I know some of you are familiar with my path to Judaism, having lived it with me, and others are completely surprised to find me in my new faith. I'm going to try to hit the highlights, and my next blog entry will be about my Anshei Mitzvah ceremony in March.
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It's been 3 years now - I converted in September, 2001 - but it still feels new to me too. Not brand new, but well, young.
On the other hand, Judasim's very long history was one of the attractions for me. I continue to be mindful of the thousands and thousands of years and believers who came before me.
But my story starts back in high school when I dated a dynamic guy named Darryl, off and on, for a few years. I was the devoted Christian teenager, he was a wild child nonconformist. There was a rocky but exciting tension between us. Maybe even a dash of power struggle.
We had gone our own ways by the time graduation rolled around, but had sort of managed to salvage our friendship. He went off to the Air Force Academy for basic camp and I went on being someone else's girlfriend, getting ready to attend the University of Georgia.
At the end of the summer, in the midst of UGA's Greek "Rush", (meaning I thought I might sign up for a sorority), I was devastated to hear Darryl had died suddenly, just days after his graduation from the Air Force Academy's "boot camp". Mononucleosis had claimed him, having ravaged his athletic body all summer. He refused to give up, believing he'd lose his Academy slot and a shot flight school. It cost him his life.
It was months before I began to climb out of the abyss of my depression. I was bitter, angry and even vengeful. I hated everyone. I've never been in a darker place in my life. Self-destructive habits took hold. Some would take decades to break.
Looking back I'd say at least I had some relationship to G-d. {wry smile} I hated him.
Luckily I found some good friends in Athens, and my parents kept a concerned eye on me (from Houston, TX). Coincidentally, many of my friends were Jewish. Most remained good friends until I graduated 4 years later.
During that first horrible quarter at UGA, Mom gave me a beautiful gold chai. It was so lovely, people would comment on it. Many thought I was Jewish. Others would say, "You're not Jewish."
It looks like the "pi"' symbol, but it's a Jewish letter which is worn as a symbol for Life. It was much more than that to me. It was more like a life line, holding me to the earth, promising I would find my way out of the darkness. It was my most precious posession.
19 years later, I would find the same life line in Judaism, as a daughter, bereft after my father's suicide and as a sister, devastated after my brother's suicide. I thought I had lived through enough pain to survive anything, (death and divorce, which is another type of death) but nothing had prepared me for these two losses, my Dad and then John-John, only 15 months apart.
It took me 8 months to even begin to grieve losing my brother, beginning on his birthday in July, 2000. I knew I needed to let myself sink into the loss. I just didn't know how I would come through the other side.
About this time I realized there was no better example of the human ability to survive tragedy, than that of the Jews after the Holocaust. How could a people make sense of the world after such unspeakable losses? How could they still believe in God? How could I find healing after two suicides?
But if the Jews could survive, believe and even thrive, maybe I could make sense of my own tragedies.
So for the first time I let myself really consider converting to Judaism. It was a door opening in my mind, something I had never taken seriously before, until my grief caught up with me.
There is an old Jewish tradition that says a Rabbi should turn away anyone asking to convert twice, but should agree when asked a third time. Ironically, the man who would become my Rabbi did try to dissuade me twice, but not because he's traditional. Maybe I didn't seem serious - I didn't exactly ask to become Jewish, I sort of danced around it the first two times I met with him. Maybe I was scared. I couldn't see myself as a Jew. I wasn't ready to commit.
But I had been attending a lovely service of healing, irregularly, during my divorce, and found tremendous comfort in it. Before Dad died, I had even sent him a Jewish prayer. Already I loved the music and Hebrew and peace at Temple. I'd been "hanging around" for a few years by the time of our third meeting.
The third time I met with the Rabbi, I was ready. That door had swung open, and he knew it. He agreed to work with me.
Conversion begins with a year of study, and no guarantee that it will be a good fit at the end. You read, and meet monthly with the Rabbi (or Rabbis) and do things Jewishly. I learned to light Sabbath candles, say the prayers, and continued to attend services. And I read some more, probably over 30 books that first year. And I loved it more.
I loved that Jews argue with G-d, that they don't always agree on what is meant in the Torah, and few take it literally. I loved that they believe each generation must reinterpret the Torah for itself, and that Jews are co-creators with G-d, and that G-d is intangible, and maybe fallible, (Noah and the flood) and beyond any human ability to imagine or image.
I love that the women, and many Jewish men, recognize the role of strong women in their history, (Sarah, Rebecca, Leah, Rachel, Ruth, Deborah, etc.) and they have worked hard to incorporate the feminine side of G-d into their liturgy.
I love that they have 613 commandments, and that they threw some out when they didn't make sense any more (animal sacrifice) and that healing the world is one of the most important commandments. I loved that any commandment or tradition, no matter how sacred, can be dispensed for the sake of saving a life.
I love that they remember their dead with rituals, and say a special pray every single day for 11 months after someone close to you has died, as a way of lifting their souls to heaven. I love that they mourn together, that this is proscribed, not optional.
I love that Jews are told not to turn family away. It's not allowed. I love that they dance at services and celebrate life together with the same passion that they argue and pray. I loved that they break a glass at their weddings to remind us of the fragility of joy.
My spirit had found home.
After a year of study with my Rabbi and two other Rabbis and even the Cantor (who is like a Christian music director, but leads more of the service) I became offically Jewish. I had a final interview with all three Rabbis, took a ritual cleansing bath in the mikvah, and finally, had a beautiful ceremony in the mountains of western North Carolina, at a Temple retreat.
My children all converted with me. Since we'd been attending services for about a year, and they loved the community too, the two oldest agreed, with their father's consent. Gwyneth was only 2, so Tom and I decided for her.
While Tom isn't Jewish, he attends services and helps us celebrate the holidays and festivals. We have a Jewish home. We like the progressive community at our Temple. And just this past weekend we began to find out what planning a bar mitzvah is all about - Patrick will turn 13 next year.
My family has been supportive, if a bit bemused at first.
It's been a good path for me, for us. I feel empowered with the energy that is in this ancient way of believing. And who knows, maybe there's a Jew somewhere in the family tree. A Jonesberg?
So shalom - peace.