Simchat Giyoret

Pesach madness

2010-03-23T20:18:00.003-04:00

Pesach is coming, and that means preparations are in full swing at my apartment. Unfortunately, my current living situation is such that this already stressful time is made more stressful.

My roommate is generally stricter about various observances than the majority of the Modern Orthodox community in the area. She is also a congenital slob. The mess and dirt, particularly in the kitchen, have been driving me crazy for months, and so my thought with Pesach coming was "Yes! She will be religiously required to clean!" Unfortunately, this appears to be one area of Jewish law in which she is taking the easier interpretation, and plans to lock up and sell several cabinets worth of stuff to avoid having to actually clean it. Also, we are most likely not going to kasher our oven and stove because 1)she somehow has gone through her entire life frum and doesn't know how to do it and 2)I am resentful about scrubbing off encrusted grease that I didn't cause. I'm not sure it's even really legitimate to just cordon off large sections of your home. Of all the things to be machmir about, this one would help me out!

Then we were talking and she raised the issue of not doing laundry during chol haMoed, which I'm not sure I ever heard about. I mean, most people go to work during the week right? She also said people avoid writing. How can one go to most jobs these days without writing? And since I'm not employed, and therefore do not face tangible financial loss if I don't go to my volunteer job or send job applications, does that mean I'm just supposed to sit around all day or something?

I think the thing that bothers me most in all of this is the lack of consistency. Either be totally strict about everything, or lenient about everything. Instead, the combination has been designed perfectly to make me insane. Some of the "laws" regarding chametz seem to just be restrictions added for the sake of being strict. Why should I have to go out and buy frummy shampoo for a week, even when there are reliable authorities that say that non-food items are not a chametz issue, if it is acceptable to just lock up everything that we are feeling too lazy to clean? I seriously hope I don't end up throwing myself out the window.

Random thoughts

2010-02-23T20:39:00.002-05:00

I haven't posted anything in a long time, but here are some assorted things that I have been thinking about lately:

1)The language on the traditional ketubah is messed up.
I decided to check out what the Conservative movement's position on this issue is, and they were considering some alteration in the 1980s. Some very interesting teshuvot were written, basically regarding the particular issue of writing "betulta" on the ketubah for people who clearly were not in that category, and whether it was best practice to continue doing that. To me the fact that you have to pick a category for the woman (virgin, divorcee, widow, or convert) and not for the man is ridiculous. Yes, I know traditionally that status determined how much money you got, but no one is doing that anymore at all, even in traditional communities (as far as I know). Why are we writing an amount in a currency not in use? Is the whole thing essentially symbolic at this point?

2)Who the heck decided that convert = harlot?
The Hebrew word is zonah, but is rendered harlot in most English translations, which I generally associate with actual prostitution. Were the rabbis saying that all converts should be suspected of actually selling themselves? Or are we talking about some broader category. In attempting to read up on the subject, I found some discussion of zenut as including all forms of forbidden sexual relationships (adultery, incest, etc) and possibly also sexual contact with non-Jews. Apparently Orthodox rabbis resort to some interesting devices these days in order to clear nice Jewish girls of being a zonah so that they can marry kohanim. This whole thing seems rather silly and arbitrary. The rabbis could just as easily been strict constructionists with this verse, and therefore allow leniency. "So, you've never worked as a prostitute? Excellent!" If we were to actually look into this stuff, and apply this strict definition, probably most kohanim living today would either be disqualified or found not to actually be kohanim due to something questionable in generations past.

3)I really don't like feeling like I'm being watched all the time.
If I'm doing things mostly to avoid negative reactions from other people, then I'm probably not in a good situation. And there are all sorts of situations in which people are trying to appear frummer than they actually are. I'm afraid that someone will see me if I go out in pants and freak out. Of course, since it's winter I'm wearing a long coat and it is less noticeable, but I have a feeling things might be worse in the warmer months as people are spending more time outside and wearing fewer layers. Also, I'm just waiting for someone to say something nasty about the fact that I'm in a relationship and not (according to them) actually Jewish.

4)What on earth is going to become of my poor (as of yet imaginary) children?
No matter what I do, they are probably going to have to take crap from somebody.

With Friends Like These, Who Needs Enemies?

2010-01-11T15:16:00.003-05:00

I just read that the Israeli Rabbinate has declared that all conversions can be subject to retroactive annulment at any time. See article in Haaretz and Rabbi Harry Maryles' post here.

With this kind of ridiculousness going on, I'm even less likely to want to go through an Orthodox conversion in the future. I mean, what would be the point? Probably going to be annulled anyway. If this means that conversions conducted in Israel, even by near-Charedi rabbis are going to be suspect, any conversion done outside of Israel is probably going to be rejected out of hand.

Does this mean a major storm is coming in which the Jewish community breaks down even further over the question of "who is a Jew?" Because I don't think the people who are told their conversions don't count, their spouses, and their children are really just going to roll over and accept that they are not really Jewish. I'm really curious as to what the response of the Orthodox establishment in the diaspora is going to be. Because if they're on board with this, I will lose all respect for them and their opinions.

Winter Holiday Season Survival

2010-01-10T10:55:00.002-05:00

This was my first Xmas season as an outsider, and it went quite smoothly, I'd say. I wasn't sure how I would react to this break from the past. True, I've been phasing it out for a couple of years, but this time the holiday was decidedly not mine. It probably helped that I was not home at all with the decorations up. Of course I was exposed to Christmasy things all over New York City - the department store windows, music inside most retail establishments, trees being sold on the sidewalk, but it was fairly easy to let these slide by. Less easy was encountering people while at work (in a department store) who repeatedly wished me Merry Christmas, or co-workers who asked me what I was doing for the holiday:

Me: "Umm...well, it's really just a day off for me."
Coworker: (incredulously) "You don't celebrate Christmas?!?"
Me: "Yeah, I'm Jewish."

