Our Stories
Our stories are individual, like ourselves. We've gathered some stories to tell on these pages, how we made our individual journey, how we became Jewish. (For more stories, go to our Becoming Jewish blog.)
By L., a female Reform convert
This is the story L wrote to her rabbi, the essay required to show why she wanted to convert to Judaism.
In the midst of my Jewish studies, my friend Pam asked me a serious question. She said, "All of a sudden, you're religious. I've never seen you religious before. I think we're usually honest with each other about what's happening in our lives. But I don't understand this. What brought this on?" I smiled, and internally told myself she wouldn't understand. I didn't answer.
Three months later, she again posed the same question. The answer lay in emotions I had trouble expressing. I wasn't ready then, the first or second time she asked. But I'm ready now. This is my answer.
I have to go back a few years and relate what has happened to me chronologically. My answer isn't a simple one, but blocks building upon each other.
I have to start with work. My job was as a federal law enforcement officer for the past three decades. I was very happy in my work for the longest time. I approached it with such a ferocity, a fire that usually burned itself out as I approached home every night, exhausted, but stoked the next morning as I went back to the work site. I worked 60- to 80-hour workweeks, standing on my feet for many of those hours, facing angry and sometimes dangerous people, trying to complete a mission that I truly believed in. I knew that I was contributing positively to the world; putting drug smugglers away was a good thing even if doing it was becoming painful.
The last 21 years of my career I was a first-line supervisor. Not only did I face angry people as I interrupted their lives trying to find the bad ones among them, but I dealt with employees on a minute-to-minute basis. Employees who often did not want to be there. Employees who were sometimes ill-suited for their jobs. I also had a nice share of devoted and superbly competent employees who had the same fire I did, a desire to the job and do it right.
Each of these employees, good and bad, took a piece of me from myself. The physical nature of the job, the two-hour commute in Los Angeles and the Bay Area, and the politics within a government job, left me with flat feet, a bad back, daily headaches and raw emotions. And those were the good days.
The bad days started in 2002, when I began having severe stomach cramps. I continued to work during those days, as I didn't want to leave my chief, who is still a dear friend, without help, and because it seemed that I would rather be miserable at work achieving something than miserable at home doing nothing and feeling guilty for missing work.
After several months of extreme pain, taking pain pills and breaking up meals into about 10 a day so that my stomach could cope, my doctor figured out what was going on and sent me for the right tests. The biopsy during the colonoscopy she ordered came back positive. I had colon cancer. Type 2B cancer, where the tumor exceeded the colon wall. They operated on me within two weeks. My best friend stopped her studies in Israel and flew out to California for two days to see me as I came out of the operation, not sure I'd live through it. I did. In fact, I recovered quickly enough that I could visit her in November that year and spend Thanksgiving with her fellow HUC students in Jerusalem.
I was convinced at that point that, while work may not have caused the cancer, the toll it had taken had surely exacerbated my condition. The stress was eating me alive. I became eligible for retirement a year later, and, stumbling through a labored 12 months to get to that goal (thanks to my friend, the Chief), I finally reached it and put away the badge and gun for good.
As I walked away from the job, I was both sad and exhilarated. I was cancer-free (at least for now), sure that I had escaped the bullet, however short-lived that may be.
But all of a sudden I had no plan. No way to fill an empty life. My work had acted as my work life, my social life, almost my religion -- it was certainly something I believed in and had no problem giving my all to it. Now what did I have?
I took a full year to decompress and look around to see what I might do. I might write a book. I might do some volunteer work. All of a sudden I looked around and realized it had been three years since I retired, and I still had this big hole in my life.
I suddenly fell in love again. When you're faced with death and you don't know how many years you've got left, it's easier to find your courage and express your feelings. Around the same time I started to note that several of my friends were Jewish. Susan, who has almost discovered a new way of loving Judaism in recent years. Dawn, who has such enthusiasm for All Things Jewish that she speaks in exclamation points! And others. I was able to find inspiration in them and their stories. I started to learn.
What I discovered in the last year of studying with the rabbi and taking classes is that Judaism is the complete world. It sounds trite to say that, perhaps, but it's true. I have found that I love learning: the history of the Jewish people, how Torah fills our lives, songs that sound so familiar when I first hear them and which won't go away in my mind when I'm trying to sleep. The Jewish world is all about doing rather than just thinking about it, a brilliant idea, which fits in with how I want to live my life
I find that I'm always looking to see what my synagogue is up to these days. What are the services this week? Shall I go to Torah study, Shabbat services, learn how to build a sukkah or create a Passover dinner. It's learning and being and doing.
But even more than all of that, it's about using the years I have left for good, in a good structure full of good people. Using these repressed emotions I never wanted to feel by giving them a creative outlet.
So, you see, Pam, I wanted to do good things, learn interesting things with people who share my value system. In a structure of year-long events that I can follow and share with my new friends. And I want to cry shamelessly when I hear those wonderful songs, happy that I'm in this community and happy that I'm still alive to experience this wholeness.
