Blog Posts - BECOMING JEWISH

I used my "English" name for my Hebrew name

12/8/2019

When choosing your Hebrew name you may want something brand new, or you may want to use some aspect of your given name. Look up your name. There may be an idea in what you find.

One young woman wrote this about choosing her Hebrew name:

I started day-dreaming about what Hebrew name I would pick from the very beginning. Choosing your name is an opportunity to choose your identity... and I wanted my identity to be sassy and awesome, meaningful and intelligent, and infinitely cooler than I actually am. And then finally, after two years, I settled on the perfect name: my legal one. The name that my mother and father chose for me. Because becoming Jewish, for me, was an act of choosing to recognize *who I already am.* I will always be my parents' daughter - a reality that I honored and recognized by keeping my legal first name as my Hebrew name. And just as I have now chosen a future among the Jewish tribe, I added "bat Avraham v' Sara" to my legal first name. My Hebrew name = my family of origin + my family by choice = my past + my future. My Hebrew name doesn't aspire to a new identity; instead, it does no more and no less than recognize me for who I am.

My Mom cried when I told her. There had been serious potential for her to feel alienated by my conversion (though we were both trying hard to prevent that), but my choice of Hebrew name made her feel included, validated, and honored. It really helped to make my conversion a beautiful experience for everyone.

(Granted: I'm really really lucky to have a legal name that is a diminutive of a classic biblical name!)

Nina found her name on Kveller's Jewish Baby Names List. Maybe yours is there!

The Timeline of Jewish Mourning

11/20/2019

This Timeline of Jewish Mourning is from My Jewish Learning and is incredibly useful. It provides the "Key Jewish milestones after the loss of a loved one."

Jewish tradition defines several stages in the process of mourning, which correspond quite well to the modern understanding of the emotional process of grief.

Read on to learn about the eight stages of Jewish mourning.

The Value of Learning Hebrew

10/15/2019

Do you HAVE to become fluent in Hebrew to convert? No. But you do have to learn SOME Hebrew. Why you must learn some of the language seems obvious to some, but here is a beautiful statement by Rabbi Larry Milder of Beth Emek in Pleasanton that expanses our understanding.

Unlock the Treasures
“Reading a poem in translation is like kissing a woman through a veil.”
So said the great Hebrew writer Hayim Nahman Bialik.

We are captives of our language. That is particularly true of our understanding of Judaism. We think we know what our texts mean, but, when read in English, we are only appreciating them through the filter of our language.

Language contains within it a world view. Yes, we can pray in English. Yes, we can study Torah in English. But we are missing the associations, the resonance of the text itself.

Puns: “Your name is to be Abraham, for I am making you the father of a multitude of nations” doesn’t make any sense in English, but in Hebrew, “Abraham” sounds like “father of many nations.”

Words built on common roots: Kiddush (the blessing over wine for Shabbat), Kaddish (the prayer recited by mourners) and Kiddushin (the wedding ceremony) are all related concepts (that which is set aside), something that cannot be recognized by calling them by their English names.

Acrostics: Ashrei, based on Psalm 145, is a poem in our prayer book that works as an acrostic, but entirely loses that device the moment it is translated.

This hardly scratches the surface of what is missing, or, for that matter, what is entirely misunderstood in translation.

As the expression goes: A translator is a traitor. (Actually, it goes “traduttore traditore.”)

The key to unlocking the treasures of Judaism is Hebrew. And learning Hebrew is easily within your reach, particularly the basic vocabulary that can make prayer understandable.

It’s not just meaning: knowing some Hebrew can enable you to see the beauty in the language of prayer.

Whether you are a beginner, or someone who needs a refresher, we offer a class for adults to learn Hebrew, starting with Alef-Bet, learning to read the Hebrew alphabet. It’s simple, fun, and instantly rewarding.

Beth Emek's Hebrew classes are listed here. Just about every synagogue offers Hebrew. Check the website of the synagogues around you.

Yes, Marriage can be the stimulus for considering conversion

8/15/2019

A friend of mine told me that she was asked by her rabbi to speak at their synagogue's Shavuot service last year. I asked her to let me share her speech. I love it. Here is Chava's story for all of you to read.