Why do people make these assumptions in New York of all places? True, many customers wished me "Happy Holidays," and the employees have to say Happy Holidays to customers to be PC, but when off-stage so to speak assume everyone is Christian anyways. I even heard complaints about how it was silly that we had to say Happy Holidays. At that point Chanukah was over, so if anyone was preparing to celebrate a holiday, it would be Christmas but still...non-Christians continue to shop despite the fact that they might not be celebrating an upcoming holiday. Sigh.

Ironically Christmas day itself was probably better for me this year than previously, now that I no longer celebrate the holiday. No pressure, no possibly-stressful family gatherings to contend with. Just a David Broza concert, some kosher Dunkin Donuts...and a boy. :)

Conversion and Marriage

2010-01-07T17:39:00.002-05:00

I find it interesting that with the strictures now in place, it almost seems like it's easier to convert Orthodox after marriage than before. Many Orthodox rabbis who work with converts actively discourage dating while in the process, and some will get quite upset if they find out it has been going on. Some will add months onto the process.

The whole thing seems insane. Many converts are in prime dating age and taking off a couple of years from meeting people, or rebuffing the advances of interested parties, doesn't seem like a very effective way of ensuring gerim are able to find a place within the community and not become yet another victim of the supposed shidduch crisis.

However, what happens if you get married and then decide to convert later? Well, the rabbi has to accept the situation for what it is. You're already together. If you seem serious about the whole conversion thing, then why not, and it would solve any problems relating to status of children. Sure, at the end you have to go through a second marriage ceremony, but that is a small price to pay in my opinion. Hmm. Maybe I could just have my kids dunked just to make sure. Would they even do that for a non-Orthodox mom? Oh well, for now I'm taking a wait-and-see approach.

The Quest Continues

2009-12-07T20:51:00.002-05:00

This post isn't really anything new or different, just a continuation of the same theme as the last one.

I was speaking to a friend after writing my last post, expressing many of the same things that I had written. He basically told me that the conversion process most likely is going to suck, and that I have to decide if the end result is something that I want. The trouble is, there are many facets to the end result. Do I want my conversion to be universally recognized? Yes. Do I want my future children's status as Jews never to be questioned. Absolutely.

What I'm not sure about, and what was raised once again by my visit to the Upper West Side, is whether I could agree to daven at a mainstream Orthodox synagogue for the rest of my life. Surely the rabbis supervising any conversion I would have would at least want that. I don't know where this comes from, but I feel that I want to be more actively involved, and I don't think it's something I can suppress indefinitely.

I've read why women traditionally don't lead services. According to my understanding of what I read, the reasoning is that a person can only fulfill others' obligations (the obligation to pray) if they have a greater or equal obligation. But I'm not sure this is even a good principle. These days, does the shaliach tzibbur fulfill anyone's obligation really, since people have their own prayer books and are presumably saying the prayers on their own? Also, can another person even fulfill someone else's obligation in the first place? Assuming you can fulfill your obligation through a third party, why does that person need to have an equal or greater obligation than you? And of course, what is women's obligation exactly?

I was thinking about this especially in connection to the services I went to on Friday night, conducted by the neighborhood's Orthodox partnership minyan, in which women lead Kabbalat Shabbat, and men lead mincha and maariv. They only count men toward the minyan, and apparently have been trouble making a minyan of ten men in recent weeks. Because there was no minyan, parts of the service requiring one were left out. Afterwards, some women expressed discontent at the lack of minyan and therefore the fact that certain prayers were not said. Now, why should a woman be upset about this if women are supposedly not required to say those prayers and to pray in a minyan anyway? And if we say that women's participation in prayer is important and that is preferable that they pray with a minyan, then why should they have to rely solely on men to make that happen? In my experience men are often unreliable and like to shirk responsibility...so why the heck did they decide to put themselves in charge?

It's things like this that make me want to say forget it, I'll go back to Conservative shul, except I'm not always thrilled with what they're doing either. Maybe I should just stop getting worked up and realize that no matter what I do, I'm always going to be a little weird and not quite fit in with everyone else. That crazy lady in the long skirt, head scarf, and traditional-yet-feminine tallit who just led you in Shabbat musaf? Yeah, that will be me.

Here We Come A-Waffling...

2009-11-29T22:12:00.002-05:00

So the title of this post is a play on the title of the holiday (ahem, xmas) song "Here We Come A-Wassailing." Unfortunately I have those holiday tunes from my childhood on the brain since they have started playing them as background music at the department store that employs me. (Also a fellow convert friend and I were trying to think of all the songs that don't explicitly mention xmas. We could make a compilation album and market it to Jews and other people who might want to have a non-sectarian holiday party.) But I feel the title is apt.

I have had times where I felt pretty close to certain that pursuing an Orthodox conversion was the way to go. My doubts about it have ranged from wondering if I can ever accept certain beliefs unquestioningly, to the difficulty of following some laws, to fear of rejection. The more I talk to others, the more I feel that I am not the only person in this boat. Many people are walking the line between Conservative and Orthodox Judaism, debating and questioning where they stand on various issues. The difficulty in my case is that it isn't just a matter of what kind of Jew I want to be, the very fact of my Jewishness is at stake.

