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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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Survey shows half of Irish adults do not know 6 million Jews were murdered in the Holocaust
(JTA) — Half of Irish adults do not know that 6 million Jews were murdered in the Holocaust, a new survey from the Conference on Jewish Material Claims Against Germany has found.
Conducted Oct. 25 to Nov. 6, the online survey of 1,000 Irish adults also found that 8% of people in Ireland believe the Holocaust is a myth and did not happen, while 17% believe the number of Jews killed had been greatly exaggerated.
The survey adds to a country-by-country series by the Claims Conference, which coordinates reparations for Holocaust survivors and sponsors Holocaust education programs. The number of Irish adults who believed the death toll of the Holocaust had been greatly exaggerated was slightly higher than the United States at 15% and the United Kingdom at 11%, but far lower than in France, where the Claims Conference found that a third of adults believe the death toll has been greatly exaggerated.
The Irish survey also found lower reports of Holocaust distortion than in other countries. A quarter of Irish adults said they believed distortion was common in their country, compared to 49% of adults in the United States, 44% in France and Germany and 47% in Hungary.
The survey did not attempt to answer whether perceptions of Holocaust distortion in Ireland are accurate.
The country, which has a Jewish population of approximately 2,700, has drawn allegations of antisemitism in recent years for its public criticism of Israel during the course of the war in Gaza. In December 2024, Israel closed its embassy in Dublin, citing “antisemitic rhetoric of the Irish government against Israel.” In October, the country elected a new president, Catherine Connolly, who has sharply criticized Israel in parliament and faced backlash for comments defending Hamas.
Late last year, a proposal to rename a park in Dublin named after Chaim Herzog, the son of the first Irish chief rabbi who became Israel’s sixth president in 1983, was decried by Irish, Jewish and Israeli leaders over concern it would erase Irish Jewish history. The proposal was later tabled.
Antisemitic incidents that do not target Israel have also taken place in Ireland. Last month, a rural road in Ireland was defaced with graffiti reading “RAT,” “JEW,” and “USA,” along with swastikas and Stars of David.
The Claims Conference found that nine in 10 Irish adults believe the Holocaust should be taught in schools.
“Half of Irish adults do not know that six million Jews were murdered, one in five doubts the truth of the Holocaust and half of young people are seeing denial online. Yet almost nine in ten want it taught in schools. This is not a lack of public will. It is a gap in our education system,” Maurice Cohen, the chair of the Jewish Representative Council of Ireland, said in a statement. “The public overwhelmingly wants Holocaust education.”
The survey as the Claims Conference has released a new estimate of the Jewish Holocaust survivor population, saying the population had dropped from 220,000 to 196,600 over the last year. The median age of survivors is 87. Many prominent survivors — including Josef “Joe” Veselsky, a table tennis champion who was recognized as Ireland’s oldest man for over a year before his death in December — have died in recent months.
“As the Holocaust moves away from us in time, we must redouble our efforts to educate young minds to whom this legacy will be entrusted,” said Oliver Sears, the founder of Holocaust Awareness Ireland, in a statement. “Combatting Holocaust denial and distortion on the internet and social media must be a priority.”
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Netanyahu joins Trump’s ‘Board of Peace’ despite misgivings about Qatari, Turkish participation
(JTA) — Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has joined U.S. President Donald Trump’s “Board of Peace,” less than a day after telling Israel’s parliament about his “argument” over the board’s membership.
Trump invited roughly 60 countries to join the board, a global body that is expected to oversee the ceasefire between Hamas and Israel. Among those that received invitations are Qatar and Turkey, which have supported Hamas.
“We have a certain argument with our friends in the United States over the composition of the advisory council that will accompany the processes in Gaza,” Netanyahu said on Monday.
Netanyahu’s comments came after Trump touted the board on social media, in the latest bid to move the three-month-old ceasefire into a new phase. The invitations went out soon after Middle East envoy Steve Witkoff announced that the ceasefire deal had entered its second phase, ushering in the formation of a Palestinian committee to oversee Gaza’s governance.
“It is my Great Honor to announce that THE BOARD OF PEACE has been formed,” wrote Trump in a post on Truth Social last week. “The Members of the Board will be announced shortly, but I can say with certainty that it is the Greatest and Most Prestigious Board ever assembled at any time, any place.”
Some European countries have indicated that they are interested in joining the board, while others have rejected the invitations. Pakistan and Russia are considering joining, while Russian President Vladimir Putin’s closest ally, Belarus’ Alexander Lukashenko, warmly accepted the invitation in a statement Monday.
Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orbán, Argentinian President Javier Milei, United Arab Emirates President Mohamed bin Zayed Al Nahyan, and Paraguayan President Santiago Peña were among the first to announce their acceptance of the invitations on social media. Egypt accepted its invitation on Wednesday.
Countries that sign onto the board will be installed for three-year terms with the option of paying $1 billion to fund its activities and gain permanent membership.
The board’s creation comes as Trump is openly dismissive of U.S. participation in other international bodies. The invitations said the Board of Peace would “embark on a bold new approach to resolving global conflict,” a description that critics said could set up the body to rival the United Nations in global governance. While the United Nations authorized the board to oversee the management of Gaza for two years, the board’s charter does not specifically mention Gaza.