By Chava

I’d like to address what led me to convert to Judaism, what has been challenging and unexpected about it, and what good has come of the decision.

I became a Jew around this time of year, 33 years ago. My first child was born about 2 weeks later. I was one of three very pregnant women at a mikvah in Manhattan. I ended up at the mikvah, as exotic as the practice seemed to me when I first heard about it, because I wanted to do whatever was needed to assure there was no question as to the legitimacy of the conversion. I knew NO ONE who had been to mikvah at that point, and it was kind of funny to be regarded as a mikvah expert by my friends.

I had been thinking about and actively moving toward that moment for at least 4 years. It started when my then boyfriend and I began to talk about getting married, and realized that we had different ideas-- about the possible location of our wedding (the nearby Unitarian church was out), about having a Christmas tree in our home, and, prompted by a discussion with some friends who were about to have a baby, the non-negotiability of circumcision. Though we never abandoned the idea of getting married, wedding planning stalled when he began to talk about having a Jewish home and raising Jewish children, and we both knew we had to understand what we had ahead of us as a couple.
So the simple answer to why I was motivated to convert is, marriage. Although religion wasn’t a big part of my life up to that point, I had spent some time in the Episcopal church growing up, had sung in the choir, and wasn’t willing to convert to check a box on the way to the wedding. My father had been raised as Southern Baptist, but was happy to have my mother take the lead in the family as an Episcopalian. I enjoyed the Christmas season and didn’t want to give it up. I identified as a Christian, though in retrospect my feelings about the concept of Jesus were not ever in conflict with Judaism.   I had already heard people say that one can’t really convert, you have to be born Jewish, and I could see early on that joining the Jewish people was about a lot more than theology. I did not want to do something that felt inauthentic, out of respect for both the Jewish people and my own integrity. After quite a bit of thought and exploration, including a 3 month intro to Judaism course given by the Reform movement and an interfaith couples group at the 92nd street Y, we went ahead and got married by a rabbi in a Jewish ceremony. We were fairly confident that we could sort out the issues.   It took me almost another year and the reality of our soon-to-be-born child to feel ready to convert: the couples group had been tremendously helpful, as was our growing involvement at our synagogue, and being in NYC was certainly one of the better places I could have been, as there were so many Jewish resources.
Three things were clear to me:

*I didn’t want to knowingly do anything that might make our child feel less than fully accepted in the Jewish community, and not having a Jewish mother might have been an issue

*I believed that being members of a synagogue and the greater Jewish community would be good for us as a family

*I knew just enough about Judaism to believe that there was something in it for ME, even though I wasn’t sure exactly what that might be. I was willing to live with that uncertainty.

Four years, and one more child later, we moved to Princeton, and joined the local synagogue. As a friend recently said, we didn’t anticipate when we moved here that we would still be here 29 years later, but this has become our home. At first, I considered just passing as a Jew (no one here knew I was a convert, so why not?) But within a year I blew my cover by organizing some discussions of intermarriage issues, which eventually led to the formation of the Outreach Committee. We ran a variety of programs, including potluck Shabbat dinners, sukkah building parties and discussions designed for intermarried couples, individuals considering conversion, parents of adult children contemplating intermarriage and anyone else interested in the topic. Talking openly about my experience was good for me and seemed to be useful to others. This work undoubtedly had the side benefit of helping me connect with lots of people in the congregation. During this time I worked at the Jewish Outreach Institute with Egon Mayer---which fortuitously led to my longtime involvement with Lilith Magazine. All good experiences.

The challenges of deciding to convert have largely been outweighed by the benefits.   I had to start learning about the practice and culture of Judaism, even learn a new language, in my mid-thirties, but I know that many born Jews, for one reason or another, have a similar experience. As part of an adult bat mitzvah group here over 20 years ago, I got to know a number of women who were catching up on their Jewish education. Meeting that challenge gave me both the pride of accomplishment, and the pleasure of developing close friendships with that group of women, friendships which have endured and which we famously celebrate every December on our bat mitzvah anniversary, all six of us.

