Rabbi Adar posted a column on her website entitled, "5 Things to Do If You Want to Become a Jew."
 
There's a period of circling -- you think about conversion, maybe you read or look online to learn more about Judaism.  Then there's a moment when you decided, yes, this is for me.  What is the first thing that you did once you decided?
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There are many ways that I could describe my identity, but two of the first things that come to mind are Conservative Jew and queer.  The Jewish part takes some explaining, considering that I was raised Buddhist by ex-Christian parents.  I was raised with Buddhist philosophy as the basis of my spiritual understanding of the world, but my parents never insisted that I seriously practice Buddhism.  

There were aspects of Buddhism that rang true for me, but the practice was never fulfilling.  I spent a few years in college dabbling in religious exploration, but never with much seriousness.  When I did try to engage in serious Buddhist practice again, many years later, I realized that the thing I was always missing was a sense of community.  My Buddhist practice had always felt intensely individual and isolated, without a connection to other people (even when I was practicing in a room with hundreds of people).

I found the sense of community I craved in Judaism, but I took a long path to get there.  While I was in college I studied Judaism academically, I had a Jewish roommate and kept a kosher kitchen for a year, and I succeeded in getting Hillel (the campus Jewish organization) to partner regularly with Queers and Allies of Faith, an organization a friend and I started.  But I never really learned the different ways that Jewish people practice their Judaism, and all the different things that it could mean to them.Fast forwards a few years - I moved to Reno, NV for grad school.  I left behind my friends and everything I knew, and moved to a small, conservative city.  I was desperate for community, and got involved with the Queer Student Union.  Because there was such a small progressive movement on campus, the QSU shared quite a few members with Hillel.  I ended up going to a lot of Hillel events, and making a lot of friends who had strong feelings about their Judaism and were willing to tell me why.  Some of it was good, some of it was bad, and all of it was passionate.  One of the things that impressed me most was the sense of connection to being Jewish that my friends expressed.  Love it or hate it, they were all a part of the Jewish community.

After two years in Reno I moved to Berkeley, again for grad school, and again I was looking for community.  This time I tried something new - I went to a synagogue.  I had enjoyed hanging out with the Jews in Reno and participating in holidays and shabbat, so why not see what Judaism was like on a more regular basis.  I quickly fell in love with my synagogue, and attended services regularly.  I took classes on Judaism and made a bunch of friends there.  I had finally found my religious home, but at that point I didn’t really think I could be Jewish; I always thought I would be an outsider.  I knew conversion was a possibility, but decided I couldn’t convert unless I found a nice Jewish girl to marry.  Time went on without me finding a nice Jewish girl, and I remained non-Jewish.  At a certain point I realized that, no matter what, I was going to have kids, and I was going to raise my kids Jewish.  Period.  Then I decided that I should probably convert before having kids, because it’s just easier that way.  So I called up my rabbi and started the conversion process.  

My two biggest concerns were how he would feel about a queer person converting (he didn’t care) and how he would react to me not believing in God (I think he was excited, it gave us lots to talk about).  Since I was already actively engaged in my synagogue, and had been for over a year, my conversion was relatively quick.About a year after I converted I started dating my nice Jewish girl, and (as one would expect with queer women) we quickly got engaged and planned our wedding.  We had a big, traditional Jewish wedding with our rabbi officiating.  For me, one of the happiest parts of the whole wedding process was our aufruf.  The day before the wedding my wife and I shared an aliyah during services, I read from the Torah for the first time, and my wife led Musaf and gave the drash.  We had friends and family there supporting us.  But the most amazing part of all of that was how happy everyone in our congregation was.  They all know us and love us and support us, and were so happy to see us doing what all the other sickeningly cute couples in love do.  I almost burst with happiness, being surrounded by friends and family and the community I had always hoped to find.

Unfortunately, my wife and I had to move away from the Bay Area.  We moved to Sacramento about six months ago, and haven’t been able to find a Jewish community here in which we feel at home.  The first time we walked into the Conservative shul, holding hands because we always hold hands, a the few people we passed glared at us and ignored us when we said hello.  That made me much more wary of the Jewish community in my new town, unfortunately.  We’re still trying to find our place here, and I’m trying to figure out how to be Jewish in a way that fulfills me without being embedded in the strong community I love.

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Answer #1:  What changed the most is that I am now part of something much larger than myself:  I am part of the Jewish People, for better and for worse.  Honestly, nearly everything about my life changed, but not all at once.  I am the same person I was before but my relationship to most of my world has changed dramatically.