This weekend I had a very enjoyable Shabbat experience with my friends on the Upper West Side, and over the course of the day I had a chance to have some interesting conversations and think about some of these issues and tensions. My friends and I ended up going to three different synagogues. On Friday night, we went to B'nai Jeshurun, an independent congregation that has apparently been unable to become a member of the USCJ because of their stances on things. I don't know the details, but they are well-known throughout the city for their service incorporating musical instruments (and the sound system used to amplify them). The music didn't bother me as much as I might have thought. I wouldn't play musical instruments or use an amplification system myself on Shabbat, but I didn't find it particularly intrusive that others were doing so. It does make you think though, because it is nice to see people in a shul looking like they want to be there.

The next day, since the minyan we might ordinarily be going to was not meeting due to a large number of people leaving town for the Thanksgiving weekend, we went to an Orthodox synagogue, which was nice until towards the end when it seemed like a majority of the people were talking to each other rather than actually davening. I felt very comfortable and at ease there (at least until I had an awkward run-in with an ex during kiddush).

Finally, for mincha and maariv we went to the only Conservative shul we know of that has those services (and routinely needs help making a minyan). Again, I was able to segue right into that, feeling totally comfortable. From mechitza to mixed seating, a boys-only club to egalitarianism. I have to say that it feels really special to be a part of such an intimate community, where every person really counts, and where you, as an individual, are often asked to provide a vital service so that the service can proceed. There is something that feels so much more "real" in a way to be sitting surrounding the bimah, less than 10 feet away from the person leading the prayers or reading from the Torah. It's harder to have that kind of connection when you're 30 or more feet away, with a wall standing between you and that place that becomes the focal point.

I know what some people would say. First, my opinion doesn't even count because I'm not really a Jew, so my experience is not authentic. Secondly, I'm a woman and if I want something different from what tradition allows, I must be trying to usurp the roles of men. Besides,if I was really spiritual or connecting to HaShem, I would be able to do it from my place in the women's section. The fact that I might find anything less than satisfying is indicative only of my own weakness, not of a potential flaw in the system.

Maybe they're right. Maybe my feelings that I would like to lead davening or learn to lein are just my own vanity talking. Things are problematic: yes, sometimes I can see how certain women singing could be distracting. Yes, sometimes sitting with members of the opposite sex is uncomfortable, or possibly a little too exciting. And the reasoning for both allowing or not allowing women to participate fully is, frankly, kind of lame. I'm not fully satisfied with how either the Conservative movement or Modern Orthodoxy have responded to these challenges, and I don't think I'm alone.

Random Amazing Things!

2009-10-21T22:00:00.003-04:00

As I subscriber to the YU Community Yahoo group, I get a steady stream of emails relating to all sorts of happenings in the neighborhood, from upcoming learning opportunities to people donating crock pots. Well, recently I got an email advertising the existence of...

A FRUM BOY SCOUT TROOP!

According to the email, they meet in New Jersey just and are "the only shomer Shabbat Boy Scout troop in Bergen and Passaic counties." My brother was a Boy Scout and my sister and I were both in Girl Scouts, and I have many fond memories. It's nice that observant Jewish kids can have an opportunity to participate in scouting activities. No news on a frum Girl Scout Troop yet, but I'm sure there is one, although they might have to wear a modified version of the uniform.

Also, on my last trip to the grocery store, I was in the deli meat section looking for my regular Empire smoked turkey slices, and did not see any hanging up. Fearing I would have to resort to another less tasty brand, I happened to look down into the case....and found that Empire now carries deli meat, thinly sliced, with many more slices, in a reusable, resealable container! More delicious, more convenient, and more sandwiches for me.

One thing I have learned in the months of unemployment and dating dry spell...how to be amused by minor things.

My Shul Kvetchings

2009-10-17T20:31:00.002-04:00

I was sitting in shul this Friday night, and I found myself at least mildly annoyed by many things, some of which I have been thinking about for awhile. My observations ensue, and while some might say I don't really have a right to offer criticism, I think these are some points that deserve consideration.

First of all, I find that the davening on Friday night at the shul I typically attend, and at many Orthodox synagogues, is lacking in many ways. In my experiences in Conservative shuls and non-Orthodox minyanim, I found that most of Kabbalat Shabbat was sung and opportunities for congregational participation were offered throughout maariv as well. This was something that I looked forward to every week, and put me in the spirit of Shabbat. At many of the Orthodox shuls I have visited, and the current one, I find that it often seems we are in a race to the finish. Most of the time all we get is a half-hearted Yedid Nefesh, psalms that we say to ourselves, and perhaps, if we're lucky, a slightly more rousing rendition of Lecha Dodi. Now, I understand that those who pray three times a day with a minyan generally like to keep it snappy in the interest of time, but shouldn't we try to do things a little different on Shabbat? If the shaliach tzibbur is not going to do anything to make the davening into a more communal, spiritually uplifting experience, and I'm not needed for the minyan, then am I gaining much by being in shul, rather than praying at home? This style of service is what I encountered during my first visits to an Orthodox synagogue a couple of years ago, and it was frankly a turn-off. Since then, I have found Orthodox shuls that adopt a more participatory style, such as Ramath Orah and Manhattan Jewish Experience, but what gives with the rest?

The format in which we read most things to ourselves is also not accessible to beginners, and not conducive to learning. I was able to learn and improve my Hebrew and prayer skills precisely because in the services I attended, many prayers were sung or said out loud in a group. I am still weak on parts of the service that are generally said quietly - who knows where I would be if I had attempted to learn in a typical Orthodox context? Manhattan Jewish Experience, and I'm sure other Orthodox outreach organizations, have realized this and offer services that assist beginners, but most shuls remain somewhat exclusive in this sense. Maybe many congregations are satisfied with the status quo and rely on the fact that their members are Orthodox by default, but if we are serious about encouraging Jews to explore traditional observance and serious converts to consider Orthodoxy over the other movements, maybe we should try to make things, um, a little less boring? I was surprised to learn today from a friend that when the shul I currently attend was initially becoming "the place" for younger people in Washington Heights, the younger contingent had formed a more "Carlebachy" minyan in the basement. What happened to it? Was conducting a stripped down service a prerequisite for joining and essentially taking over the upstairs minyan? Will the beat ever go on?