Another challenge was what to do with my birth family, especially my mother, who at the moment I told her I had decided to convert was surprisingly understanding and positive, saying that it was more important than anything that my husband and I and our children be together in one religion. But she was also afraid of being left out, and tearfully told me so, and neither of us really knew how we would navigate this. Sometimes she DID feel left out, and sometimes I felt a bit lonely preparing for holiday meals, with no family recipes of my own to rely on for the brisket or the latkes. Even aside from my mother’s feelings, I have had to work at feeling the observance of the holidays as deeply as I know many of you do, you who have childhood memories and generations of family members who were Jews, and for whom in a very real sense you are carrying on traditions that would make them proud. Fortunately, the effort that my mother and I made to work this out brought us closer---I appreciated how willing she was to learn about Judaism, to find the perfect words for each of her grandchildren at their b’nai mitzvot, to accompany us through all of this as a family.

I always wondered what I would do and how I would reckon with my Jewishness when my Episcopalian mother died. Because she came to live near me for the last 3 ½ years of her life, it turned out even differently than I might have imagined. She had become a member of All Saints Episcopal Church, and when she died about two years ago, Father Hugh Brown helped me organize a memorial service that was just perfect, and he knew her well enough to present a very accurate picture of her. The nights of shiva were meaningful, and showed me clearly that many people cared and I was not alone. Her religious identity and my present reality intertwined beautifully.

One more challenge worth mentioning now was that of shepherding my son and daughter through their Jewish education when I was in the midst of it for myself, and creating Jewish home life for them. I had to learn on the job, and worried at times about my lack of prior experience. But we made it through the bar and bat mitzvah, and at this juncture my two millennials have both been to Israel more times than I have, show up for and enjoy Passover, observe the high holidays, and otherwise identify as Jews. When they were growing up my orientation to Jewish life was much more about them. I’ll never completely step away, but it’s really up to them now to define their Jewish identity.

There have been times when, in spite of everything I have just said, I have felt my difference as an outsider, when conversations turn to growing up in Brooklyn or the Bronx, Hebrew school experiences, when people talk about their deep connection to Israel, their Yiddish speaking relatives, their food preferences. As I have been known to say, “My grandmother made Rice Krispies treats, not kugel.” For me, the old country is Arkansas and Missouri, and before that Great Britain, not Brooklyn, the Bronx, and Eastern Europe.

While I was thinking about writing this, I had a new realization about this feeling of difference that I’m really grateful for. I think many if not most of us have something in our experience that makes us feel like “the other”, and for me it was the effect of having my father die when I was just 7, and growing up feeling that huge loss as well as how it made my mother, brother and me feel different from most other families. Feeling like the outsider at times is such a familiar feeling from my childhood that I haven’t always realized that it’s sometimes misplaced. Not all born Jews have ties to Brooklyn; some are from Chicago, or Ohio! And those with Brooklyn roots might be just as interested in what I say about Kansas City. We’re just telling stories about our lives, after all.

The truth is that I did much to address that childhood loss by creating a family of my own, and I am certain that becoming a Jew was at least in part motivated by the fact that family was valued and emphasized, that I saw what looked and felt like a big extended family at our synagogue.

Let me say that I deeply appreciate having longtime friends in my (this) synagogue who are really like family, and I feel a connection with others even if we don’t know each other well. To put it a little differently (than Ruth did)…YOU people are my people!

A Personal Journey to Judaism

8/13/2019

Over on our Facebook page one of our group offered to share his story of converting. Here is Akiva Michael's story.

