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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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The post Converting to Judaism has defined my high school experience appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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Tidbits: The first director of the Polin Museum is back
Tidbits is a Forverts feature of easy news briefs in Yiddish that you can listen to or read, or both! If you read the article and don’t know a word, just click on it and the translation appears. Listen to the report here:
דער ערשטער דירעקטאָר פֿונעם „פּולין מוזיי פֿון דער געשיכטע פֿון די פּוילישע ייִדן אין וואַרשע“ — דאַריוש סטאָלאַ — איז לעצטנס ווידער באַשטימט געוואָרן ווי זײַן דירעקטאָר. אַ צאָל אָבסערוואַטאָרן האַלטן אַז דאָס איז אַ סימבאָלישער נצחון פֿאַרן ייִדישן אָנדענק אין פּוילן.
באַלד ווי דער מוזיי איז געגרינדעט געוואָרן אין 2014 האָט סטאָלאַ, ווי דער דירעקטאָר, שטאַרק באַטאָנט דעם חיובֿ פֿון פּוילן צו אָנערקענען איר פֿאַרטיליקטע ייִדישע פֿאַרגאַנגענהייט. דער געוועזענער קולטור־מיניסטער פֿון דער נאַציאָנאַליסטישער פּאַרטיי, וואָס האָט דעמאָלט געהערשט אין פּוילן, האָט אים אָבער באַשולדיקט אין „פּאָליטיזירן“ דעם מוזיי.
סטאָלאַ האָט למשל אַרויסגערופֿן פּראָטעסטן בײַ די הויכע באַאַמטע פֿון דער רעגירונג צוליב אַן אויסשטעלונג אין 2018, וואָס האָט דאָקומענטירט דער רעגירונגס אַנטיסעמיטישע קאַמפּאַניע אין 1968, וואָס האָט פֿאַרטריבן ייִדן פֿון זייערע שטעלעס און געצוווּנגען בערך 13,000 פֿון זיי צו פֿאַרלאָזן דאָס לאַנד.
הגם סטאָלאַ האָט דעמאָלט געוווּנען אַ קאָנקורס צו פֿאַרלענגערן זײַן קאַדענץ האָט דער קולטור־מיניסטער אים פֿאַרטריבן פֿונעם פּאָסטן.
מיט אַ יאָר פֿריִער, אין 2018, האָט פּוילן דורכגעפֿירט אַ געזעץ, וואָס פֿאַרווערט דאָס באַשולדיקן פּוילן אָדער די פּאָלאַקן אין קאָלאַבאָרירן מיט די דײַטשן. שפּעטער האָט מען עס געביטן פֿון אַ פֿאַרברעכן וואָס דראָט זיצן אין תּפֿיסה אויף בלויז אַ ציווילער געזעץ־ברעכונג. קריטיקער טענהן אַז דער גאַנצער ענין האָט אָבער שטאַרק געשטערט דעם געביט פֿון פֿאָרשן די געשיכטע.
איצט איז סטאָלאַ ווידער באַשטימט געוואָרן ווי דער דירעקטאָר פֿונעם מוזיי דורך דער קולטור־דירעקטאָרין פֿון דער הײַנטיקער צענטריסטישער רעגירונג, מאַרטאַ טשענקאָווסקאַ. רעדנדיק צו סטאָלאַן האָט זי דערקלערט: „אין 2019 האָט דער מיניסטער פּיאָטער גלינסקי באַשלאָסן צו איגנאָרירן די רעזולטאַטן פֿונעם קאָנקורס. מע האָט אײַך דעמאָלט, מיט זעקס יאָר צוריק, געדאַרפֿט באַשטימען פֿאַר דעם אַמט. טײַערער פּראָפֿעסאָר, זאָל זײַן מיט מיט מזל!“
סטאָלאַ האָט זי באַדאַנקט און געזאָגט: „די מיסיע פֿונעם מוזיי איז נאָך וויכטיקער הײַנט צוליב די פֿינצטערע כּוחות וואָס פֿאַרקרימען דעם אָנדענק פֿון דער פּויליש־ייִדישער פֿאַרגאַנגענהייט.“
צו זען דעם אַרטיקל אויף ענגליש, גיט אַ קוועטש דאָ.
