News for Orthodox Converts!

Okay folks, huge, huge news just passed on to me. I'm pulling the text from eJewishPhilanthropy, because it's up there already. But, well, this is just gigantic, amazing news for converts!

Shas and Jewish Agency Reach Agreement on Orthodox Conversion Aliyah 

via Dan Brown

In a letter dated yesterday, the Interior Ministry of the State of Israel notified the Knesset of a change of policy as to procedures for granting Oleh status to Orthodox converts. Instead of turning to the Chief Rabbinate for eligibility approval, it will now turn to the Jewish Agency for Israel.

According to sources close to the issue, Chief Rabbi Amar supports the move which also had to gain approval of [Shas] Interior Minister Eli Yishai.

This agreement represents the first real compromise between the Shas led Interior Ministry and Jewish Agency Chair Natan Sharansky on a question of Jewish identity.

Many conversion questions are up in the air and the only forum actually dealing with the issue is the conversion roundtable chaired by Sharansky. This is only one of many issues, but it represents the first real agreement to come from the process.

The Long-Promised Slam Video

I was elated to win the jDeal.com ambassadorship with my words of poetry, so, inspired by that, I decided to hit up a local slam poetry thing in Teaneck that I happened to spot on Twitter of all places. It turned out to be more of a poetry "reading" than a slam, but the girl before me did the serious memorized slam thing that I'm used to, and I got up and did my paper-read slams the best I could. I did two poems, and I give you one here. I used to have the first one I did memorized, and this one, in the video, as I mention, hasn't been read before. This is probably the fifth incarnation of the poem, but I think it went really well.

My next goal? Hitting up some slam poetry venues in New York City, where slam has been alive in well since 1989. Wish me luck!




Chavi Goes Slamming from Chaviva Galatz on Vimeo.

I Wanted to Be a What?

February 17, 2007
Post Title: Biggidy Bam (a meme)

And I quote ...

67. If you could have any job (assuming you have the skills) what would it be? rabbi or judaic studies professor.

WHAT?! Okay, this journey back in time is going to be much more interesting than I anticipated ...

When Did You "Know"?

It's 2011. It's still 5771, but welcome to 2011. It's a prime year, you know. Enjoy it while you can!

Taken August 18, 2004 in my old room at my parents' house. Yes, that's a Fiddler on the Roof shirt.

Feeling nostalgic and trying to really map out my Jewish journey, I turned to my LiveJournal. Yes, I had a LiveJournal. It started way back in 1997 or 1998, I forget, and had several different versions before it settled into its most recent embodiment, which was live from 2002-06 when I started this blog, although since 2006 it's had some odds and ends posts, and most recently is my depository of dreams. The important thing about this journal is that it (should) chronicles my journey into Judaism period. It was of the Reform variety by the time I converted in 2006, but was it always like that? It's funny how we remember our own histories in a very specific way, and how written, historic facts can sometimes change what we know.

The way I tell it -- and the way I remember it -- is that sometime in 2003 (even this is fuzzy), a friend and I were talking over religion in what I like to call the Great Gatsby Room of Neihardt Hall in Lincoln, Nebraska. It's the Honors Dorm, and conversations tended to roll around religion and politics and the typical geekwad stuff you'd suspect. That night, as it was a night, amid studying, it turned to religion. I had a lot of new friends who were very seriously religious Christians (as many of my high school friends had been), and many of them were more of the proselytizing bent than I was used to. Thus, we talked religion. For me, at that point, I'd already stepped out of the role of a Christian and had turned toward being agnostic with my own "subset" of beliefs about the world, religion, and G-d. Having explained all of this to this friend, he suggested I look into Judaism and the rest, as I tell people, is history.

But is that how it went? Well, I can't peg the moment, unfortunately, when the light of Judaism was turned on, but I can peg some other significant moments. I want to blog about these over the coming days, weeks, months, whatever, in order to piece together perhaps how I got to where I am and perhaps shed some light -- for you and me -- on how I ended up an "Orthodox Jew."

Consider this Phase 1. A note about this post below. This was well over six years ago, and probably more than a year after I'd discovered and fell in love with Judaism. It took me a long time to get to a synagogue because I had ZERO Jewish friends and no direction in which to go. It took me a long time to even realize we had a synagogue in town. What I don't remember about this time, however, is struggling about what type of conversion to have. Evidently, I was cognizant of this before I even started studying for conversion. I'm going to insert some comments as I go, so look out. Man, I wish I could go back and talk to 2004 me.

-------------------------------------------------

Date: August 14, 2004

Current mood: Grateful

Post title: First time at Synagogue!

OK. So Temple was amazing. I went last night to 7:45 service, hung around for the Oneg, chatted with many of the members, then got up this morning and went for the 9:30 service and stuck around for Torah Study which lasted till about 12. Then I went to lunch with J and D (a convert) at Open Harvest. Talk about a delicious meal with good Jew-related conversation.

