Ask Chaviva Anything: Am I a Religious Jew?

Not related to this post, but ... I highly recommend getting this book. 

Ah another rousing installment of Ask Chaviva (Almost) Anything, and I got a few doozies. Let's start with the easy, yet incredibly offensive one, shall we?

Are you deeply religious? This seems like an absurd question given your conversion journey however it seems as though you mention surface things of a Jewish lifestyle (cooking, kids, Shabbat) but not the joy/love you have for the Gd of Jews and the actual faith itself. I suppose what I’m attempting to say is that you seem to be culturally Jewish without being religiously Jewish.

Well hello there. Now, I could get super offended at how completely offensive your question is, because you've asked a question based on reading some blog posts and not seeing me in real life or knowing me or really digging into the thousands of blog posts I've posted about my relationship with HaShem (which, by the way, is meant to be deeply personal and private) or things beyond the superficial, but that would be an exercise in futility. 

Making a statement suggesting that I'm not "religiously Jewish" is, well, gosh. I don't even know where to begin. It's presumptuous, it's offensive, it's hurtful, and, if you're a Jew, then you're breaking quite a few mitzvot regarding converts. 

I am a married, full-time working mother to three kids ages 5, 2.4, and nearly 9 months. On top of that, I do marketing work for my kids' preschool and work other side hustles to help keep our family on the up and up. First and foremost, I'm a Jew. Then I'm a mother. Then I'm a wife. Then I'm an Israeli. Then I'm writer. And so on. Capiche? 

This is the period in basically every Torah-observant Jewish woman's life where she can barely find five seconds alone to use the bathroom, let alone to spend hours online writing about her deepest inner feelings about HaShem and what it means to be a Jewish woman and mother and how I can't seem to find the brain space and focus to formally daven. That being said, I cry out to HaShem daily ... for strength, shalom, guidance. 

So, before you go throwing around things like "Oh you sure seem like a cultural Jew, but not a religious Jew!" take a step back and recognize that I'm a real human with a real human brain and a real human life that is a whole heckuva lot more busy that you can possibly imagine. My religiosity is my business, not yours, not anyone else's. 

I'll also say that I am sorry for whatever it is that you're going through that you have to project these sentiments on me. We often project our greatest struggles onto others as a means of deflection, so I hope you find your peace and direction as well.

Oh, one more thing, this:

And now for the tougher one ...

Did you know you have a huge “Messianic” following? How do you feel about that and what do you think of their lying by omission to be in Jewish places (such as mikvas)?

Wait, WHAT?! No, I had no idea. How do you know this? Where do I find this following? How, what, where, when ...? I'm baffled here. 

Okay, now to compose myself ... I'm not sure that there is such a huge problem with these people making their way into mikva'ot, because that's such a personal experience it's not like they're influencing others while they're there. Messianics who go door to door or work their way into Jewish preschools or organizations and slowly plant materials and ideas among communities, that's what seriously bothers me. The sneaky factor of Messianics drives me nuts. I'm an advocate of being loud and proud about who you are and what you believe, not sneaking around and defining yourself by what you aren't or by some kind of mask of who you are. If Messianics want to be Messianics, they should own it and stop trying to sneak their way into people's minds. 

But seriously, who are these people and where is this following!?

Are you in imamother? Favorite topics?

I'm not. Should I be? What are YOUR favorite topics?

---

Want to ask me something? Try not to be an offensive jerk about it, okay? Ask away!

Ask Chaviva Anything!: Being a Convert, School, and Music

Ready for another installment of Ask Chaviva Anything!? Because I am! Let's get started. [PS: Ask more questions here!]

Do you think that maybe you over-emphasize the whole convert thing? That most Jews (myself included) don't really care if you are a convert, that they'll accept you for who you are? I sometimes wonder how real the feeling of being an outsider is for you, because to me, you seem as much a part of our crazy tribe as the next yid. And it is as normal for you to struggle with your Jewish identity as it is for anybody to struggle with their identity. I know this is phrased as a yes or no question, but any further thoughts from you would be appreciated.

This is a question that I was asked a bit ago and am just now answering. Not because I hesitate with my response, but because I didn't want to give 'tude and give someone a reason to be mean. My answer: No, never, it's impossible, are you crazy!? I can't explain how it's different to be a convert moving through Judaism than for someone who was born Jewish, except to say that as a convert, nothing is ever certain. Nothing. Confidence is everything, but confidence is never going to be enough. I'm a proud, confident, certifiable Jew, no doubt, but just because you are okay with that and don't think it's a big deal doesn't mean that many, many, many Jews out there who were born that way feel the same. Can I pick up and move to Israel with the same ease as a born Jew? No. Can I marry a Kohen? No. If I marry another convert can our child marry a Kohen? No. Can I sit down with a table full of Jews -- secular or not -- and reminisce about childhood Shabbats or Passover or Chanukah or camp or family lost in the Shoah or inheriting my ancestor's Judaica? No. Someone will always care, someone will always make it a big deal, and it will always matter. I will always be different.

Am I bitter about it? No. Is it a big freaking deal? Yes. Am I okay with it? Heck yeah!

I am happy that you are able to look beyond the things that make you and me different (there should be more Jews like you!), but that's not the real world, and I embraced it very early on. Many converts never get to that point where they can cope with the fact that no matter how many rabbis say it, and no matter whether the gemara professes it, I'll always be a convert. And with that, I'm okay!

I wish I could make it easier, but that's me speaking truth.

Are you afraid that the scholarship committee will shy away from future applicants who are converts because of your actions?

Um. No? I'm not sure what my actions are, anyway. Please elaborate! I mean, everyone goes through life changes, everyone hits a point where things change. Does me getting divorced and having huge life changes make me a bad person? And does being a convert have anything to do with that ...? I don't think so. But thanks for asking!

Do you have a favorite song?

I have a million of them, seriously, a million. My life has a very detailed and lengthy soundtrack. Right now -- if you want to know my soul -- my favorites are anything by Mumford & Sons, Abigail Washburn, and Adele. I'm also wholly devoted to Death Cab for Cutie, Erez Lev Ari, Rilo Kiley, Tegan & Sara, Weezer, and so many other musicians.

Conquering the Conversion Conversation

You know me -- I really try to ignore all of the "who is a Jew" convert business because it saturates the news in Israel and the U.S. at all hours of every day every few weeks or months. Something happens, there's an outcry, and then it settles down, we go about our business, and then something else happens. I don't like to dwell on the negativity that swirls around conversion in the U.S. versus Israel, but lately it seems to really be taking on a life of its own.

