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Converting to Judaism has defined my high school experience
This article was produced as part of JTA’s Teen Journalism Fellowship, a program that works with Jewish teens around the world to report on issues that affect their lives.
(JTA) — During the pandemic, my mom decided to start baking; my friend Reagan learned Osage, a Native American language; my brother taught himself how to skateboard.
I decided to channel my free time and energy into converting to Judaism.
Growing up in the Bible Belt, I was only ever exposed to Christian theology. Almost everyone around me was a Baptist. Although my parents intentionally raised my brother and me without a focus on religion, I grew up going to Christian preschool, Christian summer camps, and being surrounded by other Christians–just because there weren’t other options. While this wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, I always knew that Christianity wasn’t right for me.
At first, the idea of eternal life and an all-knowing God provided comfort, but as I got older I started to feel disconnected from Christianity. Concepts like the Holy Trinity never made sense to me, and by age 12 I thought I had given up on religion entirely.
I first started looking into Judaism towards the end of 2020. I’m not really sure what led me to this; I just stumbled upon it and found that its emphasis on making the ordinary holy, repairing the world, and the pursuit of knowledge was a perfect fit for my already existing beliefs. My parents were a little bit shocked but ultimately supportive when I told them that I wanted to convert. My mom’s main concern was that I would become the target of antisemitism. “I’m happy for you and try not to think about the what-ifs,” she said while driving me to the Jewish community center so that I could board the bus headed to the BBYO Jewish youth group’s International Convention.
In the spring of 2021, I emailed the rabbi at a local synagogue about my potential conversion. During our first conversation, he asked me if I’d heard about the custom of rabbis turning away potential candidates three times. I told him I had, but that if he turned me away I would just keep coming back. After the meeting, I signed up for conversion classes and started attending services regularly — and I wasn’t alone.
According to a 2021 Tablet survey, 43% of American rabbis are seeing more conversion candidates than before. The reasons for conversion are diverse. Some candidates fell down an internet rabbit hole that led to a passion for Judaism. Others took an ancestry test and wanted to reconnect with their Jewish heritage. Many were raised as Reform Jews but weren’t Jewish according to stricter halachic, or Jewish legal, standards and decided to convert under Conservative or Orthodox auspices. Despite the common stereotype that Jews by choice must be converting for the sake of marriage, many rabbis said that converts are less likely than ever to be converting for a Jewish partner.
After meeting with a rabbi about the potential conversion, candidates are expected to learn everything they can about Judaism. In my case, that meant 21 weeks of hour-long, weekly conversion classes in addition to independent study on Jewish mysticism, traditions, and ideas. Candidates are also expected to become active members of their local Jewish community and attend services regularly.
Once the candidate and the rabbi feel they are ready to convert, a beit din, or a court usually made up of three rabbis, is assembled. They will conduct an interview, asking the candidate about what brought them to Judaism and basic questions about what was taught during conversion classes. When the beit din has guaranteed that the candidate genuinely wants to convert, the candidate immerses in the mikveh, a pool used for ritual purification. After submerging in the mikveh, the convert is considered to be officially Jewish and is typically called up for an aliyah, ascending the platform where the Torah is read.
According to Rabbi Darah Lerner, who served in Bangor, Maine before her retirement last year, the main difference between teens converting alone and teens converting with their family is the parental approval that’s needed, but otherwise the process is very similar. “I treated them pretty much as I did with adults,” she said. For me, the only parental approval needed was my mom telling my rabbi that she and my dad were fine with me starting the conversion process. She also noted that it was easier for teens to integrate into the Jewish community because people were excited to see young people interested in Judaism.
A mikveh, like this one at Mayyim Hayyim outside of Boston, is a ritual pool where Jews by choice immerse as part of the conversion process. (Courtesy Mayyim Hayyim)
She said that the Jewish community gave the teens a place where they could ask questions and not be shut down. “If they have a pushback, or a curiosity, or a problem we allow them to ask it and we give them real answers or resources,” she said.
“I feel extremely privileged when youth come to me with these questions and these desires,” Rabbi Rachael Jackson, from Hendersonville, North Carolina. Jackson has worked with three teens in the conversion process over the past two years. Like Lerner, she doesn’t require teens to wait until they turn 18 to begin the conversion process. However, it’s not unusual for rabbis to recommend that teens wait until they turn 18 to begin their conversion.
