have made a pretty good guess that aligns with a standard course of action for Jews in this time. I’m guessing that my Jewish family (parents, grandparents, children) all converted to Christianity because of blood libel and other forms of antisemitism. Like Rabbi Joseph Telushkin explains, their goal was not to become Christian to be saved but to become goyim to avoid antisemitism. The ironic thing was, they eventually came to America where they would have been free to be their Jewish selves.

Why does this matter? Because it’s a part of my family history and it has informed who I am. It matters in the same way it matters that I know where my other great-grandma and grandpa came from. I know the name and location of their home-town and the story of how they got here. Also, because of ancestry.com I learned a lot about my mom’s side of the family. One line of her family has been here since the Mayflower, literally, and the men have fought in every major war our country has been in. I can find out information about them going back to the 1300s.

I’ve told one or two Jews the story of my Jewish family, and to my surprise – or, more so, dismay – they find this highly irrelevant and uninteresting. It’s like I just told them the weather report for the day. But when I tell them my mom’s family has been here since the Mayflower and that they fought in the American Revolution, they find that highly interesting. I really wonder why that is? The ancestor who fought in the Revolution is so many generations ago that I don’t even know how many greats I’d have to add to grandpa to describe him. In fact, I don’t even know his name. That’s cool but knowing my Jewish history is not? I really don’t get it because it is very important to me. To know I have Jews in my family line matters to me. To say “the G-d of our Fathers” in a prayer doesn’t just mean spiritual fathers for me, it’s literal. I have Jewish ancestry so I feel sincere when I say those words. I invoke this history when I say those words. Before my great-grandfather converted, Judaism could have been in his family for centuries. He could have been a kohane or a levite. It matters to me, because this person, who I never met, was Jewish and informs – in some small way – my Jewish identity.  

Reflections on the Shoah

I mentioned forever ago that I had this internship at Hillel -- the Holocaust Awareness Internship. Basically, I was responsible for planning the week of Holocaust remembrance activities around Yom HaShoah. And basically, it was the most stressful job of my life. Our programs were huge and we planned months in advance. They turned out beautifully. But let's face it, it's the Shoah. It's too much. I couldn't breathe for months. Don't get me wrong, I've studied the Holocaust many times in my life. I have been since I was ten years old. Quite honestly, we weren't studying it much during this internship. It was just there, around us all the time. I missed class one day, which I lied to the professor about where exactly I was, because I had lunch with a survivor instead. I scored the lowest in my math class on our midterm because it was during our 24-hour names' reading vigil and I just didn't care.

I don't know how people can devote their entire lives to studying the Holocaust. I wasn't even around for our first event of the week (a remembrance seder) and by Friday night shabbos I was in tears. I hid in the office while the rabbi welcomed in the angels and the other girls lit candles. I was a wreck. But then I remember that someone has to do it, which is why I did it in the first place. Thousands (maybe millions?) of people devote their lives to the study and remembrance of the Shoah because it is necessary. It is so sad but so true that it is necessary. I've spent a lot of time working with people at the Holocaust Museum in DC and doing different programs there. I've met countless survivors by now. I love the work they do. I often wonder if it was the work I was meant for...

Next year, I am not doing the Hillel internship. I like to tell people that Hillel internships only last one year. But that's not the truth. They were more than willing to make an exception for me because I did such great work. I didn't like working there. It was stressful for non-blog-worthy reasons. But a huge factor is the sadness that comes with the job. The Torah tells us that we must take care of ourselves before taking care of others. And the truth is, I want to devote next year to real Jewish study. Just like born Jews, I don't want my Judaism to be defined by the Holocaust. I want to have time to see the beauty in the 4,000 year old tradition and study the history that in one part includes the Shoah. Because when you study the Shoah, that's all there is. There's nothing else and you can't think straight. Even though I know it's not really possible, the next time I want to think about the Shoah, is Yom HaShoah 2013.

Below is part of a reflection I wrote about being at the Holocaust Museum in DC. and I wanted to include it just because....

