Fernie's Jewish Journey
I converted! Huzzah!
When I tell people I am converting to Judaism, sometimes they assume I’m only doing it because my fiancé is Jewish. Sure, Max introduced me to Judaism. Before I met Max, I didn't even know what Shabbat was! Literally. Our first date was on a Friday night (and no mention of this whole Shabbat thing from Max). It was the perfect date. Sunset picnic on the beach with our dogs! Kiss in the Pacific Ocean! Talking! Laughing! We even ended the night making mosaic crafts in his living room! And no, that’s not an innuendo for sex. We really did make these adorable mosaic crafts! This is my person! I found my person!
So, I was surprised the next morning when my person… did not text me? What? Weird!
Hm.
Okay.
I guess I’ll text him!?
Yes!
I’ll text him!
That’s fine!
I spent a LONG time drafting the perfect text. (“Thanks for such a fun night! How are the mosaics looking?”)
Okay.
Send.
Ten minutes passed.
Nothing.
An hour.
Still nothing.
Two hours.
Stay calm.
Four hours.
SHOULD I NOT HAVE ASKED ABOUT THE MOSAICS?!?!?!
Eight hours.
IS HE DEAD?!?!?!?!
Well.
No.
I discovered the next morning that Max was just enjoying his relaxing, phone-free “Shabbat.” I, of course, could not say the same for myself.
…
Anyway, as my relationship with Max started to blossom, so did my relationship with Judaism. First, I started lighting Shabbat candles, baking challah, and participating in some holidays. “Baking” and “enjoyment” are not words I typically group in the same sentence, but challah and I clicked. I’ve turned to baking challah when I’ve been sad, and it makes me feel better because it makes me feel productive and relaxed at the same time. And as a hurried person who often thinks she can complete everything in about 17 minutes, I cannot rush challah.
As a kid growing up in Nashville, I hardly knew anything about what it meant to be Jewish. But I did assume these people must be incredibly deprived because they didn’t get to celebrate Christmas. Then, on my trip to Israel a couple of years ago, it dawned on me that Jews… literally celebrate a major holiday… once a week! In Jerusalem, I adored how buzzy the Mehane Yehuda market felt every Friday afternoon, like the grocery store during Thanksgiving! People filling baskets and carts with challah and vegetables and all sorts of fun things to cook and bake with their friends and family. It was so cool!
I spent nearly three weeks traveling in Israel and learning all about Jewish culture. Slowly, I began to realize Judaism wasn’t something I just wanted to observe—it was something I wanted to be. Judaism filled me with a warmth and comfort and idea of routine that I did not have growing up. The more I explored, the more it surprised me that more people wouldn’t want to be Jewish. I found a rabbi, and the next thing I knew, I was signing up for Jewish classes for a whole year. I remember RUSHING to sign up for the class. What if it fills up?!!! (I don’t think ‘Intro to Judaism’ is going to fill up, Fernie. Max admitted.)
I learned so much in Jewish class. I liked that we started our learning with a blessing over our studies because studying and learning is a sacred act. I like that being Jewish doesn’t necessarily require a belief in G*d, that there are so many ways to think about G*d, and it is normal to question and doubt G*d. I like how there is less focus on the “afterlife” and more focus on how to do a good job with my current (…likely WAY more stressful) one. I like how primal Judaism feels – blowing animal horns to mark holidays and lighting candles and saying the Shema and kneading dough. I like how Judaism revolves around questions. The answer to a question was usually just another question! To me, it didn’t feel like we were trying to make life “certain,” we were figuring out ways to live with the fact that it never would be.
I’ve always been incredibly independent and didn’t grow up religious. My family bounced around to churches when I was little, but we never stayed. And the most emotional part of church for me was often sobbing in the parking lot – begging to not go inside. I went to Catholic high school, but I was a small percent of the school who was non-Catholic. So, during the communion part of all-school mass, I’d clomp down the gym’s bleacher steps in my plaid skirt, stand in front of Father John, and cross my arms in front of my chest in the shape of an X to receive a blessing. This “X” is a solid representation of how I often felt about religion and groups and community: everyone is over there, and I am over here, on the other side of my X. Separate!
I also grew up in an addictive household. My mom was my best friend. But as I grew, the addiction inside her did, too. It was incredibly painful and confusing to watch the person closest to me suffer, never get sober, never admit to her problems, and hide away alone with them, never able to show her (very human) flaws to anyone for fear of looking anything less than perfect. It’s known that when you grow up in a house with addiction, you sponge up many of the addict's habits, even if you don’t get the substance abuse part. My mom couldn’t teach me how to be a grown-up woman because her addiction prevented her from being one herself. Today, it can feel really hard to trust people and follow through on my relationships, to show myself as anything less than “perfect.” It’s also terrifying to commit to things. I’m always scared people won’t accept me or won’t show up! Part of me often wants to have everything figured out before I do the thing, before I put myself in front of people. Now, I’m learning that I need other people to help figure things out.
In Jewish class, we talked about how Judaism is a religion of doing. In Catholic school, it felt like they told us that because we believe in X, we must do Y! In Judaism, it feels like you do Y and then see what it makes you believe about X?
Of course, I have some uncertainties when I think about converting. Will I feel like I belong? Will I be good enough? Will I ever not be confused when flipping through the siddur? Will people accept me? When I announce that I am Jewish on Instagram, will people say hateful things to me? Will I be safe as a Jew? Will I ever relax on Shabbat and have an easy-going dinner that I enjoyed cooking all day, where people just come over and hang out and read and talk and I don't panic about cleaning, entertaining, or having the perfect new outfit and napkins and decor? Will we have a Jewish family? Will anyone ever know how little I know about the Hebrew alphabet?
Well, I don’t know. But I do know that when I light candles on Shabbat, when I cook Shabbat dinner, when I go to synagogue and do Jewish things and say Jewish prayers and meet other Jewish people, I feel this X over my chest defrosting a little bit. I feel a warmth that I craved for so long growing up. I feel comfort in some attempt at routine—that no matter what horrible thing happens in the week or how busy I am, there are always people somewhere continuing to say the Shema and lighting candles and doing the weekly Torah reading and going to synagogue to carry on these traditions and words that have been carried on for thousands of years and have survived so much. And no matter where I am, I can do this, too. So, here I am. Doing it! Huzzah!