The service began and I felt terribly relaxed. I had no problem reading the prayer book (as it went from back to front, you know) and sounding out the words was no problem. There was a lot of people there last night because Rabbi Stiel was in town, so tons of people came. There were children wandering around, and men had on their head attire. The songs were beautiful, and the Hebrew flowed so fine through the synagogue. The windows had beautiful, colored stained glass, and the ark with the Torah was a beautiful wood. The star of david was everywhere and the candles were lit. But the building was completely, and utterly simple. It was beautiful, but in the most simplistic of ways. During silent prayer, the building was echoing of thoughts, it was the strangest thing. Everyone was so still, so silent, but there was this constant echo. I felt so at ease reciting the verses and singing the songs. And I loved the old-world feel of the voices singing ... it was so ... historical and omnipresent.

Afterward was the Oneg. We ate challah and chatted over fruit and nuts and other things. B, this little 4 year old, was running around all over the place and his sister was chasing him. Their father introduced himself to me and shook my hand. He was VERY Jewish. [I wonder what I meant by this exactly. Then again, I'd encountered around 2 Jews at this point, so ...] There was an old man who had a button that said "Cancer Sucks" and lots of other children and families. Not as many as I was hoping though ... and not as many yarmulkas as I was hoping for either. But I reminded myself it was a Reform Synagogue. And this, is something I struggle with. [I wish I had elaborated here. I don't remember being frustrated -- at that time -- with the observance or numbers or anything. How bizarre.]

Last night I came home and went straight to bed at 11. I slept and was going to go to the Farmer's Market, but slept in instead. J picked me up 'round 9:20, so we were a little late for service. There wasn't enough for a minyan, which stunk, but it was a nice intimate service. Afterward LOTS of people showed up for Torah Study. There was 2 other people there who are in the conversion process, E and J. E had her husband J with her -- and he was a hoot. We were reading something from Deuteronomy today ... and I kept fairly quiet. Though I wanted to speak up when Rab. Stiel mentioned Maimonides and while we were talking about Orthodox Jews. But we had good laughs. [Wow. Huh? Orthodox Jews and what? Why laughs? Where were the details!? I'd slap me in the face if I could.]

After the study we went to lunch at Open Harvest for lunch. It's a grocery store/co-op/deli, and it was delicious. I bought some overpriced vegetables and fruits, but damn they looked good. I intend on going back to Open Harvest to buy produce when the farmer's market closes for the year. I'll probably become a member of the co-op ... 10 bucks a year isn't much for the good food. AND ... they sell a LOT of kosher items, which rocks.  ... [I don't remember kashrut even being on my radar at this point. I'm kind of proud, but upset I didn't embrace kashrut until nearly four years later.]

But one last thing ... I can't explain how connected I felt last night. It's amazing how at ease I was with the people, with the prayerbook, the words and the space. And this morning I made myself at home in the kitchen making coffee for everyone. I just felt ... like I belonged there. It wasn't a you and them thing, it was an "US" thing. And that is how I know this is for me. Now it just sucks because I have a whole week till services again ... but the problem is this: Friday night I said I'd help out at the stadium for this STUPID stadium walk they're doing. So I could go to Saturday service and torah study ... but I enjoy Friday night service. It's a nice culmination to the week.

So I think that the change in my priorities will be set now, changed and set. And I'm completely, COMPLETELY, happy with that. Now I just have to figure out ... do I want to convert Reform? Or do I want to convert Conservative/Orthodox where there is more halakic focus. Le sigh. This is a huge consideration, folks. [Hold the phone. What? I recall wanting to visit the Conservative shul to figure out whether that was a better route, but I don't remember *seriously* considering it. I also remember the huge turnoff the Conservative shul was for me. I guess the deal was sealed, but I'm happy to know that I was trying to educate myself on all avenues.]

OK. Time to walk ...

--------------------------

Looks like I'll have to go farther back in time. Clearly by August 2004 I was well on my way to converting. Heck, I was battling over what derech and thinking about kashrut and Shabbos observance as serious things. I give me some props for being aware. But "when" is the question here. So back to the annals ... 

One Year Later

That's me, the then-Amanda Edwards, circa May 1985.

It's now 20 Tevet 5771 on the Hebrew calendar. On January 1, 2010 -- aka 15 Tevet 5770 -- I converted as a Jew under Orthodox auspices, post-blizzard and pre-Alec Baldwin spotting near Bagels & Co. on the Upper West Side. That means that I'm sort of half-way between my Hebrew conversion date and the Gregorian conversion date and a blog post probably is in order to commemorate or reflect or acknowledge that a year of my life zipped by without me really noticing it. And I really mean that.

Between last year and this year, I was converted and engaged and then I finished school, took grad exams, got married, got my first M.A. in Judaic studies from the University of Connecticut, moved in to Evan's place in Connecticut, moved out to New Jersey, got a job working for a Jewish organization in NYC, started my second and third master's degrees at NYU, finished my first semester there, and left my first job for a new job working for another Jewish organization, but this time in New Jersey. Did I miss anything?

