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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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Candace Owens and the Dangerous Myth of ‘Talmudic Jews’
Candace Owens speaks at CPAC on March 2, 2023. Photo: Lev Radin via Reuters Connect
In a recent viral video responding to Ben Shapiro’s accurate description of her long-standing pattern of spreading baseless fear and animus, Candace Owens urged her audience to “wake up” about Jews, Judaism, and what she called “Talmudic Jews.”
As part of that exhortation, she recommended a book titled The Talmudic Jew, presenting it not as a historical artifact, but as a suppressed key to understanding not only Shapiro, but Jewish behavior and morality writ large.
This is not a new genre of argument. It is one of the oldest weapons in the antisemitic arsenal.
Owens’ framing follows a familiar script: for those predisposed to view Jews as powerful, alien, or suspect, the explanation is presumed to lie hidden in Jewish religious texts.
The Talmud, in this telling, is not a complex legal and ethical corpus but a secret code — one that allegedly explains Jewish behavior and justifies suspicion toward Jews as a group. Owens’ invitation for non-Jews to “wake up” is actually an invitation to stop seeing Jews as human beings — let alone as neighbors or fellow citizens — and to begin seeing them as something else entirely: a threat.
In the same video, Owens widens the accusation. She urges viewers to believe that Jews are behind conflicts pitting “Christian against Christian” and “Christians against Muslims” around the world — an echo of a medieval antisemitic fantasy that casts Jews as the hidden engineers of war and civilizational collapse. This trope, documented for centuries, has no basis in history. Its function is not explanation but absolution: it diverts responsibility away from actual political, religious, and imperial actors, and deposits it onto a convenient, ever-available scapegoat.
Owens then extends this logic further, telling Black audiences that “white people” were not responsible for the Transatlantic slave trade — or slavery more broadly — and that Jews were. This claim is not merely false; it is grotesque.
The Transatlantic slave trade was a European enterprise, driven by explicitly European Christian empires — British, Dutch, Spanish, Portuguese, French, and later American — whose colonial economies depended on enslaved labor. Likewise, the vast Saharan and Indian Ocean slave trades were driven primarily by Arab-Muslim empires and traders over many centuries. Between roughly the 7th and 19th centuries, European and Arab imperial systems conquered and controlled much of the known world — and they were the principal engines of slavery wherever it was practiced. Jews, overwhelmingly a tiny, marginalized minority without imperial power, were not — and could not have been — the drivers of these systems.
The Talmudic Jew, the book Owens cites approvingly as the purported “key” to understanding Jews, was written by August Rohling, an Austrian, German-language Catholic theologian of the late 19th century whose work relied on mistranslations, selective quotation, and outright fabrication. Rohling did not attempt to understand rabbinic Judaism. His aim was polemical: to portray Judaism as inherently immoral and hostile toward non-Jews, and to argue that Jewish emancipation in Western Europe had been a catastrophic mistake.
Rohling’s book was discredited even in his own time. Contemporary scholars demonstrated that he mistranslated Hebrew and Aramaic texts, stripped legal debates of context, treated marginal opinions as binding doctrine, and in some cases invented quotations outright. Yet the book endured because it served a purpose: it gave readers permission to see Jews not merely as wrong, but as inherently dangerous.
That durability proved deadly. In the 20th century, Rohling’s arguments were revived and repurposed by Nazi ideologues, who cited anti-Talmud literature like The Talmudic Jew as supposed evidence that Jewish tradition itself justified exclusion, persecution, and annihilation. The book did not cause the Holocaust — but it helped supply the intellectual scaffolding that made genocide conceivable.
Owens’ amplification of Rohling is therefore not incidental. It places her squarely within a long and infamous lineage of antisemitic accusations that treat Jews as the hidden hand behind social conflict, moral decay, and historical evil.
When Owens speaks of “Talmudic Jews,” she is not describing a religious practice. She is issuing an indictment: that Jews are governed by a hidden code that renders them morally alien and hostile to the societies in which they live. That indictment depends on a fundamental misrepresentation of the Talmud itself.
The Talmud is not a single book or a secret code. It is a sprawling legal record spanning centuries, comprising 63 tractates and more than 2,700 folio pages, dense with debate, disagreement, and layered interpretation. It preserves arguments rather than decrees, questions rather than answers, and features minority opinions alongside majority rulings. To lift a line from this corpus and present it as “what Jews believe” is not scholarship. It is distortion.