My conversion process has defined my high school experience. I’ve been able to connect with other Jews at my school through BBYO, which has helped me find a community at school and meet people who I might not have met otherwise. Although it’s made me feel farther from the Christian community I was once a part of, Judaism has given me spiritual fulfillment, a love for Israel, and a sense of community — both in my synagogue and my BBYO chapter.
Others who have gone through the process feel much the same way. “I wouldn’t even recognize myself,” said Haven Lail, 17, from Hickory, North Carolina. “My whole personality is based on being Jewish. That’s what I love.” Adopted into a Jewish family at age 12, Lail felt drawn to Judaism because of the loving and accepting community she found.
Raised as a nondenominational Christian, Lail attended church regularly with her biological parents, but not for the religious aspect. “It was all hellfire and brimstone,” she said. Neglected by her birth parents, she only went to church because she knew there would be food there.
Lail started the conversion process at age 12 through a Hebrew high school, and four years later, she submerged in the mikveh and signed a certificate finalizing her conversion. The process was simple, but she was shocked that so few Jews knew about the conversion process. “It was a little weird,” she said.
The Talmud says that because “the Jewish people were themselves strangers, they are not in a position to demean a convert because he is a stranger in their midst.” However, it isn’t uncommon for converts to feel alienated from the rest of the Jewish community. “There’s this fear of going to college and still being othered because you still won’t quite fit in with the people who have been raised Jewish,” said one high school senior from North Carolina.
He was shocked by how alienated he felt after making his conversion public, and wanted to stay anonymous because he worries that once people find out that he converted, they’ll see him differently. “I didn’t ever really explain it to anybody except for the people really close to me,” he said. But after his rabbi called him up for an aliyah — a blessing recited during the reading of the Torah — one woman from the congregation began to bring it up to him every time she saw him. “People don’t realize that it can be a touchy thing and very, very othering,” he said.
I usually don’t mind personal questions about my conversion, but asking someone why they converted or pointing out that someone is a convert is frowned upon by Jewish law. I used to feel like everyone could tell that I wasn’t raised Jewish, but after one of my BBYO advisors thought that my conversion was just a rumor and couldn’t believe that it was true, I realized that wasn’t the case.
All of my friends and peers who were raised Jewish have memories of Jewish summer camps, Shabbat dinners with family, and a lifetime of other experiences. I often struggle with not feeling “Jewish enough” or like I missed out, especially because so many Jewish customs revolve around the home and family. My parents will often come with me to Shabbat services, but don’t participate in Jewish customs or celebrate Jewish holidays with me. “Anything that is a ritual in the home, they don’t really have the ability to have that autonomy,” said Rabbi Rachael Jackson of Agudas Israel Congregation in Hendersonville, North Carolina.
Grace Hamilton, a student at Muskingum University in New Concord, Ohio, has struggled with imposter syndrome during her conversion. Ever since she started college, she’s been questioning her place in the Jewish community and hasn’t been practicing Judaism as much as she used to. “I haven’t prayed in a really long time,” she said. She used to tell herself that once she finalized her conversion she would finally feel Jewish enough, but after a conversation with her rabbi, she realized that wasn’t the case.
According to Rabbi Rochelle Tulik at Temple B’rith Kodesh in Rochester, New York, many converts feel like they will never be Jewish enough. “That, no matter how hard they try, how many books they read or put on their shelves, no matter how often they come to services, or how many menorahs they light, somehow they’ll be caught,” she said in a Rosh Hashanah sermon she named “You Are Not an Imposter.”
Despite the struggles that many converts face, others like Rabbi Natasha Mann, who now serves as a rabbi at New London Synagogue in England, immediately felt at home within the Jewish community. “I felt like people were excited to have me there and wanted to hear what I had to say,” she said. After a family member mentioned that she might have Jewish ancestry, Mann began exploring out of curiosity. “I started looking into it, just because I felt that it was another piece of the puzzle,” she said.
Coming from an interreligious and intercultural family, she wanted to explore another aspect of her heritage, but ended up connecting with Judaism in a way that she hadn’t connected with any other religion. After two years of study, she decided to officially start her conversion process.
The Jewish community gave Mann a place where her ideas were taken seriously and she could have religious discussions, even as a teen. “I don’t know what my life would have looked like if I hadn’t found somewhere to really express and delve into that,” she said. “And luckily, I never have to.”
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How Social Media Got Hamas Casualty Figures Wrong
A Palestinian man points a weapon in the air after it was announced that Israel and Hamas agreed on the first phase of a Gaza ceasefire, in the central Gaza Strip, October 9. Photo: REUTERS/Mahmoud Issa
As the Israel-Hamas ceasefire continues to hold, many analysts have begun examining available data to better understand Hamas’ casualties throughout the war. This is no easy feat, considering Hamas has consistently lied and inflated the civilian casualty figures. The reality of urban warfare provides other challenges for the IDF to count every eliminated terrorist.
Varying numbers regarding Hamas’ casualty figures have been recently touted on social media. But many of them lack sources, or a breakdown of the statistics.
Conversely, some analysts, such as HonestReporting board member Salo Aizenberg, have done an exceptional job at critically analyzing the available casualty numbers.
The Hamas-run Ministry of Health has reported over 70,000 deaths in Gaza, including civilians.
But closer examination of these numbers displays that it also includes an estimated 22,000-25,000 Hamas fighters, around 11,000 natural deaths, and 4,000 casualties caused by internal fighting amongst Gazans. With 1,000 deaths attributed to reporting errors, this suggests that 25,000 casualties were terrorists, and 36,000 were civilians.
One suggestion that has gained momentum on social media suggests that the actual number of Hamas casualties is double this number, at 50,000 combatant deaths.
However, pre-war estimates by the IDF suggest that Hamas had 35,000 combatants. US estimates believe that Hamas recruited 10,000-15,000 new combatants throughout the war. This means that if the IDF had killed 50,000 Hamas terrorists, there would be virtually no Hamas terrorists left — an analysis that is unfortunately not accurate.
Hamas had an estimated 50K combatants during the war (35K pre-war + 15K recruits). It is thus impossible that 50K have been killed. The best estimate remains about 25K combatants from all groups killed. The ME24 report misinterpreted what Hamas announced. https://t.co/LID34TpYAP
— Aizenberg (@Aizenberg55) February 9, 2026
The claim of 50,000 eliminated Hamas terrorists is based on an announcement by the Hamas-run Ministry of Social Development of the start of a new program that would provide NIS 500 to the widows of Gazans killed in the war.
By February 8, 2026, payments had been made to 19,306 widows, totaling NIS 9.653 million or over three million US dollars.
This claim, which is about a new Hamas-run Ministry of Social Development program is untrue on multiple levels — on figures, characterization, and comparison with the Hamas-run Gaza Health Ministry’s death toll. Short
to explain: https://t.co/KrAYiFvvBK
— Gabriel Epstein (@GabrielEpsteinX) February 8, 2026
The Ministry of Social Development further stated that 50,000 widowed families were set to receive these benefits, implying that more than widowed wives would be receiving the payments. This is likely where some analysts misinterpreted Hamas’ statement and took it to mean that for every Hamas terrorist, one wife would receive a payment. However, this payment is not exclusively for the wives of terrorists, and not every Hamas combatant would have been married by the time of his death.
What these numbers do suggest, however, is that claims of unreported casualties are likely to be false. The ability to receive a payment for reporting a death would presumably encourage many Gazans to submit claims of being widowed.
Since the early days of the war, news outlets and influencers on social media have blindly repeated Hamas’ claim that the majority of casualties were women and children. The claim implied that the IDF was specifically targeting both groups.
Beyond this claim not being true — men of combat age account for around 46.7% of total casualties — data from the World Health Organization (WHO) displays that 603,000 children under the age of 10 were vaccinated at the beginning of 2025. This number exceeds the pre-war population of that age group, indicating that the overall population of young children has remained stable or even grown despite the war.
The WHO—not Hamas or Israel—delivered one of the most decisive Gaza war data points. It reported 603,000 children under 10 vaccinated in early 2025—MORE than the pre-war population of that age group! Every claim of excessive or undercounted fatalities collapses with this data. pic.twitter.com/HmfRJuY1zT
— Aizenberg (@Aizenberg55) January 21, 2026
With births being the same as, if not higher than, pre-war numbers, the claims of underreported casualties and casualties disproportionately targeting children fall apart. Despite this data being publicly available and offering important information about the war’s human toll, it has received no attention in media coverage, allowing the misleading child casualty narrative to persist.