Hineni. It's a word I learned this Yom Kippur from my rabbis, my second high holy days but the first I really understood. A word that instantly brought tears streaming down my face as I recognized myself in the sound of the word. Here I am. Send me. I'm ready.
By M, a female convert:
For most of my life I was not a religious person. My father was agnostic and my mother was Catholic. When I was growing up, my mother wanted to give me a religious education because it was the "right thing to do," according to her. As a child, I attended the services at the church and I went to catechism. My father used to tease my mother by saying that she was trying to "brainwash me" with outdated concepts. In grade school, most of my teachers were anticlerical and said that religious beliefs were simply superstition.
Ultimately, I came to the conclusion that my father and my teachers were probably right. At the same time, I was asking myself questions: The idea that God sent his only son to be killed to save us did not make any sense. Was the world a better place after Jesus was killed and resurrected? If there was a God, why did God, who was so loving, allow all the injustice to happen in the world? Why did people commit massacre in the name of religion? Was not a religion as good as another religion? When I asked these questions, my mother and the priest would respond with, "Don’t question, just have faith." As a result I stopped going to church when I was in my teens. I did see not the point in going to a place of worship if I did not agree on the religious beliefs and practices.
I went through life caring very little about God and religion. However, deep down I believed that there was supernatural force, a Master of the Universe. Science did not give me a satisfactory answer on how the world was created. My teachers talked about the Big Bang. Science could not tell what was before the Big Bang. I believed that the master of the Universe set the Big Bang into motion and the world originated from there.
A major life change happened three years ago. My husband filed for divorce after 21 years of marriage. I almost had a nervous breakdown because I was frightened. I had no marketable job skills, I had never been alone in all those years, and I depended on my husband for my well-being. With the support of my family and friends, I picked myself up, and went back to college to get a master's degree in social work. Two weeks after graduation, I found my first job as a social worker in an agency working with seniors.
My clients at the agency were elderly Russian Jewish immigrants. As a social worker, I wanted to be culturally competent. I needed to know where my clients were coming from to better understand them. I took Russian language classes at City College and I attended a three-day workshop called a "Taste of Judaism." I felt that the workshop on Judaism was not enough to satisfy my curiosity. I took another six-week course on "Intro to Judaism." At the same time, I attended the Sabbath and Torah services. I was attracted by Judaism’s emphasis on action, rather than faith and dogma. I also learned that Judaism is not only a religion but a culture.
At the end of the workshop I talked to Lisa (who runs the conversion program at Sherith Israel) about the possibility of conversion. I really appreciated that I could take my time and study Judaism in depth before committing myself. My mentor, Helen, is very supportive and patient. She invited me for Passover and Hanukah. She sat with me at the Torah services and study. I learned more by participating than reading from a book. During the Torah study, I was amazed that the participants asked questions, and they were allowed to have different points of view. In addition, Helen suggested that I volunteer for Hamotzi. I really enjoy preparing meals for the shelters. In order to better understand the prayer book, I have been taking Hebrew classes.
Looking back when I first started attending Intro to Judaism classes and conversion classes, my view of God has changed. He (or she) is not the distant entity living in the sky. I believe that God is omnipotent, omnipresent and animates all beings. Therefore everything that happens, good things as well as bad things, is God’s will. What the prophet Isaiah said makes sense, "I am the Lord, there is no other. I form light and create darkness, I make weal and I create woe; I am the Lord of all these things." Now I do not try to control events anymore; I surrender to God. In life we have limited choices. Our apparent free will is conditioned by our environment, genetics, and talent. This, too, is God's will.
With Judaism I have found the values that I searched for. Judaism shows me the way to become a holy person. The way of salvation is by action rather than faith. We are in partnership with God to make the world better. I am looking forward to becoming part of the Jewish community.
By L., a female Reform convert:
I was raised in a Protestant religious tradition, but had "bonded" with Judaism when I was in college through my friendships with many Jewish students.
I had considered conversion for many years after college, but the thought stayed dormant until after September 11, 2001. On that fateful day, a Jewish friend of mine who had worked in the World Trade Center had gotten out of the city safely, and to honor her, I wanted to give my thanks to God in a synagogue. A co-worker recommended Beth Am. I attended a service, and several services after that, but was still afraid to take the first real step toward conversion. I finally emailed Rabbi Janet Marder, Beth Am's senior rabbi, and she warmly invited me to meet with her to discuss the conversion process at Beth Am.
From that first meeting, I knew I had found the right place to begin my Jewish journey. Rabbi Marder explained the conversion process at Beth Am, and cleared up many misconceptions I had about conversion. She helped me understand that conversion was not intended to be a grueling process to "qualify" me to be a Jew, but a deliberate and focused journey of the soul, as well as an opportunity to join, and be embraced by, a sacred covenant that would not require me to abandon my family, friends, or values.