French President Emmanuel Macron rejected Trump’s offer in a statement Monday, writing that the board’s charter “goes beyond the framework of Gaza and raises serious questions, in particular with respect to the principles and structure of the United Nations, which cannot be called into question.” (Trump later threatened to impose tariffs on French wines and champagne over the refusal.)
Irish Foreign Minister Helen McEntee warned in a statement Sunday that the board “would have a mandate wider than the implementation of the Gaza Peace Plan,” adding that “while it may be imperfect, the UN and the primacy of international law is more important now than ever.”
Sweden and Norway turned down their invitations on Wednesday.
Still, other world leaders have expressed their interest in joining the board, including Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni, who said her country was “ready to do our part” and Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney, who said they had agreed in principle, but that “unimpeded aid flows” to Gaza was a precondition for joining. Meloni is right-wing and Carney is liberal, indicating that the board is
A spokesperson for Russian President Vladimir Putin said on Monday that he was reviewing the invitation and was “hoping to get more details from the US side.”
Trump is expected to hold a formal signing ceremony for the board as early as Thursday while he attends the World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland.
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How a Persian Jewish immigrant became the rodeo king of California
David Halimi grew up Jewish in Tehran, watching Bonanza. He now produces rodeos in Northern California and owns a bar modeled on Cheers.
At 73, Halimi is known around Chico as the man behind a Western wear store stocked with thousands of cowboy boots, a rodeo circuit that draws bull riders from across the region, and a U-shaped bar where locals joke about who might be the town’s version of Norm. Less obvious — but no less central — is that he is also a longtime synagogue president, a Hillel board leader, and a professor who teaches business analytics at the local university.
Asked how an Iranian Jew learned the rhythms of the American West, Halimi doesn’t mystify it. “I’m a quick learner,” he said.
Halimi still follows events in Iran closely. “It’s heartbreaking,” he said. “It’s my heritage.” He has no illusions about the imbalance of power. “People protesting with their bare hands are no match to machine guns and professional assassins.” Still, he allows himself hope. “I wish and I pray that the people will prevail.”
For Halimi, the distance between Iran and Chico is not just geographic. It is the distance between a life shaped by instability — he grew up in Iran in the aftermath of a coup — and one he has spent decades deliberately building.
On a recent afternoon inside the 6,000-square-foot Diamond W Western Wear, Halimi wore what he sells — black alligator boots, jeans, a button-down, blazer and a hat — and moved easily past towers of boots, glass cases of belt buckles, pausing as an employee steamed a cowboy hat back into shape. His wife, Fran, emerged from the back. Customers drifted in.
Over the years, his footprint downtown has expanded to include two restaurants and a soon-to-open coffee shop, all within walking distance of his store.
Halimi didn’t arrive in America looking for a job. He arrived looking for an opportunity. When he moved to the United States at 16, in 1969, he worked full time while going to school, bussing tables at a restaurant and saving aggressively. By 18, he had pooled his earnings with his older brother to make his first real estate investment. “I was never looking for a job,” he said. “I always wanted to do my own thing.”
That instinct carried him through college, where he studied mathematics and economics, and later into commodities trading — “the stock market on steroids,” as he put it — before settling in Chico in 1979. It had the virtues he was looking for: a small-town feel, a university’s energy, and room to build.
Mending fences, building community
For all the boots, buckles and bull riders, Halimi’s most consequential work happens closer to home. He has served on the board of Congregation Beth Israel of Chico for decades, including numerous stints as president, and has been a steady presence through the cycles that define small Jewish communities.
Rabbi Lisa Rappaport, who leads the congregation, said that constancy matters. In a community with limited resources, leadership often means stepping in wherever the need arises.
That was especially true after the synagogue was targeted with antisemitic graffiti in late 2022. What followed, Rappaport recalled, was an outpouring of support. Donations funded a new security system. A local metalworker volunteered to create a new sign. Another family, moved by the response, offered to pay for a fence.
Halimi volunteered to design and help build it. Vertical bars, he insisted, would make the synagogue feel like a jail. Instead, he created diagonal metal panels inspired by math’s golden ratio, incorporating stainless-steel symbols of the Twelve Tribes — a boundary meant to protect without closing the place off.
Rappaport credits both Halimi and his wife, a former religious school director and longtime sisterhood leader, with helping sustain the shul. “They’re in it till the end,” she said. In a small community, she added, that kind of commitment is existential. “If you have a couple of people who have that frame of mind,” she said, “it keeps the community alive. It’s people like that that keep it pulsing.”
Halimi, now a grandfather, carries that same lesson into his classroom at Chico State, where he has been teaching since 2009. Each semester he leads two courses: business analytics and the evolution of management theory. He doesn’t think of it as a job so much as a responsibility. “I like seeing the light bulb go on,” he said. Former students, now entrepreneurs themselves, sometimes track him down to say thank you. The payoff, he said, is “psychic income.”
Halimi teaches what he learned: “Even when the odds are against you,” he said, “you can still succeed.”
His rodeo business began, improbably enough, as a marketing complaint. Halimi had been sponsoring country concerts and rodeos to promote the store, but he was unimpressed with the results. Other sponsors, he noticed, felt the same way. So he launched his own production company. First, they hosted country music concerts. Soon, they built a rodeo: the National Bullriding Championship Tour, which just marked its 30th year.
He had expected resistance from the industry. Instead, he found acceptance, and eventually respect. “It’s very unusual,” he acknowledged, “for an Iranian Jew to be a successful rodeo producer.”
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