These two case studies of terrorist casualty statistics and the reported number of children under 10 during the war highlight the need to analyze all available data with scrutiny. It is not enough to rely on unverified claims about casualty figures. Instead, accurate conclusions must be based on transparent analysis conducted by credible analysts who rely on publicly available data, verifiable sources, and clear methodology. Only through rigorous examination can casualty figures be properly understood, rather than simply repeated without question.
The author is a contributor to HonestReporting, a Jerusalem-based media watchdog with a focus on antisemitism and anti-Israel bias — where a version of this article first appeared.
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We Are Fighting Hate; But Are We Building Jews?
Illustrative: Pennsylvania State Sen. David Argall addressed the more than 300 Jewish-day school students, parents and administrators gathered at the State Capitol in Harrisburg. Photo: Teach PA.
The Super Bowl ad showing a Jewish boy being bullied sparked intense conversation across the Jewish community about how we are investing our resources in the fight against antisemitism, and whether we are approaching the challenge in the right way.
Rising antisemitism has understandably pushed our community into a defensive posture, with enormous resources directed toward monitoring hate, raising awareness, and responding to dangerous rhetoric. Those efforts matter. But the Super Bowl moment also raises a deeper question: if this is what Jewish vulnerability looks like on the biggest stage in America, are we investing enough in what actually makes Jewish children strong?
History shows that by itself, fighting hatred has never been enough to secure the Jewish future. A generation raised primarily to react to antisemitism risks growing up defined by fear instead of by identity. Children need more than protection from hate. They need a strong connection to their own identity and community.
The past few years have been a painful reminder that we cannot rely solely on the outside world to safeguard Jewish life. Partnerships matter, but in moments of crisis, the Jewish community is reminded that our deepest strength has always come from within. That realization is shaping a quiet but meaningful shift in where many leaders and families believe our focus must go. Less looking outward. More building inward.
Investing in Jewish education is not a retreat from the fight against antisemitism. It is a long-term strategy for ensuring that Jewish life does not decline under pressure. You know where Jewish children are not bullied for being Jewish? In Jewish schools. You know where they learn to speak confidently about their heritage, to celebrate their traditions without embarrassment, and to see their identity as a source of pride? In Jewish schools.
In strong Jewish educational environments, children do not just learn history or holidays. They have a sense of belonging. They build friendships rooted in shared identity. They encounter teachers and mentors who model what it means to live Jewishly with confidence. When they later encounter antisemitism online, on campus, or in broader culture, they face it with a foundation of knowledge and self-respect, not confusion or isolation.
Jewish day schools are among the most powerful builders of Jewish identity. These schools answer the question that defensive campaigns cannot: not only “what is antisemitism?” but, “why am I Jewish, and why does it matter?”
At Teach Coalition, this belief shapes our work every day. Teach is the only national Jewish advocacy organization focused solely on expanding access to Jewish education. We work to ensure schools have the resources they need to thrive: funding for STEM, arts and music, transportation, lunches, and critical security support. We support policies that help schools stay strong, enhance quality, and establish new ones. We also help create pathways for families who once believed Jewish education was out of reach to find a place within it.
The impact of this work shows up where it matters most: at home and across communities. Parents describe children coming back singing songs, asking thoughtful questions about the holidays, and bringing a new sense of pride to the Shabbat table. The continuity of the Jewish people relies on Jewish education, which not only shapes students but also strengthens families and builds lasting communal roots.
The Super Bowl ad reminded us how exposed a Jewish child can feel. The real answer is making sure more Jewish children grow up surrounded by confidence, community, and pride. That work is happening every day in Jewish schools, supported by educators, families, and groups such as ours, who work to keep those schools strong and accessible. This is the future worth investing in.
Sydney Altfield is CEO, Teach Coalition.