My family raised me with a focus on education, critical thinking, and ethical behavior. When my brother found out about my conversion plans he wrote to me. He said, “...it kind of surprised me because I never had a sense that you were all that active or intentional about any particular faith.” He’s right. My family is Catholic, but I have generally been a skeptical agnostic. I’ve always been interested in Judaism, though, from an historical and religious perspective. Some friends told me about the hatafat dam brit - that kept me away for a while.
So why the turnaround? Those born to Judaism may not know that converts are traditionally turned away three times. They are asked "Why did you come to convert? Do you know that Israel at this time is afflicted, oppressed, downtrodden, and rejected, and that tribulations are visited upon them?"
I’ve observed anti-Semitism on the rise in our news cycle. I have watched with interest as Israel struggles with its own identity as an inclusive state. After Pittsburgh, several people asked me if I was still sure about this. My response? Absolutely. I cast my lot with the Jewish people. I knew I didn’t need to be Jewish to do good things or to believe that the righteous will get their reward. Lord Rabbi Jonathan Sacks teaches that the Jews have thrived because, “At the heart of Judaism is...the belief in human freedom...There is nothing inevitable in the affairs of mankind.” I don’t believe in fate - I believe God has a plan, but I believe God can be convinced otherwise.
I’m in the military. When I was deployed to the Mediterranean we visited Israel and my dual curiosities about Judaism and conversion intersected. I visited the Kotel, walked the market streets, and took in the sights. I was blown away - Israel is a miracle. It made a lasting impression on me. Shortly after leaving the country we celebrated Passover on the North Red Sea. It all started coming together.
My wife got in touch with someone from a local synagogue. I started working with some Rabbis. I love that Judaism meets you where you are. I wasn’t ready before. I needed to see Judaism in action. When I visited Israel, I knew pursuing this was something I needed to do. I knew I was finally ready to take those steps. This was the basic evolution from “What is this?” to “Should we…?” to “I’m all in!”
So I started the study, practice, and decoding of all things Jewish. While some people find the lack of dogma in Judaism challenging, I think the empty space is the good stuff. I like the rabbinic arguments, the contradictions, and the varying traditions. I like the sassy Jewish heroes and heroines that challenge God’s judgment; they have backbone. I am a stiff-necked person; I belong here! As a convert I try to engage with it all to live my best Jewish life. I'm learning timeless wisdom in an ancient language and the expectation is to never stop learning. There is an expression of joyfulness and possibility inherent in Judaism. There is a responsibility to myself, my community, and the world. That’s my Jewish lens.
I know I’m no angel. I question myself constantly. Am I doing my best for tikkun olam? Understand, I don’t know the mechanics of the messianic age. I am not sure if I can affect the cosmos with my prayers. But as a personal cultivation and spiritual system, Judaism has stood the test of time. I’m in.
A Rabbi once told me “We start with the Sh’ma and everything else is up for debate.” To me, God is not only the force that brought order to this chaotic cosmic mess, but also that small, still voice in our minds. There’s just no way to fully grasp the God of Israel. I can’t say I’ve mastered every theological dilemma, but Judaism has struggled with these issues for millennia. I’m ok with the ambiguity and I’ve found my people.
Several months later and I am very involved in my Jewish life. I sing in the Temple Choir. I also try to set the example for younger Jews in the military by keeping kosher, wearing a kippah, and being available to talk about serving as a Jew. My wife and I are planning to visit Israel together in 2020 to experience ha’aretz as a family.

Video on How to Have an Aliyah

7/16/2019

Members of Netivot Shalom in Berkeley created a video showing you how to have an aliyah at their shul. It is primarily for the use of their members. But it is very useful to anyone wondering about how an aliyah works.

Please remember that this video includes elements that are unique to the Conservative movement and even some that are unique to Netivot Shalom. In general however, this is how an aliyah is performed in a synagogue. Women are not called to the Torah in Orthodox synagogues. Women don't always wear kippot (or yarmulkes) in Reform synagogues. The chanted blessings are the same in all synagogues.

View the video here.
Thank you to Robin Braverman and her fellow members for making this video!

The ritual of Sh’mira

7/12/2019

(Image by Rony Michaud on Pixabay)

Previously, we posted about attending a shiva with guidelines from Rabbi Helfand of Peninsula Sinai. Rabbi Helfand offers additional information about the ritual of Sh'mira, or Shimera, which means guard or watch. It is the Jewish practice of never leaving a body alone; rather we sit with the deceased until they are buried. Here is what Rabbi Helfand teaches:

One of the most important mitzvot that we can perform as an act of k'vod ha-met, giving honor and dignity to the deceased, is the mitzvah of sh'mira, sitting with the deceased before burial. Since the funeral will not take place until such and such a time Jews from the community take a one or two hour shift to sit with the body of the deceased.