I mean, I missed a lot -- in all of your lives. I have to mention that amid all of that hullabaloo many of our friends got married, had babies, moved, got degrees, and so on. Our lives are so flux-y. Right?

The interesting thing about my first year as a halachic Orthodox Jew is that it really did fly by without much fanfare. It feels like I've been living this way my entire life. Only those fleeting moments of people talking about camp or visits to Israel as a child or how their grandma kept kosher or family tradition do I remember that I haven't been living this way forever. It's funny how fluid it all is. How keeping kosher and Shabbat and covering my hair and dressing modestly and celebrating simchas like weddings and bat mitzvahs and deaths have become normative. How even some of these have become mundane in some way or another, making me an Old-School Jew who suffers the same struggles with making things fresh and meaningful as people who've been doing this since birth.

Perhaps this is how it was meant to be. After my Reform conversion, I almost instantly felt like I was changing, morphing, moving forward. I spent all of those years between April 2006 and January 2010 learning, growing, and becoming comfortable in my skin. So comfortable, perhaps, that when that mikvah date rolled around back in January, I sort of stepped out of the mikvah as myself.

Finally, at last, me. Who I always was meant to be, like HaShem's note to Abraham, Lech Lecha. Go forth, become who you were meant to be. Realize yourself in all things.

A year later, and I'm still marveling at how it all happened. How I went from being a proud member of the Nebraska Fellowship of Christian Athletes jaunting on Weekend of Champion retreats of praise and worship to being a kosher-keeping, hair-covering Orthodox Jew in Teaneck, New Jersey of all places. Those memories are all so vivid for me, and I relive them every day. It's how I know I'm in the right place today. But still, it's so bizarre how I've become who I've become.

I'm lucky. I'm really lucky. How often do people figure out what community and religion and lifestyle makes sense to them? I suppose if anything, that's the take-away a year later. I'm lucky. Really lucky. To be who I am, where I am, and living this life surrounded by friends and family and people who love me for who I am, who I was, and who I will be.

So thank you, every one of you, for standing by me through everything. I know this blog began a mere 4.5 years ago, and that means there were 20 odd years before that that you all didn't know me. Over the next year, I hope to tell more stories, relate who I was as a kid, a teen, and an adult, telling the story of how I became who I was always meant to be: Chaviva Elianah bat Avraham v'Sarah ...

Obligatory Christmas Post No. 1

Last year, I blogged about being a Secular Christmas Dropout. Here's a chunk from that post:

I imagine if I lived in Israel, the feelings of Christmas would fade over time, and I probably wouldn't even long for the lazy days of mom's cookies and bulk gifts and cheesy, old Christmas ornaments. Did I mention the tree? My mom loves her tree -- it was her prized possession, always. Every year she struggled to get us to help her put it up, and begrudgingly we would always help her. Now? Mom doesn't have anyone to help her. She managed to get my little brother to help this year (with the help of his girlfriend). She sent me a photo of one of the ornaments, a very old one that she has put on the tree since the 1980s. It's a mirrored one, much like all of her early ones (the entire tree is white/silver with a few hints of color here and there), and her comment with it was "Did you know that one of the mirrors was a six pointed star....we must have know way back then that it would represent you :)." My mom, as always, has brilliant insight into these things.

I don't know if my mom read the post, and I'll have to ask her, but the ornament in the photo? I now have it in my possession! My mom sent it to me (among a bunch of other awesome gifts like a Pampered Chef bar pan, Mad Gab, some cute kitchen towels from my Grandma in Branson, MO, and another cute gift that I'll share once my mom sends me the corresponding picture).

Once again, she struggled to get the tree up, but she said it's up now and only a few ornaments broke this year. My mom's tree is beautiful in white and silver. It was always one of my favorite things about the holiday season. We'd sit around the floor in the living room sorting the tree branches by color coating on their ends, and then separate the branches (yes, it was fake) and then put the tree together. My hands always got itchy because whatever the fake tree was treated with just made my hands scratch. This year, my parents will be spending time with my older brother and his preggo (with twins!) wife, as well as my little brother Joe and his girlfriend, both who are home form South Carolina (where they're at school) for the holidays.

Do I wish I were there?

Of course I do. Would it be weird? Without a doubt. Would I deal with it? You betcha. Why? Because -- no matter who you are -- it's always important to remember and cherish where you came from. It makes who you are now all the more valuable, because it's a narrative that you must understand to grow as a person. (I'd post photos of my family, but, well, I don't know how my mom and brothers feel about the face time on my blog.)

So, to my readers celebrating Christmas, Merry Christmas to you. And to all my Yidden, Good Shabbos! And to all my other friends? Happy Winter Solstice and be well.

I Choose You ... PikaJew!

From this week's parshah,

(17) You have selected the Lord this day, to be your God, and to walk in His ways, and to observe His statutes, His commandments and His ordinances, and to obey Him. (18) And the Lord has selected you this day to be His treasured people, as He spoke to you, and so that you shall observe all His commandments.

