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.

Ask Chaviva Anything!: Hair, Struggles, and School

I've already received so many great questions for my new Ask Chaviva Anything! series. Here's my response to a few of them, and stay tuned for more! If you want to ask me something, anything, just click here.

For you, what's the hardest part of being a convert?

That's a really excellent question, for which there are many answers! I think the hardest thing about being a convert is those moments when you feel lost or wandering (which is how I feel right now post-divorce and post-move). The thing about being a born-Jew is that no matter how far you stray, you can always come back -- Once a Jew, Always a Jew. (Okay, let's not talk about Spinoza here.) When you're a convert, you can't stray and come back, because your credibility is shot. As an Orthodox convert, the option to give up kashrut and the mitzvot just isn't an option if I want to stay or be accepted by Israel and Orthodox Jewry. I'm not saying I want to give everything up, but that the pressure to stay on the straight-and-narrow sometimes means that you feel as though you can't spread your wings and fly in ways that you might before converting.

As I wrote here, the temptations to fly in either direction -- more religious, less religious -- are strong when you're feeling lost, and staying the derech can be exceedingly hard, but that's part of being Jewish, and that's what I signed up for!

Did you get a heter from a reliable rav to uncover your hair? 

Believe it or not, I answered this in a recent blog post! I didn't name the rabbi, but if you really want to know, shoot me an email.

What happened to grad school? Are you going to have to pay back your scholarship? Are you going to go back or are you finished?

Currently, I'm on a "Leave of Absence" with the option to return in the Spring. Will I? Probably not. I might see about getting it extended with the option to return in Fall 2012, but I'm still undecided.

When I initially started my second and third masters' degrees at NYU, I wanted to be a Hebrew language educator, or at least a trail-blazer to update and revamp the way Hebrew is taught in the United States. I was super stoked to be at NYU after getting my first M.A. at the University of Connecticut -- I'd dreamed of going to NYU since I was in high school. When I moved to the NY area, however, my focus changed over to Social Media and the role it plays in the Jewish nonprofit world and in Jewish day schools. The problem? There isn't much of a curriculum at NYU for such a field, because it's hard to teach Social Media to someone like me who knows and does as much as I do already. Also, it being an experimental field, I'm probably better suited to be teaching than taking the classes. (Man, that sounds snobby, but I was going to take a Social Networking course and the teacher asked me to come speak to her class because of my experience.) So I'm really torn and questioning what the Education and Jewish Studies program can really do for me; I was struggling to find meaning in the program for a while now, and it might just be chocked up to the difficult emotional time I was going through.

I don't have to pay back the scholarship, but I know what a hardship it will be for the program and thus this is not a decision I'm making lightly. NYU was my dream, but some things just don't turn out to be what we think they are.

Parshah Yitro

This week's parshah is one that always brings me back to the same question. I can't even consider the rest of the parshah, because my mind is always floating on one man: Yitro, Moshe's father in law.

Did Yitro Convert?

If you google yitro convert, you'll notice that (beyond my blog) a lot of things come up, citing Yitro as the first convert and as being, plainly and without explanation, simply a convert. But was he? What language dictates this? Why do we count him among the converts like Ruth? And how do we define, in the Tanakh makes a convert a convert? A ger in the Tanakh is simply a stranger, someone sort of floating along with the Israelites. The Rabbis later used and understood the term ger as convert, which is how we understand it today. But the great converts of the Tanakh, like Rahab and Yitro and Ruth, what made them converts?

I know what I think -- what do you think?

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!

Marrying a Convert: A Serious Plunge.

Aliza wrote about this on her blog, and I thought it worthy to post here. It's an interesting piece by a woman who married a man who converted -- Orthodox -- and now she's trying to evaluate how religious he is versus how religious she is. Interesting article. I second what Aliza says about getting letters from people who want to convert but whose boyfriends/fiances/partners/etc. are happy with who they are or who fear the converted individual becoming, well, a Super Jew.

Read the story here: Intermarried: My husband, a convert, is more observant than I am

Circumcised Comedian, Kosher Burgers, & Cafe!

