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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.”


The post Converting to Judaism has defined my high school experience appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.

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The Pakistan-Turkey Axis: A New and Dangerous Threat to Israel

Turkish President Tayyip Erdogan attends a press conference with German Chancellor Friedrich Merz at the Presidential Palace in Ankara, Turkey, Oct. 30, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Umit Bektas

While the world’s cameras were fixed on the smoldering borders of the Levant and the political maneuverings in Tehran, a geopolitical earthquake occurred in Islamabad. It was quiet, bureaucratic, and largely ignored by the mainstream media.

While the Israeli security establishment has been justifiably fixated on the Iranian “Ring of Fire” — a new, potentially deadlier axis has solidified.

The signing of a comprehensive hydrocarbon exploration agreement between the Turkish Petroleum Corporation (TPAO) and the Pakistani government was framed as a routine economic partnership — a lifeline for Pakistan’s failing energy grid and a boon for Turkey’s industrial ambition.

This protocol marks the operational fusion of Turkey — a NATO member increasingly hostile to the West — and Pakistan, a volatile, nuclear-armed state. This alliance marries Neo-Ottoman expansionism with the “Islamic Bomb,” creating a pincer movement that threatens to encircle the Jewish State from the Mediterranean to the Indian Ocean.

The Maritime Siege

To understand the gravity of this pact, one must look beyond the gas drills. Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan has long championed the “Blue Homeland” (Mavi Vatan) doctrine, seeking to project Turkish naval power far beyond the Aegean. This agreement grants Turkey exclusive rights to operate within Pakistan’s maritime economic zone.

In strategic terms, this hands the Turkish Navy a forward operating base in the Indian Ocean. For the first time, a hostile power sits at the eastern gateway to the Red Sea. Israel’s economy relies on freedom of navigation; 90% of its trade travels by sea. By planting its flag off the coast of Karachi, Ankara has effectively placed a chokehold on the eastern approaches to Eilat. Turkey now controls the entrance to Israel’s trade routes in the Mediterranean, and stands ready to interdict them in the Indian Ocean.

Outsourcing the Bomb

However, the most chilling aspect of this rapprochement is the one hidden in the fine print. Pakistan is a nuclear power teetering on the brink of economic collapse, desperate for hard currency. Turkey is a rising military power with cash to spend and a leader who has openly lamented his lack of nuclear missiles.

Erdoğan has never been shy about his nuclear ambitions, famously asking his party members why Israel should possess “atomic freedom” while Turkey is shackled by non-proliferation treaties. The Turkey-Pakistan axis solves this problem without a single centrifuge spinning in Anatolia.

The deal involves massive transfers of Turkish capital to Islamabad. It is dangerously naive to believe this is merely for natural gas. The “Pakistan Model” of proliferation — perfected by the A.Q. Khan network — is effectively open for business. The fear is that we are witnessing a “stationing” arrangement: Turkish funding in exchange for a nuclear umbrella, or worse, the transfer of tactical nuclear technology. This creates a “Sunni Nuclear Power” to rival the Shiite threat from Iran, leaving Israel caught between two atomic fires.

A NATO Trojan Horse

Perhaps the most infuriating element of this developing crisis is the silence from the West. Washington and Brussels, desperate to keep Turkey within the NATO fold, have turned a blind eye to Ankara’s pivot East. They continue to treat Erdoğan as a prodigal son who will eventually return to the Western family, rather than an independent actor building a rival power bloc.

This silence is dangerous. The integration of Turkish drone technology — specifically the TB3 and Anka platforms — with Pakistani military assets has created a feedback loop of combat data that bypasses NATO oversight. Pakistan tests these weapons in high-intensity border conflicts; Turkey refines the software and tactics for potential use in the Mediterranean. When the next conflict erupts, the IDF may not just face Hamas rockets or Hezbollah missiles, but a synchronized adversary equipped with NATO-standard avionics and South Asian nuclear delivery systems.

The Illusion of Safety

We have spent decades worrying about the threat from the Shia Crescent. We have ignored the consolidation of a radical Sunni axis that rejects the Western order and views Zionism as its primary ideological foe.

Both Ankara and Islamabad have spent 2025 vying for the title of “Defender of Al Quds.” This energy deal gives them the independent infrastructure to act on that rhetoric. They no longer need American permission, American fuel, or American weapons. And that is dangerous.