I wrote about this back in 2007, and it's interesting because I feel much the same about this particular section of the parshah as I did then. I have bolded the sections "You have selected HaShem this day" and "HaShem has selected you this day," because, for me, as a convert, this is incredibly poignant, especially during this super special month of Elul (renewal, reflection, reconsideration). As someone who literally chose Judaism and HaShem, these words sing to me.

The interesting this is that clearly, HaShem chose me first (for converts, the understanding is that you are born with a Jewish neshama and that it takes time for the neshama to sort of, crawl out -- like "Alien," but less creepy), and I chose to choose HaShem, embracing the agressive neshama within. However, the fact that it says "this day" suggests something further. A constant, perpetual, renewing choice. Every day I wake up, I choose HaShem, I choose Judaism. I choose to say my morning blessings, to cover my hair, to put on a nice tzniut (modest) outfit, to eat kosher and say my blessings over foods, to treat others in the way of a mensch, etc. The way this is worded -- and I think everything in the Torah is worded so very precisely, with a specific, basic meaning -- suggests that we must choose to be Jews every day, chose to carry ourselves in a certain way, and that, in turn, HaShem chooses us back.

All of that being said, it's a weird choice to make daily. I quipped in 2007 that "I'm sure I'm not the first to admit that the compelling pull of Judaism is as indescribable as is the idea of Noah's flood." That, I'm sure, makes sense to many of you. It is almost as if ... even if I would wake up tomorrow and say, "I'm done, no more Judaism for me," the pull would be so intense that I wouldn't be able to walk away, no matter how hard I would try.

About these verses Rashi says,

you have selected; has selected you ~ Heb. הֶאמִיר‏ְ We do not find any equivalent expression in the Scriptures [which might give us a clue to the meaning of these words]. However, it appears to me that [the expression הֶאמִיר] denotes separation and distinction. [Thus, here, the meaning is as follows:] From all the pagan deities, you have set apart the Lord for yourself, to be your God, and He separated you to Him from all the peoples on earth to be His treasured people. 

Conclusion? I think Rashi would agree with me.

Lesson? Choose Judaism, choose your path (if it's not Judaism, then, choose what makes your heart sing, just do it with all of your heart and soul), and you'll be chosen in return.

Shabbat Shalom!

Shabbat Thoughts.

I want to stress to the readers that when the Tanakh talks of the ger, it is not referring to the "convert." Rather, ger means "stranger" or "sojourner" in the midst of the nation of Israel (גר is the Hebrew, which is used even today as the verb "to reside"). In the Tanakh, there is little conception of a convert, and I think that this concept might have been very foreign to the people of Biblical times. Throughout history, conversion to Judaism has been outlawed, and the danger of converting meant low numbers converting to Judaism. It is only over the past 60 years or so that conversion has become the booming "business" that it has, with new freedoms and new nations allowing this possibility to really flower.

That being said, the rabbis spend much time about the ger and how to treat the ger, because, for the rabbis, the term came also to refer to proselytes (converts) to Judaism. The terms used by the rabbis throughout the literature, then, are ger tzedek and ger toshav (toshav means "resident"). Thus, today when we see that blasted word, we assume it always refers to converts, when, in fact, it doesn't -- especially in the Torah. 

Okay, now that that's out of the way, I wanted to impress upon my readers and all those worried converts out there, as well as all of those born Jews who don't know how significantly the rabbis impressed upon born Jews to make Judaism work for the gerim (referring specifically to proselytes). These are bits taken from my D'var Torah from Parshah Sh'mot, which actually can be found in full on the righthand side there (it was largely about Rahab, my tour de force, but got into the discussion of the rabbis and converts).

Numbers Rabbah 8:2 says, “Why does the Holy Blessed One love the righteous (referring to a discussion of converts being loved as the righteous)? Because they have neither inheritance nor family. Priests and Levites have an ancestral house, as it says, “House of Aaron, praise the Lord. House of Levi, praise the Lord” (Psalms 146:19). If someone wants to be a kohen or levite, one cannot because one’s father was not. But if someone wants to be righteous, even a non-Jew can, since that is not dependent on ancestry.” The midrash continues with a parable about the stag that attaches itself to the king’s flock. Daily, the king instructs his shepherds to take care of the stag, and they ask the king why he cares so much abvout this one animal:

"The king responded, 'The other animals have no choice; whether they want or not, it is their nature to graze in the field all day and to come in to sleep in the fold. Stags, however, sleep in the wilderness. It is not in their nature to come into places inhabited by man. Is it not to a sign of this one's merit that he has left behind the whole of the wilderness to stay in our courtyard?' In like manner, ought we not to be grateful to the proselyte who has left behind his family and his relatives, his nation and all the other nations of the world, and has chosen to come to us?"

This parable responds to the unvoiced question/critique of the native Israelite: "Why does the Torah provide all of these protections for the convert? Does God care more about them than about me?" The midrash responds, "Consider what the convert has given up."

