Where to begin?
I was born to my mother and her first husband. He was Jewish, she was not; their marriage lasted 3 years, during which time I remember attending Passover dinners, or at least searching for the Afikomen. I was always led to believe Mother had converted, and that I had a naming ceremony in Temple. As I began my conversion process, I asked my mother about any memories or paperwork from those events; it turns out that was a myth, and my only family connection to Judaism is patrilineal.
Once my parents’ divorce was final, my birth father and paternal grandmother disappeared from my life, along with any Jewish observances. My mother remarried, and her second husband adopted me. We lived with his father, and my grandfather and I were close. My grandfather was an Episcopal priest; he was also an Old Testament scholar, studied in Israel when it was British Palestine, read and taught Hebrew, Greek and Aramaic, and contributed translations and commentary to the New Revised Standard Edition of the Christian Bible. It occurs to me now that I didn’t grow up in a Jewish household, but I did grow up surrounded by religious study, and have always had a sense that theology and the study of religious texts should be serious and important.
I eventually joined the Episcopal Church, and while I loved the drama of the ritual, I found myself increasingly chafing at both the dogma and the sexism that was pervasive in my conservative parish. By the time I left for college, I was done with organized religion, I assumed for good.
Some time in my late 20s, about the time I got together with the man who is now my husband, something shifted – I was happy and peaceful in a way I hadn’t been before, and I started thinking about good in the universe. Something about being in a nurturing relationship opened me up to the possibility that the world/universe/higher power might have a plan that I was a part of, maybe even an important part.
I knew I couldn’t go back to the church I grew up in – as with many lapsed Christians, the “Jesus thing” was now a deal breaker. At the same time, pluralistic or non-denominational churches seemed un-serious and feel-good, disconnected from history and tradition. So I hemmed and hawed and read, but nothing seemed to fit.
After our daughter was born, my desire for a structured religious practice and ethical framework deepened, but I remained dissatisfied with what I saw as my options. Then, a little more than 2 years ago, I was spending a weekend away with two of my oldest friends and our children. One of my friends is a queer atheist anarchist feminist Jew who celebrates Hanukkah and keeps kosher during Passover; the other is an agnostic lapsed Catholic married into a family of rabbis. As I talked about what I was looking for and my dissatisfaction with what I saw as my options, they agreed I was a Jew.
Of course, it’s not that simple, but looking back, this was the moment I felt I had permission to begin this exploration. Judaism has always had some resonance for me – as a child I devoured stories of the Jewish immigrant experience at the turn of the century and contemporary teen novels with Jewish girl protagonists; as an adult, when I travel, I seek out Jewish historical sites, landmarks, and neighbourhoods. But I didn’t think converting was something people were “allowed” to do, unless they were marrying in. Silly as it sounds, I needed some real Jews to tell me it was OK, before I even started to consider it.
So I started to read. And read. And read. And the more I read, the more right things felt – speaking to things I instinctively believed (the important thing is to make the world a better place; you must respect every person’s intrinsic human dignity; community, good food and humour are essential; links to the past deepen spiritual/religious practice). And so I kept going.
Right around Tu B’Shevat last year, I made it to Congregation Beth Shalom, husband in tow. Because we have a preschooler, regular attendance at adult services was initially difficult for us, but Tot Shabbat services provided the perfect entré to services, and children are always a great conversation starter during the Oneg. It also dovetailed with my desire to be a Jewish mother to a Jewish daughter – while this is not something I’m pursuing for my daughter’s sake, her presence did get me from abstract musing to actual investigation. And the further I delve into practice and study, the more compelled I feel to share these gifts I’m discovering with her.
I’m also sharing this experience with my husband, as we’re working to create a Jewish home for our family. While he exists in a more sceptical place than I, he is actively involved in our daughter’s growth in Judaism, as well as mine.
I’ve outlined how I got here, but I’d like to be a little more specific about what keeps me moving forward on the journey. I realize this may read like a laundry list, but I feel compelled to share what, in particular, is motivating, challenging and nurturing me right now.
Family-centred practice: We’re expanding our Shabbat observance at home, incorporating more blessings, reading Torah, doing something fun as a family, and introducing Havdallah. Lighting candles is a highlight of my week, and it helps me feel more connected to the larger Jewish community.
Community Observance and Jewish Pluralism: I’m shy in new situations, and as someone who is choosing Judaism, I worry about “authenticity”. That said, the more services I attend, the less this is happening. My husband is spending more one-on-one time with our daughter, enabling me to attend Shabbat and Torah study more frequently. Additionally, sharing the stories of other Jews by choice and of Jews of colour (converts or no) has provided much wisdom. Issues of multicultural Judaism in the US and Israel, as well as the politics of conversion, will continue to be of great interest to me.
Feminism: Judaism is leading me back to my feminist identity. Torah study is re-energising my thinking about women and our place in the world. I’m also inspired by the amount of overtly feminist scholarship and activism extant in all branches of Judaism. That said, the Reform movement’s explicit endorsement of gender equity (and gay and lesbian equality) is very important to me personally.
G-d and notions of G-d: Personal or transcendent? Personal and transcendent? Sometimes one, sometimes the other? I don’t know, except for those brief moments when I do. But I treasure the tolerance of ambiguity, and the directive to work with and through theology and cosmology without the restrictions of a literalist framework. I go back to the stories of Rabbis cajoling and arguing with G-d – this is a G-d I can engage, personally and abstractly, and that is a pleasure.
Of course, there’s more: the pleasure of practicing the Hebrew alphabet with my daughter, the thrill of realizing I made it through a whole prayer without looking at the book, the struggle of prioritizing my study, and the knowledge that study is essential. It’s a work in progress, but I feel blessed to be progressing.
Sarah Dentan
12 March 2010/25 Adar 5770
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