After walking the halls of the Holocaust Museum, the wicked child asks, “Where was G-d?” and declares, “G-d is dead. Otherwise, he would not have abandoned His people and allowed the Holocaust to happen.” But the wise child asks, “Where was man?” After all, the wise child notes, it was man who built the gas chambers. It was man who aimed the guns of the Einsatzgruppen. It was man who watched it all happen. The simple child asks, “What has happened?” The Holocaust is such a huge event with so many facets that it is difficult to know where to begin. The silent child does not know what to ask. He is overwhelmed by all that he sees. All of these are legitimate reactions to encountering the Holocaust. Each of these children visits the museum everyday and they may be four years old or they may be ninety-four years old. We are all children when it comes to understanding the Holocaust.

Acts of (Inter)Faith

I just finished reading Acts of Faith: The Story of an American Muslim, the Struggle for the Soul of a Generation by Eboo Patel. And I actually got to meet and hang out with him for a few hours last week end. He is so down to earth and one of the most inspiring people I've ever met. He founded the Interfaith Youth Core which exists on college campuses but also works with high schoolers and the basic idea is for kids of different faiths to do service projects together and have dialogue about it later. The dialogue of course revolves around their many faiths. Through out his book, Eboo shows how all religious traditions exemplify two things. One of which we always think about when we think religion, and one of which we never think when we think religion. 1) All religions consider themselves unique and the best in some way. Religious particularity, if you will. 2) All religions take interfaith relations into consideration. See, that second one throws you off guard. But he really shows in his book how cooperation can be reached if we work at it and that all religions espouse these things. We can respect each other and work together in harmony. Interfaith work is supposed to make you more committed to your own faith.

I loved reading this book and I find it so relevant to today's America/world. But at times, I found myself outside the story. He talks so much about finding his own roots and others finding their roots. When you study other religions, that should bring you closer to your own. He studied Buddhism, Hinduism, Judaism, and Catholicism which only led him to be a more committed Muslim in the end. If I had been able to get him alone for just five minutes this weekend (or if I had a real email address of his now) I would have asked him "How do converts fit into your idea of interfaith development?" He was so open and vulnerable with himself, that I wouldn't have been afraid to ask him. It was just everyone else around him all the time. I would have outed myself. We weren't really in a religious setting, but a leadership setting, so that wasn't a place I felt comfortable being myself (I should say my Jewish-ish self). I really would love to know his answers because the entire time I was reading those parts of his book I felt like he was telling me to go back to Catholicism. And I wanted to scream back, "But I CAN'T!" What if you can't? What if Jesus isn't the savior? What if the same reason you don't subscribe to Christianity is the same reason I don't want to? How do I fit into the interfaith movement then?

I'm wording it in a childish way, but it is a serious question for me. I very much believe that interfaith is the movement of our time and that we have a responsibility to learn how to coexist. How do converts fit into the interfaith movement? Often, I get remarks from Jews about my Christian background. They range from harmless jokes to a stab right through the center of my soul. They have no idea what it's like to feel responsible for children getting molested. So, no those jokes aren't funny. And no true Catholic supports those priests either, just as no Jew supports the rabbis who behave in the same way. I've dealt with the pain that I put on myself. I don't need others putting it on me. Part of my issue of being in the interfaith movement is the lack of converts to Judaism. We confuse people. People convert to Christianity and Islam all the time. It's totally normal. More than that, it's welcomed. But Jews, in general, don't know how to deal with converts. The fear then becomes how will born Jews react when they hear me discussing another religion. My sincerity is already being questioned. An interfaith discussion can't possibly help. But should I forego my comfort for the sake of interfaith cooperation?

To be honest, I've never really done anything interfaith but I am about to make my family interfaith. It's kind of ironic. I've studied other religions, but I don't think that counts as interfaith study. When I did that, I was looking for something. I was looking for myself in those religions, to see if I could fit. When I saw I didn't fit, I walked away. The only religion I have studied beyond that is Christianity. I have studied for classes, for the sake of my parents, for the sake of understanding where I come from, where I don't come from, where the world is headed, and for the sake of understanding history. But it's always a little uncomfortable for me. I wonder if I really could do the same for other religions. I'm guessing studying Islam or Hinduism wouldn't make me uncomfortable since I wasn't raised in either of them and don't resent them for anything. But a stranger question is, are converts (in Judaism) even allowed to be a part of the interfaith movement? Would a rabbi seriously approve of me partaking in interfaith activities, studying other religions and experiencing different rituals? He would probably tell me I have to wait until after I converted. My guess is, for the foreseeable future I am going to be kept out of the interfaith movement.