That distortion is not accidental. It is the engine of a genre designed to turn Jewish complexity into Jewish hate.
Candace Owens presents herself as a truth-teller urging her audience to “wake up.” What she is really doing is attempting to mainstream a discredited and dangerous form of antisemitic propaganda — one that history has already tested and found catastrophic. When such claims are broadcast by someone with her reach and influence, they do not merely misinform. They habituate. They train audiences to see Jews as a civilizational menace. And once a people are cast as a menace, cruelty is easily rebranded as responsibility — and even as self-defense.
Terrible moments in history do not repeat themselves automatically. They are repeated when influential figures persuade their followers that ancient libels are newly discovered truths.
Micha Danzig is an attorney, former IDF soldier, and former NYPD officer. He writes widely on Israel, Zionism, antisemitism, and Jewish history. He serves on the board of Herut North America.
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We Need Elie Wiesel’s ‘Against Despair’ Right Now
The late Professor Elie Wiesel, speaking at the Algemeiner’s 40th anniversary gala, on April 22, 2013. Photo: Sarah Rogers / Algemeiner.
As antisemitism is again surging across the world, it can feel frightening and isolating to be Jewish.
The familiar question returns: how do we hold on to our identity and our pride, when the world seems intent on testing both?
Every generation of Jews has faced its own test of endurance. Ours is unfolding now, as antisemitism again plagues our streets, our campuses, and our interpersonal relationships. Many Jews feel vulnerable, isolated, and unsure how to respond.
In 1973, shortly after the Yom Kippur War, Elie Wiesel answered that question in a speech at the United Jewish Appeal’s National Conference.
Wiesel addressed a Jewish community grappling with fear and uncertainty, reeling from the surprise attack that cost the lives of more than 2,500 Israelis. Decades later, that speech, titled Against Despair, offers a roadmap for reclaiming our pride by drawing strength from our history and traditions.
Against Despair begins with a striking observation about our people: “To me, the essence of Jewish history is mystical and not rational. From the strictly rational viewpoint, we should have long ago yielded to the pressures and laws of the enemy … The mystery of our survival is matched only by our will to survive in a society embarrassed and annoyed by our presence.”
It is a reminder that Jewish endurance stems from the countless generations of Jews who chose courage over surrender. We survive because our history, culture, and traditions carry us forward in a world that has too often attempted to eliminate all three.
As he continues, Wiesel reminds us that no Jewish person is ever truly alone. He says, “When Jews are sad in Jerusalem, Jews everywhere reflect their sadness … An assault on Jews anywhere means an attempt to humiliate Jews everywhere.”
The individual may struggle, but we are connected across time and space. Facing adversity is not only about personal resilience — it is about our collective responsibility to safeguard the moral center of our people.
Professor Wiesel shows us how to confront despair head-on. He teaches that surviving and resisting antisemitic persecution while remaining Jewish is more than a physical phenomenon; it’s an existential one that has sustained Judaism across millennia, a way to honor all those who came before. He reminds us that choosing life is an active endeavor that takes precedence over mourning. Jewish joy and Jewish education are themselves acts of resistance.
“Faced with despair,” said Wiesel, “the most difficult but most beautiful [option] of all [is] to face the human condition and do so as a Jew … We shall resist them in our own Jewish way, which means that we will not allow them to tell us when to be joyous and when to mourn, when to sing and when to be silent.”
This is the heart of Wiesel’s thesis: Jewish identity is itself a moral stance. To live as a Jew is to face life, history, and human cruelty with awareness, integrity, and hope. Even when the world seems hostile, even when antisemitism threatens, Wiesel shows us that we are called to endure, to remember, and to celebrate Jewish life with pride.
Reading Against Despair is a practical guide for living proudly and resiliently in a difficult world. Ultimately, Wiesel asserts that despair is not an option. Jewish survival has always required vigilance, courage, and the refusal to let hatred define us.
“For this is the essence of being Jewish; never to give up — never to yield to despair.”
Every Jewish person should read Against Despair. Not simply to reflect on the past, but to understand how Jewish history, values, and traditions offer strength for the present. For Professor Wiesel, hope is not something one passively receives. Instead, it is a necessary asset we must create for ourselves, a personal duty we owe to our forebears and our children alike.