Amine Ayoub, a fellow at the Middle East Forum, is a policy analyst and writer based in Morocco. Follow him on X: @amineayoubx

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‘We are not alright’: How Oct. 7 defined Eric Adams’ Jewish legacy

As New York City Mayor Eric Adams was welcomed to deliver remarks at his final Hanukkah reception — just a day after the horrific terror attack in Bondi Beach — he made a characteristically unscripted entrance, walking in from the side of the room holding a wireless microphone instead of stepping onto the stage in the center. Adams told the audience on Monday night that he did not want to be separated from them by ropes or barriers. “I just really wanted to remind all of you that I am on your level,” he said. “I want you to know that your pain, I feel your pain.”

That moment, signaling that he understood not just the community’s fear after the attack, but its need for visible solidarity, was the kind of instinctive gesture that, aides and allies say, has defined his relationship with Jewish New Yorkers during a tumultuous single term as mayor.

As he prepares to leave City Hall on Dec. 31, having failed to overcome his unpopularity citywide and win reelection, Adams remains personally popular among much of the Jewish community, which continues to grapple with uncertainty about his successor, Mayor-elect Zohran Mamdani, whose stance on Israel has been divisive.

Throughout his tenure, Adams cultivated a reputation for speaking the Jewish community’s language, understanding their concerns and being willing to step up in moments of crisis. Senior aides say he rarely reads prepared remarks, even when speeches are written for him, particularly at Jewish events.

This spontaneity was most evident in a four-minute speech he delivered at a rally on Oct. 10, 2023, days after the Hamas attack on Israel. The moment raised his profile in Israel, when he declared, “We are not alright.”

“The fact that everybody in the Jewish world has seen that speech, such a short clip, speaks to the impact on Jews around the world,” said Fabian Levy, the deputy mayor for communications, who is Jewish. He recounted the behind-the-scenes moments leading up to the speech in a recent interview, growing emotional at times and struggling to speak. Before Adams took the stage, he met with the parents of Israeli-American hostage Omer Neutra.

New York City Mayor Eric Adams on Oct. 10, 2023. Courtesy of Fabian Levy

Levy, 41, is considered one of Adams’ closest aides, frequently at the mayor’s side. He was first appointed as press secretary in 2021, and elevated to his current role in August 2023, becoming the first-ever deputy mayor of Persian or Iraqi descent. Levy said that some of his relatives in Israel, who knew he worked in government but did not realize he worked for Adams, had posted that Oct. 10 speech to a family WhatsApp group and suggested he “work for this guy.”

When I asked about his popularity in Israel in a recent interview, Adams said, “My clarity of message, I believe it resonated with people who have been there for others, yet did not see their allies stand up and fight with them. The friendship we have with Israel and our Jewish community is not one that ends during the time of conflict, but one that withstands difficult challenges.”

In Monday night’s farewell address to the community, following a final official trip to Israel, Adams cast himself as a modern-day Maccabee.

Eric Adams’ relationship with Jews

Mayor Eric Adams sits between Fred Kreizman (L) and Joel Eisdorfer (R) during a roundtable with Jewish leaders on Feb. 28, 2024. Photo by Ed Reed/Mayoral Photography Office

Adams, 65, has had a longstanding relationship with the Jewish community dating back to his time as a police officer in the 1980s, a connection that continued through his four terms in the state legislature and two terms as Brooklyn Borough President.

He aggressively courted Orthodox voting blocs, critical to electing him, in the 2021 crowded Democratic primary for mayor. “I don’t need a GPS to find Borough Park,” Adams said in a campaign stop in Borough Park a day before the primary. “I was there for this community for over 30 years, and I am going to be there as the mayor. I’m not a new friend. I’m an old friend.”

Adams initially moved his Jan. 1, 2022 inauguration — traditionally held at noon in the plaza outside City Hall in downtown Manhattan and drawing thousands of spectators — to the evening out of respect for Shabbat observers, since it fell on a Saturday. The ceremony was later postponed and scaled back altogether as the Omicron COVID-19 surge swept through the city at the time.

A large number of American Jews served in senior roles at City Hall and throughout Adams’ administration. That includes Jessica Tisch, who became police commissioner in 2024; Robert Tucker, commissioner of the fire department; Fred Kreizman, commissioner for community affairs; Zach Iscol, the emergency management commissioner; and Ed Mermelstein, commissioner for international affairs until July.