What do you do during sh'mira?

Traditionally, we use this time to recite Psalms, other prayers or just sit quietly as a way of bringing God's presence and our own into the sacred space and asking God to watch over and protect the deceased person. This is also a beautiful way to make sure that this person is never alone between when she/he died and the funeral. Please refrain from using electronics during this time. Most importantly, sh’mira is a time where we try to have kavannah, intentionality for the sacred act that we are performing, be it praying, reflecting on the person’s life, or being present in silence.

Speak up! Be part of your own learning

6/14/2019

This week Rabbi Avi Shulman of Temple Beth Torah in Fremont sent out a this message to his congregation.

One of my favorite passages in Pirkei Avot consists of three couplets by Hillel. Here they are interspersed with my own comments:

“A boor does not fear sin,
And the ignorant cannot be models of piety.”

It’s striking that the English word for an oaf echoes the Hebrew word ‘bor.’ A ‘bor’ is an empty pit, which is synonymous with someone who is empty-headed.
Above all else, Hillel valued knowledge of Torah. Yet he esteemed knowledge not merely for its own sake but so learning would lead to righteous behavior.

“A bashful person does not learn,
And the short-tempered cannot teach.”

I can recall many students who would sit quietly in class while others did most of the talking. Yet Hillel reminds students to speak-up. Productive learning takes place when students are engaged. Just as importantly, it is vital for teachers to welcome class in-put and participation. Instructors who are short-tempered intimidate their students, deteriorating the learning environment.

“Not all who succeed in business are wise.
In a place where there are no people* strive to be one.”

Hillel reminds us not to give undue deference to people who are successful in business. Tevye in Fiddler in the Roof may long to be a rich man, singing “When you are rich they think you really know.” Hillel informs us that material success is not synonymous with wisdom.

In the concluding verse, Hillel admonishes us to act morally even when others are behaving inhumanely. He encourages us to strive for virtue, even when others are not. No matter the circumstances, Hillel inspires us to be our best selves, to aspire to be a mensch.

This is a message that I want students to take to heart.
SPEAK UP
DON'T STAY WITH A TEACHER WHO IS INTIMIDATING

Jewish tradition values study, questions, and argument (for the sake of heaven). Don't be silent. Participate in your own learning.

*The original, as you can imagine, says “man” or mensch – a good person. Where there are no good people, strive to be one. You can read the original text here.

Attending Shiva - some guidelines

6/2/2019

Recently Rabbi Cory Helfand of Peninsula Sinai Congregation sent out a very useful guide to attending shiva - especially for first timers. He gave me permission to share it.

Attending Shiva
Shiva calls can be hard to make, especially if it is your first time. The information below aims to help prepare you to make a shiva call. Learn how to give comfort to Jewish relatives or friends in mourning.

Enter the shiva house quietly
Mourners are not expected to greet people at the door, and you don't want to interrupt if the service has already begun. Give a quiet knock, and then quietly walk inside the house. Please do not ring the doorbell.

Enter the room of the mourner quietly
The best way to greet the mourner is to sit down quietly near him or her. There is no expectation of a "greeting" between the mourner and the shiva caller. But if you want to give the mourner a hug or handshake, then you can do this. However, try to avoid everyday lines like "How are you?"

Respond to the mourner
If the mourner speaks to you, respond. But if they are quiet, then it is okay just to sit quietly in the room. It is tiring for the mourner to talk all day long, and he or she might prefer to just sit quietly in your company. If the mourner wants to talk, spend time listening and if the space presents itself, talk about the person who has passed away. If the mourner feels like talking, you can tell stories and share memories about the person who passed away with the mourner. Everyone mourns differently, and shiva is the time to be present for the mourner in whatever way is most meaningful to them.

Food and drinks
Mourners are not expected to be hosts, but those who are close to the mourners might offer some refreshments to shiva callers. It is acceptable if you want to bring some refreshments to the home - nuts, dried fruit, cakes, casseroles ... - for the bereaved family, but remember to respect the level of kosher observance of the shiva home.