I signed up for a class called Building Blocks of Judaism (taught by a wonderful lay teacher) while meeting with Rabbi Marder about every 6 weeks. The Building Blocks class was a helpful introduction to Jewish history, theology, and practice. My sessions with Rabbi Marder were a safe and uplifting environment in which to explore my questions and fears. She suggested books to read and activities at the synagogue where I could get to know people and learn more. She was sensitive to how frightening this big change was for me, and did not rush me as far as the timing of my conversion. She was a patient and inspiring guide and teacher every step of the way.Rabbi Marder has all of her conversion students write an essay about their Jewish journey, and has us go to the mikvah before our conversion ceremony. She also discusses the conversion ceremony with us beforehand, and provides opportunities for each student to select some of the prayers for their ceremony.
I am grateful to have gone through my conversion at a community that truly welcomes those who want to join the Covenant of Israel, and that shows genuine sensitivity to the needs of each person during their journey. I have been encouraged by the many Jews by Choice at Beth Am who have been so involved in congregational life and who have been inspiring teachers and leaders. Most of all, I am grateful that Rabbi Marder welcomed a stranger one day 7 years ago, and guided her with love and inspiration on that deliberate and focused journey of the soul.
By M., a female Reform convert:
I was raised in a fundamentalist Christian home—and it never resonated with me. Hearing members of my family and church talk about how people (Jews, Buddhists, atheists…) would spend eternity burning in hell if I/we/Christians in general didn’t convince them to “give their lives to Jesus,” terrified me. That seemed a pretty big load to hand to a 5 year old girl who really only went to church without a fuss because she liked singing hymns and listening to the felt board stories.
I spent most of my adult years disconnected from religion. Without a family of my own, it seemed like a non-issue. As an elementary school teacher, I was aware that the most cohesive families and compassionate, self-assured children that came through my classroom were those that came from families that regularly attended some kind of house of worship. However, I wasn’t at that place in my life, so I just sort of filed it away that when that time came for me, I’d figure it out.
I knew, however, that I would NEVER tell my child that he/she was responsible for saving the souls of other people from an eternity in hell. NEVER.
When I met my (now) husband (thank you, eHarmony!) and discovered that he was Jewish, I was curious about it. Maybe it was just what I was looking for. The two main things that I couldn’t wrap my head around in Christianity (hell and Jesus) were not a part of this religion. We wanted to have children together, but then there were all those traditions that I knew so well… How would it feel to give those up?
I went to an interfaith discussion group that I learned about through Dawn Kepler’s regular email updates. Actually, I went to a few of them. And as I listened to the stories women (and men) were telling about trying to balance two faiths and sets of traditions into one home, I thought it sounded… complicated.
Especially given that I really didn’t believe the basic tenets of Christianity, it seemed crazy for me to put that much effort into maintaining an interfaith home.
By this time I had taken a number of classes all over the Bay Area. I wanted to learn about Judaism, and I seized on multiple opportunities at all kinds of synagogues—Conservative, Reform, Orthodox, Reconstructionist—and at each place I found something to learn and appreciate. I was welcomed whole-heartedly at every synagogue (and on occasion had to laugh when conversations would result in someone looking to me and asking, “What do Christians think about…?” as if I were qualified to speak for all Christians.)
I also attended a group called “Jewish Journeys” led by Rabbi Bridget at Jewish Gateways. It was a wonderful group that met regularly to bounce ideas off of each other and to get us self-motivated to discover for ourselves what we wanted to experience in Judaism.
Finding B’Nai Tikvah in Walnut Creek was like finding my home. When I met Rabbi Asher, I told him I was interested in converting to Judaism, and we began to meet regularly to discuss the classes I had taken, the classes I continued to take, as well as other, more general questions I had about Judaism. Converting has just felt like the most natural thing in the world for me. I can see now how my whole life was leading up to it, and I’m thrilled that we are raising our daughter (who we adopted from Vietnam) in the Jewish faith as well.
By R., a male Reform convert:
First, I want to say thank you to my teachers: Rabbi Angel & Paul Cohen (my mentor), to my birth family, to my Sha’ar Zahav family, and to all my friends. Thanks for your support all along this journey because as you know, it’s just the beginning.
As we approach the Jewish Festival of Purim, our very own Mardi Gras where Jews are actually commanded to eat, drink, and be merry (and then drink some more!), we are also reminded that this is the festival of “fate.” It is a holiday of contradictions, of revelry and reflection.
During this festival, we read from the Book of Esther (and no, I don’t mean Madonna). Interestingly, G-d never appears in the book, as if G-d was hiding. Purim teaches us this concept of “hester panim,” which means hidden face of G-d. It is the idea that, although we may think we control our own lives, G-d is actually the architect of our fate—controlling events that are not always apparent. Purim is the holiday that reminds me of “that moment,” and at some point in our lives, we all experience “that moment.”
My moment arrived on a cold and late December night in 1990, as I was driving past Sacramento during finals week at UC Davis. An animal suddenly raced across the road and today, I don’t even remember what kind of animal, but being the anti-war, pro-choice, tree-hugging, whale-loving, animal rights activist that I was (and still am)—I swerved to avoid hitting it.
I lost control of my car, as it spun around twice before flipping over several times down an embankment where I landed upside-down, strapped to my seatbelt, unconscious…
All I remember was how the police told me that if my car had landed just two feet to the left, I would have slammed into an electrical column. That’s when I had my moment.
