Recently, I met with my rabbi to talk about the conversion process and where I am in regards to ‘becoming' Jewish.    I have some issues with the notion of ‘conversion':   it implies change from one thing to another, and I don't feel I'm changing my spirituality so much as I'm affirming it.   It so happens that my line of spiritual reasoning resonates with the Jewish faith; hence, I claim it as my own.

But there are things I like about the process.   I like that fact that I can't simply say “Hey, I've seen the light!   I'm a Jew!”   I must study, learn and practice before being welcomed as a full member of the community, and I respect this.   Coming from the Deep South, where ‘born-again' exuberance plays a consistent role in the culture, any type of instant zealotry makes me nervous.   Spirituality is at the core of who I am; anything less than careful, critical examination of my beliefs would be doing a disservice to both myself and the community supporting me.    I also understand the historical necessity of a certain healthy cautiousness in embracing new members of a community.

During our discussion, something my rabbi mentioned stayed with me long after I left.   In fact, I've thought almost daily about his words since that time a month ago.   He talked about his responsibility (among many in this process) to make sure that conversion was a safe, healthy thing for the student.   This fascinated me, and he went on to elaborate that many times people come to a new place in their spirituality seeking the 'Answer.'   They find a faith that seems to give them this Answer and they plunge forward without pausing for necessary critical evaluation.   The notion of conversion being the Answer to all of life's difficulties suggests to him that the student need slow down and reconsider where s/he is coming from.

I respect this philosophy at the deepest level.   My numerous experiences of “stand up and be saved” under revival tents stood as a pointed contrast to what my rabbi was saying to me.   I knew that Judaism traditionally did not proselytize.   I knew that, traditionally, a rabbi should refuse a potential convert three times before accepting s/he into studies.   I wasn't sure what I was supposed to learn during my own period of study and exploration, but I had misgivings that carried over from my past.   I feared that I must recognize Judaism as the one True faith, or some derivative of that idea.   I feared that I would have to accept the things I find most troubling, that once I ‘became' a Jew, my period of questioning must cease.   I knew, intellectually, that this was completely unfounded, yet one's ghosts linger even in the most rational of spaces.

Yet here was my rabbi telling me that it was his responsibility to ensure that I was healthy and balanced with my decision, that I was questioning and wrestling with difficult issues.   He wanted exactly the opposite of what was asked of me in the revival tents.   Again, intellectually, this came as no surprise… I never would continued this path had I expected anything to the contrary.   But having it confirmed in a way that truly valued my participation in a community was compelling.   He probably didn't know it at the time, but at that moment my trust was earned.

Since that conversation, I've thought a great deal about this journey I have undertaken.   Where am I coming from?   What motivates me to follow this road?   In the past several years, I've faced personal demons of the type that send many people to the ‘born-again' mentality (and this is not to say there is anything inherently wrong with that philosophy; it simply isn't right for me). Currently, I'm struggling with some very deep, personal issues.   Are these struggles affecting my decisions?   I don't want to reach out from a space where my judgment is clouded or vulnerable. The very thought makes me hesitate and re-examine myself. I've been dancing around the question of why I'm choosing Judaism, only half-articulating reasons and justifying it with the explanation that I need time to explore.   Perhaps I do, but it's time to dig a bit deeper, I think.   Over the past few weeks, I've found myself asking internal questions and trying to answer them.   Some things need to be articulated more clearly, thought out more cohesively, but I'm feeling more and more confident about my choices.   Here's a brief summary of the Q&A I've given myself.  

Do I see the Answer in Judaism? No.   Since I'm being honest with myself, I have to say that I'd like to find some answers… but I don't think I will.   What I have found is a framework in which to seek my own answers, knowing full well that the ‘a' is never capitalized, that my answers may change as I uncover more questions.   I believe that Judaism, like any ism, has great potential for both benefit and destruction, and I think the world has seen both.

Why would I choose to become part of a people that has been oppressed in horrific ways throughout history?   Anti-Semitism is alive and well today; why subject myself to even more discrimination? When I think about that question, I consider my own experience as an ‘out' lesbian in less welcoming environments than Eugene, Oregon.   I've been fired for my sexuality, run down in the streets, threatened numerous times and subject to a constant, underlying societal disapproval for what is an intrinsic part of my being.   I've feared, without hyperbole, for my life.   Why would I choose to add to the list of discriminations I face every day?   And why choose a faith in which certain groups very vocally oppose LGBTQ equality?   And I guess my answer is that I am who I am.    I didn't ‘choose' to be queer, and from a certain perspective, I'm not choosing to ‘become' Jewish.   What I'm choosing is a method of expressing what is already a part of me.    I chose to come out of the closet after many, many painful years suppressing my self, and now I choose to affirm who I am spiritually.   My sexuality and my spirituality are innate parts of my being, both complex weavings of enculturation and natural development.  

Do I merely identify with my nice little synagogue, tucked away in liberal little Eugene, Oregon? No.   I need my community here, because without them, I never would have felt comfortable enough to, ahem, ‘come out.'   But I also have deeply personal reactions to debate in the larger realm: what does it mean to be keep kosher in today's society?   What's the best way to observe the Sabbath?   What of the thorny issues surrounding the existence and behavior of the state of Israel, so conflicting and difficult that I can't even begin to broach the topic here?   These are concepts in which I have a personal, vested interest, every bit as much as my investment in same-sex marriage or my legal status of relation to my unborn son who is being carried by my partner.

