When I was about twelve I happened upon a series of children's novels, the first one being "All-of-a-Kind of Family" by Sydney Taylor. The books told the story of an Orthodox Jewish family with five daughters in the first book, to five daughters and one son in the later books. They lived on the East Side of Brooklyn in a predominantly Jewish neighborhood. I was smitten with not only the first book, but after reading subsequent books over and over, I was taken with Judaism. It made sense of so many things that I had questioned from within. I didn't have any Jewish friends. I never had even seen a synagogue. The only person I knew who knew anything about being Jewish was my father who grew up being one of the only non-Jews in a predominantly Jewish neighborhood in Brooklyn. He knew most, if not all, the words to the Bar Mitzvah, because so many of his friends had them. He was very familiar with the chants the cantor/rabbi sings in temple. But the big snafu was that he was, at that time, a Christian. A Presbyterian, and a deacon in the church. I gave up on learning about Judaism because it truly seemed like an impossibility at that age.
So I spent my teenage years going with friends to a variety of churches. I tried to make Jesus fit. I wanted him to fit. I wanted to learn from him, believe that he was the son of God, but I knew in my heart, that although I could speak the word written in their bibles, I never, not once believed it. Singing is a joy that I have had for all of my life. Singing is central to worship in the Christian world. It ranges from comtemporary to positively stiff with tradition, like a starched shirt standing alone in the corner. I could and did sing Christian hymns and music all my life -- both in childhood and in adulthood. Even as the song flowed from my mouth, my mind and heart would feel awful because I knew God knew I was hypocritical, singing what I didn't believe. After a while, when I realized God wasn't going to strike me down, that she truly loves when we come together, as a community, to worship, whether through song or otherwise. I continued to sing what I knew from childhood.
When I went to college, my second roommate was an Orthodox Jew. Bang! I hit the jackpot, or so I thought. Her older father, 72, did not in any way, shape or form, want to even consider that those who converting to Judaism could break the bread his table as a Jew. They were welcome to Shabbat dinner, but not as a Jew, unless they were Orthodox. Still, I remained faithful to my beliefs. I took an Intro to Judaism class. I took an entire semester in a class totally focused on the Holocaust. I met, just once, with the Rabbi in the town I went to college in.
But I dated, once again, only Christian boys. After a while my thoughts of conversion faded. I put it aside, filing it away under "Business for Later". "Later" came when I was married with a few children. I once again picked up almost where I had left off, only this time I met with a Rabbi from the Reformed Synagogue. He was kind, smart, but intimidating. I bought the books he suggested. I read everything I could get my hands on. I bought CDs with Jewish music. I cleaned my house from down to up on Shabbat. I made entire Shabbat meals to share with my non-Jewish children and their non-practicing Catholic father. It never was an issue, and they always participated in dinner, the preparing of the house, and the prays over the wine and Challah. Once again, I felt lost with no true connection to the Jewish community, so back to the file it went.
Most recently I've been relying on my relationship with God to get me through more difficult times in my life. I realized that now that my girls are older, now is the time I can truly study. I can truly make my decision on becoming Jewish. I met with the new Rabbi, a woman this time. I was at ease. I felt comfortable. I already had the books, and so I set forth on continuing my Jewish education. I went to temple Saturday morning for the first time in years. I felt awkward, not being at home with the service yet. But I made it through, and was glad I had gone. I went to a class on the Shema on Sunday, and all of a sudden, while listening to the Rabbi, I felt like I was home. I felt like everyone else in the class -- comfortable and as though I belonged.
Now that was something I hadn't experienced before, and it was one I want to pick up again after all these years of pushing the beliefs that are totally natural to me. So with both eyes open, hands around books on Judaism, I'm jumping into the river with feet, heart, and soul pointing in the right direction.
So I spent my teenage years going with friends to a variety of churches. I tried to make Jesus fit. I wanted him to fit. I wanted to learn from him, believe that he was the son of God, but I knew in my heart, that although I could speak the word written in their bibles, I never, not once believed it. Singing is a joy that I have had for all of my life. Singing is central to worship in the Christian world. It ranges from comtemporary to positively stiff with tradition, like a starched shirt standing alone in the corner. I could and did sing Christian hymns and music all my life -- both in childhood and in adulthood. Even as the song flowed from my mouth, my mind and heart would feel awful because I knew God knew I was hypocritical, singing what I didn't believe. After a while, when I realized God wasn't going to strike me down, that she truly loves when we come together, as a community, to worship, whether through song or otherwise. I continued to sing what I knew from childhood.
When I went to college, my second roommate was an Orthodox Jew. Bang! I hit the jackpot, or so I thought. Her older father, 72, did not in any way, shape or form, want to even consider that those who converting to Judaism could break the bread his table as a Jew. They were welcome to Shabbat dinner, but not as a Jew, unless they were Orthodox. Still, I remained faithful to my beliefs. I took an Intro to Judaism class. I took an entire semester in a class totally focused on the Holocaust. I met, just once, with the Rabbi in the town I went to college in.
But I dated, once again, only Christian boys. After a while my thoughts of conversion faded. I put it aside, filing it away under "Business for Later". "Later" came when I was married with a few children. I once again picked up almost where I had left off, only this time I met with a Rabbi from the Reformed Synagogue. He was kind, smart, but intimidating. I bought the books he suggested. I read everything I could get my hands on. I bought CDs with Jewish music. I cleaned my house from down to up on Shabbat. I made entire Shabbat meals to share with my non-Jewish children and their non-practicing Catholic father. It never was an issue, and they always participated in dinner, the preparing of the house, and the prays over the wine and Challah. Once again, I felt lost with no true connection to the Jewish community, so back to the file it went.
Most recently I've been relying on my relationship with God to get me through more difficult times in my life. I realized that now that my girls are older, now is the time I can truly study. I can truly make my decision on becoming Jewish. I met with the new Rabbi, a woman this time. I was at ease. I felt comfortable. I already had the books, and so I set forth on continuing my Jewish education. I went to temple Saturday morning for the first time in years. I felt awkward, not being at home with the service yet. But I made it through, and was glad I had gone. I went to a class on the Shema on Sunday, and all of a sudden, while listening to the Rabbi, I felt like I was home. I felt like everyone else in the class -- comfortable and as though I belonged.
Now that was something I hadn't experienced before, and it was one I want to pick up again after all these years of pushing the beliefs that are totally natural to me. So with both eyes open, hands around books on Judaism, I'm jumping into the river with feet, heart, and soul pointing in the right direction.