Cupcakes, Movies, and Progress

If you are converting or have converted to Judaism, you probably know of Rabbi Andrea Myers (or you may have seen her book listen on my "What I've Read" page). If you have not, and you want to convert to Judaism, please google her immediately. Then get on Amazon and buy her book. Seriously, go. She will be 100x more helpful to you than this blog ever will be.

Anyway, there are two rabbis at Hillel who see me all the time who haven't talked to me as much as Rabbi Andrea. And she's never even met me. We live hundreds of miles from each other and most likely will never meet. If that's not fantastic then I don't know what is. But her knowledge is beyond helpful because she knows things that born Jews just do not (and converts who had a super easy time converting). She can explain why it is that my mother says "Judaism" and "Jewish" so strangely. She can explain what my parents are thinking about when they say things, or don't say things, and what I have to look forward to. She took the time to found out what my parents' Jewish interactions would be by asking other rabbis about the city they live in.

Turns out, my mother is worried about the stereotypes that other people will project onto me once I become a Jew. Honestly, I thought for a while my mom might be a secret antisemite. I like Rabbi Andrea's explanation much better. I guess that is a legitimate concern for a parent to have. I know that Jewish parents have similar concerns so it's not so out there. But the thing is, according to my dad, there isn't much antisemitism going on in my home town. My dad said he has encountered racism and homophobia but never antisemitism. Where is my mother getting her ideas about antisemitism from? I do not know. I just know it's weird for her to deal with the prospect of a Jewish daughter.

One day, Rabbi Andrea says, they will get over these things and start accepting it. They'll start asking super strange questions and cutting out Israel articles and talking to me about them. My mom is still really awkward at the mention of anything Jewish, but two weeks ago she called me to tell me about a special on TV she watched. It was about Tel Aviv. When I went home last weekend, my dad wanted to watch a "Jewish movie" with me (score!). When he proposed this, I offered him a "Jewish cupcake" (brought home leftovers from Hillel shabbat dinner) and he said, "those aren't Jewish cupcakes!" and I said, "Yes, they are. They're kosher." Then he ate one. (bonding over food, score #2.) We attempted to watch Exodus (the one from Europe, not Egypt). But since my dad still lives in the 80s and has this movie on Laserdisc, it didn't really happen. The player died 25 minutes into the movie. He is going to order on DVD and we'll attempt it again this summer. This might not seem like a big deal, but my dad loves movies. Watching a movie with him is like the ultimate bonding experience. The fact that he wants to watch Jewish movies with me is a tremendous jump from Easter.

The thing with my dad is, he can get super mad about things. Then when he calms down and starts thinking about things he can be very cool. It makes his growth in acceptance seem really big. Well, it is really big. But compared to my mom who didn't say much three months ago his change is really noticeable. I have no idea what kind of growth in acceptance is happening with my mother because she doesn't express herself. She kind of sucks at communicating on anything serious. She can have a ten minute conversation on the weather but five minutes on something real is a rare occasion. I don't know what's going on in her head right now. I know she told me about Tel Aviv but that's all that's happened with her in the last three months. But with my dad, things are pretty good in my eyes.

However, when things are weird or bad I have this advice from Rabbi Andrea as the silver lining: insanity + time = book :) Read hers and you'll understand...

