The Acceptance/Alienation of the Convert

In the Bible, the Hebrew word for what in the modern era we call a convert is "ger," which roughly translates to a foreigner or stranger. While one would not generally refer to a religious convert as "Joe the stranger" in conversation, I feel that after "coming out" as a convert, people treat me differently. Overwhelmingly, their reactions are very positive: "Wow! When/why/how did you convert?" At times, though, the person I'm talking to begins to mock themselves in the form of a compliment to the convert by saying something like, "you're so well-informed … I was born Jewish but didn't know about that."

What's harder, though, are the moments of confusion when someone assumes that I was born and raised Jewish until I say something about my parents going to church or visiting my grandparents for Christmas. Before I went to college, I didn't have to explain that I was a convert in the middle of what started out as simple conversation about plans for winter break or upcoming Jewish holidays.

Harder still is finding a place for yourself in the community when your family isn't Jewish. Since so much of Jewish observance is centered around family meals and celebrations, if your family isn't Jewish (or observant, as is the case for some) you become dependent on the goodwill of Jewish outreach services for finding a place to celebrate a Passover seder, light a menorah, make holiday food and celebrate the sabbath (unless you're lucky enough to be a college student on a campus with a large, engaged Jewish community).

That shaky interim period between calling your parent's house "home" and creating your own that seems to start in college I've tried to see as a time of intense religious reflection, because once you become responsible for a spouse and children you have much less time or space to make big changes religiously. When you're a convert and also the only Jew in your family, you're forced to think for yourself a lot anyway. Much earlier than most of your religious brethren, you have to keep track of the holidays for yourself, pay your own membership dues, find places to go for holiday meals and services and educate yourself. There are, I think, advantages to this, but it at times it feels quite taxing.

Given that most converts to Judaism that I've met seem to convert around birth (for adopted children) or marriage (for a non-Jewish person marrying someone Jewish), I wonder how many other converts have that awkward period of being tied to your birth home and needing to make your own home. For me, the ultimate fulfillment of marrying and having a family would be to observe the holidays in my own home, with my children, and not having to rely on others' charity. Even more than that, the relief of no longer feeling so stuck, in many respects, outside both my family and the Jewish community.

Post #50 - Homosexuality and Religion

This Shabbos, Brandeis had the privilege of welcoming Rabbi Steven Greenberg, the only openly gay Orthodox rabbi and the author of "Wrestling with G-d and Men," a book about how Judaism has responded to homosexuality. Friday night after Hillel dinner, Rabbi Greenberg talked about his journey into Orthodox Judaism as a teenager and how he struggled to reconcile his religious identity and sexual orientation. As one can imagine, it was a very long process, but I think he came out (no pun intended) with a sense of self-acceptance and duty to his faith that isn't easy for a gay person coming from a socially and/or religiously very conservative environment.

This afternoon, Rabbi Greenberg discussed the broader issues surrounding religion and homosexuality with Brandeis' Catholic chaplain, Father Walter Cuenin, and Professor James Mandrell, who is a Unitarian Universalist. While it didn't surprise me to hear that in Catholicism and Orthodox Judaism there's a very strong tension between religious leadership and law and the opinions of the laiety, it was interesting to hear how things are changing in terms of acceptance of gay and bisexual people. 

Having grown up in a very liberal (both theologically and socially) Protestant church, I took it for granted that LGBTQ religious people and allies could easily find accepting communities, and saw conservative congregations who didn't declare themselves "open" or "welcoming" as morally backward at worst and at best sadly out of touch. When I converted to Judaism, my initial perceptions of Orthodox communities were similarly narrow. I thought that both my conversion and my social views were too extreme to get along with anyone leaning to the right, even as I espoused the sentiment that people should just get along.

But this Shabbos, the people who came to hear Rabbi Greenberg were not just a small portion of Reconstructionist and Reform Jews, whose movements have accepted LGBT Jews for a long time, as well as LGBT rabbis, or even liberal-to-moderate Conservative Jews*. There were a large number of Orthodox Jews, some Christians, and non-religious attendees as well. 

Granted, Brandeis is a fairly socially liberal campus and most of its Orthodox population could be characterized as leaning slightly to the left/modern side. But I think such a positive response to a person like Rabbi Greenberg would not be seen in many parts of this country and might not even have happened here in Massachusetts just 10-15 years ago. Hopefully that kind of acceptance can continue to happen, and on a wider scale than a small New England college campus.

* = The Conservative movement is in an awkward position in terms of accepting LGBT Jews. It has multiple position papers about the acceptance (or non-acceptance) of LGBT laity and rabbis; in effect the movement lacks a unified position on issues such as the ordination of gay rabbis or acceptance of same-sex marriage and for better or for worse leaves these decisions up to individual congregations.

Drinking on Purim (and other holidays) - What do you think?

Inspired by: http://frumsatire.net/2009/03/13/are-you-anti-drinking-on-purim

The author of the above article argues that being anti-drinking on Purim, the Jewish equivalent of Mardi Gras (in terms of revelry) is something that divides traditional and non-traditional Jews, with non-Orthodox and secular Jews being in the anti-drinking camp.

You see, it is considered a mitzvah (good deed) to drink until you cannot distinguish between "bless Mordechai" and "curse Haman," although you aren't allowed to drink to the point where you would break religious law or harm others, which seems like a dangerously fine line.

Coming from a mostly conservative Protestant family in which most people either don't drink at all or only drink one glass of wine about once or twice a month, the mitzvah to get drunk on a religious holiday seemed both foreign and, to some degree, questionable.

The idea behind the mitzvah of Purim drinking, in addition to drinking wine on the Sabbath and during the Passover seder is supposed to be that wine is a symbol of joy, and that drinking it adds to the joy of the holiday. However, I can't enjoy a holiday meal with people who take the wine drinking thing very seriously. After a while people start acting silly and you can't be sure if anything they're saying is really them or the booze. One drink is enough for me anyway — anymore and I feel dizzy and then sleepy — so I guess I won't be hosting any big Purim parties.

Good shabbos!

Women's Tallitot (Prayer Shawls)

A short history of the tallit: A tallit (pl: tallitot) is a shawl-like garment traditionally worn by Jewish men during daytime prayer (with the exception of evening Yom Kippur services). The main requirement is that at the four corners of a tallit there be fringes (tzitzit) which are tied and knotted in a manner that reminds one of the 613 mitzvot (commandments).

Starting in the 1970s, some liberal Jewish women have started adopting mitzvot from which they were traditionally excluded, and one of the more popular mitzvot to adopt has been wearing a tallit in synagogue. Part of it, I think, is that wearing a big tallit makes a clear visual statement. Another is that since the body of a tallit can be made in any fabric that isn't a wool-linen blend, and with any design that is appropriate for a religious garment, it can be highly individualized.

At my synagogue, most of the women who attend regularly wear tallitot, and all the bnot mitzvah (bat mitzvah age girls) are given a tallit by their parents for their bat mitzvah. 

Most of the women's tallitot I've seen in synagogue are quite beautiful, but I have seen certain categories of tallitot:

The Blue (or Black) Striped Wool Tallit:

Most tallit-wearing men tend to have a simple white tallit with blue or black stripes, but I've also seen them worn by middle-aged women. They (the tallitot) have a quiet dignity, and I think help prevent the synagogue from becoming a tallitot fashion show.

The Pastel Striped Wool (or Silk) Tallit:

A "feminized" ode to the traditional royal blue or black striped tallit, sometimes incorporated with flowers and butterflies. Often seen on bnot mitzvah. 

The Semi-Sheer Silk Tallit:

Often comes with a matching yarmulke, in shades of light purple, pink, or blue. I've only seen these on bnot mitzvah, and think of it as a young woman's tallit.

The Wool (or Silk) Tallit with a Jerusalem Skyline:

These tallitot come in many different colors, all depicting the Old City, and I've seen more subtle ones on men and bnai mitzvah. Their wearers seem to have a wider age range than those of other tallitot. Some of them have doves, which can be connected to the story of Noah and a hope for peace in Jerusalem.

The Tallit with Matriachs and/or Prophetesses:

Often made of painted or embroidered silk, these tallitot celebrate the women of the Bible. One popular variant has the names of the matriachs on the four corners.

My Mommy Made This:

Many bnot mitzvah (and bnai mitzvah) receive tallitot made by their mother or another close female relative. These tallitot are the most personalized, often featuring the child's name and symbols pertaining to the Torah portion they read for their bar/bat mitzvah. Seeing these tallitot gives me a warm fuzzy feeling, partly because my mom and I made my tallit together. 

I Made This:

Many women have also made their own tallitot, sometimes choosing to incorporate something from the past, such as a grandmother's shawl or a father's old neckties. A lot of times there's a interesting story behind the design and making of their tallitot, and you can learn a lot about the seamstress from her tallit.

Orthodox, Conservative, Reform, What?

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. 

Christmas is Coming

Coming from a good ole' semi-traditional Protestant family, one of my first visual memories is the shadows a Christmas tree makes on the wall behind it at night. The silhouettes of pine needles in duller hues of the lights on the tree all mingled together in the frigid silence of a New England December night.

My first Christmas after I had started going to synagogue junior year was, needless to say, kind of awkward. The childhood memories of Christmas and family traditions of selecting a Christmas tree and decorating it were still strong. Though the religious significance wasn't there for me, I wasn't blind. My parents still wanted to have Christmas, and I still lived at home, so I agreed to sort of keep the family aspect. On Christmas morning there was a dreidel in my stocking and I didn't have presents marked "from Santa."

The following year was easier, since I had studied more and my parents gave me a menorah and dreidel-shaped cookies. So, for eight days we had a lit menorah in the living room window and a fully lit and decorated Christmas tree in the background. 

The year after, I had been Jewish for nine and a half months and was at school for Chanukah, so I got a freebie menorah and candles from the semi-off campus Chabad house and celebrated in the midst of finals.

This year, I've ending up working retail during the ever-growing "holiday" (do you think you're fooling anyone, PC-ish stores?) season. I realize that I can't really view Christmas as a "national" or "secular" holiday, yet I can justify enjoying Christmas songs on the radio by telling myself that there are, indeed, secular-ish aspects of the holiday and that, well, Jingle Bell Rock is *really* fun to listen to.