Traditional Statement of Comfort in Judaism
The following statement of comfort is traditionally said to mourners - in Hebrew or English - just before leaving the shiva house.

May God comfort you among the other mourners of Zion and Jerusalem.
Ha-Makom y'nachem et'chem b'toch sha'ar aveilei Tzion v'Yerushalayim.

Leave the shiva house quietly
Again, mourners are not expected to be hosts and see people to the door. Some people say the traditional line above, nod to the bereaved, and then leave quietly. Others give the mourners a hug or hand shake, and walk out quietly.

Converting, then finding out you're already Jewish

5/29/2019

(Image: Seth/Shais and Susan)

There are so many people who wish they'd find out that they are already Jewish. It actually happened to Seth St. Martin! I asked him to share his story with us. Here it is.

“A Safe Space for Me”
Kol Nidre Speech at Congregation B’nai Emuunah in 2015
by Seth “Shais” St. Martin

My parents always told me, that “Religion is not for children.” It is something that, when done right, is fluid and nuanced. It can be dangerous when over-simplified by a child or by an adult. Now, don’t get me wrong. I grew up in the church. I was an altar boy when I was 7 and thrown into the car naked on multiple occasions when running late for church. “Get dressed on the way”, my mother would scold. “We are not going to be late. And put on your seatbelt.” But even with regular church attendance, I never had religion pushed on me. My parents found the right community, filled with gentle people who let their lives stand as testaments to their beliefs. I remember no dogma, and no judgment. My parents created a safe space for me to be introduced to faith and ritual and I don’t really have any baggage about religion from my childhood. For that, I am grateful.

But the church wasn’t for me. As I got older and learned what Christian beliefs were, I knew I couldn’t stay. Luckily, I had the unconditional love of my family and my community. And they created a safe space for me to leave.

At the age of 17, I began to learn about Judaism. I read the book “Basic Judaism”, by Milton Steinberg. I remember this as truly a dry and dated text, but the ideas inside were exhilarating. For me, it was a window into a worldview that matched my own. I asked my mother to take me to a synagogue and soon looked into conversion. The twist in my conversion story, however, is that my maternal grandmother happened to be Jewish and that I, according to Jewish Law, was already Jewish. Nonetheless, my Rabbi at the time [Rabbi Bloom of Congregation B’nai Israel in Sacramento, CA], recommended conversion as it was the best program to teach me how to be Jewish. It made sense at the time, but I soon moved away [to attend university] and never finished that conversion program. Over the next four years, I spent my days exploring the worlds of reform, conservative and orthodox Judaism. I regularly davened with hippie mystics with piercings and uptight chasids with long beards and black hats. I started and dropped out of several conversion programs because I just couldn’t find a safe place where I could be confident I my own skin. I was always insecure about my place in the Jewish world.

I couldn’t be a good born Jew because I had no cultural memory or identity to draw upon…and I couldn’t be a good convert as I wasn’t really willing to accept blindly all of the theological and legal tenets placed in front of me. There just was no safe place for me to be myself and feel Jewish at the same time.

I found my safe place, however, when I received a great big bear hug from a tall, skinny Chasid with a thick British accent. Rabbi Kaye [of Chabad of the East Bay] was the first Rabbi I had ever met who made me feel like he truly cared about me. He made his time with me a priority and he would drop anything to do Jewish things with me, whether study or practice. He was enthusiastic to the point of ridiculousness, and he helped me learn to create my own safe space for Judaism wherever I went. If you have spoken with me before about my relationship with Judaism, I am sure you have heard me quote Rabbi Kaye. And I won’t even try to do his accent. “Don’t let the things that you don’t do, stop you from doing the things that you should do,” he said to me one day. “I don’t care about the parts of your life where you don’t do Jewish things. I just care about supporting you when you do Jewish things.” He told me these words after he handed me a kippah and invited me to wear it around the UC Berkeley campus for a day. I had some serious reservations with this proposal at the time. Who was I to wear a kippah. I didn’t keep kosher. I wasn’t shomer shabbos. I had serious theological differences with orthodoxy in general. I was worried about what this symbol would mean to non-Jews. And I was even more worried about what this symbol would mean to Jews. But Rabbi Kaye didn’t care about those things…He didn’t judge me for how I practiced my Judaism and he didn’t judge me for my fears and concerns about wearing a kippah in public He just wanted me to be proud of my Judaism. And he wanted me to experience something new. He wanted me to explore this part of our shared tradition and see if it touched me…to see if I could find meaning and value in it. And so wore the kippah, and it was transformative. It was a reminder that I am a Jew and, though I shouldn’t worry about living up to other people’s expectations of what that meant, I should live up to my expectations of what that meant. I was reminded of my obligation to live up to my highest ideal. And my journey was about trying to figure out what that highest ideal was. A large part of the reason I wear a kippah today came from this encounter.