That night, I was reminded of my own mortality and how lucky I was. That was the moment when I realized, for whatever reason, that I was meant to live—or perhaps more importantly, my life was meant to be lived fully.
Since then, I have always tried to make each experience, each friendship, each day, and each moment count. Maybe that’s why I am a wild-and-crazy kind of guy.
I also believe that I was meant to live so that I could give back.
I have always been dedicated to “tikkum olam,” or repairing the world long, before I learned there was a word for it. Tikkun Olam usually comes in the form of social activism—in order to make our world a better place. Activism is in my blood. So, it’s not surprising that the two Jewish names I have chosen are “Ravid” and “Netzach.”
When I first thought about choosing a name, I wanted a unique, Hebrew name to fit my unusual personality. Ravid is Hebrew for wanderer, and I chose it because I’m the type of person who just can’t sit still. As a child, I was hyper. I had a short attention span and I always had to be doing something. Well, that’s still the case.
“Netzach” means “victory,” and my grandfather’s name was Vicente, which means victory. I chose his name to honor his memory and to honor a life filled with tikkun olam. So now, I carry both of his names because my official middle name is Tolentino, which was his last name.
During the past year-and-a-half, I chose Judaism, and in a way, Judaism chose me—as my life’s purpose continues to unfold. So, as we approach Purim with our masks, graggers (noisemakers), and alcohol in hand, I know that I will be reminded of that cold night, and that “moment” which changed everything.
I will also ponder about what brought me to the Jewish people. I will continue to reflect upon why I am here, and I will think about all the work that lies ahead in making this world better place for gays, Asians, Jews, and everyone in between…
By M., a male Conservative convert:
I didn’t want to be a Jew. This whole thing started out real simple. My wife and I started talking about raising a family. We talked about sending them to public or private school, would someone stay home or would we do the day care thing, and would we raise them with a religion. She was born Jewish. I was a very happy atheist. My belief then (and now) is that children should be raised in a faith. Something to help them with the big questions in life. Something to rebel against when they’re teenagers.
I figured that if we were going to raise the kids Jewish, I should know a little bit about it. After a quick Google search, we came across the organization Building Jewish Bridges, headed by Dawn Kepler. We found a workshop that was hosted by Netivot Shalom. The lecture focused on inter-faith families, specifically introducing the non-Jew part of the family to Judaism. It was there I met Menachem.
I know I’m not the first person to be floored by Menachem Creditor. I know I won’t be the last. That night changed my life. For the first time in my short 29 years of existence, I was introduced to a concept of God and religion that I had never known. It all felt right. Everything Menachem was saying felt like home. I wasn’t the only one who was touched- my wife had tears streaming down her face. That’s Menachem’s talent.
I didn’t sleep for three days. No, that’s not right- I couldn’t sleep for three days. I couldn’t stop mulling over what Menachem addressed that night. Concepts about a God who needs people, concepts like a God who wants to be a part of my life. No guilt. No shame. Responsibility, yes. A lifetime of learning, and more importantly, doing, yes. But no more shame.
I contacted Dawn Kepler shortly after the lecture. I told her I wanted more information about Judaism. I asked her to recommend a book. She recommended “Basic Judaism”, by Rabbi Milton Steinberg. I didn’t read the text so much as I devoured it. I took notes and made comments in the margins. I wrote down questions. I wanted more.
I emailed Menachem and asked if he would meet me for a coffee sometime, anytime. No response. I emailed him again. No response. Wow, this guy is playing hardball, I thought. My third email got a response. We were to meet at the Tully’s on Shattuck at 11:30 am. We met and it was there that I declared my desire to convert. I wanted to study under him.
For the next five months I read. I read books like “Jewish Literacy” and “Biblical Literacy” by Rabbi Joseph Telushin. I read Abraham Heschel’s “The Prophets” because Menachem suggested it during a lecture after a Sunday morning minyan. I attended Shabbat services almost every Saturday morning. None of that prepared me for what happened at my first Rosh Hashanah.
It was during the third blast of the shofar, the teruah, that I felt the presence of the Divine. I apologize for what follows: I have yet to do an adequate job of describing that moment. Time stopped. Life stopped. All I heard was the sound of the shofar and the feeling of my soul being grabbed by God. It was as if God grabbed me by my head, looked me in the eye, and made Its presence very known. I about collapsed. I was left muttering oh my god this is real oh my god this is real, oh my f***ing god this is so real.
I read more books, attended more Shabbat services. I helped build a sukkah. The more I do, the more I want to know. Once Purim arrives, I will have celebrated every Jewish holiday, even the minor ones like Tu B’shvat. My wife and I keep the Sabbath and welcome It into our lives on Friday evenings.
I have so much more to learn. I’m embarrassed by the amount of ignorance I possess. But I can say without a doubt that nothing will stop me from being the best Jew I can be. I didn’t want this when I started last March. All I wanted was a Cliff Notes understanding of Judaism, just something to get me by until the kids went to college and I could reveal myself as an atheist. Everything has changed. The future is open to more discovery. Thank God.