I have far less to say on this topic, but the ArtScroll siddurim are problematic. I am fairly confident that at every Friday evening service I have ever been to, we began with Yedid Nefesh and ended with Yigdal. Strangely, ArtScroll does not print either of these with the Kabbalat Shabbat service. If you dig through other parts you can find them, but frankly that's annoying. The ArtScroll Siddurim and Chumashim also seem to represent a viewpoint that is somewhat to the right of most Modern Orthodox synagogues. The transliterated siddur is done in the style of speaking most resembling that of a 60+ year old man from an insular community of Brooklyn. Lately I have noticed quite a few individuals who (at least in my active imagination) are protesting the ArtScroll monopoly by rocking the old school Birnbaum siddurim that the shul still has, or bringing their own Koren prayerbooks. Viva la Revolucion!

Lastly, I am annoyed by being forced to sit in close proximity to people who are talking to their friends. Before the holidays, I generally was able to secure a comfy spot with a nice buffer zone. Simchat Torah was nuts, since everyone stayed in and brought friends with them, but I expected things to go back to normal. However, at least this Shabbat I was surrounded on all sides. Maybe everyone feels guilted into going to shul after the yamim noraim. Perhaps crowding isn't really legitimate thing to complain about, but I would at least like to not be forced to listen to people's conversations during davening, or worse, the whispering that is quiet enough that you can't make out the words, but still drives you crazy with its rasping and hushed giggles.

And finally....I thought I was done, but this came to mind: the behavior of old ladies at kiddush. Why is it that old ladies seem to have no concept of decorum when it comes to getting food in the kiddush line? Today for example, everyone else was attempting to form a line and patiently wait their turn. However, a couple of old ladies butted right in and went for the cholent. I have seen this at nearly every shul kiddush I have attended. Does their age make them oblivious to the fact that there is protocol? Did they just not care about things like waiting your turn or sharing in the old days? Or is the thought process something like, I deserve it at my age, and no one is going say anything to an old lady being rude? I'm not sure what it is, but it is a phenomenon that is both amusing and distressing at the same time.

Kvetch ended.

At the Crossroads

2009-09-09T13:54:00.003-04:00

In the past couple of months I moved to a primarily Orthodox neighborhood, started living with Orthodox roommates, and have overall been leading what appears to be a pretty frum life. But as I contemplate going through an Orthodox conversion, there have been a few times when I have wondered, am I going completely crazy? I've been able to manage living this way for a few months, but can I do it long term? Should I? The choice to go through an Orthodox conversion will represent a radical departure from my previous way of life. However, any choice I make will involve some sacrifices. To help me lay out my thoughts and decide what to do, I present a list of pros and cons to converting Orthodox.

Let's start with the cons:

1.No eating out vegetarian at non-kosher places.
This one is pretty easy most of the time since I live in New York, but can present a problem when going out with non-Jewish friends. The real issue is when I go visit my family, where kosher joints are not exactly plentiful. This also raises the question of how do I eat in my parents' and relatives' houses?

2. No touching/hugging/etc boys unless you are married to them.
This one sometimes seems doable, but at other times is extremely frightening. In normal circumstances this would be a temporary state of being, but with the dating market the way it is, it could last for years. Or possibly forever. Also doesn't help that I am constantly encountering people who want to take my clothes off.

3. No more ballroom dancing.
This is connected to the last one. It was already a problem that virtually all competitions are held on Saturdays, but now I can't even dance in classes or socially unless I find a girl who is good at leading. Man, why do I have to pick such non-kosher activities? Speaking of non-kosher activities...

4. No more mixed swimming.
I was on a swim team for years, and now participating in this form of exercise is questionable because I have to wear a bathing suit. I also grew up going to the beach a lot, and I enjoy being able to wear a bathing suit for swimming purposes. Bring on the Victorian-era bathing costumes I guess?

5. Can no longer wear certain items in wardrobe.
Most of the things I own can still be worn with the appropriate level of layering. However, I'm not sure what to do about formal wear. Luckily the need for formal or cocktail attire doesn't come up too often, but it seems that the only options available options in this category are things that are sleeveless and low-cut or outfits only appropriate for grandmothers.

6. No dating non-Orthodox guys.
Now, I recognize why this one makes sense and my experiences have told me I'll be better off not having to play Shabbos police, but this narrows the dating pool by at least 80%. Scary.

7. Possibility of shunning/non-acceptance by the community.
Most people I have met have seemed very nice. However, a conversation I had this weekend alerted me to the reality that there are people who gossip and backstab, and because it is a small community, word can get around. I'm not perfect, and I'm sure there are plenty of things about me that may provide grist for the rumor mill.

8. Risk of alienating friends and family.
Orthodox Judaism is seen as the hardline - not very flexible, intolerant of those of different views, etc. I don't want my friends or family to think that I think they are doing things wrong, or that I disapprove of them in any way.

A lot of things to think about, but there are pros to converting Orthodox too! Here they are:

1. Idealogical consistency and hopefully peace of mind
I've come to the conclusion that the Orthodox have it right about a lot of things. Once I accepted that mitzvot are binding and you therefore can't really pick and choose, it became important to actually be able to live that out.

2. Being part of a community that shares a commitment to Judaism
Converting Orthodox would allow me to formally be part of the observant community and participate fully in all aspects of community life. My options right now are to try to live outside of the community, where it is difficult to find like-minded people, or to be a bit of an outsider and feel like I'm hiding something. The second option isn't sustainable long term; ultimately it's going to be in or out.