A Reflection

The school year is almost over, and it's time for reflection. I have been going to Hillel for over a year. I feel like I've grown a lot in that time, but in some ways still feel like I am at square one. I go to Hillel Friday night shabbat services most weeks and go there a lot during the week, usually to eat. I've been to reform and orthodox shuls and all three kinds of services. I've still never been to a conservative shul, though. I know the standard reform service and am working on conservative. I can read Hebrew. I've read all of Jewish Literacy (and if you know the book, you know it's a shlep to get through it), as well as This is My G-d, half of To Be  A Jew, and I'm partially through at least seven other books on Judaism (please see What I'm Reading). At least an hour of my day is spent reading Jewish blogs or Jewish information online. I try not to do that on shabbat out of respect (plus the fact that some of them go off line on shabbat). I am about to take my third Jewish studies class in the fall. I study Torah. I have read half of the Tanakh and plan to make a dent in the rest this summer.  I recently made the decision to cut out all pork (it was down to just bacon anyway) and seafood. I kept Passover and the Yom Kippur fast.

So what does all of this mean? Well, it seems, if anything, I've developed a Jewish identity. It's a little scary. But it's also really cool. Also starting to accumulate a Jewish wardrobe (ya know, Jew tshirts). But most important (I think), I no longer feel the Catholic identity projected onto me. I've shed that completely and I know that that was the single most important element to moving on in my life. Even if I wanted to be a Universalist or something, I still would have had to completely rid myself of that conflicting identity. Even though I didn't believe in or practice Catholicism, I was still hurting all the time when I felt Catholic projected on me. Now I don't feel that happening, ever. I don't get so upset anymore to learn about the mishaps of the Church (which happen quite frequently as you all know). There is such freedom to that. With that gone, there is lots of room for a Jewish identity to fill in. I know I have the rest of my life for that to happen and for the identity to develop and change, but I imagine the bulk will happen in the next year or two. And I'm really freaking excited.

I have plans to find a rabbi this summer, in addition to several other Jewish goals. But I mostly want to find a rabbi (or two) so I can learn more. My parents asked me not to study with a rabbi until I graduate college, but I have kind of plateaued with my Jewish learning and it is very frustrating. I have to learn more. Learning continually, incessantly is how I got here and I have no intentions of stopping. It was Confucius who said it matters not how slowly you go so long as you do not stop. I cannot stop learning, for then that means I stop living. Who knows when I'll actually convert but I have to continue learning. It is the Jewish way, after all.

Nonconformity

This is a sister post to the one earlier today. It is meant to answer that discussion question, when do you not conform? Well, I stopped conforming the minute I decided I would never set foot in a Catholic church again. I didn't conform when I told my mom I wanted to leave the Church like my aunt did. I didn't conform when I went to Hillel for the first time, or the second time or the third time. I didn't conform when I met with a rabbi just to talk. And on and on.

It seems rather trite that I would even discuss nonconformity in a blog like this. The whole concept centers around nonconformity. But the truth is, I've never really been able to conform fully. Everywhere I went, every group I found myself in there was always one little piece of me that didn't quite fit. Whether I was with the cheerleaders, or the honors kids, or the art kids, or the Christians, or the atheists, I just didn't fully fit. I could never conform - not because I didn't want to, but because I literally couldn't. Something in me kept me from remaining the slightest bit different.

There will always be times when I feel different, times when I have to suppress an opinion or two so I don't cause problems, or times when I have to suppress a part of my personality. But it sucks if those times are all the time. There were very few completely safe spaces for me growing up, and for a while in college I wasn't sure if I would find another one. The total, complete, no-bullshit truth is, that space is with my Jewish friends. I can be totally open and free with them. And they are - for all intents and purposes - my Jewish community. It's good to be nerdy and know a lot of things. It's normal to be sarcastic and funny. Making mistakes, laughing, and being philosophical all in one sitting is a regular occurrence. I am at home with them whether or not I am technically Jewish. The best part is, though, that I don't feel like I am conforming or have to conform to anything. I am just being.

I am comfortable here and now even if it makes other people uncomfortable that I am not conforming to other standards.

Conformity

Last night I went to another Dinner and Dialogue at Hillel. And again I did not say the meaningful things I was thinking during the discussion. One day, perhaps, I will be brave enough to say these things in the moment, but until then, I have this blog. The discussion was on conformity: when do you conform? when should you conform? when should you not? I gave some generic and pretty lame responses. They were real responses but just not as profound as what I could have said.

In the time before I came to school, I had a vision about what college would be like, what the other kids would be like. I expected open-minded, free-spirited atheists, agnostics, and generally non-religious people. For some reason, I figured no one in college would be religious because we'd all left our parents houses and that's where religion came from. None of the college kids I saw on TV were religious. And obviously TV is a reflection of reality.