This section of the midrash concludes:

"Accordingly, God has provided the convert with special protection, warning Israel to be very careful not to do any harm to converts, and indeed, it says, 'Love the convert' (Deuteronomy 10:19) … Thus God made clear safeguards so that converts might not return to their former ways [which God fears they might do if native Israelites treat them poorly]."

Although some tannaitic midrashim voiced suspicions that the convert might fall back or that the convert might not entirely abandon his past beliefs, this later text places responsibility for backsliding converts squarely upon the native Israelites – that means YOU! Born Jews! 

... I think that many people today could learn much from the rabbis discussion of Rachav and other converts – our great sages viewed these converts as truly magnificent, unique, and key to the future of the Jewish people. 

So, my diverse readership, take to heart these words that the rabbis wrote for a reason. Why do we so readily ignore these words today? Why is the weight of the world placed on the convert, in the crossfire of politics? I don't know. I can't be sure. Paranoia, fear, a tumultuous world in which trust is something people know not of. Think on this over Shabbat, speak about it with your table guests, discuss your fears and what you don't know and then go out and educate yourself!

Shabbat shalom, friends!

Who is a Jew?

I wrote about the conversion bill in the Knesset in Israel not that long ago, and with the bill stalled in the Knesset (to the cheers of those opposed), The Jewish Daily Forward has posted an interesting editorial on the bill and its stall.

I'm not going to go into any great details about the bill or the stall or the Forward's editorial, other than to say that the perception that there was across-the-board outcry and discussion about this bill rubs me as odd. I don't know a single person who brought the issue up with me, outside of my circle of friends who have converted or are in the process. Do Jews with no connection to conversion even care about the bill? Or conversion for that matter?

In my time as a convert, I've discovered that -- at least the Orthodox world -- is largely blind to what constitutes a conversion, who converts, the politics involved, the pain involved, or the repercussions that come post-conversion. I do my best to educate folks, and I've enlightened plenty in my time, I think.

The biggest problem, orbiting widely around conversion period, is education. We shelter ourselves unnecessarily, because Judaism tells us "once you convert, you're Jewish," and converts for ages have been encouraged to hide their conversion because, well, who wants to marry the child of a convert or the grandchild of a convert? There's a lot of fear out there about the halachos of converts in the community, and that derives from a lack of education.

So, I ask, what can we do to curb the fear of converts in the Conservadox, Orthodox, and, more importantly, ultra Orthodox communities?

New Google Group: Conversion Conversation

Just a quick note.

If you want to join the new group, you can click here and fill out the appropriate information! Here's to a lively conversation.

Chavi's Got News!

You read that right, folks. I've got news. Big news. Huge news! I was going to post a brief video blog about it, but my voice sounds horrible, and the upload was taking far too long. So I'm going to have to give you a teaser here and hope you all come back when I actually write the full post in the coming week.

Is the anticipation killing you? Is it? I guess you could have just looked below for the news, right. But if you're still reading, come on, move along already!

On 15 Tevet 5770 (that's January 1, 2010), at a little after 11 a.m. on the Upper West Side in New York, I descended the steps of a mikvah -- a ritual pool/bath -- and accepted upon myself the yoke of Judaism and being a Jewish woman. I ascended from the pool a new person, a fresh and invigorated neshama, and met friends who were waiting for me outside. I was named, Chaviva Elianah (חביבה אליענה), said my first b'racha as a halakic Jewess and my first shehechiyanu as a Jewess. And then?

Then I went out for a delicious bagel lunch at Bagels & Co. with @susqhb, @ravtex, and @schnit. I was then lucky enough to be on a streetcorner with Alec Baldwin and some other actor whose name I can't figure out. Then Shabbos came, and I spent my first Shabbos as a card-carrying member of the club. And damn did it feel good.

I'll write more later, a lot more later. So please stay tuned. It'll include why I chose a second name, what it felt like in the mikvah, what it felt like after, and everything in between -- including the candy that sticks to your teeth. Oh, and why this was completely sudden, unexpected, and AWESOME.

Thanks for the support and kind words and encouragement over this journey. It still isn't over, of course. We're all under construction, especially this one right here.

I'm Probably Opening a Can of Worms ...

I'm about two seconds away from throwing myself into oncoming traffic. Okay, not really, but in my head it sounds like a marvelous end to my current project: editing a book manuscript. I'm such a kvetcher, but the amount of incredibly poor writing that exists in the world makes me want to cry. At this point, we're so reliant on technology and spell check and every other fancy widget out there that it's completely hopeless to assume that man will learn grammar or how to properly compose a sentence or not split an infinitive or end a sentence with a preposition. But I digress. (Yes, it's okay to start a sentence with "but." And to put the punctuation inside the quotation mark. Wanna fight about it?)

At any rate, I'm here right now to discuss something that I came across in said editing project: the idea of the Jew by choice being someone who is a born Jew but that chooses not to completely dilute their identity completely into the secular, American (or whatever country you choose) persona. It's a really controversial topic (at least, it used to be) in the convert community, and I even spent some time discussing it with people at a former blog project of which I was a part.