3. My Jewish identity and the Jewish identity of my children, G-d willing, will no longer be up for debate.
Of course you never really know what the Israeli rabbinate is going to do next, but with an Orthodox conversion through the RCA, I could be relatively certain that I would be considered Jewish throughout the Jewish community in the United States and in Israel, thereby avoiding all the attendant problems. Same goes for the kiddies.

4. Ability to date Orthodox men.
The idea with this one is that I'm more likely to find a spouse who shares a commitment to Judaism in the Orthodox community than I am elsewhere. Currently I can't really do this because many would say I am technically not Jewish at all.

All in all, the reasons to convert Orthodox are very compelling, and I feel like I know what the right answer is, but there are certainly things I will miss. I have experienced many things, and from this point forward can make a choice about how I want to live my life - but what about the repercussions for any children I would have? They will be born with limitations I never had. How does it feel to do things or not do things because you have to? Will my kids have any non-Jewish friends? They will never have a prom, or get to spend a semester abroad in India. The challenge will be, for myself and for my future family, to find a way to create a life that is rich and fulfilling in which what I can do outweighs what I cannot, in which what I've gained outshines what I've lost. It does - but I'm mourning my loss to an extent and wondering who else has gone through the same thing.

Finding Meaning in the Month of Elul

2009-08-26T18:45:00.001-04:00

The past several months have been very difficult for me. I received my graduate degree in May and have spent the last three and a half months looking for a job and shuffling from one sublet to another. I knew when the economy got basically flushed down the toilet last September that I was going to have difficulty finding something, particularly as I am not really in a growth field, but I never imagined that I would be here, three months after graduation, with not even some form of minimum wage labor. The problem is multi-layered. First, there aren’t a lot of jobs anyway. Then, the ones in my field require a level of experience that I do not currently possess. When I try to look for jobs in other areas to tide me over, my potential employers take one look at my resume and wonder why I would ever want to work for them (I don’t really) and know that I am a risk to hire because I will undoubtedly leave if presented with a better opportunity. Not only that, but apparently to work in retail or be a secretary you need significant amounts of experience now.

This has taken an incredible toll on me. Sending out applications, and most of the time never hearing anything regarding them, is exhausting. It’s hard to be told no over and over again, or to not even merit any kind of acknowledgement or response. I don’t know whether I’m a failure, or if the system is a failure. I did all the right things: I studied hard in high school, got scholarships for college, wrote an honors senior thesis, and got into my graduate program of choice. I did internships to gain experience. And now, all my planning is laid to waste.

All this is difficult for me in isolation, but different challenges are presented as I go out and interact with the world. I feel embarrassed that I don’t have a job, and most people do not seem to recognize that this is a very sensitive subject. I encounter the issue every time I go to an event, or gather around a Shabbos table: the first question everyone asks is “what do you do?” Sometimes I can slap a smile on my face and say “I recently graduated with my masters and am looking for a job.” At other times, it is difficult to pretend that the questions don’t bother me. It is especially painful that these questions come on Shabbos, the one day of the week when I can kick back and not have to think intensively about my strategy for gaining employment. Whatever happened to the prohibition against talking about work? People are also not sensitive to the implication of not having work: financial difficulty. They say I should be out enjoying myself with all this free time I have , and I wish I could, but most things cost money that I just don’t have. It’s painful to hear people talk about the fabulous vacations they are going to take with their significant others, when the most I have to look forward to is an afternoon alone in the park. Perhaps more difficult than not having work is the lack of emotional support and understanding.

I have been trying to find some kind of meaning in all of this, and I think I might have some answers. In some ways, I struggle with ascribing higher significance to unfortunate events. After all, we are surrounded by examples of needless suffering and situations that don’t seem to resolve: why are there homeless people, seemingly abandoned by society? What purpose is served by people losing their children to illness and untimely death? If G-d didn’t intervene in a tragedy as disastrous as the Holocaust, why should I be so arrogant as to believe that He is going to help me out with my insignificant problems?

Nonetheless, perhaps without reason, I have to hold onto some kind of hope that things are going to improve, and I think I have learned some things through my difficulties. One important insight that I think I have gained is that I am not what I do for a living, or what I study. I have a core being that transcends those things and people have a value beyond their worldly achievements. Unfortunately, even in the Jewish community, there seems to be an undue emphasis on occupations and material success. In seeming contrast to this lesson, I have also realized just how much money it takes to live and what an emotional toll financial struggle takes. It makes me wonder if I have made a horrible mistake, that I should have done something lucrative to provide for my and my children’s future. I have not yet figured out how to strike a balance between these two opposing ideas, but it’s nice to know that I have something that has remains intact despite my lack of a job.

The other thing that this period has afforded me is an opportunity to engage in some real spiritual self-reflection that might not be possible if I were occupied with other things. Without the security of a job, school, or a relationship, I’ve been stripped down to the essentials. What do I really want or need? What is actually good for me? Now as we’re in the month of Elul and approaching the High Holidays, I find myself in the perfect place to start over again and to implement real change in my life. Maybe I had to go through some difficulty to get here, and now I’m going to be the better for it. Maybe those jobs I didn’t get and those relationships that didn’t work out weren’t right for me anyway. My secular friends would probably think I’m crazy for saying all this, and I don’t expect G-d to hand me a miracle, but I feel there is a real opportunity here for things to go in a positive direction.