For more stories, usually in concert with specific questions, go to our Becoming Jewish Blog.
By L., a female Reform convert
This is the story L wrote to her rabbi, the essay required to show why she wanted to convert to Judaism.
In the midst of my Jewish studies, my friend Pam asked me a serious question. She said, "All of a sudden, you're religious. I've never seen you religious before. I think we're usually honest with each other about what's happening in our lives. But I don't understand this. What brought this on?" I smiled, and internally told myself she wouldn't understand. I didn't answer.
Three months later, she again posed the same question. The answer lay in emotions I had trouble expressing. I wasn't ready then, the first or second time she asked. But I'm ready now. This is my answer.
I have to go back a few years and relate what has happened to me chronologically. My answer isn't a simple one, but blocks building upon each other.
I have to start with work. My job was as a federal law enforcement officer for the past three decades. I was very happy in my work for the longest time. I approached it with such a ferocity, a fire that usually burned itself out as I approached home every night, exhausted, but stoked the next morning as I went back to the work site. I worked 60- to 80-hour workweeks, standing on my feet for many of those hours, facing angry and sometimes dangerous people, trying to complete a mission that I truly believed in. I knew that I was contributing positively to the world; putting drug smugglers away was a good thing even if doing it was becoming painful.
The last 21 years of my career I was a first-line supervisor. Not only did I face angry people as I interrupted their lives trying to find the bad ones among them, but I dealt with employees on a minute-to-minute basis. Employees who often did not want to be there. Employees who were sometimes ill-suited for their jobs. I also had a nice share of devoted and superbly competent employees who had the same fire I did, a desire to the job and do it right.
Each of these employees, good and bad, took a piece of me from myself. The physical nature of the job, the two-hour commute in Los Angeles and the Bay Area, and the politics within a government job, left me with flat feet, a bad back, daily headaches and raw emotions. And those were the good days.
The bad days started in 2002, when I began having severe stomach cramps. I continued to work during those days, as I didn't want to leave my chief, who is still a dear friend, without help, and because it seemed that I would rather be miserable at work achieving something than miserable at home doing nothing and feeling guilty for missing work.
After several months of extreme pain, taking pain pills and breaking up meals into about 10 a day so that my stomach could cope, my doctor figured out what was going on and sent me for the right tests. The biopsy during the colonoscopy she ordered came back positive. I had colon cancer. Type 2B cancer, where the tumor exceeded the colon wall. They operated on me within two weeks. My best friend stopped her studies in Israel and flew out to California for two days to see me as I came out of the operation, not sure I'd live through it. I did. In fact, I recovered quickly enough that I could visit her in November that year and spend Thanksgiving with her fellow HUC students in Jerusalem.
I was convinced at that point that, while work may not have caused the cancer, the toll it had taken had surely exacerbated my condition. The stress was eating me alive. I became eligible for retirement a year later, and, stumbling through a labored 12 months to get to that goal (thanks to my friend, the Chief), I finally reached it and put away the badge and gun for good.
As I walked away from the job, I was both sad and exhilarated. I was cancer-free (at least for now), sure that I had escaped the bullet, however short-lived that may be.
But all of a sudden I had no plan. No way to fill an empty life. My work had acted as my work life, my social life, almost my religion -- it was certainly something I believed in and had no problem giving my all to it. Now what did I have?
I took a full year to decompress and look around to see what I might do. I might write a book. I might do some volunteer work. All of a sudden I looked around and realized it had been three years since I retired, and I still had this big hole in my life.
I suddenly fell in love again. When you're faced with death and you don't know how many years you've got left, it's easier to find your courage and express your feelings. Around the same time I started to note that several of my friends were Jewish. Susan, who has almost discovered a new way of loving Judaism in recent years. Dawn, who has such enthusiasm for All Things Jewish that she speaks in exclamation points! And others. I was able to find inspiration in them and their stories. I started to learn.
What I discovered in the last year of studying with the rabbi and taking classes is that Judaism is the complete world. It sounds trite to say that, perhaps, but it's true. I have found that I love learning: the history of the Jewish people, how Torah fills our lives, songs that sound so familiar when I first hear them and which won't go away in my mind when I'm trying to sleep. The Jewish world is all about doing rather than just thinking about it, a brilliant idea, which fits in with how I want to live my life
I find that I'm always looking to see what my synagogue is up to these days. What are the services this week? Shall I go to Torah study, Shabbat services, learn how to build a sukkah or create a Passover dinner. It's learning and being and doing.
But even more than all of that, it's about using the years I have left for good, in a good structure full of good people. Using these repressed emotions I never wanted to feel by giving them a creative outlet.
So, you see, Pam, I wanted to do good things, learn interesting things with people who share my value system. In a structure of year-long events that I can follow and share with my new friends. And I want to cry shamelessly when I hear those wonderful songs, happy that I'm in this community and happy that I'm still alive to experience this wholeness.
Hineni. It's a word I learned this Yom Kippur from my rabbis, my second high holy days but the first I really understood. A word that instantly brought tears streaming down my face as I recognized myself in the sound of the word. Here I am. Send me. I'm ready.