Conversion to Judaism was like finding a lost part of myself, and it took time for all the pieces to come together -- really, they are still coming together, because Judaism well lived is a lifetime journey.  Sure, my eating habits changed and my Saturdays are different, but the deeper changes came in the ways I relate to other people and even to myself.  
Periodically something I read or a sermon I hear will cause me to examine the way in which I live a certain mitzvah.  For instance, after hearing a sermon I decided that I needed to take better care of my body, which led to changes in my eating and exercise.  I am a "conflict avoider" but I know I am commanded to make peace -- genuine peace, not fake peace! -- so I am much more likely to deal with problems than in the past.
I worry about different things:  I am very careful not to embarrass anyone.  That was not on my radar twenty years ago!  All these changes have made me a happier person.  I knew I wanted to be a Jew; I did not realize, going in, how much it would challenge me and how rewarding the changes would be.
I have received much, much more than I have given up, but in truth, there are some things that will always be a bit of an effort for me.  (I miss pork -- ridiculous but true.) 

However, I've never been sorry that I came home to Judaism, not for a moment.



Answer #2:  I would say to this woman very seriously that her life will change no more and no less than she wants it to. Becoming Jewish is like coming home - it's not a matter of pushing yourself to look like someone else, it's a matter of growing so that you can look like *you*, so you can find that sweet spot where you are the person you know you were meant to be. I find that idea makes the superficial outside changes (will I keep kosher, will I cover my hair, what-have-you), so much less scary. Because *you* are in control, it's not change being forced on you. And it's not an on-off switch, your life can look as different or as similar as you want, and each day you can choose something new. 


Answer #3:  Since my conversion and bar mitzvah, my life has changed in several ways. I find myself thinking as if I have always been Jewish. I may not have the cultural experiences that born Jews have, but my soul seems Jewish to me. When I read passages from Torah, the stories are from my family history. Sarah is my mother. Abraham is my father. Israel is my home. I feel intimately connected to the stories. Before my conversion, I was a "ger". A stranger on the outside looking in. Also, when I look at life, I look at it from a Jewish perspective. "Oy" is an essential part of my personal vocabulary.

        In my daily life, I attempt to keep as kosher as my life situation allows. I don't eat meat (from mammals) with dairy and I use separate plates when eating dairy. I find myself looking at what I eat and consciously deciding if it is "fit" for my consumption. I tend to lean towards the "eco-kosher" movement. Not only do I want to avoid eating things Torah doesn't permit, I want to support agricultural systems that are sustainable and humane.

        Since my bar mitzvah, I have taken to wearing a kippah all the time--even at work. This has been the biggest impact in my life. It identifies me publicly as a Jew and thus makes me more conscious of my conduct. I want my actions to reflect positively upon the community. One wonderful thing about being visibly Jewish is that it invites curious people to learn about Judaism and its people. I see those invitations to be teachable moments where misunderstandings can be cleared up and people's horizons to be broadened. Even in my own family, my relatives ask questions about what it means to me to be Jewish. I wouldn't say that I'm perfectly Jewish, but I'm working on it.

 

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This video on YouTube is from Kate, who had a Conservative conversion in Berkeley.
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This is another video from our LGBTQ and Converting Panel.  Scott tells his story.  
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by LJ, a female Reform convert

I can’t say with any honesty that Judaism sprang from a single thought in my head.  Rather, it took time to see that it just may be the answer to many issues in my life.

I had just recovered from cancer, Stage 2 colon cancer.  As anyone who has had cancer can tell you, you never get rid of it.  Even if every speck has been removed from your body, you think about it.  It’s with you always.  You wonder how many years you might have left, years of productive life.

A year after my colon surgery, I retired from a career that had consumed 33 years of my life.  I poured my heart and soul into that job, into working with those people, and now, due to my own choice, it had all been ripped from me.  I had nowhere to go in the mornings.  I had no social life. Sure, I had friends, but there were few that weren’t part of my work environment, and many of those friends were located in another city, where I had previously worked.

I had thought about retirement for many years, but not very seriously.  I had thought about doing good things.  I wanted to do good things.  Volunteer?  I actually tried several volunteer tasks along the way, and none matched my personality. 

The final point of this journey was that I fell in love with a Jew.  A lot of her friends were Jewish, and they became my friends.  I was surrounded by Jews, and I really liked the way they lived their lives.  They did good things.   As a lesbian, I feel I was fortunate to have been accepted by these Jews, that my “gayness” wasn’t a second thought for them; that told me right there that I could fit into Jewish life as a gay person.

As it turned out, this wasn’t the final point of my journey at all.  I found a rabbi to study with, to learn what Judaism was really all about, and I joined a new community.  They’re my community now.  The journey was just beginning.

Hear Linda talk about her conversion process in this video.

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By L., a female Reform convert

When I came out to my mother as gay, I was in my 40’s.  I had finally come to the long-fought decision to come out to my family if I ever landed in another relationship.  When I did, I sat down with her, and she took it better than I thought she would.  Her reply was, “I think I knew all along.  I was just hoping it was a fad.”

