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My journal about my conversion to Judaism. |
| I started writing my conversion story in June 2023, even though it started before then. It will not be in chronological order as I remember things from the past that brought me to this point in my life. My decision to convert was not an easy one. I grew up Pentecostal. I watched my grandma speak in tongues. My aunt played keyboard in the church band. I used to attend church (a member of a Baptist church for many years) 3 to 4 times a week. I did not start my journey of healing after my divorce and expect to end up here. However, my desire and work to grow closer to G-d has left me no doubt or question about where I am now. I have no hesitation in my conversion to Judaism. This is my story of leaving Christianity and becoming a part of a people that I will be able to, one day, proudly say that I am also. A Jew. |
| People say things and don't always mean to have an effect on the the person they say them to. It was the Shabbat dinner before Pesach started. It was a good dinner with good conversation. I have been repeatedly asked (especially recently) how my conversion is going. The truth is, I don't know. I don't hear anything. I just go to classes, keep learning, keep studying, keep praying, and keep living. The host said, "I know conversion is hard. The VAD can just pull the plug at any time and stop everything." I admit that I didn't panic right away. I didn't make it the center of my thoughts, because I know that even after everything that there is the possibility of a no. Everyone converting knows that. I enjoyed the Seders as I said in my previous entry. I enjoyed Pesach, period. If I was going to freak about anything, every story that I have heard tells me that I should be freaking about Pesach. That is not what my meltdown was about. Pesach is a time to see a hopeful future while remembering the past. Yes, it is difficult, but not anything that should turn a convert away from Judaism. Not even close. It was during services on the last day of Pesach. Day 8. I panicked. I had a meltdown right in shul, right in front of everyone. Perhaps it wasn't just the words that I heard. It was a culmination of multiple things. The fact that friends forget that I am not converted yet. The fact that I want mezuzahs in my doorways and feel for them often only to remember they are not there. Perhaps it was the friend that looked for them also on her way out my door only to remember at that moment why they were not there. Perhaps it was hearing everyone in shul call me a part of their family while still being called an enemy. Perhaps it was the Mashiach meal that I decided not to attend because it was a pot luck and I can't bring my own food into the shul, because anything I make is considered treif to any other Jew. I can't share food with my friends. I can't give them challah or deserts for Shabbat. I certainly can't attend a pot luck! Perhaps it was the thought of never touching the Torah on Simchat Torah - something I am waiting for until after my conversion so I don't touch it with my dirty goyish hands. Perhaps it was the sudden realization during services that the Torah that I have always loved so much isn't even mine. I have never in my life even had that thought go through my head, but I did then. Perhaps it was my friends in synagogue telling me, "We're here for you. We are all your family" knowing that as much as I want them to be my family, they aren't. Perhaps it was the brief moment when I tried to think of what life would like without living like this and believing in the Torah, and there was nothing to imagine. I couldn't imagine it. Me, who can imagine anything and write it down couldn't imagine life without Judaism, without Torah, without mitzvahs, without waking up first thing in the morning and thanking Hashem, without every moment of my day a conscious reflection on Hashem and his goodness and my faith in him. What would life be like? I don't know, because there is no going backwards. I would exist, but would I really exist? A full week has come and gone since my meltdown. Another wonderful Shabbat is gone, and I enjoyed my first challah in two weeks with my wonderful friends that I met at shul. I have attended classes with my Rabbi and my Hebrew teacher. I have kept going, because what else can I do? I can't stop being me, and this is who I am, not just what I do. Today I attended a Yom HaShaoah Commemoration at the local Holocaust Center. I was asked my Jewish name, and I couldn't respond. I have a name chosen, but it isn't my name. Not yet. How can I share it with the world? Then a sweet, sweet holocaust survivor took my cheeks in her thin, frail hands. She leaned over her walker, kissed my cheek, and blessed me. Never in my life have I felt such mixed emotions. I felt honored and guilty at the same time. Honored that such a woman would be drawn to me and bless me, and guilty that she wasted a blessing on me, a non-Jew. Should I have said something to her? Would she have felt differently about me if I had? Instead of saying anything, I watched her walk away, picked up a candle lighter, pushed the button, and lit a candle for anyone who didn't have someone to light a candle for them. Tonight I am going to a Bar Mitzvah celebration. Tomorrow I will have a make-up Hebrew class. Wednesday, I will meet with my Rabbi again. I will keep going. I will keep learning. I will keep waking up every morning and praying before doing anything else. I will continue counting the Omer each night and praying before I go to sleep. I will read the Torah and enjoy my biblical Hebrew classes. I will keep filling up little parts of my soul every day with each new thing I learn that I didn't even know it was craving to know. Then, someday, I will be able tell the world my name. Each day that I look in the mirror, I see a little bit more of myself. There is no going back. If they say no today, I have to try again, and again, and again, because I'm not letting go of this. I know what life was before this, and I'm not willing to ever let go. |
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