Sex, Shomer Negiah, and the Single Jew

2009-08-13T19:57:00.002-04:00

Growing up Catholic, sex was bad and wrong and dirty and you were only supposed to do it when you were married, and even then only to have children. I received abstinence-only education at school, although we were thankfully at least taught the relevant anatomy in biology class. For a while I bought into the no-sex-before-marriage thing, but I couldn’t wrap my mind around why some-thing that was obviously designed to be enjoyable and bring people together should be labeled wrong and bring shame on those who engaged in it outside of the socially-approved norms. I could think of a lot worse crimes than messing around with someone you love.

When I first started learning about Judaism, in its more liberal streams, I found the views of sexuality downright liberating…first there isn’t really a hell you can go to for your sexual misdeeds. Second, we recognize that there are uses for sexuality besides popping out the babies. Maybe the rabbis weren’t exactly walking around condoning pre-marital sex but they certainly weren’t asking many questions about what you may or may not have been doing with that boyfriend/girlfriend of yours. So I was initially very surprised to learn that many Orthodox Jews are shomer negiah – not only is there no sex, there is no touching between members of the opposite sex who are not married!

This initially sounded crazy to me – a more extreme version of what I had tried to escape from . But then I grew to understand the specific commandments involved, so I had to grudgingly admit it made some sense. It started to make some sense from a practical perspective, too, because, see…the way I had been going about dating and relationships didn’t seem to be working out. There was a lot of getting hurt, a lot of feeling used in the end, a lot of thinking I was in control and then realizing I really wasn’t. I learned my lesson the hard way, but I don’t know if I could have learned it any other way. Clearly the abstinence-only-education and threats of eternal punishment didn’t do much.

So I’m willing at the age of 24 to countenance this whole shomer negiah thing. The problem is…I’m not sure I can do it. I can try, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to screw it up. It is unfathomable for me to imagine how other people my age with healthy sex drives are managing it.

Our rabbis, of blessed memory, were smart though. They knew exactly what happens when you have a bunch of single teens and young adults running around, hormones a-blazin’ – people are going to get it on. That’s why they advocated marriage young – for men, “18 to the chuppah” I believe, for women probably younger. This way, as soon as those hormones really kick into high gear, you have a healthy outlet.

Fast forward to the 21st century. The average age of marriage is delayed more and more as people spend more time in school. You have to go to school to get ahead, get advanced degrees, to make a living for your future family. But no, you can’t get married until after you finish. You shouldn’t really be looking for a potential partner, you’re too young, focus on your career. So you end up with a bunch of twenty-somethings, more than a decade out of puberty, all living together. For some reason it’s getting increasingly harder to find the right match, too. Maybe you thought you could wait. It might have been easy when you went to a sex-separated school, your year in Israel, and maybe even a single-sex college, but now you’re out there interacting with the opposite sex and things are getting tough.

Now, maybe it’s just me, but it seems like in these circumstances you would need either superhuman strength or an abnormally low sex drive to come out clean after several years. We’re not designed to live celibate lives for extended periods of time, much less lives with no touch. I don’t have any easy answers. I’m definitely not advocating going back to the system where we’re all married off at 18. Studies have shown that our brains continue to develop and mature into our 20s, so I think there is something valuable in waiting. I guess all I’m looking for is a little compassion and understanding for those who find themselves in this situation, and who, being human, screw up. We’re not perfect. In an ideal world, we would all be shomer negiah, graduate from whatever program of study we decided to pursue, find our bashert, and then lead a life of wedded bliss where everyone is physically compatible with their partner. With the way things currently are, however, a lot of us are bound to be less than ideal.

The thing that really irks me is the suggestion that this issue could stand between me and an Orthodox conversion. This was kindly brought up by “Smicha guy” who in enumerating the potential problems with us dating said that since he was not shomer negiah (if the rabbinical students aren’t what hope is there for the rest of us), presumably any relationship we would have would not be shomer negiah (hey, wait a minute buddy!), and that therefore this could result in my conversion being invalidated because I wasn’t fully accepting the mitzvot. Obviously it didn’t work out with him anyway, but this really tore me up. I was up nights thinking about it. I cried. For some reason this is a lot harder for me. Dietary restrictions? Cool. No driving, handling money, or turning on and off electricity on Shabbat? Bring it on. Swearing of all physical contact until a marriage that is not currently in the foreseeable future? Terrifying. Maybe it’s because I haven’t fully bought into the notion that everything will work out fine, no taking the car for a test drive before you buy necessary. I know enough to know that there is a such thing as people who are horribly inept. There are some lemons that no number of tune-ups can fix. I shudder to think what sort of nonsense some Haredi women have to put up with – these are guys who probably have no idea what sort of anatomy their wives have got, not one of those topics they teach you in yeshiva.

So where does this leave me? Definitely confused. Afraid of failure and rejection. G-d, maybe it’s time for that heavenly voice to come down and tell me everything is going to be alright, and it will all be better than I ever imagined.

An Answer to the Ethical Problems in the Jewish Community?

2009-08-11T21:53:00.002-04:00

As I was studying parshat Va-etchanan one Shabbat afternoon, I was struck once again by the beauty of the Torah’s ethical teachings . As I read the repetition of the Ten Commandments and the familiar words of the first paragraph of the Shema, I felt proud to be part of this tradition. Yet, I was also disturbed by parts of the parshah that seem to go against many of the values of the Torah:

“When the Lord your G-d brings you to the land that you are about to enter and possess, and He dislodges many nations before you – the Hittites, Girgashites, Amorites, Canaanites, Perizzites, Hivites, and Jebusites, seven nations much larger than you – and the Lord your G-d delivers them to you and you defeat them, you must doom them to destruction: grant them no terms and give them no quarter.” (Deuteronomy 7: 1-2).