By M, a female convert:
For most of my life I was not a religious person. My father was agnostic and my mother was Catholic. When I was growing up, my mother wanted to give me a religious education because it was the "right thing to do," according to her. As a child, I attended the services at the church and I went to catechism. My father used to tease my mother by saying that she was trying to "brainwash me" with outdated concepts. In grade school, most of my teachers were anticlerical and said that religious beliefs were simply superstition.
Ultimately, I came to the conclusion that my father and my teachers were probably right. At the same time, I was asking myself questions: The idea that God sent his only son to be killed to save us did not make any sense. Was the world a better place after Jesus was killed and resurrected? If there was a God, why did God, who was so loving, allow all the injustice to happen in the world? Why did people commit massacre in the name of religion? Was not a religion as good as another religion? When I asked these questions, my mother and the priest would respond with, "Don’t question, just have faith." As a result I stopped going to church when I was in my teens. I did see not the point in going to a place of worship if I did not agree on the religious beliefs and practices.
I went through life caring very little about God and religion. However, deep down I believed that there was supernatural force, a Master of the Universe. Science did not give me a satisfactory answer on how the world was created. My teachers talked about the Big Bang. Science could not tell what was before the Big Bang. I believed that the master of the Universe set the Big Bang into motion and the world originated from there.
A major life change happened three years ago. My husband filed for divorce after 21 years of marriage. I almost had a nervous breakdown because I was frightened. I had no marketable job skills, I had never been alone in all those years, and I depended on my husband for my well-being. With the support of my family and friends, I picked myself up, and went back to college to get a master's degree in social work. Two weeks after graduation, I found my first job as a social worker in an agency working with seniors.
My clients at the agency were elderly Russian Jewish immigrants. As a social worker, I wanted to be culturally competent. I needed to know where my clients were coming from to better understand them. I took Russian language classes at City College and I attended a three-day workshop called a "Taste of Judaism." I felt that the workshop on Judaism was not enough to satisfy my curiosity. I took another six-week course on "Intro to Judaism." At the same time, I attended the Sabbath and Torah services. I was attracted by Judaism’s emphasis on action, rather than faith and dogma. I also learned that Judaism is not only a religion but a culture.
At the end of the workshop I talked to Lisa (who runs the conversion program at Sherith Israel) about the possibility of conversion. I really appreciated that I could take my time and study Judaism in depth before committing myself. My mentor, Helen, is very supportive and patient. She invited me for Passover and Hanukah. She sat with me at the Torah services and study. I learned more by participating than reading from a book. During the Torah study, I was amazed that the participants asked questions, and they were allowed to have different points of view. In addition, Helen suggested that I volunteer for Hamotzi. I really enjoy preparing meals for the shelters. In order to better understand the prayer book, I have been taking Hebrew classes.
Looking back when I first started attending Intro to Judaism classes and conversion classes, my view of God has changed. He (or she) is not the distant entity living in the sky. I believe that God is omnipotent, omnipresent and animates all beings. Therefore everything that happens, good things as well as bad things, is God’s will. What the prophet Isaiah said makes sense, "I am the Lord, there is no other. I form light and create darkness, I make weal and I create woe; I am the Lord of all these things." Now I do not try to control events anymore; I surrender to God. In life we have limited choices. Our apparent free will is conditioned by our environment, genetics, and talent. This, too, is God's will.
With Judaism I have found the values that I searched for. Judaism shows me the way to become a holy person. The way of salvation is by action rather than faith. We are in partnership with God to make the world better. I am looking forward to becoming part of the Jewish community.
By L., a female Reform convert:
I was raised in a Protestant religious tradition, but had "bonded" with Judaism when I was in college through my friendships with many Jewish students.
I had considered conversion for many years after college, but the thought stayed dormant until after September 11, 2001. On that fateful day, a Jewish friend of mine who had worked in the World Trade Center had gotten out of the city safely, and to honor her, I wanted to give my thanks to God in a synagogue. A co-worker recommended Beth Am. I attended a service, and several services after that, but was still afraid to take the first real step toward conversion. I finally emailed Rabbi Janet Marder, Beth Am's senior rabbi, and she warmly invited me to meet with her to discuss the conversion process at Beth Am.
From that first meeting, I knew I had found the right place to begin my Jewish journey. Rabbi Marder explained the conversion process at Beth Am, and cleared up many misconceptions I had about conversion. She helped me understand that conversion was not intended to be a grueling process to "qualify" me to be a Jew, but a deliberate and focused journey of the soul, as well as an opportunity to join, and be embraced by, a sacred covenant that would not require me to abandon my family, friends, or values.
I signed up for a class called Building Blocks of Judaism (taught by a wonderful lay teacher) while meeting with Rabbi Marder about every 6 weeks. The Building Blocks class was a helpful introduction to Jewish history, theology, and practice. My sessions with Rabbi Marder were a safe and uplifting environment in which to explore my questions and fears. She suggested books to read and activities at the synagogue where I could get to know people and learn more. She was sensitive to how frightening this big change was for me, and did not rush me as far as the timing of my conversion. She was a patient and inspiring guide and teacher every step of the way.Rabbi Marder has all of her conversion students write an essay about their Jewish journey, and has us go to the mikvah before our conversion ceremony. She also discusses the conversion ceremony with us beforehand, and provides opportunities for each student to select some of the prayers for their ceremony.