There's the outcry that it's easier to have a "liberal" (i.e., Conservative or Reform) conversion and make aliyah than for the Orthodox convert who went through the process outside Israel. Personally, this seems pretty ridiculous, and it will drive converts to go Conservative and live a happily Conservadoxish life. It defeats the purpose of trying to get converts to go on that happy Orthodox path of truth and light (sarcasm, folks).

Then there is the story about the Modern Orthodox Canadian convert who has been denied immigration, even though he had an Orthodox conversion and is married to an Israeli Jew! The policy has always been that if you're a convert and married to a halachic Jew, it's like a golden ticket for aliyah. So what gives? Oh, right, he converted with rabbis who are on the International Rabbinical Fellowship (read: heretical rabbis who want to overthrow the Rabbinical Council of America's domination of the Orthodox conversion process in the United States). I'll admit that I am a little troubled by the fact that this individual had an Orthodox conversion and continued to work on the Sabbath and not fully observe, which is a requirement of the post-conversion life, but in reality, they converted him, he's Jewish, that's that (maybe this bothers the power that be in Israel, too?) What he chooses to do is up to him (this, of course, is a simplification -- post-conversion you're watched like a hawk).

On that note, this little morsel from the tail-end of the story surprised me, I'll admit, but it makes me feel pretty solid with my conversion.

For immigrants from North America, the Chief Rabbinate is only recognizing conversions carried out by the Rabbinical Council of America, a primarily ultra-Orthodox group.

I guess that means I'm ultra-Orthodox? Oy to the vey.

For all intents and purposes, there is a list that is regularly updated list that includes all of the batei din accepted by Israel for the sake of conversion. Of course, this is for Orthodox conversion, but the point of all of this hullabaloo is that Reform and Conservative conversions have the potential to be less problematic when it comes to moving to Israel -- what happens when you're there is a different story. But wouldn't this encourage people to have a Reform conversion in the U.S. or anywhere else, make aliyah, and only then have an Orthodox conversion? In Israel itself? Is that good enough?

What's my point? My point is that this is all the usual, run-of-the-mill junk that is out there regarding whose conversion is good enough, whose is the best, whose is accepted, and who should go back and restart the game of geirus. It's hard, and it's tough, and it's mind-bogglingly frustrating, but it's the reality of the situation right now. As Harold Kushner surely would say, it's how we respond to it that makes a difference. We cannot control the powers that be, nor can we control who says whether our conversions are good enough. What we can control, however, is how we react to the situation -- with grace and dignity and patience or with anger and disengagement and giving up. I encourage everyone to choose the former. To get angry only fuels the fire of those who surely would say that only a born-Jew is good enough to be a Jew.

Conversion in Israel, We're at it Again.

I really want to be up in arms about this, I really do. I want to be up in arms because I have a lot of good friends who didn't go through an Orthodox, RCA, Israel-approved conversion like I did. I want to be up in arms because even my conversion could go kablooey if one of my beth din rabbis decided to do something drastically un-rabbi like.

But I just can't. I can't be upset about what's going on in the Knesset because I get what the bill is trying to do. For those of you who don't know what I'm blabbering about, I'm blabbering about the big fat Conversion Bill that's floating through the Knesset as we speak.

The crux of the bill is actually to ease the process for potential converts by allowing local batei din convert folks instead of using a big centralized system. The tag-on to that has folks up in arms "expands the Orthodox-dominated Chief Rabbinate’s jurisdiction by bringing conversions, until now the province of special conversion courts, under the explicit authority of the Chief Rabbinate."

The former has the ultra-Orthodox in Israel peeved because it would make the process "more lenient" (right ... ) and the non-ultra Orthodox in the rest of the world are peeved because the latter would bring non-Orthodox conversions up for consideration as non-halakic/legitimate.

You can't please anyone, right? Listen, I get what the guy who proposed the bill is trying to do. He's trying to help converts, but in the process, there are things tagged on that have to be used to please all sides of the battle (if you can call it that). It's just like bills in America. We want something, but we don't like all the add-ons that make us wonder whether the actual bill is worth it.

I guess that's what I have to suggest: Is making the conversion process in Israel less-centralized worth all of the stuff that's going to come along with it? Is allowing hundreds of Russian olim the ability to finally say "we're Jewish" worth putting all Reform, Conservative, and other non-Orthodox conversions on the line? If you ask a Russian olah, they would say yes. If you ask a Reform convert from Middle of Nowhere, U.S.A., they'd say no. So who gets the weight here?

I really want to be upset about this, but I can't. My big thing is to not let this stuff bother me. It ruins the lives of people who dwell on it, it puts chips on the shoulders of converts and potentials everywhere, it makes people live their lives as if they're under a microscope rather than living their lives as Jews. And I can't buy what they're selling. I have to approach it from a positive angle, and perhaps I'm lucky for my "status" as a convert. I really feel for my friends who are drowning in this debacle, the what ifs and the what will I do?

My advice: Only HaShem knows who is a Jew, so continue to live your life as you do as a Jew, and don't let anyone dictate who you are. The conversion question and the "Who is a Jew?" question is a deep, dark, messy one that I'm often asked about. People want to know whether I consider my Conservative-converted friends Jewish or my patrilineal friends Jewish, and all I can say is: Is it my place to say? Everyone's on their own journey. I know that going the Orthodox, RCA, Israel-approved route was the best for me at the crossroads of my life. Our journeys move at different paces and I'm happy to support converts as they move through their Judaism, whether they end up Reform and end up Orthodox or start Conservative and end up Conservative. It takes a huge neshama to take that step, in whatever form you take it.

So live as you live, don't let this bill ruin your hope and your confidence in who you are.

Also: Remember, halakicly you can't "revoke" a conversion. You can be excommunicated, you can be shunned, you can be treated like trash, but once you're converted, you're Jewish. If some rabbi out there wants to correct me and point me to where the law says you can revoke a conversion, I'd be happy to take up that conversation. The way that conversions are done (i.e., the process, the requirements, the tests to make sure you know how to tear a bag on Shabbos, etc.) is a very really new concept (save circumcision and mikvah, of course). Look at Ruth, Yitro, Na'aman, and Rahab -- the Rabbis took their simple declarations about HaShem being the only G-d out there as enough to deem them awesome, rocking, righteous converts. The way we do things now would probably make the Rabbis roll over in their graves.