I was quite shocked to find myself surrounded by devout Christians. Some of them were even Evangelical. People asked me to go to church with them, and when I declined, I was deemed an outsider. It didn't bother me much at the beginning of the year. But then as people got to know each other better, they started discussing politics. And with politics comes the discussions of abortion, gay marriage, and the like. I couldn't believe how many kids on my floor were pro-life and against marriage equality. Even if I wasn't actually outnumbered, I felt outnumbered. I was an outsider for sure. I had to keep silent and conform to their standards. I didn't like it.

What's worse was when everyone wanted to label me. So and so was a Methodist, what's-her-face Catholic, that one guy Russian Orthodox. So what was I? Well you've got an Italian last name so you must be Catholic. They put me in that box and I couldn't seem to get out. So I let that be my identity for a while, because that's what other people were comfortable with. The thing is, most of the people who put me in that box were not Catholics themselves and carry with them all the negative things about Catholics with them. So do I. So when they would make jokes, I would make them too. My humor is already rather self-deprecating so knocking myself for being a really bad Catholic was easy. Other Catholics - good Catholics - don't like that. They especially don't like it when they sense you're a non-believer. Good Catholics are not fond of bad Catholics conforming, which might seem antithetical to the idea of Catholicism, but it's true.

Technically, I could have kept that Catholic identity as long as I wanted. I could have conformed to what I was "supposed" to be, with the Italian last name and all. I was confirmed and no one can really take that rite away. But there was no way I could have permanently conformed. I was in a new place and in a new time in my life. It made sense to conform in the moment, but once I was removed from that dorm and those people, it didn't make sense anymore. Hell, without those people forcing me to conform I probably never would have set foot in a church in college. I don't know if that's a good or a bad thing. It just is. I don't regret anything in my life, but I am so freaking glad I stopped conforming. It was terribly unfulfilling.

Learning Torah

A while back the Hillel rabbi decided the next step in my Jewish education was to find someone to learn Torah with. Right after that one of my close friends suggested we study Torah together. Perfect! We started learning together a few weeks ago and it is honestly my new favorite pastime. The friend I learn with has studied at Pardes in Israel so he's basically a Torah scholar (jokes). But he is experienced and has a good approach that really works for me.

We take turns reading through the parsha out loud: he reads from the Artscroll translation and I read from the JPS translation. Neither of us really knows Hebrew so the different translations help us understand what may or may not be going on in the original text. We note tense changes, repetition of words, and other oddities to decipher what is really going on in the portion.

It takes about 2 and a half hours for us to learn the whole parsha, and that two and a half hours is usually the highlight of my week. We discuss theology, history, rhetoric, math, evolution, personal experiences and more as a result of just a few chapters in the Torah. It is incredible. After our sessions, I swear, I literally feel my mind expand. I think I expected Torah study to be cumbersome, like analyzing Shakespeare for an English class, but it isn't. It's uplifting. It relieves pressure from life somehow, rather than adding. This is what it means that the Torah is a gift.

I don't have much else to say except that Torah study has been the most meaningful addition to my Jewish experience. Every week when we conclude I look forward to the next session and wonder what will happen next. It makes me want to learn more and more. It truly is a driving force in my progression of a full Jewish identity.

It gets beautiful

So, this might seem a little dense at first. But I had a major breakthrough lately. This is something I've always known, but I've never really known. It took a long time to realize it but I feel like I've reached a new phase in my journey because of it.

Jews can be bad people.

All people can be bad people. Righteousness nor immorality are limited to or from any group. Whether it's the Haredi in Israel forcing women to the back of the bus, sexual abuse in the Ultra-Orthodox communities in New York, Orthodox Jews excluding converts and children from converts from the community, anyone excluding LGBTQs or Jews of color, rabbis abusing potential converts, or anything else you can think of, Jews can be just as mean or misbehaved as the next (non Jewish) person.