At the age of 63, it’s no fad.  And 8 years after my mother died, I came out again, this time as a Jew.  While I would give almost anything to have one last conversation with my mother, to see her again, I’m glad I don’t have to try to explain her to her that I’m a Jew.  Because, you see, I’m going to Hell.  And it would be Her Fault.

So, spared that last conversation, I very easily converted – well, after it took me three tries to find the right rabbi, but the right rabbi I did find.    The rabbis at my Reform synagogue in the East Bay have been super, everything you could have asked for as a lesbian or gay man, or as any Jew, actually.  Kind, warm, accepting.  Completely accepting.  Their constituents are sometimes another story.  But it’s a work in progress.

Some people typecast me as Ellen DeGeneres, others as someone who would love to tell lesbian stories (you know, with sex ‘n stuff), and others ignore me completely.  This is my community.  They’ll get used to seeing me, get used to what lesbians look like and sound like, ones like me and ones who are completely different (because it’s really hard to stereotype us).  And as more gay men and women join, we’ll just be  normal Jews around temple.  I look forward to that day.

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Today marks the final step in affirming my Jewish identity. I often struggle to find words to express the logical reasons behind my decision that I know others are seeking, because in the most simplest of terms- it was beshert. I have always been a spiritual person and had difficulties defining what the meant for me and where I belonged. I found that spiritual home in Judaism and today allows me to fully embrace all that it means to be a Jew- both spiritually and culturally. My dream for my Jewish tomorrow is to continue to grow in my knowledge, my involvement in the community and to build deeper connections with those around me. I dream of marrying and raising a Jewish family- providing all of the experiences that I didn’t get a chance to have growing up. I dream of one day journeying to Israel to feel the connection that one can only have there. I also dream of the day that I will be as comfortable speaking and reading Hebrew as I do English. In essence, I dream of a day when I will honor my non-Jewish past, but can’t imagine having never been Jewish. I have come a very long way thus far and I know that today is really only the beginning of a lifelong journey and I welcome it with an open heart and open arms.
Conservative woman convert
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I could write a book with this response. Quite simply. I converted to be Jewish, not just to live Jewishly.I believe you should be Jewish in order to perform certain things, like perform an Aliyah. However, I think it's up to the Rabbi to make the call. This is especially important in the case of people studying to convert (but not yet converted) and interfaith families.

Converting, instead of just living Jewishly, is a symbolic act of your commitment to the community, with all the rights and responsibilities therein.

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Another response to the last post on:  Why be Jewish?
 
I read all the comments to the article. Intellectually I know that I converted because I wanted to be a Jew - to take on the responsibilities of and reap the rewards of being a member of the tribe. It wasn't because I wanted to do something specific in the synagogue. But, because belonging to a synagogue is pretty important to converts (especially those of us who have no Jewish family whatsoever - not even in-laws) the idea that anybody can walk through the door of a temple and be seen as equal to converts without doing the work involved to convert rubs me the wrong way.  To me, it devalues the conversion process if nothing is required of someone.   One of the things I liked least about growing up as a Protestant was anybody could walk through the door of the church and purport to share those same values - but in reality their belief system could be all over the map.  What I like about Judaism, and in fact what drew me to it in large measure, was that there is a shared belief system and you have to learn about it, go through a process of claiming it as your own, and then as a Jew you are held accountable by other Jews if you do not live up to those standards. 
 
Quite different than someone who is lukewarm to the idea of being a Jew because their family might get upset or friends might not understand. 
 
You can't be a little bit pregnant and you can't be a little bit Jewish - at least that's what I think. You either are or you aren't. 
 
Every convert has had their own obstacles in the process of their conversion. Family members get incensed, friends ask questions that make you uncomfortable, fellow Jews don't "get" why you want to be Jewish.  It's a big deal to convert and a process one should have to go through to become Jewish. It toughens you up for living a Jewish life.  By going through that process you claim your Jewish identity in a way that you couldn't have if there not been those challenges.  
 
I was thinking about Daniel Pearl's declaration of "I am a Jew" before he died.  It is a claim I too would be willing to make, if faced with it. Would someone who attended my synagogue who was unwilling to convert be able to say the same if they were being persecuted for being affiliated with a synagogue? How would their declaration go - "I thought about becoming Jewish but decided the feelings of my extended family who would be annoyed or disappointed if I converted came first, so I didn't, but I really like the Jews and feel 'Jewish,' but I'm really not a Jew - my spouse is and we've raised our kids that way. Yes, I admit, I am asking my kids to live and die as a Jew, but I'm not willing to do the same myself." 
 
I know that sounds harsh - but through the lens of a convert active in my synagogue - that was my immediate reaction to the discussion. It sounded to me more like people who want it both ways:  convincing the clergy that they should be allowed to do everything a Jew does in the synagogue or else they will raise their kids outside the temple or something.   If the clergy really doesn't believe being a Jew is of value - then we're really in trouble.  Warm bodies at all costs. I don't get it.  You can be warm and welcoming and not give away the store.  
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