I am grateful to have gone through my conversion at a community that truly welcomes those who want to join the Covenant of Israel, and that shows genuine sensitivity to the needs of each person during their journey. I have been encouraged by the many Jews by Choice at Beth Am who have been so involved in congregational life and who have been inspiring teachers and leaders. Most of all, I am grateful that Rabbi Marder welcomed a stranger one day 7 years ago, and guided her with love and inspiration on that deliberate and focused journey of the soul.
By M., a female Reform convert:
I was raised in a fundamentalist Christian home—and it never resonated with me. Hearing members of my family and church talk about how people (Jews, Buddhists, atheists…) would spend eternity burning in hell if I/we/Christians in general didn’t convince them to “give their lives to Jesus,” terrified me. That seemed a pretty big load to hand to a 5 year old girl who really only went to church without a fuss because she liked singing hymns and listening to the felt board stories.
I spent most of my adult years disconnected from religion. Without a family of my own, it seemed like a non-issue. As an elementary school teacher, I was aware that the most cohesive families and compassionate, self-assured children that came through my classroom were those that came from families that regularly attended some kind of house of worship. However, I wasn’t at that place in my life, so I just sort of filed it away that when that time came for me, I’d figure it out.
I knew, however, that I would NEVER tell my child that he/she was responsible for saving the souls of other people from an eternity in hell. NEVER.
When I met my (now) husband (thank you, eHarmony!) and discovered that he was Jewish, I was curious about it. Maybe it was just what I was looking for. The two main things that I couldn’t wrap my head around in Christianity (hell and Jesus) were not a part of this religion. We wanted to have children together, but then there were all those traditions that I knew so well… How would it feel to give those up?
I went to an interfaith discussion group that I learned about through Dawn Kepler’s regular email updates. Actually, I went to a few of them. And as I listened to the stories women (and men) were telling about trying to balance two faiths and sets of traditions into one home, I thought it sounded… complicated.
Especially given that I really didn’t believe the basic tenets of Christianity, it seemed crazy for me to put that much effort into maintaining an interfaith home.
By this time I had taken a number of classes all over the Bay Area. I wanted to learn about Judaism, and I seized on multiple opportunities at all kinds of synagogues—Conservative, Reform, Orthodox, Reconstructionist—and at each place I found something to learn and appreciate. I was welcomed whole-heartedly at every synagogue (and on occasion had to laugh when conversations would result in someone looking to me and asking, “What do Christians think about…?” as if I were qualified to speak for all Christians.)
I also attended a group called “Jewish Journeys” led by Rabbi Bridget at Jewish Gateways. It was a wonderful group that met regularly to bounce ideas off of each other and to get us self-motivated to discover for ourselves what we wanted to experience in Judaism.
Finding B’Nai Tikvah in Walnut Creek was like finding my home. When I met Rabbi Asher, I told him I was interested in converting to Judaism, and we began to meet regularly to discuss the classes I had taken, the classes I continued to take, as well as other, more general questions I had about Judaism. Converting has just felt like the most natural thing in the world for me. I can see now how my whole life was leading up to it, and I’m thrilled that we are raising our daughter (who we adopted from Vietnam) in the Jewish faith as well.
By R., a male Reform convert:
First, I want to say thank you to my teachers: Rabbi Angel & Paul Cohen (my mentor), to my birth family, to my Sha’ar Zahav family, and to all my friends. Thanks for your support all along this journey because as you know, it’s just the beginning.
As we approach the Jewish Festival of Purim, our very own Mardi Gras where Jews are actually commanded to eat, drink, and be merry (and then drink some more!), we are also reminded that this is the festival of “fate.” It is a holiday of contradictions, of revelry and reflection.
During this festival, we read from the Book of Esther (and no, I don’t mean Madonna). Interestingly, G-d never appears in the book, as if G-d was hiding. Purim teaches us this concept of “hester panim,” which means hidden face of G-d. It is the idea that, although we may think we control our own lives, G-d is actually the architect of our fate—controlling events that are not always apparent. Purim is the holiday that reminds me of “that moment,” and at some point in our lives, we all experience “that moment.”
My moment arrived on a cold and late December night in 1990, as I was driving past Sacramento during finals week at UC Davis. An animal suddenly raced across the road and today, I don’t even remember what kind of animal, but being the anti-war, pro-choice, tree-hugging, whale-loving, animal rights activist that I was (and still am)—I swerved to avoid hitting it.
I lost control of my car, as it spun around twice before flipping over several times down an embankment where I landed upside-down, strapped to my seatbelt, unconscious…
All I remember was how the police told me that if my car had landed just two feet to the left, I would have slammed into an electrical column. That’s when I had my moment.