But I still want to be Jewish. Today, I can firmly say that. And now, for the first time in my life, I understand why people remain Catholic in spite of its antisemitic, oppressive, homophobic, sexual abuse history and current affairs. For so long I was frustrated by people who seemed to ignore these things and stay in a religion that to me mistreats people and disregards people on the margins. But people don't stay Catholic because they're OK with these things. They stay Catholic because of the religion. They connect to spiritual and intellectual things that no child-abusing priest can get in the way of. Now I get it.

I never wanted to be a part of Catholicism not because of the history and the abuse, but because there is no connection for me. With no connection to the religion, what is there for me? If I don't connect to the spiritual aspect of Catholicism, I sure as hell ain't gonna connect to the hierarchy and patriarchy that excludes women from all leadership and LGBTQ fully participation, obviously things that bother me. There is simply no place for me, and I'm OK with that.

Some Jews can really turn Judaism ugly. They use it for their own purposes. They interpret the halacha in an outdated way to exclude people and to stunt the evolution of the Jewish people. But, my G-d, Judaism can be so beautiful. It's not up to other Jews how my Judaism turns out. I see my friends Judaism and it is beautiful. Mine will be too. While the Jews who mistreat others and justify it using Jewish tradition and law, I am not going to let them stop me from seeing the traditions differently. My Judaism will be just as open and liberal as I am now. The connection I feel to G-d and Judaism will not be hindered by others.

My connection to my father and Catholic/Christian friends and anyone else won't be hindered anymore either. Because now I know what it's like. I know what it's like to be drawn to something in spite of the errors of others who've been a part of the same religion. We're all human and can only do so much. We can't change major institutions in a year or two. Hell, we can't even change them over a lifetime. And I can't be upset with people for being a part of a religion that I see as outdated.

Now my life is a little brighter and a little happier because I see where I am going clearly for the first time. No one is going to get in the way of that.

Atheist

I want to discuss atheists. Religious people like to ignore atheists, pray for them, or argue with them. Not that I consider myself religious, but I think these options kind of sucks. I think atheists/agnostics/skeptics/freethinkers are freakin' awesome. Honestly. I really appreciate the atheist perspective on life because I used to be there, and in many ways I still am. I never accept anything at face value. I am not a fan of just accepting "G-d's plan," and luckily for me, neither are Jews.

When I was around 15-16, I identified as agnostic. I explained to people that I believed there was probably something higher but there was no way of knowing. Much of this stemmed from the fact that I recognized that I didn't fit in with Christians. Because I am so math oriented, I tended to create little proofs in my head that eventually led to me finding that G-d does, in fact, exist. I always began with the premise that G-d did not exist and evaluated many of my experiences, things like my brother's military life, my aunt's sickness and ultimate survival, the wonder in my niece's eyes, and the beauty of the world. Every way I went, G-d not existing didn't allow for these things. After so long, I knew that the gut feeling I had was right and I had used a logical path to determining this. In mathematics, this is known as a proof by contradiction: start with the opposite of what you want to prove and produce a contradiction, showing that what you originally wanted must be true.

Atheists question everything, and I still find that to be very much a part of who I am. Atheists don't attempt to explain things (like earthquakes) by saying it's some message from G-d (like that the government needs to get a better budget, ehem, Michelle Bachmann). I don't attempt to do so either. I just accept that natural disasters and the weather occur because of various conditions that science can explain for us. I do believe G-d ultimately controls it, but I'm not going to get mad at an atheist for saying "no, He doesn't." What difference does it make? None of us can control it anyway.  I just cannot comprehend life without G-d, which is where atheists and I part ways.

I get the sense from some people - and yes, many of them are Christians - that you must believe in G-d to get His help. Well, that doesn't sound like an all-loving G-d to me. Unlike those people (some of them are my friends) I don't believe that G-d abandons people who don't believe in him. I believe that G-d helps people whether or not they acknowledge his presence. I mean, before Abraham figured out that G-d is G-d and those other gods are fakes, did no good things happen to people? No, G-d has always been there taking care of people, changing things, and creating things. The universe is billions of years old, so there's no way we can say G-d didn't care about  and love things until people started to worship Him 4,000 years ago. This is clearly demonstrated by all of the amazing atheist/skeptic thinkers out there making our world a better place. G-d didn't smite them or abandon because He still loves them and appreciates there work.