Rahab the Harlot: The Rabbis' Convert

Over Shavuot, I gave a shiur on Rahab (which, actually, is pronounced Rachav, or more appropriately, here's the Hebrew: רחב), and I'd been planning on posting some form of the shiur here, so here I am. This paper originated in the Fall semester 2009 for a Midrashic Literature course. How did I happen upon Rahab? You know, I honestly can't remember. I wanted to do something with conversion, and I had originally intended to write about the Rabbi's views on conversion. The literature on this, actually, is pretty broad, so I narrowed things down to one, single, well-loved convert: Rahab ha'zonah. After some interesting mentions of "red cords" and "red threads" in various parashot, I've decided to continue my exploration of Rahab and some inconsistencies and curiosities about the red cord (related to the Passover, perhaps, but in sacrifices of repentance, the red thread becomes as such through the dying of the thread with a substance derived from a lowly snail, showing a rise from a lowly state [repentance] to a higher place [Rashi]).

Anyhow. Let's start with my intro.

In the Book of Joshua, the reader encounters Rahab the Canaanite harlot (zonah, זונה), who is charged with saving Joshua’s spies from imminent danger and as a result is herself saved from certain death at the hands of the Israelites. Subsequently, the Rabbis understand Rahab as mending her unfortunate ways, accepting the Israelite G-d as the only god, and becoming the ultimate example among the Rabbis of the truly righteous convert. They sing her praises throughout the midrash, particularly her wisdom in concealing the spies and negotiating her own rescue. Because the Rabbis paint an extremely positive picture of the woman who, according to the midrash, would marry Joshua and produce eight prophets, it is clear that they view Rahab as symbolizing “the positive influence that Israel exerts on the surrounding Gentile nations, as well as successful conversion.” Any negativity surrounding her occupation, her national affiliation, or the incident of her being spared – despite the commands of Deuteronomy 20:10-20, specifically 10-16 to “not let a soul remain alive” – is washed away and ultimately romanticized throughout the midrash, save for one instance citing Israel’s failure to commit complete destruction by sparing Rahab, which will be discussed in brief. The Rabbis clearly view Rahab as the ultimate, ideal convert, applying to Jeremiah, who is said to have descended from Rahab, the proverb: “The son of the corrupted one who mended her ways will come and reproach the son of the fit one who had gone astray.”

The most intriguing question, however, is why the Rabbis chose Rahab as an example to gentiles as the ideal, righteous proselyte – what attracted the Rabbis to Rahab and her story, prompting their message that if a harlot can convert, so, too, can anyone? This paper will address this question through a discussion of the midrash, as well as its treatment in sources such as those of Josephus. This discussion ultimately will show that what Rahab offered the Rabbis was the model of the repentant fallen woman who finds the true G-d and emerges as a matriarch of Israel, in a “Jewish setting apparently anxious for female figures of conversion and repentance.” Rahab thus becomes the paramount model of the righteous proselyte, indeed one that surpasses even the most well-known of the Rabbis converts, such as Jethro, in her recognition of HaShem's true powers.

It's a little wordy, and it was hacked down by quite a bit for my Graduate Presentation in March and even more so for my shiur. The thing is, for the shiur I opted to axe the academics/scholars from the mix. Dangerous? Maybe. But it fit the shiur better.

The paper goes on to detail the narrative, then examining how Rahab becomes known as a harlot, followed by an exploration of the Midrashic literature on Rahab as a convert in the eyes of the Rabbis, and concluding with a discussion of why the Rabbis chose Rahab over all others as witness to the righteous convert.

I've got a boatload of sources, including a variety that attempt to launder Rahab's post as a harlot (she's named as a perfumer, innkeeper, and more!). But smashing 18 pages into one blog post is, well, ridiculous. So I decided to just post the sources up HERE and the actual paper up HERE. Enjoy. Read. And let me know what you think. I apologize for any mistakes, errors, or assumptions that might seem absolutely obscene to you. After all -- this is an academic exploration of Rahab, but it caters itself well to a religious inquiry as well, I think. Here are my concluding thoughts (in case you're too lazy to read the paper, that is).

The ultimate conclusion the Rabbis drew from Rahab’s conversion is the superiority of repentance over prayer, for even though Moses prayed exceedingly, G-d did not accept his entreaty to enter the land. The repentance of Rahab the harlot was accepted, and the midrash concludes that seven kings and eight prophets were issued forth from her (Seder Eliyahu Zuta). That the biblical Rahab becomes transformed into a repentant convert and wife and ancestress of worthy priests and prophets in Israel reflects the Rabbis’ need to adopt biblical models of the welcome Judaism extends to all sincere proselytes – regardless of their past. Rahab is thus evidence for the Rabbis of the “efficacy of Judaism and its traditions in taming the disordering powers of female sexuality.” These stories are evident in the midrash, including a popular tale in BT Menahot 44a (and Sifre Numbers 115) in a discussion of the importance of observing the precept of ritual fringes, or tzitzit, by recounting the tale of a student who, while careful in observing this precept, himself gets caught up with a harlot. The harlot, after a series of events, ends up converting and marrying the student. This narrative, like the Rahab story, is appealing and romantic, juxtaposing some of the “risqué imaged details of its subject’s profession with a religious miracle and the spiritually elevating account of her acceptance into the Jewish community.” That this prized convert is a woman attests to something even more unique, and that is that there were more men than women proselytes mentioned in rabbinic literature. Thus, it is understandable that the Rabbis would focus on key individuals such as Rahab in their discussion of the female proselyte as a penitent courtesan.

As Phyllis Bird suggests, the story depends on a certain “reversal of expectations.” It is unlikely to expect a “shrewd and calculating operator” like a prostitute to save the spies and declare allegiance to G-d, but she does. The Rabbis, then, understood something profound about their choice as the ultimate righteous convert: “The harlot understands what the king of the city does not – that Israelite victory is imminent and inevitable.”

(Note: In the paper, I use the fully spelled out name of HaShem (I know, I know, not in Hebrew it doesn't matter, but it feels weird to me), because in academia, this is how we roll. I apologize if I offend you!)

A Pro-Convert, Pre-Shabbos Anecdote

Shabbat cometh, so I thought I'd share a cute little "yay convert!" anecdote with everyone. ready?