At the age of 21, I asked Rabbi Kaye about conversion. He said not to worry about it, gave me a big hug and told me that I was as already a perfectly authentic Jew. I just needed to catch up on some rituals… so. He scheduled a visit to the mikvah. I picked my Hebrew name. And I had an intimate encounter with a spring loaded needle. Though I was technically born a Jew, this was the day I completed my conversion.

My years studying with Rabbi Kaye instilled in me a delight of learning Jewish ideas and trying Jewish rituals. I found a teacher that gave me the freedom to love my Jewish self, regardless of what ideas rang true to me…regardless of what rituals I felt like incorporating into my life. I just had to keep trying new things. And I had to keep trying old things in case I was new. My experience with Rabbi Kaye gave me the confidence to create my own safe space to explore Judaism on my terms, wherever I went, as long as I never stopped exploring.

But in time, it wasn’t just about creating a safe space for me. I needed to create a safe space for others. In 2008, Susan and I got married. Susan was raised Catholic and her Christianity is a very important part of her identity. Most interfaith couples I have met, seem to bridge their differences by one or both partners distancing themselves from their respective traditions. For Susan and me, however, we knew that we would have to find a home within in each other’s traditions. We needed to find communities that focused on creating safe spaces for us to be together and be ourselves. About a year after our wedding, we were lucky to find All Saints’ Episcopal Church where we attend Mass weekly. To my knowledge, I am the first open non-christian, actively practicing another religion, to be welcomed in as a full member of an Episcopalian parish. Bishop Marc Andrus wrote a brand-new ceremony of welcoming for me, a Jew, into his community. And believe it or not, it is a place where I constantly find myself challenged and inspired to become a better person and a better Jew.

Shortly after this, we found Congregation B’nai Emunah. We were welcomed by this community from the moment we walked in the door. Like the community of my childhood, there was no dogma and there was no judgment. Rabbi Mark truly made me feel like he cared about me. Chaya Roberts made me and my family a priority. Sharon Bleviss would drop anything to do Jewish things with me and help me create a Jewish space. B’nai Emunah was and is a safe space for me to do Jewish things. It is a safe space for my Christian wife to do Jewish things. It is a safe space for our son, Jomar to do Jewish things. It didn’t take long for me to feel that this was my community. I felt overwhelming gratitude and an obligation to maintain it as a safe space for others in need. As I had no treasure to donate, it was time and talent that I could give to my community. I joined the board a year after walking through the door. I helped to create new programming that brought Judaism to young adults where they were…in the bars. And I participated in the first Adult B’nai Mitzvah class, finally becoming a man at 31. I felt privileged to work in front of and behind the camera, as it were, sustaining the safe space that is B’nai Emunah.

When I was new to B’nai Emunah, I had a conversation with Gregg Jackson about my career as a geologist. Gregg told me that, if I didn’t like what I was doing for a living, that I should quit and go find something that I was passionate about. It was annoying advice at the time, but I never forgot our conversation. I never forgot how zealous he was about the need to follow one’s passions. Five years later, I took that advice and became your administrator here at Congregation B’nai Emunah. Thank you Gregg. It was good advice. In my new role at B’nai Emunah, I can dedicate myself to learning Jewish Ideas, trying Jewish rituals, and most importantly, sustaining this as a safe space for everyone to be Jewish, for years to come.