Am I, in fact, reaching from a state of vulnerability because of my own personal struggles right now?   Am I making a rational, well thought out decision? This one is harder, because it involves a level of self-inspection that requires such brutal honesty.   It is so easy to deceive the self.   So I've been taking a hard, hard look at my motivations and I believe I am coming from a solid mental space.   I think that when I am struggling the most is when I actually pull away, not rush forward.   There have been times, after difficult days that I elected not to attend services because I did not wish to find comfort there.   I felt it necessary to find it in myself first.  

Am I reacting against my upbringing?   Is this some type of rebellion against my fundamentalist Christian roots? Again, another tough one because of the level of self-candor required.   I think, at some point, I could have gone this route out of rebelliousness, but that moment was 24 years ago.   But, even though I was angry enough then, I was too skeptical and too wary of any organized religion, much less one with the same roots as what I had rejected so vehemently years previous.   Now?   No.   This question has troubled me since I started attending services a year ago and I'm confident I can put it to rest.   There's no rebellion against or malice for Christianity.   My experiences were negative, yes, but only represent a miniscule and militant group of adherents to a vast, complicated faith.   While I still have very specific issues regarding the nature of G-d and man that stem from my formative years, I am not acting in reaction to that time in my life.

So what are my motivations? There are two parts to this.   Part one is fairly clear cut.   I believe in Tikkun Olam.    I believe we have a responsibility to protect and nurture the world we have been blessed to live upon.   I believe in the singularity of G-d (a singularity born of plurality, a multifaceted Oneness).   I see great value and have always taken tremendous personal interest in the Jewish narrative of exodus and return and what that holds for us, ALL of us, as a people of the world.    I connect to the value applied to education and learning-- and the knowledge that, after all that study and learning, there are always going to be things we just don't understand.   I take pride in my status as a G-d wrestler, for, Jew or not, that is who I am.   I ask questions and often only get more questions in response.   And damn it, I just LOVE that.

Now for part 2.   This is where I get nervous, skittish.   There are certain attractions to Judaism I can't explain, which makes me uneasy.   For example, how do I know these songs when I've never heard them before?   Why does the divide between Hebrew and English seem a diaphanous veil just on the edge of lifting?   Why do I really, deeply, innately feel that my soul has been around enough to have been Jewish some time before now?    What rational mind could possibly think that?    Yet, despite my cynicism, I do believe certain things happen we don't always understand, or, for that matter, were never meant to understand.   I do believe in the mystery.   Still, I worry about these ‘intangibles.'   To what extent am I making decisions based on them, and, at what point does it become problematic, if at all?   I'm not sure I know the answer to this.   These connections that exist beyond my comprehension are at once disconcerting and comforting, and I think them necessary to my experience.

So why Judaism and not Christianity?   Both derive from similar roots.   Why don't I join a liberal Christian church instead of a liberal Jewish synagogue? Well, I never bought the whole Son of God narrative, which does sort of defeat the point of being a Christian.   I'm not being flippant.   I think that narratives hold tremendous value… we forge civilizations upon them, destroy and rebuild, govern and oppress all around grand narratives.   So, while I believe Jesus was probably a really groovy guy with lots of great teachings to impart (that we would all be better served to listen to more closely), I do not believe he is the Messiah.   In fact, I don't believe in a single person who will ‘save' the world.   I believe we are ‘all' responsible for that task, and when we reach out, accept that responsibility and use our collective wits to usher in an era of peace, then that will be Messianic .   I also don't believe that faith alone seals the contract with G-d.   I believe we must act in accordance with our faith, which, to me, means the ‘here and now' is more important than the ‘hereafter.'

So, do I believe Judaism is flawless?   No.    There are some things I'm just not down with at all.   I really struggled with Pesach and truly felt alone for the first time since adopting the synagogue into my community.   I felt unreconciled with the narrative surrounding the freedom we were celebrating.   While I know the reconstructionist view doesn't hold the torah literally, it bothered me that there wasn't discussion of the horrible events surrounding the escape from bondage.   Perhaps it was old hat, perhaps everyone already knew what I needed to really discuss.   Perhaps because I have experienced so much oppression from folks who ‘do' view the text literally, I had more need to ruminate on what, exactly, it means to have the central story of freedom drenched in the blood of others.   Were the writers responding from a position of deepest hurt, anger and a need for vindication? Was it politically motivated?   Was it a clever device to make G-d fallible… that S/He did a good thing (relinquishing the bonds that held us to Egypt) in a bad way?    In fact, almost all of the bloody episodes in the liturgy can be asked the same questions… it just strikes me as poignant and provocative that one of the greatest moments in our narrative is intrinsically intertwined with such a darkness as well.   I felt frustrated at the focus on removing chametz from the home, not understanding why, on a day ripe with social justice issues, people were futzing about with bread crumbs under the stove.   Yet, I blame only myself for my perceived isolation, as I spoke to only a few members of the community, didn't want to bother the rabbis with my ignorance, and felt so bummed and confused about the whole thing that I skipped the community seder, which probably would have resituated my perspective more positively had I gone.

Nonetheless, there are many things I struggle with; some specific, like the above example, and some more systemic, like aforementioned concerns with racism, sexism and homophobia.  

I don't want perfection.   I want something that reflects humanity, and we are imperfect creatures (humans and G-d both).   I believe we need G-d, and I believe that G-d needs us; should one be removed from the equation then the other would cease to be.   I feel that Judaism, in all the necessary imperfections, best fits that model for me.   So there are many things I struggle with, and I think I will struggle with them for years, possibly the rest of my days.   I hope so, because the struggle is critical for me.   Without it, there is no growth, and, to my vantage, no point.

Oh.   One more struggle.   Gefilte fish?   No way, I'm not touching that stuff.