While in Austin, standing in line at the kosher grill at H-E-B, a little old man, who also is a professor at the university there, turned to me, looked at my SXSW Interactive nametag, and said, "Chaviva? Are you Israeli?"

I responded that I was not, and left it at that.

He replied, "Are your parents Israeli? Such a weird name to give an American girl!" I responded, hesitatingly, "Nope, I chose this name myself, actually." The little old man grinned broadly, saying, "Ahh! A convert! I love converts!"

At first I wasn't entirely sure how to react. It was funny to me how typically I anticipate people experiencing my "I'm a convert" moment through asking me where I'm from (Nebraska, there are Jews there?!) or where I was bat mitzvahed (no where). Never before, although perhaps it will become a more regular occurrence, has my name become the topic for my "coming out." Although, now that I think about it, Chaviva is a very Israeli name. In the U.S. the names Ahava and Aviva are much more popular to express the same idea.

So the little old man went on to tell me stories about the converts he knows, how he "adopted" their children, how authentic and genuine the converts he knows are. He was giddy with love for gerim! So I stood, smiled, nodded, and was pleased to experience the happier side of convert acceptance.

Later, as I sat eating with a friend and two Israelis we'd bumped into, the little old man came over and said something along the lines of, "It was good to meet you all. But it was especially good to meet her (pointing at me); SHE is something very special."

This left me glowing, feeling special, and the Israeli guests puzzled as to what was going on (they didn't know, of course, what the little old man was so excited about). Surrounded by Israelis and kosher food and friends, I felt utterly loved and, as the little old man said, special.

Shabbat shalom, friends!

Movies Are Us: "Live and Become"

Monday night, a bunch of second and third year Hebrew students gathered in a dank room of a campus building to watch our scheduled Hebrew-language film, T'chiyeh v't'hiyeh (תחיה ותהיה). My transliteration is probably horrible, but it's the best I can do for now. Here is the film's synopsis, according to Wikipedia:

Live and Become or Va, Vis et Deviens is a 2005 film about an Ethiopian Christian boy who disguises himself as an Ethiopian Jew in order to escape famine and emigrates to Israel.

The film, which has won a ton of awards, is incredibly emotionally. The young boy in the film is sent off by his Christian mother from a refugee camp with a Jewish woman. The boy gets to Israel and is told what his new name will be and who is parents and grandparents were. He's angry, torn, and inevitably is adopted by a secular Jewish-Israeli family. Throughout his life, he wants/needs to tell others that he isn't truly Jewish, but it never comes up and/or he can't tell anyone. He says, "I'm not Jewish, but I feel Jewish." I won't ruin the movie for you, but there's a wedding, a reunion, and more. The movie is completely emotional with ups and downs, a child torn between his Christian past and mother still in Sudan and his Jewish life with his new Jewish family in Israel.

The movie is fashioned around the struggle of the Ethiopian immigrant to Israel and the struggle of being an oleh from a completely different world with a completely different way of life. The story is compounded by the fact that the child isn't Jewish by birth and only he knows this truth. He becomes good friends with a rabbi that also emigrated from Ethiopia, and this rabbi tries to guide the child on the right path. His family life is tenuous, as his family is French-Israeli and his father has a specific outlook on life. But his grandfather and his mother always are there to lend an ear and provide a positive impression on things to come.

Perhaps the most frustrating thing about the movie -- especially coming from a convert like myself -- is that the boy, despite "feeling Jewish," never goes through the process of a brit milah, even knowing of his future simchas and knowing that he is living a fully Jewish/Israeli life. It raises a lot of really important questions as a Jew or as a potential convert to Judaism.

Is it enough to simply feel Jewish?

This goes into a much greater debate that I don't necessarily want to have here: What should conversion to Judaism comprise? Should it be enough to feel Jewish and state your dedication to Judaism? Some religions require very little, such as a simple statement about the Gd and major prophet of that religion. No learning before the fact, nothing beyond a declaration. Words, after all, are powerful. Was it enough for the boy in the movie to FEEL Jewish? Or did he really need to commit to the brit milah ceremony?

That also makes me wonder whether the movie's point was that it is enough to feel Jewish. I can't decide. Has anyone else seen this movie? What was your perception? Was the boy wrong to go through life not committing to the covenant through the means of the community standard?

Anyway, what an interesting movie. What a thought-provoking movie, at that. I highly recommend it, and I would love to hear what you all think about it, too. As well as the questions posed here.

Swallowed Up in the Mikvah

I just stepped out of the bathtub, after watching steam rise from my legs and feet, the air much colder than the water and the now-temperature of my body. I sat in the tub, candles oozing light, music crooning, and I tried to imagine myself back at the mikvah, standing in that warm pool of water, after taking the literal steps into a Torah-binding agreement with HaShem. I couldn’t. The experience, a true one-time experience, is best left to the memory in its warm and welcoming embrace of the wings of the shechinah. But I want to do my best to share some of it with you. It’s just who I am to tell a story.

The entire thing happened suddenly, in a swirl of phone calls, organizing, and haste. I’d anticipated at least the weekend to consider names, to call friends to be there, to let everyone know. And then, in a quick whish of winter wind, the plans were made and I was set to be at the mikvah on Friday, not today as originally planned (which, by the way, was quite surprising and sudden as it was). To describe it as a whirlwind experience would be understating the actual whirlwindedness of those 25 hours.

You see, I met with my beth din, for the second time, at 10 a.m. on Thursday. By the next day, at 11 a.m., I was sitting on a couch in the very nice waiting room of a very nice mikvah on the Upper West Side. I didn’t sleep Wednesday night, and I surely didn’t sleep Thursday night. I was tossing around names, scenarios of what we’d do if the weather got bad as it had been Thursday morning (every route into NYC was closed for a time, and by the grace of G-d all the rabbis made it in). But everything, miraculously, went like clockwork.

On Friday, I arrived at the mikvah, I spoke with the mikvah lady, I prepared, I went into the mikvah, I accepted a variety of covenantal and binding sentiments and laws upon myself, I dipped, I said a b’racha, I dipped again, I said another b’racha, and I dipped again. I ascended those literal stairs, I entered my dressing room, and I cried. I cried with a smile that I cannot even put into words. I can feel the feeling right now, the confusing smiling, laughing, crying, crying more, and smiling feeling. I stared at myself, drenched in mikvah waters, in the mirror and I could see the change. I stand firmly by the idea that my entire life I have carried within me the Jewish neshama that has shined so brightly these past six or seven years. But standing there, looking into that mirror and later listening to the rabbi bestow upon me my name as a Jewess, I felt different. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me back up.