After a tip from Aliza Hausman last month or a few months ago on her blog, I decided to buy tickets for today (also known as Valentine's Day in the secular world) for Tuvia and I to see the illustrious Yisrael Campbell in "Circumcise Me" at the Bleecker Street Theatre in New York City. We were down in Jersey for Shabbos in order to meet with our caterer and scope benschers and a ketubah earlier today, and we also happened to stop by Burgers Bar in Teaneck, which just opened recently. Talk about a busy, busy day. I'm finally back in my dorm and feeling a little overwhelmed about all I have to do, but there's always time for a little good press for others!

First for the show. Talk about a gut-buster! I'm a hard sell on a lot of comedy, but I was hopeful because comedy with a Jewish twist is always good. Add to this the fact that he's a convert and I was in. The room was packed, and the group varied from frum Jews in sheitels to little old ladies decked out like Sarah Jessica Parker might look in her 90s. The flow of the show was great, and I think I only checked my watch a few times -- I am, infamously, impatient. Yisrael Campbell's life story is, in a word, unique. He's seen a lot, been circumcised three times over his life (that's at birth and for his Conservative and Orthodox conversions), and watched friends die while living in Israel and experiencing the harder, more violent times there. He's also a father, a husband, and a hilarious comedian. How he juggles his show here while his family is in Israel amazes me, but I have no doubt that he has to be a great husband and father. Campbell also is a recovering alcoholic, which added an interesting and sobering (no pun intended) twist to his comedic narrative. The ups and downs of his life -- which I won't spoil for you here -- kept the audience captivated; there was laughing, some near-tears, and a feeling of peace and excitement for the comedian rocking a one-man show on the small black-box theatre-style stage. And for me, being a convert myself, it was especially surreal to hear him talk about meeting with rabbis and what it meant to convert and dip in the mikvah. I'll be honest in saying that his story was more than a typical conversion story -- it wasn't as emotional as I expected it to be. But overall? A great show, and I encourage you all to go see it. There are only a FEW showings left! If you can't make a show, seek out some of Campbell's work online. I promise you won't be disappointed.

Next? Tuvia and I found our ketubah. I'm so stoked about it -- it's very different, very artsy, and it integrates one of my favorite themes within Jewish art! Stay tuned for the wedding (a little more than 100 days left)!

Then, Burgers Bar. I happened to win a "Tweet for Meat" free burger coupon on Twitter from @BurgersBar, so we decided to head to the recently opened Teaneck joint. There are a few others open in the U.S., but the chain is known mostly in Israel, especially for its location just up the stairs from the Kotel in Jerusalem (where Tuvia and I happened to eat in December!). I'll admit, it was no Jerusalem experience. We stopped in at around 2 in the afternoon, so the joint was not jumping. We were probably one of three or four tables of people, so service was fast and very friendly. My biggest beef (once again, no pun intended!) with Burgers Bar in Teaneck was the quality of the veggies they had for the burgers. They had no problem throwing a bunch of brown, obviously bad lettuce on my burger. It was really disappointing, to say the least. I ordered a spicy burger and regular fries, and the fries weren't quite as crisp as I was looking for and the burger wasn't quite as spicy as I remembered my burger in Israel. The quantity of food was on par with the price, and it definitely made filled me up. Overall, it was probably a 2.5 out of 5 star experience. The restaurant just opened, so I'll give them some time. If you're heading over, don't look for a "BURGERS BAR" sign -- it still says Discount Liquidation! The ambiance will surprise you, as it's very clean, very crisp, and very hip. They're open amazingly late (2 a.m. most days and 3 a.m. on Saturdays) for the late-night crowd, but I've heard they can get quite busy, so plan accordingly. And, don't be like me -- let them know if the veggies are less than stellar. (Location: 1383 Queen Anne Road, Teaneck, NJ)

We topped our day off with some coffee before hitting the road, and I can't help but show off the fancy footwork of the folks at Think Coffee, just around the block from the theater where we saw "Circumcise Me."

And that, folks, was one busy and thrilling day, despite a hacking cough, stuffed up nose, and achy body. Now? Now I rest myself and rock some Hebrew. L'hitraot!

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.

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.

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!

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!