Here's my opinion: if you're a born Jew, if your mother is Jewish or however you want to look at it genetically (patrilineal, etc.), then you're Jewish. You don't choose it, you just are. Few peoples in the world actually view the genetic/ethnic/etc. background of someone as defining who they are. You don't have to go through the conversion process, the irritation, the frustration, the not belonging, the years of confusion and a non-Jewish upbringing and the repercussions of not having those Jewish memories, etc. Even the most secular Jews-by-birth manage to have a latke or light a menorah or visit a synagogue. Maybe I'm too hardline? It's probably one of the few things I really am a hardass about. If you're born a Jew, you're a Jew, whether you choose to be religious/observant/shomer mitzvot, is a whole other story. Either way, you're Jewish.

This is a much bigger debate than I care to get into here, but let's just scratch the surface. Can a born-Jew be a Jew by choice? 

I Need Something Soft to Occupy My Mind.

Do you know how hard it is to focus on schoolwork (I have two papers I need to start working on, which means I have two notebooks full of documents I need to go through; Hebrew homework and an exam on Friday; books to read for Ancient Fictions; you name it, I have it to do) and general work for my freelance editing? To focus while not knowing what the next two weeks hold for me?

Chaviva is on pins and needles. My mind has taken on the classic Wandering Jew characteristics. The TV is on in the background, blaring some show, and the only thing I can focus on is blogging how anxious I am.

That, folks, is humorous. It's the divine comedy at work!

Chavi Goes to the Beth Din: The First Meeting

Wednesday night, I was exhausted. We got into New Jersey, and I planted myself firmly into the plush bed that I call my own when we stay with Evan's family. The World Series was on its way toward the finale, and I issued a "Wake me if they lose, or rather, wake me if they win" to Tuvia and went to bed. Supposedly he came in and let me know that they'd won, but I didn't recall it. I was exhausted. The anticipation of my RCA beth din conversion meeting had turned my brain to mush. To feed my nerves, I had a nightmare that night. How appropriate, no?

The dream? Well, I was in a bookstore or library, attached to the building with the beth din meeting room. I was chatting with people, occupied, when my mother walked in and yelled "you're late to the beth din meeting!" I knew the meeting was at 3 p.m. (in the dream, that is), and my mom let me know that it was already 3:05 p.m. Then she said that they'd been waiting for a half-hour for me. So not only was I late, but I had the time wrong. So I ran to the elevator, where they informed me that I didn't have the right barcode to board the elevator. I started crying, explaining my situation, and just when they let me on, I realized that I was wearing the worst thing possible: capri pants and a short sleeve shirt. I freaked out, yelled to everyone that I'd be right back, and ran to the car where I found a long jean skirt and threw it on. When I woke up, I was standing in the elevator nervously pulling it on.

Tuvia and I drove the car into Jersey City, dropped it off at his dad's car place, and took the PATH in. I had a meeting in the morning at NYU regarding a few of their programs (more about that later, of course), and because I was anxious and fearful about showing up late, I insisted we take a cab from NYU up to Yeshiva University -- a whooping 30 something buckaroos right there.

We got up to YU plenty early, spotted the building, and then went in search of food. We ended up at Golan Heights (thanks to @Mottel and a few others), where I ate too much and anticipated vomiting on the shiny, black shoes of the beth din. Tuvia and I spent the rest of our time (and there was a lot of it) sitting in the YU student commons, where I happened to be spotted by one Twitter user (nice to meet you @steinberg!). I was busy Twittering, airing my anxiety to the world as I've been known to do. The support I received that day from my Twitter friends was ... well, I'm speechless. If you guys were on the beth din, I'd be a quick sell. Too bad you can't bring witnesses, right? You guys provide a service, I guess you could say, that is incomparable to anything. You offer me kind words, comforting thoughts, boosts in esteem, you name it. You guys are my bubble of comfort, and for that? I love you. But now to the (not-too-detailed) details.

The Meeting
We arrived at the beth din room about five or so minutes early. No one was in the room yet, which made me even more anxious. I didn't know where to sit, whether to sit, whether I had something in my teeth, or whether the noises in my tummy were going to settle themselves. I was talking nervously to Tuvia about their being a one-way mirror built into the wall when a rabbi walked in, greeting me in a jovial and kind way as Chaviva. He said that the furniture in the room was brand new, which I took as a good omen in my favor for some unknown reason (the furniture gods smiling upon me? har har.). We sat down and got to chatting. Then another rabbi showed up, and another, and finally a fourth. Yes, there were four rabbis at my meeting. Each of them brought something very different, I think -- good cop, bad cop, the jokester, the inquirer. Each posed different questions, and each had their own approach to my situation.