Sometimes I forget that not all Jews believe in G-d. But I am often reminded by one person or another and you know what? This is honestly one of the greatest things about Judaism. Even though some would disagree, there is still room for people who don't believe in G-d in this great, old tradition. It's very reassuring when I am struggling trying to figure out where I belong. Many Jews though do not find atheism a threat to Judaism since the Jewish tradition is based on questioning, fueled by doubt in many ways. One can take on an entire atheist mind set and be completely comfortable in the Jewish tradition.

Welcome the Stranger

In case you haven't read it a zillion other times on other Jewish convert blogs, don't call someone a shiksa. Period. End of story. There's no arguing. It's offensive. It derives from the Yiddish word for dirty and is meant to slur non-Jewish women who are dating or could one day date  Jewish guys and thus produce a non Jewish children. These women pull men away from Judaism and the Jewish community. Therefore, they ruin the Jewish community. Well, it's 21st century America now so this concept isn't the same as it once was in Eastern Europe. But it's still an offense term. Don't use it.

A girl I spend a good deal of time with likes to use it a lot. She's not really my friend. She's friends of my friends and we also work on Holocaust Awareness stuff together. And she's a fairly offensive person in general so I'm not that surprised by it. What I am always surprised by is the number of other Jews who say nothing to her. I said something to a friend once, along the lines of "Why does she think that's OK?" "Because Jews say it all the time." Oh, really? And that makes it OK? If white people start saying the n-word a lot does that make it OK? Oh, wait, plenty still do, and guess what? Still not OK. It just blows my mind that my friends who would be equally offended at someone slurring a black person, a hispanic person, a Muslim, a Christian as if they themselves as Jews were slurred, are perfectly fine with someone slurring a non Jewish woman.

This same girl who likes the word shiksa a lot also made up a fun new way to describe me: a Jew groupie. "Mary's such a Jew groupie. Hahahahaha." Do you see me laughing? No. Do you see my friends laughing? Yes.

Let me explain. I love my Jewish friends. A whole freaking lot. I meet lots of Jews I like and Judaism is awesome. But. I. Am. Not. A. Jew. Groupie. Jews are fantastic in many, many ways. But I in no way intend to follow them around, bother them, ask for autographs, or throw my underwear at them. I will not faint if I touch a Jew and don't spend a great deal of time fantasizing about meeting Jews. Why? Because Jews are normal people, and if I want to be one, I can freaking be one. It's very demeaning to call someone who's working to become a Jew, a Jew groupie. I hang out with Jews because I like them. They're my friends. And I love Judaism a great deal. That does not give anyone the right to call me a groupie or be rude to me because they're a Jew and I'm not.

There is a reason it's a mitzvah to welcome the stranger. We have a hard enough time finding our way into the community. Don't make it harder, please. You might be fascinated by us, but don't be rude. You don't have a right to call us names (shiksa or otherwise) or ask inappropriate questions. These questions include but are not limited to:

• What are you doing here [at this synagogue, Jewish event, Jewish place]?
• Oh you're not Jewish? So you're Christian? You love Jesus and all that?
• Are you converting to Judaism?
• Why are you converting to Judaism?
• When are you converting to Judaism?
• You're converting? So you have Jewish boyfriend?
• Do you want to convert because you have a Jewish boyfriend?

I realize that these are based on my experience but I am pretty sure you could replace boyfriend with girlfriend and represent many other people's experiences. If you have a friend who is converting and he or she opens up to you, then you could ask the questions. Ask them in a much more sensitive way. And if you're Jewish and you know someone who is converting, you don't have any right to know why. It's deeply personal. Would you open up to someone about losing your virginity? Same kind of personal. If someone shares with you, be honored because it is very hard to put into words. It's hard to explain a connection to G-d that's driving you to do something because G-d is beyond comprehension. People converting to Judaism convert for many of the same reasons you embrace your own Jewish identity. We love Judaism for the same reasons you do. And remember:

Speech has power. Words do not fade. What starts out as a sound, 
ends in a deed. -Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel