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.

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.