In the mikvah (if you want more details about the procedure, feel free to email me, but this is just for those going through the process who might want to know what to expect), the water was warm, at a temperature that I can’t even describe. “Warm” doesn’t do it justice. Similarly, it didn’t really feel like water. It grazed my skin like a thick liquid, holding me firmly in place, pressing the heat against my chest, like I was being cradled tightly with the kind of pressure that is welcoming. I’m not a very touchy-feely kind of person. I shy away from hugs, and as a child my father couldn’t cradle me, he had to cross his legs and place me there in order for me to stop crying. But the warmth and pressure of the mikvah waters were the most comforting I’d ever felt – those waters, they cannot be replicated. I could see the rabbis reflection in the water beside me, and as he spoke I answered confidently with tears in my eyes “I Accept” with every statement he issued. And as each statement came, I shook more and more. Like tons of little shivers up and down my arms, I was shaking, almost shivering in the warm water. I was anxious, nervous, excited, and my body was processing the emotion in any way it could.

At last, I was told to dip. I grabbed my breath, and dropped into the water, floating freely, fingers apart, toes apart, my body a mess of limbs in the warmth. Through the echo of the water I heard a muffled “KOSHER!” being yelled by the rabbis as they departed the room. And the funny thing? I couldn’t find my footing afterward, I floated, my short little limbs unable to find the ground. After all, the water reached up just at my shoulders, and that was with me on my tip-toes. I was swallowed up by the water, and it was beautiful. At last I found the floor, and the mikvah lady assured me I just need to be down for a second. I guess for her, it’s nothing new. For me? I could have floated freely without air, mindlessly twisting and turning, wrestling with the shechinah in that water for eternity. I dipped two more times, after saying the b’rachot clearly, and heard the mikvah lady shout “KOSHER!” (I have to tell you, this was one of my favorite things – hearing that KOSHER! being yelled really loudly; it was empowering and affirming!)

I came out after having dressed, and cried, and laughed, and was greeted by mazel tovs from friends and the rabbis. The rabbi read a document aloud for everyone to hear, proclaiming me Chaviva Elianah bat Avraham v’Sarah, and I cried again. Chaviva is the name I chose at my Reform conversion in April 2006, it holding the same meaning as my given name, Amanda: “beloved.” Elianah I chose because I wanted something that included and named HaShem. I had very, very little time to officially decide, and I chose Elianah, meaning “G-d has answered,” because I felt as though my neshama was officially, finally, being recognized as having been at Sinai as my deep visions and memories have shown me. Thus, Chaviva Elianah bat Avraham v’Sarah was born on the 15th of Tevet 5770.

And then? Well, we’re back to where I left off.

My first thought, after everything, was this: No one, NO ONE, can deny me anything as a Jew anymore. Period. No one. I immediately thought back to my having applied to Aish HaTorah’s birthright program and being turned down, told harshly and degradingly that I wasn’t a Jew, and issued materials on conversion programs. I thought to myself, “Now, now they can’t do that to me. NO one can treat me like that!” Everyone is quick to assure me that they’ve always thought of me as a member of the tribe, and I’ve always thought of me as a member of the tribe, too. But this one thing makes it different: No one has to feel it anymore, because it’s so. It’s halakicly so! It’s so empowering, I can’t stress this enough.

After the mikvah, an outing for bagels, and wishing farewell to friends heading off on a cruise (oh, and seeing Alec Baldwin!), we headed out to prepare for Shabbos. After a flurry of calls to family and friends, and the realization that my voice was going – fast – I stopped, let my arms fall to my side, and told Tuvia that I was exhausted. I’d been running on adrenaline the past two days, not to mention the past two years, and I was ready to stop. My neshama looked at me and said, Chaviva Elianah, it’s done, it’s really done, and we need to rest now. And so I slept all of Shabbos, save for mealtime (of course). I really can’t put into words that feeling, that exhaustion that I felt (and still feel a little bit) after such an arduous journey.

And that, I suppose, is the rest of the story. I feel like I’m leaving so much out, but the memory, well, it’s so much my own. I want there to be some mystery, some mystique, some feeling that is just between me and that mikvah and HaShem.

As an aside: I’ve received emails, calls, Twitter replies, Facebook messages and comments, and so much more, from dozens and dozens of friends and strangers alike, wishing me mazel tov on my conversion. Save for one individual, the response has been nothing but welcoming and positive. This weekend, there are meals in honor of my simcha. Something else I fail to put into words is how I personally am reacting to everything, that being the mazels and the welcoming and the kind words. It is, in a word, overwhelming. Don’t get me wrong, it’s overwhelming in the most positive way, but I’m the kind of person who shies away from praise, I always have been. To put it simply, I honestly don’t know how to take a compliment. So, over the past few days, I’ve been overwhelmed by the kind things people have said to me, and I almost feel as though I am not serving people right in my responses. I say thank you, I say thank you again, I feel awkward, and I say thank you again.

Am I alone in this? This is such a big thing, and I know that I’ll experience this again when I get engaged (if?) and married and have kids and all of the other major simchas. Will I ever learn how to be properly responsive? I feel as though others think I’m being ungrateful, but the volume is hard to respond to. I love my friends, my blog friends, my Twitter friends, my Facebook friends. I think I am the most blessed and lucky person in the world right now. I’m quite good at writing, especially when it comes to experiences and emotions, but this is just something for which I can’t figure out how not to be awkward. Sigh. Just know, I love you guys. You and this blog and everything that surrounds my efforts to really light a fire under every neshama out there, those are the things that keep me going, that keep my hopes high and my fingers tapping.

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.

So you want to convert, eh?

In an attempt to answer some reader questions regarding conversion, I will simply type up a (hopefully) brief little post here, so as to not go through great lengths to edit my video blog since time is of the essence these days.

"Your people shall be my people, and your God, my God" (Ruth 1:16)

You'll note that Ruth didn't bother asking Naomi where to find a good shul or rabbi, nor did she pop in with any questions about the difficulties of finding a congregation out in the middle of nowhere, right? So where to begin? 

When I decided to start going to synagogue, I had already made the decision to convert. I knew all the details of the conversion process and had read most of the popularized conversion books (after all, I'd been studying on my own for about a year). So really, I was jumping way ahead of myself and needed to find a shul. In my town there were two synagogues -- one Reform, the other Conservative. About an hour away there was a much larger city with various congregations ranging from Chabad to Reform. At the time, though, I hadn't considered going to the larger city because, well, I was carless and in college and it just wasn't something that struck me. Also at that time I was comfortably settled in the Reform movement with my hashkafah (sort of like Jewish philosophy/beliefs). A (Jewish) friend of a friend was also interested in checking out a local shul to see what the buzz was (considering the community was so small), so we agreed to go one Friday night. She picked me up, we were off, and we were welcomed heartily by the community. We started going regularly, and after awhile we decided to check out the Conservative shul to see whether we were leaning that way. Unfortunately, that congregation didn't welcome us as heartily, as the base was a lot older and didn't seem interested in talking to, let alone welcoming, us.

So, at the time -- as I said -- my hashkafah was good with the Reform movement and so I continued to go there. The rabbi at that point was a woman who, to be honest, didn't seem so interested in getting started with a conversion candidate (she was sort of on the outs, as her family had moved to a city about three hours away and she was trying to get out, too), but we met at a coffee shop, she gave me a booklist to check out and we called it a day. Shortly after she left a new rabbi was hired and he was incredibly enthusiastic about the congregation and my conversion -- I would be his first convert! He started up an Intro to Judaism course (which was mostly a refresher for me at that point), and very quickly we set a date for my conversion because, after talking to me and hearing about my studies and journey, he seemed confident I was prepared. But most importantly, it was I who was prepared. In April 2006, then, I met with the beth din, went to the mikvah, had my naming and conversion ceremony, and the rest is history. This all, of course, was through the Reform movement.

Now, I wasn't turned away three times or any of that. It's more likely that in the Orthodox movement this will happen, and it's also more likely that you'll really need to search for a rabbi who fits into your stream of thought and who welcomes you and your conversion in his community. As I consider reconverting through the Orthodox movement, I'll admit, there is a lot more thought that will go into the process -- who my rabbi is, how long I'll need to prepare, what congregation/community to attach myself to, etc. When I started dabbling in the path to conversion in ... oy ... was it 2003? (though formally much later) ... I didn't really do much searching because I was pretty comfortable in where I was, but it was very situationally comfortable.

What do I mean? Well, I was in college (undergraduate) and there was not a possibility for me to move (at least, at that time, it hadn't even crossed my mind). Had I wanted to convert Orthodox (though, to be honest, in the community I was in I had a LOT of misconceptions about Orthodox Jews and the Orthodox community in general), I would have been put in an interesting position. I would have had to make my way to the closest city with an Orthodox community, but even then, it would have been difficult to make the trips. And once again -- it all depends on your hashkafah. For some people who do want to convert Orthodox, though, it just isn't feasible to get to a community where you can attend services regularly, find kosher foods, not to mention visit the mikvah and take part in other community activities. So what an Orthodox rabbi will tell you is -- you must move to a community. It's a lifestyle, it's a community, it's not just a religious doctrine. But for people with families or who are committed to a location, this just isn't possible. So then they will tell you that we must bend to the Torah -- the Torah will not bend to us. And in a way, they are right. So what do you do?

Well, my advice is this: If you live in the sticks or in a community where there isn't a shul, find the nearest one, no matter the denomination, and begin to learn. Explain to the rabbi that you are interested in converting, though you're not sure whether the shul's hashkafah lines up with your's, but that you want to begin or explore your options. Attend Intro to Judaism and Hebrew classes (or find a tutor or use online resources). Learn, learn, learn and learn some more, and when you feel yourself coming to a place where you are confident in converting, talk to your rabbi. Explain to them where you are at, which movement you feel most comfortable halakicly in, ask the rabbi if they can connect you with other rabbis in other movements. When you travel, go to different shuls -- Orthodox, Conservative, Reconstructionist, Reform. You have to have that exposure in order to make an informed decision about a movement as a whole. But your Jewish soul will lead you in the appropriate direction, and no matter how you feel spiritually or where you connect denominationally, you can observe how ever much or little that you want in your personal life. Don't forget, though, that community is important! And also, use the internet. This big, bad wide interweb is your KEY to really discovering where you fit Jewishly -- but don't trust just one website or one source, because you truly never know what you'll get. Ask questions, ask a LOT of questions, and do your homework.

Remember: Judaism is sort of a package deal -- communally, personally, religiously, and how you live -- you can't learn, study, and convert in a vacuum. It's as simple as "where there is a will, there is a way." And your Jewish soul will not let you sleep until it is sated!

So check out this website: My Jewish Learning on Choosing a Synagogue. I really, really wish I had had this all those years ago. It offers some great advice, especially about the differences simply between synagogues within the same movement. For example, I prefer a shul without a chazzan, or cantor, because I find that the congregants do an amazing job with a melody (I think this sentiment comes from attending a modern Orthodox shul for those many months!).  Likewise, you can tell a lot about a synagogue from what kind of programs it has -- women's groups, social action, outreach, etc. But perhaps most importantly is making sure that YOU and the RABBI fit. You want to convert through someone you trust, someone who takes you as seriously as you take them, and who can answer your questions and inquiries without any troubles. Plus, it is important to develop a good, working relationship with a rabbi at any rate because questions will always come up -- about Yom Kippur or kashrut or something else -- and you will need someone authoritative and consistent (we call this person a rav) in your life to help you answer such queries!

But, that's my reader's digest bit on finding a synagogue/rabbi and how to do so if you're in a community that maybe lacks such things. Now, I have a lot of connections and know a lot of people, not to mention I am presently inventorying all of the shuls in the U.S. for a Jewish databank, so if you need some information or want to be introduced to a rabbi, let me know and I'll do what I can to help you out. I might not know everyone, but an intermediary can help get the ball rolling!

I might have created more questions than answers, so let me know what you you have to say. I attempted to be brief, but I want to reiterate that the Jewish conversion process is not meant to be quick -- it is meant to allow the convert time to evaluate and reevaluate their Jewish soul, to consider where they fit and when they are truly, truly ready to take on the plight of the Jewish people. There is no need to rush -- some people spend years, dozens of years at times, on the path, waiting to hit that point or find the right rabbi or congregation. Don't rush it just because you want to get there -- it just isn't worth skirting the major issues for a quickie conversion. Plus, a good rabbi won't let you get by like that either :)

If you click here, I have compiled a list of websites with information that might be useful to you -- just now, actually, so this list will continue to grow in coming days/weeks. Enjoy and Shalom!

Chavi on the Ger

I promised a video blog, but this isn't exactly on what I was shooting for. This video is about what a convert is and why a convert is not obligated to tell the world they are a convert. So watch it! And I apologize for both the length and the occasional hopping of the video -- I got a call midway through recording that got me all jumbled and confused :) But please, enjoy and let me know what you think! I promise they'll be shorter in the future!

The Conversion Debacle.

Frequent readers will note that I haven't written on, let alone mentioned, the big blow up over the possible revocation of Orthodox conversions in Israel. I've read dozens of blog posts on this, and seen even more news reports about the repercussions across the world and in Israel.

Converts' marriages were put on hold while the dust settled and rulings were analyzed. Then the Conference of European Rabbis declared all converts completing the process in Israel would be invalid. Today, the Prime Minister's Office fired the embroiled rabbi, Chaim Druckman, tied up in this whole eruption -- citing "old age" as the reason. Right. And then, of course, there are the Aussie rabbis who have jumped up to say "none of that going on here!"

In the past day, Google blog search shows 11 posts with the word "Druckman" in them. In the past week? 42. In the past month, 165. The number seem low, especially from how many posts I see just among those on my blog roll.

I'm on an Orthodox women's listserv, and there have been nearly 30 responses in the past five days about the situation from the eyes of Orthodox women, some who converted and some lucky enough (in this instance) to be pretty much unaffected by the situation. At least, not yet.

You question Reform conversions. You question Conservative conversions. Reconstructionist. And now? Orthodox. Those conversions performed in the land that G-d would give us, no less. So who is to say that those who were born, grew up, are living, whose ancestors generations and generations back lived observantly -- who is to say that these Jews won't have to pull out the paperwork, the family tree, the marriage certificates? It's the slippery slope mentality, and I hate it. But I'm worried it's what's happening.

In a perfect world, we'd all be Jewish -- the way Torah means those of the Jewish faith to be. It would be black and white, there would be no factions. But that would also completely obliterate the tradition of questioning and debating and the perpetual argument over what Torah means when it says "do not kindle a fire on the Sabbath."

All the while, my hat goes off to Chief Sephardi Rabbi Shlomo Amar for pushing for the conversions to remain recognized. Why does it seem like in all things Sephardim are so much more laid back? Kitniyot is no big thing, conversions by Druckman are no big thing ...

So why haven't I written about this? It happened weeks ago. There have been oodles of posts and comments over on Jewsbychoice.org -- where I contribute -- and I've mostly remained mum. I haven't commented in the listserv (then again, in truth my opinion there doesn't necessarily count since my conversion was Reform, making me not a Jew -- legally -- in the eyes of the Orthodox community for the most part).

The truth is, I don't know. Or maybe it's that I don't care. I think apathy and indifference has taken over on this one. Maybe in light of the recent events of being called out on a public forum as "not a Jew, EVER" I just burned out. Maybe, I just don't have the energy to fight it right now.

My philosophy has always been -- and mostly still is, though I have moments of weakness where I'm beaten to pulp emotionally over the topic by others -- that I'm a Jew. That much is black and white. I either am or am not, and I most certainly am. A black woman convert once said that she tells people that she was born Jewish, just not in a Jewish womb, and I think it's pretty accurate. Some are blessed being born into it from breath number one, and some of us have to get there. It's like realizing you have a nose when you're a baby. It's an amazing feeling, too.

But I'm a Jew. I'll jump through thirty hoops and dip in the mikvah a dozen times if you want. What do I care?

There will always be people who think you're not enough. Or that you're too much (as it seems to be the case with me sometimes). And the balance is necessary. These negative Nancy and positive Petes keep you in check, they keep you fighting, they keep you passionate and alive. They remind you that it is not effortless to be a Jew -- convert or not. Someone will always want you to cover more or butcher the cow yourself, and someone else will tell you to loosen up and let your hair down and eat that non-kosher candy bar. It's becuase it isn't black and white.

So this is all I have to say -- right now anyway -- on this whole conversion debacle in Israel and Europe and everywhere else that converts are feeling the burn. I feel for them, we're kindred spirits wandering back to the mount together, catching up with the rest of the tribe camped there. I understand the frustration and the hurt, and I understand the want for it all to just go away and for the slippery slope to flatten out and become coarse as sand paper. But for now, we'll forge forth, nu?

There is always someone standing in our path, and that never changes. It is the reaction to the situation that truly matters. And me? Well, you'll see how I turn out.

I'm so frustrated I could cry.

Well folks. Chavi isn't going to Israel. No Birthright, no Israel.

Aish has two trips open -- one July 21-30 and one August 11-21. Thanks, Aish. Thanks for pushing me all the way back. For forgetting about me and then giving me the only options you have left.

The matter of it is, I start school on August 25. My assistantship starts on August 23. I am leaving to move to Connecticut (which will take me about two days driving, it's a nearly 15 hour trip) early to mid-week of August 11. My last day of work will likely be August 8.

Thus, I can't say "By the way, can I take nearly two weeks off and then come back to work for a week and then quit?" Because that won't happen. There will be someone to train, and there will be me training said person. It cannot be approved. Likewise, I can't make the August 11-21 trip work, because, well, I have to MOVE half-way across the country, and coming back on August 21 would not give me enough time to move and get to work/school.

So I'm really disappointed, and I'm incredibly upset. I wanted to be able to discover Israel with other Jews, like me in some ways or many, who have never been. I wanted to find out if Israel is part of my future, if aliyah is something that I'll be planning into my path. And I wanted to do it with other Jews! But I'm being punished because I'm making Jewish studies my life's work.

I could cry at this point. But I won't. If you're curious about the detailed experience that I had with Aish and Birthright, you can check out my timeline by clicking here.

Thanks to everyone who put up with me complaining and whining about being ignored, and thanks to those who kept tabs and wanted to hear what happened. On the upside, I won't be writing about it anymore.