How can the Torah on one hand value life, exhorting us not to murder, yet also advocate the wholesale slaughter of entire nations, men, women, and children? I raise this question, but have no way to answer it and have no intention of trying to do so in this post. I raise the point because it was part of my thought process.
I generally believe in what the Torah teaches. The discovery of its ancient system of ethics is part of what attracted me to Judaism in the first place – providing for the poor, the widow, and the orphan, showing kindness to the stranger, the provisions of justice. But I have been distressed recently by what seems to be a complete disregard for Judaism’s ethical precepts in some segments of the Orthodox community.

It is not only the money laundering schemes by certain Charedi individuals, or the egregious behavior in Jerusalem’s Mea Shearim. I feel that in general, the Orthodox Jewish world is less engaged in helping to repair the world at large. In the Reform and Conservative congregations in which I have participated, social justice beyond the Jewish community has been an area of concern. The major Jewish charities in New York, to my knowledge, seem to be staffed primarily by non-Orthodox Jews. Why is this?

Some leaders in the Charedi community have admitted that schools need to place a greater emphasis on ethics in light of recent events. They recognize that there is a failure. But isn’t it obvious that something like this would happen when the Tanakh is not even taught in most boys’ yeshivas? The core of our ethical teachings, the foundation of all of our celebrations and rituals, is put on the back burner.

I was shocked when I first learned about this. I was dating a guy for several months who had spent most of his life in yeshiva and had since (obviously, since he was dating me) left the fold somewhat. I brought up a story from the Torah: remember that time when Tamar dressed up as a prostitute and seduced her father-in-law so she could have children in her husband’s name? The man had no idea what I was talking about. Shouldn’t there have been, somewhere in those 12+ years of yeshiva learning, at least some lessons so that the students know what is in the Tanakh, or at least the five books of Moses? What good is all that Talmud learning when you don’t even know the original text that it is explicating?

But there hasn’t been a total failure in all sectors of Jewish education. It turns out the women are getting a better education in Tanakh than are the men. In fact, this is a major focus of study in Charedi girls’ schools where women are not permitted to learn Gemara. Women in the Orthodox community are also more likely to pursue professions that reach beyond the Jewish community. I know quite a few who work as public school and special education teachers, are studying to become social workers, therapists, and nurses who work with people from a broad range of backgrounds. Maybe it’s a coincidence, or maybe these are just the tradition women’s professions, but I think these women are making a deliberate choice to go into lines of work that will enable them to work outside of the Jewish community and make a meaningful impact on people’s lives.

If we’re looking for a leadership role for women in the Jewish community, I think we’ve found it. I’ve never been one for gender essentialism, but whether it be a product of women’s education or a natural sensitivity, I think women are well –equipped to become great teachers of Torah and ethics. Something clearly needs to be done if we are to live up to our calling to be “a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.” (Exodus 19:6). If women are, as the Talmud suggests, endowed with greater binah, or intuition, and the men with daat, or a focus on factual understandings it seems that women would be better suited to teach the values that see human beings as a whole and take into consideration interpersonal relationships. There has perhaps been an imbalance in binah and daat that needs correcting. Granted, someone should continue learning Gemara and probing the finer points of the halakhah, but it should not be done at the expense of learning the greater moral truths that our tradition encompasses. It is said that in the Messianic Era the previously undervalued feminine elements in the world will rise to their true recognition. Perhaps the moral failings of some in the Jewish community are the wake-up call we need to push us toward transforming the world into the state it is meant to be.

A fun link for Tu B'Av

2009-08-05T16:42:00.002-04:00

I believe this lady has summed up the dating crisis for Jewish women.

An Open Letter to G-d on Tu B'Av

Men, seriously...get your acts together. Except Mike, I'm not worried about you yet.

Matchmaker, Matchmaker...Make Me a Jew?

2009-07-23T21:58:00.002-04:00

Yes, it's time once again for that perennial favorite topic: dating.

I decided recently that I do not want to date guys who are apathetic about Judaism. I want to live an observant life, and the last thing I need is to attempt to drag someone kicking and screaming with me. I felt empowered by my new outlook.

Then, as I related in a previous post, I met a guy on Shabbat. If you recall, I feared the worst, seeing as how he is studying for smicha. He called me this week, we had a nice phone chat of and hour and a half, then we met today to go to the natural history museum. The conversion came up in one of the ways it usually does: "so, that doesn't sound like a Jewish last name." I responded that I converted, but I also revealed that I converted Conservative. I wasn't sure how he took it. We had a nice afternoon, and then at the end we talked about his concerns regarding the fact that I am not Jewish by Orthodox standards. I said at the very least I was interested in getting to know him better, regardless of what context that was, and we decided to talk in a few days.

Well, as I was writing this, I got a message from him stating that he doesn't think it's a good idea for us to see each other again, even as friends, because he doesn't think he can be around someone who he is attracted to but can't date. Even though I knew this was a possible outcome, and have known that one day I would run into something like this, it wasn't real until now.

Surely I must be the Shiksa Menace as I seem to have an uncanny ability to make Jewish men not be able to control themselves in my presence. Apparently for this guy my powers are so great that he can't even be friends with me. Now, I understand his reasoning, but I find it frustrating. Does this mean I can't date anyone? Am I to Jewish men what the Sirens were to Odysseus' crew? Even with the tznu'a clothes? Crazy.

This is either a sign that I should avoid the Orthodox community altogether, or convert again to make sure I'm extra kosher. The first option is not really feasible. The second option...I'm honestly too tired to think about right now.

