Part of my conversion study was to nominally learn about the distinctions between the modern Jewish movements, which were neatly categorized into Orthodox, Conservative, and Reform. The Reconstructionist movement got a brief sound byte; the main focus was the former three groups. Since I studied with a Reform rabbi, the main focus was on the Reform movement — how it was different from the other movements, and how it had changed since 19th-century Germany. Taking Jewish studies classes at Brandeis, I've gotten to hear the secular-academic story of the significance of the Enlightenment several times. I've also heard an assortment of comments, some nicer than others, about the movements and their members from my peers. About how Reform Jews weren't committed enough, or how Orthodox Jews had their priorities wrong.
None of the movements' ideologies are perfect, but I've also found that there is so much variation in terms of people's practices and beliefs that it's difficult to use such broad labels. Especially in the case of Orthodox Judaism, there is so much variation, that I've grown to prefer the modifiers of "she's shomer negiyah" or "he wears tzitzit but shaves." But you still can't assume where someone wants to be headed in their religious journey, and what they feel in their heart. You can wear a floor-length skirt and be less modest in your heart than someone who wears jeans.
When I was studying to convert, I saw Reform Judaism as a natural step from going to an urban UCC church which is well known for supporting same-sex marriage and social justice. In many ways, I was right at the time, and my synagogue welcomed me with open arms. But at the same time, I had little exposure to different variations of Judaism, and thought it would be difficult for me to become friends with Orthodox Jews. I had bred an unfounded fear that I would be rejected for having a non-Orthodox conversion. Instead, I found the exact opposite.
Now, I'm not sure what to call myself, other than Jewish.
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