EDIT: The rabbi has brought to my attention a program called Jewel, in which women go to Israel for 3.5 weeks to study and travel and do things and stuff. It seems right up my alley, and might actually be more valuable than a Birthright trip, eh? Anyhow, I'm going to explore this as an option, and probably throw my hat in the ring. The rabbi said he could help me get a scholarship, and at that point, I'll be broke. So things might not be all gloom and doom.

I need to get a grip.

The convert and the Jew.

Well, there's been a lull for me. My weekend was unexpectedly jam-packed with fun-having and merrymaking. I mean, I agreed to all the things I participated and one thing I subsequently canceled, but I didn't realize how busy it would make me. There were two nights of drunken revelry with friends from Yelp.com; a morning/afternoon spent in West Rogers Park with a friend, who is Orthodox, and her family; a lunch date with three other Yelpers, followed by a play with those same three Yelpers. I ended up ditching out on a dinner with some Jews at The Bagel, though. By Sunday night, I was just beat. Beat in the best sense of the word, but even still. So I did laundry and bought groceries and should have gone to bed early, but I didn't. I'm now kicking myself, so this will be my great effort of the evening, followed by me tumbling into bed and passing out. So a few thoughts.

My morning/afternoon in West Rogers Park was really a great experience, even though we didn't make it to shul. I mean, I could have gone with the friend's husband, but I felt like I might be more comfortable at home with my friend and her kids. In truth, my first Orthodox shul experience -- I hope -- will be with a friend who happens to be of the same sex as me. So I played the new version of the LIFE board game (and it's sooo complicated with bells and whistles now) with the older kids. We had lunch -- which was delish -- and generally enjoyed one another's company. Then another couple came over with their three youngins and we sat around and chatted. It was a completely relaxed day. I'm not going to lie -- it thrilled me on my way home to see men in black hats walking around the neighborhood.

On a different note, Schvach sent me a few interesting quips over on AskMoses.com, and I thought I would share this one, because I find it profoundly poignant. In reply to the question "If a convert is meant to be born Jewish, then why wasn't he born Jewish?"

A convert who was born to a non-Jewish mother but wishes to convert to Judaism has a difficult challenge that must be overcome. It is one thing to choose to return to one’s roots, even if that decision is contrary to how one was raised, but to essentially choose to become part of a people, culture, religion and heritage that is foreign to the one you were born into, is a test and privilege that is rare.

G-d provides each and every individual with unique circumstances and tests that the person must undergo in order to reveal who he/she truly is and what he/she is capable of.

and

The Talmud actually refers to the convert as "the convert who converted" rather than "the gentile who converted" or "the person who converted". This implies that even before converting the prospective convert's soul is innately connected to the concept of conversion and Judaism, and that gives him/her the strength to go through with a conversion.

What is essential is having both the faith within ourselves to pursue what we know to be truth, and when we need help, to trust that even if we can't make it through on our own, G-d has the ability to carry us through. And as we all know, the harder the challenge, the greater the reward. When we endure and ultimately break through our restrictions to become who we are meant to be, we have a resolve, determination and strength that we never could have achieved had it not been for the challenge that was set before us.

I really love, and feel that that first part truly defines who I am as a convert. I'm not a goy who converted, I'm a convert who converted. It's such a beautiful idea, nu? And then there is this bit on when a convert attains his/her Jewish soul. Now, I am the biggest kabbalah ignoramus there is, and for some reason I've just failed to get into kabbalah -- academically or personally. Now, when I say this, you have to understand that I in no way judge kabbalah or kabbalists and I quote many of them quite frequently and the ideologies and espoused ideas are truly fascinating and meaningful to me -- I simply do not have a working knowledge of kabbalah that would make me anything of a novice, let alone expert.

According to Kabbalah, a convert is one who's soul possesses a latent Jewish spark, was born to a non-Jewish mother, and therefore must undergo the process of a Torah conversion in order for the Jewish spark to be actualized as a Jewish soul. This “non-Jew” is born with a potentially Jewish soul, yet it is not revealed at this point or accessible.

This means that this person is not Jewish, but has the ability to become a Jew through a proper conversion process. Once this person chooses to undergo a conversion, and accepts to live according to the dictates of the Torah, it is then that the soul is revealed and accessible, and from this point on, the “Jew” is revealed.

This is also why, interestingly enough, the date that the convert immerses in the Mikvah, the ritual bath, is the moment that the Jewish soul is revealed within the body. This process of emerging from the water is compared to a birth process, in which the baby bursts forth from the water-filled environment in which he was contained. The baby existed beforehand, but reaches completion and attains independence at birth. So, too, the convert contained a Jewish spark beforehand -- a spark which blossoms and matures upon conversion.

Isn't that beautiful? I dipped in the mikvah twice (new rabbi, I was his first convert, and there was some confusion!), but I remember the feeling of the mikvah the first time. The stillness, the quiet, the overwhelming sense of peace.

So those are the thoughts for now. I think they're beautiful, really. I was telling my friend this weekend that as a convert, it's incredibly difficult because you are told that once you convert, it is as if you had always been Jewish and that necessarily you needn't tell anyone that you were once "not Jewish." However, AS a convert, it almost feels like your duty to "represent," to serve as a sort of, example, for those who want to convert but perhaps feel overwhelmed or lost. It's why I'm proud to be a part of Jewsbychoice.org and to write about what it means to be a convert, yet it makes sense to me when a friend says, "As a Jew you may find following the pursuit of Judaism as a Jew to bear greater reward than to pursue Judaism as an initiate," I feel that, completely and wholly. It's a tug and a pull, two directions, two different takes on being one who has sought and found who she was meant to be. I think the conversation is a lifelong one, though. One that likely will never be satisfied, perhaps.

I'm hoping this week sort of eases by, as I have a really good, old friend hitting Chicago up on a layover and I couldn't be more stoked to see him!! SUPER STOKED, in fact. I'll be going to Sushi Shabbat this week at the Reform shul I haven't been to in, well, months. I'm sure I'll get some interesting looks, but the only reason I'm going is because it's the only time I see certain people. The crappy thing about it is that it's just a bunch of 20/30-something Jews prowling. Ugh.

I'm also hoping to have something pretty substantial to write about this week -- as I'm nearing the end of the Conservative Movement in Judaism text. I also picked up a Solomon Schechter book, which has the article "Catholic Israel" in it. I've heard mixed opinions about it, but we'll see what I have to say upon its completion.

So be well, friends and G-d willing, I'll have something substantial for you in a few days!