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Inclusion Isn’t About Being the Same
“Same.” That’s what the two-year-old proudly proclaims when she wanders, cloppity clop, into the kitchen wearing her mother’s good heels and expensive jewelry. It’s also what the teenager is attempting to achieve when shopping for a new outfit or schoolbag, and what the business executive might have in mind when he orders the new luxury SUV that some of his colleagues were talking about in the office lounge. We have “made it,” it seems, when we are just like everyone else. It is that innate drive to achieve sameness that all too often diverts limited resources away from helping individuals to maximize their potential while still taking note of and honoring their differences.
This drive for sameness underlies so much in life: applied behavioral analysis, corrective surgeries, even a handicap in a round of golf — it’s all about leveling the playing field. The problem, however, with chasing the unattainable, is that it is a recipe for burnout, disappointment, and existential crises.
In the world of learning disabilities, neurodivergence, genetic conditions, and a host of other differences, there is a disproportionate focus on being the “same.” While I can’t seem to put my finger on the “why,” there has certainly been an uptick, of late, of children and teens with very pronounced differences being shoe-horned into more mainstream learning environments. This happens despite the oft-mentioned idea in the world of education that we can’t “force a round peg into a square hole.” That thinking, however, is generally limited to children who exhibit mild or less overt differences. Kids who need a little something extra: extra time on a test, extra attention from the teacher or paraprofessional staff, extra recess, or extra incentives. “Don’t let their differences be the cause of their slipping between the cracks of institutionalized education and development,” goes the rationale: acknowledge their unique needs and address those needs.
But somehow, when the needs are indeed significant and overt; when the differences put their host in danger of being “othered,” then we do the opposite: we try to make them fit in, almost at all costs. Tremendous resources are invested in this group. Many of those resources are government sponsored, while others come from parents in the form of tuition or private therapies. Another significant source is philanthropic dollars. In addition to funding for these efforts, volunteerism plays a meaningful role in making “others” be “the same.”
This approach does not and cannot work. As Australian disability advocate Stella Young quipped in her viral TED talk, “No amount of smiling at a flight of stairs has ever made it turn into a ramp.” The reality is that many students with learning or developmental differences are provided significant supports and adaptations to allow them to function within parameters specifically designed for people who are not like them. Eventually and necessarily, many of those supports disappear leaving so many of these individuals lost and frustrated, as they are unprepared to engage properly and independently with a world that runs counter to their unique experience.
To be sure, there are many ways in which certain kinds of support can, should, and are appropriately maintained in what we might call the real world, but these tend to be in the form of physical accessibility. A business is mandated to provide wheelchair access, for example, and options for the hearing and visually impaired are very commonplace. But to rewire a business or society for those who experience and process it differently is virtually impossible.
Fear not: it really doesn’t have to be this way. If we engage all individuals from a place of acceptance and understanding, we can normalize not being “normal.” After all, isn’t that how teams work? The running back doesn’t have to be a lineman and there will only be one quarterback. And that’s fine. Sure, it can be uncomfortable to be different, but at the same time…does it really have to be?
A student of mine, a fellow by the name of Meir, was once asked by a group of high school girls what it is like for him to have Down Syndrome. Without missing a beat, Meir replied: “Some people are tall and some people are short, some people are fat and some people are skinny, and I have Down Syndrome.” As simple as that. Differences are just…different.
February is designated as JDAIM — Jewish Disability Awareness and Inclusion Month — specifically because February, with its 28 days (and sometimes 29), is the month that is not like the others. And that’s just fine for February. We need to realize that acceptance and inclusion doesn’t refer to fixing the “problem” or ignoring the difference. Telling or even silently suggesting to a fish that it is safe on land, would not bode well for the fish. As a matter of fact, that very thought is a fairy tale — one we know as Disney’s “The Little Mermaid.”
Rather, we all need to look differences right in the eye and welcome their uniqueness into our mostly mainstream world. We need to encourage those who are different to embrace their struggles and differences, and we need to be ready to do the same — with open arms and open minds.
Avi Ganz is the program director of the Elaine and Norm Brodsky Yeshivat Darkaynu, a division of Ohr Torah Stone, which offers a unique year-in-Israel program for young adults with special needs.

to explain:
The WHO—not Hamas or Israel—delivered one of the most decisive Gaza war data points. It reported 603,000 children under 10 vaccinated in early 2025—MORE than the pre-war population of that age group! Every claim of excessive or undercounted fatalities collapses with this data. 