We started with the basics -- how'd you find Judaism in Nebraska? (This was intermixed with a bit of Jewish geography to see if they knew any Nebraskans, of course.) Then came a question I hadn't really thought about: If I was set on converting Orthodox before I moved to Connecticut (which I was), why did I sign up for JDate and start dating someone? I hadn't really thought about it before. In one of the very first emails that we exchanged (Tuvia and I), I stated my trajectory and told him that if he was down on the Orthodox journey, he and I could keep talking. Otherwise? No sir. Of course, as we're still together, I think you can see how that went. But it was an entirely valid and important question. A lot of converts, especially those who go Orthodox, often come to it for marriage. I'm not saying that's what the focus is in the end, but it tends to be a spark for the journey. I'm confident that the rabbis knew I wasn't doing this for Tuvia, but that I was most certainly and definitely doing it for me.

The conversation moved on to a variety of things -- my family and how they feel; my friends and how they reacted to my choices when I was in high school, college, and even now; the geographic conundrum that is my situation (I live in Storrs, Tuvia in Manchester, we daven in West Hartford). We hit a few very contentious points that I won't delve into here because they're even too personal for this space, and I was nearly in tears over them. I imagine the rabbis saw my face go from "elatedly excited" to "downtrodden and depressed." The great thing about it, however, (if I can even say great) is that the rabbis were encouraging and incredibly explanatory about why the issues were important and necessary to be discussed. It's amazing how you don't think about things until someone else mentions it and you find yourself saying, "Duh. Why didn't I think about that?"

The rabbis also asked Tuvia plenty of questions about his observance, his history as a Jew, his family, and more. After all, as they explained, there are two of us involved here and my conversion -- assuming we'll be staying together (and we will) -- affects the both of us.

After about an hour of the down-and-dirty talk of getting to know me (and Tuvia) Jewishly, the rabbis turned to some quizzical questions. I'll be completely honest: I froze. When it comes to talking about my journey and my Judaism and how I do my Judaism in a general and broad sense, I'm all about it. Passion oozes from my pores. But when we get to the b'racha bee type situation? Chavi is the proverbial popsicle.

It started out simple enough: "I had you a pretzel, what do you say?" I should have said "Thank you!" as some friends joked over Shabbos, but instead I answered appropriately with "mezonot." But then they wanted the full b'racha. Now, I know the b'racha. But when just saying the b'racha, it's important to avoid the use of HaShem's name, so you fill in "HaShem" and "Elokeynu" in the appropriate places, and that just froze me up like you wouldn't believe. Finally they said to simply say the b'racha as I would -- which makes sense considering it was technically for study, which means it's okay to say the b'racha as you would normally. The stumbling over words that ensued made me look like I was drunk on Manishewitz after a long night of Purim partying.

A series of further questions were what to say over the Shabbos candles, Yom Tov Candles, to list some of the other b'rachot, and then some questions about the recent holidays. They asked me what Simchat Torah honored, and instead of answering the simple "we end and start the Torah!" answer, I tried to search for something deeper. And then I got all caught up in my head. I'm guessing the entire room was spinning around me, and that the rabbis were wondering what was going on. I had my head in my hand, and was mumbling to myself about the Torah. I said something, and it was wrong and I felt humiliated. Me, the Judaic studies student, fumbles over a basic Judaism question that I've known since at least 2004 or 2005. Then, well, this is funny.

We ended up talking about the "holiday of the giving of the Torah." So the rabbi asks me about the name of the holiday. My answer: "Oh it's ..." Insert awkward silence here. Insert head into hand here. Once again, I was mumbling to myself. "There's Pesach ... then there's the omer ... then we eat lots of cheesecake. We ate so much dairy." The rabbis, reassuringly told me that they knew I knew it, and I responded that I knew I knew it. Finally, one of the rabbis says "It's often the feast of weeks." And I resignedly said, "Shavuos ... I knew that ... Shavuos." Let's just say that was followed by a long sigh.

It was reassuring to know that my anxiety -- and there was anxiety like you wouldn't believe -- was necessary. It's almost required. If you go in without anxiety or nervousness, you're probably not jibing right with the beth din. The rabbis constantly reassured me that it was okay that I was so anxious.

The meeting ended shortly after the quiz-like questions. The rabbi said they needed to talk, and that someone would get back to me soon. The rabbis are aware of the time constraint leading up to my trip to Israel, and I told them that to daven at the Kotel as a halakicly Jewish woman would be the zenith of this entire experience so far -- of being Jewish. I explained that this is the most important thing, and the most difficult (in a good way) experience in my entire life. At the same time, I have to say that if it doesn't happen in the next 2.5 weeks, I'm committed 100 percent to the RCA process. When looking at everything going on in the world, I need to have confidence in my conversion beth din and the rabbis therein.

The Outcome?
I think that I can say, with confidence, that the rabbis that I have on my beth din (the three, that is -- the fourth seems to have come to speak to me about my 11-page essay, which he said was an incredibly well-written odyssey [publish it!], which put my mind at ease and made me feel so confident in myself, especially considering who he was) are kind, understanding, yet firm Orthodox rabbis who know their stuff. Immediately after leaving the meeting I was embarrassed, I felt humiliated regarding my poor performance in the basics (am I overreacting? ask Tuvia, I was outside myself and he was watching it all happen), and wasn't sure how to feel. After calling a very close friend to talk about the meeting, I started to feel better. I was reflecting on how the rabbis approached me, how they reacted to my answers, and how warm they were about everything. It was then that I started feeling more confident about the experience, and it's probably why right now I feel fairly good about the entire experience.