Against Despair is more than a speech; it is a call to action. It shows us how to meet the modern expressions of age-old antisemitism with the ideas that sustained Wiesel and other Survivors in the darkest of times.
Our very existence is proof that Jewish hope is not naive. It is our essence and our inheritance. We must follow Wiesel’s example by reminding ourselves and the world of how we’ve endured for millennia: taking pride in our Jewishness and fighting to ensure that our descendants have the opportunity to do the same.
Mike Igel is the Chair of The Florida Holocaust Museum’s Wiesel Archive & Legacy Council.
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If Israel Wants to Increase Immigration, It Should Take These Steps
New olim disembark at Tel Aviv’s Ben Gurion Airport on the first charter aliyah flight after he Oct. 7, 2023, Hamas attacks, arriving to begin new lives in Israel. Photo: The Algemeiner
Gideon Sa’ar, Israel’s Minister of Foreign Affairs, recently made an impassioned plea for Jews to “come home” in light of surging antisemitism around the globe, including the Bondi Beach massacre in Australia.
But antisemitism alone won’t trigger a mass exodus of Jews to Israel — at least not yet. If Israeli leaders really want to persuade large numbers of Jews, especially Jews in the West, to immigrate to Israel, they must make some fundamental changes to the country. Right now, there are too many aspects of life in Israel that make it unattractive to Western Jews.
For instance, the whole process of immigrating to Israel can be quite daunting, especially if Israeli authorities question your Jewishness.
While Israel’s Law of Return grants any Jew the right to come to the country as an “oleh” (immigrant), this isn’t what always happens in practice, particularly when radical rabbis get involved. Thus, a prospective oleh is often required to produce some sort of proof, such as a letter from a local rabbi, attesting to their religious involvement in the Jewish community, when all they should be legally required to produce is proof of their Jewish ethnicity.
Worse still, Israel doesn’t recognize many non-Orthodox streams of Judaism, which is extremely problematic considering that most Jews in the West are not Orthodox. In short, many Jews in the West won’t immigrate to Israel if the state doesn’t recognize them as Jews.
Many Western Jews who are secular also won’t want to live in a country where there’s no public transportation on Saturdays or other Jewish holidays and no civil marriage or divorce. Hence, if Israel’s leaders are intent on persuading Jews in the West to immigrate to the Jewish State, they should reform some of these onerous religious restrictions.
Another major impediment to persuading Jews in the West to “come home” is Israel’s living standards. Right now, most Jews in the West enjoy a better standard of living than Israel can offer. To improve Israel’s standard of living, the Bank of Israel, OECD, and Israel’s Ministry of Finance have made a number of recommendations, including increasing labor productivity by reducing regulation and encouraging more Haredi men and Arab Israelis to participate in the workforce.
One major problem with Israel’s living standards is the high cost of living, which is among the highest in the OECD group of countries. Few Jews in the Diaspora will want to immigrate to Israel if they know the country’s cost of living is so absurdly high. The solution advocated by the OECD, former Competition Authority heads, and social protest movements is increasing competition in the economy and reducing import barriers. Israelis pay high prices for many goods, especially food products, due to the dominance of large conglomerates and monopolies, as well as restrictions on imports.
Housing is also very expensive in Israel. In fact, housing costs are the single largest drag on household living standards in the country. To alleviate this, the Bank of Israel, State Comptroller, and housing task forces have recommended measures such as releasing more state land faster for residential development and speeding up the country’s planning and permitting process, which is among the slowest in the OECD.
Over the last few years, the government has made some reforms to lower the cost of living and raise living standards, but there’s still much more to be done. Change is slow due to many factors, including the nature of Israel’s fractured party politics and the difficulty of creating and maintaining coalition governments, as well as resistance to reform by powerful business interests. Furthermore, Israel’s immense security challenges consume budgetary resources, political attention, and bureaucratic capabilities.
Indeed, perhaps the biggest factor discouraging Jews in the West from immigrating to Israel is the security situation. After all, many Jews would be hesitant to leave the West, where the prospect of war is almost zero, and go live in Israel, a country surrounded by bloodthirsty enemies determined to wipe it off the map. Unfortunately, Israel’s ability to control its security situation is limited, because peace is simply not possible if Israel’s enemies don’t want it.