To see the article in English, click here.
The post Tidbits: The first director of the Polin Museum is back appeared first on The Forward.
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Assault of Hebrew-speaking Israelis in San Jose, Calif., spurs outcry and investigation
(JTA) — Jewish leaders in California are condemning an assault of Hebrew-speaking Israelis outside a San Jose cafe on Sunday that has sparked viral video and a police investigation.
J. The Jewish News of Northern California obtained multiple videos of the assault and its immediate aftermath and spoke to the Israeli men, who said the two groups had not interacted before the incident. One of them said he recalled hearing one of the assailants say “f—ing Jew” during the attack.
The videos show three men punching an older man as diners look on, some shouting but none intervening. One of the assailants loses his shoe and retrieves it before he and the other two men with him run off along Santana Row, a thoroughfare lined by outdoor dining. The videos do not show what happened immediately before the assault began.
The J. also spoke to multiple witnesses, including a retail worker whose parents were born in Iran and said he heard one of the assailants speaking Farsi, the language spoken there.
The incident comes at a time of high alert for Israelis and Jews because of the U.S-Israel war on Iran, which has a record of staging attacks on Jewish targets around the world. It also adds to a string of incidents, many in Europe, in which Israelis abroad say they have been assaulted because of their national identity when someone has heard them speaking Hebrew.
Police in San Jose say they are investigating the incident as a possible hate crime. No arrests have yet been announced.
“Antisemitism and all acts of hatred have no place in San Jose,” Mayor Matt Mahan said in a statement. “I have been in touch with our police department and leaders in the local Jewish community regarding this deeply disturbing incident and will continue to monitor the situation closely as the investigation continues.”
Jewish Silicon Valley, a nonprofit serving the region, said it was working with a range of local groups and officials to respond to the incident, including Chabad of Almaden, where the Israeli men said they first met; the Israeli consulate; and County of Santa Clara District Attorney Jeff Rosen, whose online biography also notes that he has also been the president of his local synagogue.
“Unfortunately, we are ready for these types of moments,” Jewish Silicon Valley said in a message to constituents. “Our longstanding relationships with law enforcement and elected officials allow us to mobilize immediately in moments of crisis.”
The post Assault of Hebrew-speaking Israelis in San Jose, Calif., spurs outcry and investigation appeared first on The Forward.
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Workplaces open, schools remain shut — and Israeli parents pull out their hair over wartime Zoom classes
(JTA) — TEL AVIV — When news broke that Israel might gradually reopen schools in areas considered safe enough, Yael Daniel, a mother in Bat Yam in the missile-hit center of the country, joked that she was “moving north.”
The war has shut schools and pushed children onto Zoom learning while many parents, like Daniel, keep working. Trying to supervise remote lessons for her three children, ages 6 to 8, who have attention difficulties, while holding down a full-time job has turned each day into “a nightmare,” she said.
“These are kids that need to be in a serious routine, and they’re not, and it’s really hard. I’m suffering,” she said.
The strain intensified after the IDF’s Home Front Command allowed workplaces to reopen last week under updated wartime guidelines, even as the education system remained closed.
Israeli actress and mother of two Meshi Kleinstein was one of many parents who took to social media as the decision drew anger and disbelief. “What a delusional country. Who looks after the children when the parents return to work?” she said on Instagram.
In response to the outcry, Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich announced Sunday that one parent in households with children under 14 would be allowed to take unpaid leave while the education system remains shut.
The move prompted further backlash from parents who say it effectively forces families to choose between supervising children at home and losing income.
And for some, like Zehavit, who was speaking from a bomb shelter during a siren in the central city of Jaffa, it didn’t make sense. “Just because my child is 14, does that automatically mean he’s fine to be alone and run to the shelter by himself in the event of a siren?”
Outside the shelter, another mother, Renana, said the arrangement has forced her to reorganize her workday around her son’s online classes.
“I have one child in first grade. Since the Zoom classes started I work less because he uses my computer,” she said.
“He has three consecutive hours with different teachers and I need to sit next to him so he can communicate with them, which means I’m listening to the whole lesson and not working.”
Claire Bloom Moradian spends her days shuffling her children between school Zooms, extracurricular Zooms and playdates just to approximate a routine. “It’s just chaos, I’m absolutely exhausted,” she said.
In a Facebook post, Rachel Sharansky Danziger recounted that the return to Zoom after Oct. 7 was “the straw that broke the camel’s back,” leaving her so overwhelmed that she called a mental health hotline at the time, unable to understand why “all the death, the kidnappings, the horror” had not broken her, but remote learning did.
Zoom had revived the helplessness of the Covid years, she said, with too few devices, constant technical glitches and children yelling that nothing was working — all against a backdrop of dread about what might be looming outside the apartment doors.
“I can be strong,” she had told the woman on the other end of the helpline. “I can be positive and supportive and encouraging and manage myself and the domestic and social arena around me with precision and strength and awareness of the needs of those around me. But I can’t do all of this while trying to solve dozens of technological problems every morning.”
Education Minister Yoav Kisch said on Monday morning that he is examining a gradual reopening of schools using a color-coded system, with institutions expected to resume first in areas classified as “yellow,” meaning places where security conditions and access to protected spaces would allow limited in-person learning, with parents responsible for getting children to school.
About 40% of Israeli schools cannot offer all of their students access to bomb shelters if a siren sounds, according to data released this week.
Kisch’s terminology was another reminder of the pandemic-era, in which cities were ranked by color according to infection levels, with tighter restrictions in “red” areas. On social media, some parents greeted Kisch’s proposal with weary sarcasm. “Ah, yes, the color chart. Because that went so well the first time,” one person tweeted in response.
Municipal leaders were divided over whether to implement Kisch’s plan. Haifa Mayor Yona Yahav said the city would keep schools closed for now, saying he had “no intention of endangering students, drivers, and teaching staff,” as officials weighed the risks of transporting children during ongoing alerts. Others signaled they would move ahead. Roy Levy, mayor of nearby Nesher, said schools would reopen in line with Home Front Command guidelines, calling a return to classrooms “an emotional and social need.” Jerusalem Mayor Moshe Lion also said he would partially reopen the city’s education system, citing the need for “a routine, an educational framework and meetings with friends and teachers.”
But by Monday evening, Kisch was forced to backpedal after the IDF’s Home Front Command said that wartime restrictions would stay in effect across the country, keeping schools shut for now. A limited reopening may be attempted again starting next week — or not.
In one of the darkest incidents to emerge from Israel’s forced return to Zoom schooling, a teacher in Jerusalem was attacked by her partner in front of her students during an online lesson. He struck her in the head and smashed objects in their home before being arrested, later telling investigators he had acted out of “feelings of jealousy.”
Reports of domestic violence in Israel tend to rise during periods of war and home confinement. Data compiled after Oct. 7 showed a 28% increase in calls to Israel’s welfare ministry hotline related to domestic violence, sexual abuse and child neglect during the first months of the war.
Not everyone viewed Zoom as futile. Nataly Peleg, a first-grade teacher, said the classes are less about academics than about giving children a welcome distraction — even if she does not compel her own children to join theirs.
“It’s not so much whether they learn or not,” she said. “It’s about being together for a bit and focusing on something that isn’t the sirens and the surreal situations around us.”
Some children find the classes comforting, she said, while others are simply waiting for them to end or do not join at all. Still, she said, many parents have told her they appreciate the effort. “If even a handful of kids feel a bit better, it’s worth it,” she said.
Daniel, for her part, is trying to keep things in perspective. Despite feeling “super overwhelmed,” she said she is thankful her family is safe.
“Things could always be worse,” she said. “I’m just grateful we are all OK.”
In her post, Danziger said she was passing on the advice the hotline counselor had given her more than two and a half years ago.
“Don’t. Don’t let distance learning control you,” she said, adding that “nothing terrible would happen if your kids don’t join some of the Zooms — or, to be honest, all of them.”
While “we parents may not be bombing Tehran or deciphering nuclear secrets right now,” she wrote, “the responsibility for our children’s education and the functioning of our homes is still in our hands.”
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