In the mayor’s office, Levy served alongside Menashe Shapiro, deputy chief of staff; Moshe Davis, Adams’ Jewish liaison and later also director of the newly-created mayor’s office to combat antisemitism; and Lisa Zornberg, his chief counsel, who inspired the mayor’s widely cited Oct. 10 line and resigned last year amid the federal investigations that rocked the Adams administration.

Joel Eisdorfer, a member of the Satmar Hasidic community in Borough Park, was senior adviser until he stepped down in 2024, citing family reasons, and was a close political ally who helped mobilize Jewish support during Adams’ campaigns. Adams’ personal photographer, Benny Polatseck, who is also Hasidic, documented many of his appearances at Jewish and other official events.

“You see yourself in my administration, in a very significant place,” Adams told Jewish reporters in 2024.

In speeches to Jewish audiences, Adams described New York City as the “Tel Aviv of America.”

But Adams faced criticism from parts of the broader Jewish community after launching a Jewish Advisory Council that met regularly to discuss Jewish-related issues. Some liberal groups argued the council was not representative of the city’s full Jewish diversity, noting that at least 23 of its 37 members were Orthodox Jews and only nine were women. The progressive group New York Jewish Agenda later met with Adams after raising concerns that he was primarily hearing from Orthodox leaders and those with more conservative political views.

Last year, Adams announced the creation of a new office to combat antisemitism, which led to a bitter feud with the city comptroller, Brad Lander, who is Jewish and who was at the time a mayoral candidate. (Adams and Lander have long had a strained relationship, sparring over policy and oversight.)

New York City Mayor Eric Adams at the Western Wall on Nov. 16. Photo by Jacob Kornbluh

Adams also signed an executive order adopting the controversial International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance definition of antisemitism, which labels most forms of anti-Zionism as antisemitic. Critics, including progressives and Jewish advocacy groups, warned it could chill free speech.

Some Jewish elected officials also criticized Adams for his crackdown on the pro-Palestinian protests across the city and on college campuses. He was unapologetic about his opposition to the call for a ceasefire in Gaza.

Recently, Adams signed a measure barring city agencies from participating in Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions efforts, which would pre-empt any moves by city officials to divest from Israel Bonds and other Israeli investments. Adams maintained that it wasn’t an attempt to tie Mamdani’s hand but “to protect my legacy on the investment in Israel.”

During a roundtable with ethnic media outlets at City Hall on Monday, Adams didn’t elaborate when asked by the Forward how he would define his tenure in terms of curbing antisemitism and protecting Jewish New Yorkers. Antisemitism was up 18% in New York last year, with 68% of the 1,437 incidents occurring in New York City, according to the Anti-Defamation League. In the first quarter of 2025, NYPD data showed antisemitic acts made up 62% of all reported hate crimes citywide. Last month, anti-Jewish crimes were 37% of all reported hate incidents.

Adams said the numbers have been steadily dropping as a result of his moves to counter antisemitism, including his signature “Breaking Bread, Building Bonds” initiative, which encourages New Yorkers to host meals for 10 people from different racial, ethnic and religious backgrounds. “I think that the next administration must be extremely clear in their position around hate in general and antisemitism,” he said.

Levy said that Adams acted bravely in taking a firm stance on Israel, even when it carried political risk. “Some people are saying that it could have been the reason why he is no longer going to be mayor for another term,” Levy said. “He did it because it was the right thing to do.” Adams took a recent trip to Israel to bid farewell.

Shadowed by controversy

Eric Adams speaking from a podium.
New York City Mayor Eric Adams delivers an address in City Hall on Oct. 30, 2025. Screenshot of Eric Adams

Despite his close and warm relationship with the Jewish community, Adams’ career has also been marked by recurring controversies. During the 1993 mayoral race, when he supported incumbent Mayor David Dinkins, Adams drew backlash after suggesting that then–state comptroller candidate Herman Badillo, who is Puerto Rican, would have shown greater concern for the Hispanic community had he not married a white Jewish woman. In the 1990s, Adams worked with the Nation of Islam as part of community crime patrol efforts and appeared publicly with its leader, Louis Farrakhan, who spewed antisemitism. He later came under fire for condemning former Rep. Major Owens during a 1994 congressional primary after Owens denounced Farrakhan.

