What exactly is it that I want?

22May11

I write a huge long email to an Orthodox rabbi who also happens to be my friend’s dad. I press send and think: “oh sh#*”. But it’s done. What did I write in my email? Practically my whole story, except I didn’t talk about my husband just yet – just hinted at it by saying I wanted to talk to him in person about a relationship.

A couple of days later, I get a phone call from him. I’m on the bus talking to a friend and tell the rabbi I will call back later. Oh no, now I sound like I just don’t care. I start to worry about everything I said on the phone and my tone of voice. Now I’m obsessing.

Finally, I talk to the rabbi that evening. He starts off by saying, “So, what did you want to tell me…” but I think he quickly remembers how long my email was and, probably fearing I’d start to relate the whole thing again, corrects himself and says, “I read your email, but I’m not sure what you want from me…” Ah, yes, poor rabbi. It’s true. I wrote a gigantic email, but what exactly did I want to come out of it? Who knows. I don’t even know!

Let’s see, I wrote an email to an Orthodox rabbi about the whole journey that brought me to get a conversion in Progressive Judaism and I said I wanted to talk to him later about a relationship which is, of course, my marriage to my non-Jewish husband. When I wrote this email and when I sent it, I, obviously, already knew what his opinion would be on all of this. I mean, what did I expect? Applause? It’s almost like going to a Catholic priest and asking him his opinion on your upcoming marriage to your lesbian partner. And then wondering if it could be done in the church…ai, ai, ai…retarded? Masochistic? Yes, yes!

In my email I also talked about my discoveries of my family’s Marrano/Converso past, some of the traditions, and the dreams I’d had. I couldn’t give the rabbi a proper answer as to what it was that I wanted, so he continued the conversation. He was calm and patient. Someone had to be in this crazy conversation!

“Did you want a confirmation of Jewishness? Because apart from a few things you talked about here, it doesn’t seem like your family has a tradition of being Jewish. Would your mom say she was Jewish?” “No,” I admit, already kicking myself once again for writing the email. “She would say our family was New Christian (Marrano), but she wouldn’t say she was Jewish.” “So,” the rabbi went on, “this was a long time ago. 400 years. There is a possibility, but it’s very hard to prove. All it takes is for one person on that family line that wasn’t Marrano…” All of this I knew…

“Yes, but after all I went through in the last year and a half and all I’ve learned, I know I am Jewish because I feel Jewish.” Appeal to emotion. I felt brave and scared at the same time as I said this. Here I was, on the phone with an Orthodox rabbi whom I knew did not consider my conversion valid, and I boldly stated, “I know I am Jewish.” Respectfully, of course, not defiantly. I was simply speaking from the heart. But I knew there was the serious risk that the statement would prompt him to spell it out even more clearly for me and say, “No, you are not.”

He didn’t. Instead, I think he remembered the note on the email about the relationship I wanted to discuss. He suddenly changed the line of questioning. “Are you single? Married?” “I am married.” “Is he Jewish?” “No, he’s not. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Surprisingly, I felt almost relieved. I needed to talk about this with this rabbi. I don’t know why. I had of course talked about it in great length with the rabbi that did my conversion. But I still needed to talk about it.

“My husband is agnostic,” I continued. “He doesn’t follow any religion.”

Now the rabbi got it. “You’re stuck between a rock and a hard place.” Tell me about it!

“You have to choose between your husband and Judaism. But first of all comes family unity.”

“I know,” I continued. “But I don’t know what else to be if I am not Jewish. I don’t fit anywhere else – I just want to fit somewhere. If I were to follow my husband and be like him, I would have to have no religion and raise my kids with no religion. But I don’t want to do that – I’m not like that.” I was getting desperate and on the verge of crying.

“And I asked G-d for guidance this whole time. I asked that if I was doing the wrong thing, don’t let me do it. So, I think, if I am wrong, I don’t understand why I keep getting deeper and deeper into this…” Now I thought I was babbling and whining like a hopeless kid. My anger and frustration with G-d showed. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’m making any sense,”  I apologized to the rabbi.

“No. Actually, you do make sense,” he said. His tone was almost reassuring at this point.

“Is your husband not interested in Judaism? Has he read books about Judaism?”

The conversation continued on for a little bit and ended with a reading assignment. “Read This is My G-d by Herman Wouk and then call me back so we can discuss it.” I wanted to say more but the tone in the rabbi’s voice indicated to me that he wouldn’t talk to me until I read the book. I agreed to this.

What was I agreeing to? Ai, ai, ai…what am I getting myself into?

G-d, where are you leading me?

I repeat my request: if this is wrong, don’t let me do this.

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Filed under: Conversion, Reflections on Judaism   |  5 Comments
Tags: confusion, Conversion, judaism, orthodox, progressive