That night, I was reminded of my own mortality and how lucky I was. That was the moment when I realized, for whatever reason, that I was meant to live—or perhaps more importantly, my life was meant to be lived fully.
Since then, I have always tried to make each experience, each friendship, each day, and each moment count. Maybe that’s why I am a wild-and-crazy kind of guy.
I also believe that I was meant to live so that I could give back.
I have always been dedicated to “tikkum olam,” or repairing the world long, before I learned there was a word for it. Tikkun Olam usually comes in the form of social activism—in order to make our world a better place. Activism is in my blood. So, it’s not surprising that the two Jewish names I have chosen are “Ravid” and “Netzach.”
When I first thought about choosing a name, I wanted a unique, Hebrew name to fit my unusual personality. Ravid is Hebrew for wanderer, and I chose it because I’m the type of person who just can’t sit still. As a child, I was hyper. I had a short attention span and I always had to be doing something. Well, that’s still the case.
“Netzach” means “victory,” and my grandfather’s name was Vicente, which means victory. I chose his name to honor his memory and to honor a life filled with tikkun olam. So now, I carry both of his names because my official middle name is Tolentino, which was his last name.
During the past year-and-a-half, I chose Judaism, and in a way, Judaism chose me—as my life’s purpose continues to unfold. So, as we approach Purim with our masks, graggers (noisemakers), and alcohol in hand, I know that I will be reminded of that cold night, and that “moment” which changed everything.
I will also ponder about what brought me to the Jewish people. I will continue to reflect upon why I am here, and I will think about all the work that lies ahead in making this world better place for gays, Asians, Jews, and everyone in between…
By M., a male Conservative convert:
I didn’t want to be a Jew. This whole thing started out real simple. My wife and I started talking about raising a family. We talked about sending them to public or private school, would someone stay home or would we do the day care thing, and would we raise them with a religion. She was born Jewish. I was a very happy atheist. My belief then (and now) is that children should be raised in a faith. Something to help them with the big questions in life. Something to rebel against when they’re teenagers.
I figured that if we were going to raise the kids Jewish, I should know a little bit about it. After a quick Google search, we came across the organization Building Jewish Bridges, headed by Dawn Kepler. We found a workshop that was hosted by Netivot Shalom. The lecture focused on inter-faith families, specifically introducing the non-Jew part of the family to Judaism. It was there I met Menachem.
I know I’m not the first person to be floored by Menachem Creditor. I know I won’t be the last. That night changed my life. For the first time in my short 29 years of existence, I was introduced to a concept of God and religion that I had never known. It all felt right. Everything Menachem was saying felt like home. I wasn’t the only one who was touched- my wife had tears streaming down her face. That’s Menachem’s talent.
I didn’t sleep for three days. No, that’s not right- I couldn’t sleep for three days. I couldn’t stop mulling over what Menachem addressed that night. Concepts about a God who needs people, concepts like a God who wants to be a part of my life. No guilt. No shame. Responsibility, yes. A lifetime of learning, and more importantly, doing, yes. But no more shame.
I contacted Dawn Kepler shortly after the lecture. I told her I wanted more information about Judaism. I asked her to recommend a book. She recommended “Basic Judaism”, by Rabbi Milton Steinberg. I didn’t read the text so much as I devoured it. I took notes and made comments in the margins. I wrote down questions. I wanted more.
I emailed Menachem and asked if he would meet me for a coffee sometime, anytime. No response. I emailed him again. No response. Wow, this guy is playing hardball, I thought. My third email got a response. We were to meet at the Tully’s on Shattuck at 11:30 am. We met and it was there that I declared my desire to convert. I wanted to study under him.
For the next five months I read. I read books like “Jewish Literacy” and “Biblical Literacy” by Rabbi Joseph Telushin. I read Abraham Heschel’s “The Prophets” because Menachem suggested it during a lecture after a Sunday morning minyan. I attended Shabbat services almost every Saturday morning. None of that prepared me for what happened at my first Rosh Hashanah.
It was during the third blast of the shofar, the teruah, that I felt the presence of the Divine. I apologize for what follows: I have yet to do an adequate job of describing that moment. Time stopped. Life stopped. All I heard was the sound of the shofar and the feeling of my soul being grabbed by God. It was as if God grabbed me by my head, looked me in the eye, and made Its presence very known. I about collapsed. I was left muttering oh my god this is real oh my god this is real, oh my f***ing god this is so real.
I read more books, attended more Shabbat services. I helped build a sukkah. The more I do, the more I want to know. Once Purim arrives, I will have celebrated every Jewish holiday, even the minor ones like Tu B’shvat. My wife and I keep the Sabbath and welcome It into our lives on Friday evenings.
I have so much more to learn. I’m embarrassed by the amount of ignorance I possess. But I can say without a doubt that nothing will stop me from being the best Jew I can be. I didn’t want this when I started last March. All I wanted was a Cliff Notes understanding of Judaism, just something to get me by until the kids went to college and I could reveal myself as an atheist. Everything has changed. The future is open to more discovery. Thank God.
For more stories, usually in concert with specific questions, go to our Becoming Jewish Blog.