As mayor, Adams faced renewed scrutiny in 2022 after defending his endorsement of a minister previously cited for antisemitic slurs in a race against a pro-BDS lawmaker. More recently, he faced criticism for invoking Adolf Hitler’s Mein Kampf while pushing back against allegations that he struck a quid pro quo with the Justice Department to end his federal corruption case, and for sitting for an interview at Gracie Mansion with Sneako, an influential antisemitic online streamer.

Adams made combating antisemitism central to his reelection effort. After withdrawing from the Democratic primary, facing a surging field of challengers, Adams sought to run on an independent line dubbed “End Antisemitism.” It came under legal challenge after creating another “Safe and Affordable” ballot. He ended his campaign in late September after failing to gain steam and in an attempt to clear the field for former Gov. Andrew Cuomo to stop Mamdani.

He also got into a dispute between Williamsburg Hasidim over the bike lanes earlier this year.

What his aides and Jewish leaders are saying 

Mayor Eric Adams holds an ethnic media roundtable with Orthodox Jewish media before the High Holidays on Sept. 19, 2022. Photo by Ed Reed/Mayoral Photography Office

Adams’ senior aides and Jewish leaders all pointed to Adams’ response to the Oct. 7, 2023 attack on Israel as the high point of his tenure.

“His consistent support for the Jewish community after Oct. 7 was a model for what real leadership looks like,” said David Greenfield, a former member of the City Council who is now the chief executive of Met Council, the nation’s largest Jewish anti-poverty charity. “His remarks were, for many of us, the first time we felt genuinely seen and defended by leaders outside our community. At a moment of surging antisemitism, he didn’t hedge or look away.”

Sara Forman, executive director of the New York Solidarity Network, a pro-Israel political organization, said the expression of empathy he expressed toward the Jewish people by showing up “was very poignant and also a very significant legacy that Eric Adams is going to leave with all of us.”

In interviews, Adams’ Jewish staffers described a natural rapport with the community that often lessened the need for formal outreach or guidance on specific issues.

Shapiro, his deputy chief of staff, said that Adams’ unscripted nature underscored his familiarity and a genuine sense of belonging in the community. “He felt so comfortable in their presence, he knew exactly what he wanted to say,” Shapiro said.

“With Mayor Adams, you always felt like he practically went to yeshiva with you,” Davis, his liaison to the community, said. “He’s been in this so long and really knows what the community cares about.”

In his remarks at the Hanukkah event, Adams reassured the community that he will remain an ally after he leaves office. “I am going nowhere,” he said. Earlier in the day, Adams referred to what comes next as “God’s Plan A.” Adams is reportedly exploring a private-sector opportunity tied to an Israeli construction firm. “The end of the mayoralty means the beginning of what we are going to do together,” he said.

The post ‘We are not alright’: How Oct. 7 defined Eric Adams’ Jewish legacy appeared first on The Forward.

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Judaism’s Conservative movement apologizes for decades of discouraging intermarriage, signals new approach

(JTA) — The Conservative movement, one of the major Jewish denominations, is formally apologizing for decades of discouraging intermarriage and committing itself to a new approach centered on engagement.

The shift marks a significant change in tone for a movement that long treated intermarriage as a threat to Jewish continuity, even as its longstanding ban on clergy officiating at such weddings remains in place.

Leaders of the movement announced the shift in a report released Thursday by a working group representing the denomination’s three main arms: the United Synagogue of Conservative Judaism, the Rabbinical Assembly and the Cantors Assembly.

“For decades, our movement’s approach to families where one partner is Jewish and the other is not was rooted in disapproval and shaped by fears about Jewish continuity,” the leaders wrote in a statement accompanying the report. “But today — as we connect with countless families who want to learn, participate, and belong — we are committed to welcoming people as they are.”

In the report, the movement also accepted responsibility for the consequences of that approach.

“We acknowledge that our movement’s historical stance has resulted in hurt, alienation, and disconnection from our community. We deeply apologize,” the report said.

The report does not itself change binding policy. Instead, it asks the movement’s Committee on Jewish Law and Standards, or CJLS, to revisit how its rules are interpreted, while recommending new educational, pastoral and ritual approaches aimed at intermarried families.