So now? I'm waiting. I've heard from one of the rabbis a few times since the meeting regarding various issues, but nothing regarding where I go from here. Friends inquire, offer words of kindness, and check in often asking whether I've heard anything and what I know. Let's just say, folks, that as soon as I know something, you'll know something. You've all been with me this long -- I won't leave you hanging, I promise.

Convert? Moving to Israel? Look at This.

I'm not sure what to say about this Op/Ed from the Jerusalem Post today: The double lives of Jewish converts in Israel.

The gist of the Op/Ed is that there are converts living in Israel without healthcare, the ability to work, and who lack full acceptance as Jews in Israel, despite halakhic conversions. The situation works in such a way that people convert in the Diaspora, but once they head to Israel (legally, under the Law of Return), they're denied the basic rights that regular Jews are  under the same Law. Why? Because the Justice and Interior Ministers INSIST on reviewing all conversions, despite the 2005 ruling by the Supreme Court that converts should automatically been allowed in. Essentially, there are what the authors of the Op/Ed call "draconian citizenship tests." And then there's this:

Most recently, the Justice Ministry issued new protocols, already being implemented by the Jewish Agency, that demand an 18-month residency and a formal curriculum of study for converts abroad who want to come live here. These protocols demand that rabbis overseas ask certain specific questions of converts, that the process be reported in detail to the Israeli authorities and that converts adhere to strict bureaucratic procedures if they want their conversions to be accepted by Israeli civil authorities. In a word, civil bureaucrats are seeking to impose their will and standards on Diaspora Jewry, challenging the autonomy of Diaspora communities.

So what does a Diaspora Jewish convert do?

I'm guessing that if I'm considering Israel -- in any capacity, at any point in my life -- I should start looking at my options now. I should also probably talk to my beth din about this issue and see what their experience has been like. Are there really not that many converts who head to The Land post-conversion that this hasn't really come up before?

Talk about shocking. Appalling. Frustrating. Nod to @bethanyshondark for bringing the Op/Ed to my attention this morning.

A Pre-Post on the Beth Din.

I'd like to write a novella. Or perhaps a short story? The focus of the story being about my experience at the beth din yesterday and how there were moments where I broke down and my nerves ate my confidence, as well as moments of assurance and excitement. But there isn't much time before Shabbos descends, and there are things I need to do in preparation (like pack, for example!), so you'll probably have to wait until motzei Shabbos to hear about the entire experience. To protect the innocent (rabbis), I won't be naming names, or delving into extreme details, but I think that it's important for me to talk about the experience candidly -- both for my eternal record of my Jewish comings and goings, as well as for those of you who have so eagerly anticipated the outcome and who so amazingly supported me throughout my entire experience and most importantly yesterday as I sat, prepared to vomit, waiting for the meeting. So to tide you over, some anecdotes.

+ It's funny that being at Yeshiva University I had the hardest time with shomer negiah. Now, it wasn't ME that was the problem, it was the dozens of teenage boys bumping into me constantly without consideration. Are they not used to the ladies being around? Or was it a sense of carelessness? Or was it a disregard for the observance? I can't really say, but it was frustrating. Maybe I could lose a few pounds and fade into the scenery not to be bumped into! Either way, it was both amusing and irritating at the same time.

+ Twitter friends (@Mottel being the first) suggested we head to Golan Heights, a kosher and Israeli-style restaurant off Amsterdam and 187th near YU. Tuvia got to have his first schwarma (which he loved), and I got to down an Israeli-rocking falafa-laffa (that's falafel on laffa). I loaded it up with tahini, pickles, israeli salad, chips and some awesome spicy sauce. It was exceedingly delicious, but it probably wasn't the best choice for a pre-beth din chowdown ... overall, I will say that Golan Heights is probably one of THE best kosher foodie joints I've been to in a long time!

+ Being in New York was an inspiration. It's rare that I'm in a city surrounded by Jews at every corner turn, and it was so comforting that no matter where I want, I saw a kippah-toting gentleman. It just made me feel comfortable, like I belonged, as if I were in my own little Jewish world. I imagine that this sentiment will only be magnified when I step into Israel.

Lastly, can I just say that it was ... so special, so amazing, so absolutely significant and warm that the first thing the first rabbi to arrive at the beth din meeting did was call me Chaviva. The name of this blog is "Just Call Me Chaviva," and when I chose that name, I chose it knowing that it would someday outshine Amanda as the name I identified with. But to have an Orthodox rabbi, on my beth din, acknowledge how important that is to me, was something I find hard to put into words. It was moving, and it left me feeling relaxed and comfortable. So I nod a thank you to that rabbi for welcoming me with the proverbial open arms of something so simple as a name.

Stay tuned, friends, and Shabbat Shalom -- may you be with peace, rest, and the gift of Shabbos in your homes!