“The idea that we could discourage people from intermarrying through disapproval — all that did was push people away who really should have been part of our communities,” Rabbi Jacob Blumenthal, the CEO of both the Rabbinical Assembly and United Synagogue of Conservative Judaism, said in an interview.

The Conservative movement’s formal ban on officiating at interfaith weddings dates to a 1973 “standard of practice” adopted by the Rabbinical Assembly, which also barred clergy from speaking during such ceremonies. While the rule remains in effect, the report argues that it effectively froze conversation for decades even as intermarriage became widespread across American Jewish life.

“What we stated in 1973 obviously did not deter intermarriage. So moving forward, how do we really embrace these individuals” who are part of intermarried families? asked Shirley Davidoff, a member of the working group and vice president of USCJ’s board.

The ban has long been framed by the movement as a matter of Jewish law, or halacha, which traditionally understands marriage as a covenant between two Jews. While the Conservative movement has historically embraced the idea that halacha evolves over time, leaders have argued that officiating at interfaith weddings raises complex legal and ritual questions that go beyond concerns about continuity.

The report contends, however, that halacha itself contains “expansive, creative” resources for welcoming interfaith families.

“We believe that our halakhic process already contains the necessary ingredients to address the needs of our constituents,” the report said.

The report is the culmination of a nearly two-year process that included responses to a questionnaire from 1,200 people, listening sessions, focus groups and commissioned papers from scholars and rabbis. The 17-member working group included clergy and lay leaders from North America and Israel and operated by consensus rather than formal votes.

The new report builds on a 2024 clergy-led review that maintained the officiation ban but called for greater engagement with interfaith families, expanding that work into a movement-wide process that included lay leaders and focused on repairing trust and widening pathways into Jewish life.

In its section on marriage rituals, the report explicitly notes that there was not unanimity among members, a signal of persistent internal disagreement, particularly over whether and how Conservative clergy should participate in weddings between Jews and non-Jews.

The working group stops short of recommending an immediate end to the officiation ban. Instead, it asks the CJLS to clarify ambiguous terms such as “officiation” and “wedding,” and to consider whether rabbis might offer blessings or other forms of participation before or after a wedding ceremony.

The report arrives amid a broader rethinking of intermarriage in some corners of American Judaism. Reform and Reconstructionist movements have long permitted officiation, and individual Conservative congregations have increasingly tested the boundaries — including a high-profile case last year in Minnesota, where a Conservative synagogue announced it would allow clergy participation short of officiation. In a separate case, a rabbi left the movement rather than face possible expulsion following a complaint to his rabbinical association over his officiation at interfaith weddings.

Blumenthal declined to comment on any internal disciplinary reviews, emphasizing that the report is about setting direction, not enforcing compliance.

“What we hope,” he said, “is that rabbis and congregations will think more deeply about what it means to truly engage people who want to build Jewish lives.”

Rabbi Dan Horwitz of Congregation Beth Yeshurun in Houston is among those opposing a more permissive policy, warning that attitudes in the United States are generally less traditional than elsewhere in the movement.

“Given what I know about the Rabbinical Assembly as a whole, a change in policy would rupture the assembly — particularly among older members and those living in Israel or Latin America,” said Horwitz, who was not involved in the working group and did not have a chance to review its report prior to publication.

But Keren McGinity, who served as director of intermarriage engagement and inclusion at USCJ until her position was eliminated earlier this year, said fears of mass defection have long been overstated.

“I have heard the concern about the fracturing of the movement for years,” McGinity said. “It’s not that no one would leave, but generally speaking, when people make that threat, it’s often hyperbolic.”

While acknowledging deep divisions within the movement, McGinity said she was not convinced that lifting restrictions would fracture Conservative Judaism. Avoiding change, she added, also carries risks, pointing to the 2020 Pew study showing that fewer than half of Jews raised Conservative still identify with the movement. “That,” she said, “is hugely concerning.”

Despite inevitable disagreements over policy and pace, members of the working group said they hope the report itself will be seen as a sign of institutional seriousness and as a unifying moment for the movement.

“I hope people will feel proud that we’re having this conversation,” Davidoff said. “That we’re willing to pull back layers, listen carefully, and include people that want to build a Jewish home.”

The post Judaism’s Conservative movement apologizes for decades of discouraging intermarriage, signals new approach appeared first on The Forward.

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