Dressing up Jewish

2009-07-21T19:20:00.001-04:00

I always get a little excited when I see a woman in a skirt and the tell-tale long sleeves in the summer. I feel a sense of identification; these are my people, even if they might not identify me the same way. I greatly admire these women. I don’t know how they manage it, but they always seem so well put-together - immaculate tailoring, everything crisp and in place, perhaps a funky scarf tied on their heads. But beyond the clothes themselves there is something dignified, even regal, about them.

Going through a conversion in the Conservative movement, no one asked me to change anything about the way I dress. There was a sense of what was shul-appropriate – no sleeveless tops, for example – but beyond that there was no mention of tzniut. Left to my own devices, I generally stuck to wearing a skirt for services.

I grew up wearing pretty much whatever I wanted. In junior high and high school I owned some pretty ridiculously short shorts. Tank tops and cleavage-revealing items have also been a feature of my wardrobe. But last summer, as I was learning more about traditional Judaism, there were a couple of incidents wearing a particular dress that made me quite uncomfortable and made me rethink what I wear a bit. I did not enjoy having people stare directly at my chest. I bought a couple of t-shirts with conservative necklines, but my resolve melted as temperatures rocketed into the 90s. I generally prefer to wear skirts, so that wasn’t too much of a problem. Into the fall I bought some more clothes that were on the less revealing side, but as winter dragged on into spring I got lazy. Working on my thesis, I decided comfort and convenience were of prime importance and so I sported jeans and Ugg boots on an almost daily basis. Also I felt that my combination of winter skirt, tights, and boots looked a little silly with my bright yellow backpack in which I carried my laptop every day.

But in the past couple of weeks, I’ve started being more concerned about the way I dress. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m around more people who follow tzniut. That is probably a large contributing factor, but I think there is more to it. A lot of it has to do with me wanting to find a new way to relate to people, particularly men. Sometimes it was nice to get attention, but other times I felt uncomfortable, exposed, and even unsafe. After a number of failed attempts at relationships, I’ve come to suspect that many of these guys weren’t particularly interested in me as a person and were instead focused on my, um, other assets. The hope is that by wearing less revealing clothing, people can more easily see me as whole, rather than a sum of my parts.

Some third-wave feminists would argue that women should be able to wear whatever they want without any trouble. It’s the men’s problem if they are distracted or drawn to certain body parts. It’s true that what is generally considered modest or immodest is highly culturally variable. It wasn’t so long ago, for example, that a woman’s ankle was seen as arousing. But in our cultural context at least, certain body parts are seen as sexual and their display carries sexual meanings. Their repeated display, moreover, doesn’t seem to have lessened their eroticism. I don’t think by any means that revealing clothing should be construed as inviting a sexual advance, but it does have meanings which most people can’t ignore.

As far as the details of what constitutes modesty, I’m undecided. Right now I wear skirts and tops with some sort of sleeve. I feel comfortable with skirts that hit right at knee. I thought I was fine with tops with short sleeves and a reasonably high neckline, but as I indicated in my last post, I have become more sensitized to it. I was clicking through Banana Republic’s website the other day and found that collarbones could be sexy, which makes me stop to wonder if I’m going crazy. I purchased a few shirts with sleeves that at least cover most of my upper arms, and I found that most of the stuff in my closet can still be worn with the right combination of layers. I’m not sure if this is going to be like last year when I gave up in the face of rising temperatures, but I think it’s more serious this time. And if I can last through the summer, I can certainly make it through the winter. Although tights are really annoying sometimes. Men, you really have no idea.

Adventures in Shabbat!

2009-07-20T20:40:00.000-04:00

I had a very interesting and eclectic Shabbat experience this weekend. I look forward to Shabbat every week as I time of reprieve from thinking about the fact that I'm unemployed, and I was definitely sorry to see it go. My weekend provoked a number of interesting responses and observations.

I started off Friday evening before Shabbat with a call from a friend of one of my roommates (who was going to be out of town) saying she was coming up to stay in the roommate's room for the day. Once she was here and settled in, I went off to Migdal Or, an Orthodox minyan that strives to incorporate greater participation for women. I was the second person to arrive as the first arrival was setting up. I was surprised to find that I was a little disconcerted when I didn't see a mechitza. It was brought out later, but I was surprised by my reaction, since I normally feel totally comfortable in a setting with mixed seating. I suppose it was the expectation I had going in, and the hope of finding a good solution to the issues I've been struggling with.

Unfortunately I didn't get to talk to people much afterwards, since I had to head to the Orthodox shul to meet someone (who I had never met before) for dinner. I had been set up by my soon-to-be roommate and found the people to be warm, welcoming, and engaged with the world around them. We had a wide ranging conversation including debates about the merits of new technology and the importance of sex education. Overall they seemed like open-minded people. Too bad the guys were all my age and married.

Saturday I went to the "traditional egalitarian" shul, and felt fine with the mixed seating and women's participation, as usual. What surprised me there was, for the first time in my life, looking at a woman in a short-sleeved top or one with a lower neckline and thinking she looked sort of naked. I couldn't figure that one out, especially when I wear short sleeves myself. I'm definitely developing a new understanding of what I should be or want to be wearing, but I will address that more thoroughly elsewhere.

After shul, I went to lunch at someone's apartment, and I knew going in that the people who would be there were not very observant. I knew that many of them were coming from other parts of Manhattan via the subway, and that didn't bother me too much. However, I didn't feel comfortable when someone got out his cell phone and starting calling someone who was running late. I guess you can't expect people to pretend to be more observant than they are, but it seemed out of sync with the fact that we were having a Shabbat lunch.

Later on I ended up going on a walk with the girl staying in my roommate's bedroom, going to mincha at the Orthodox shul, then going to someone else's apartment for seudat shlishit. Everything seemed to go off fine there, and I ended up talking to a guy who is studying for smicha. He of course asked the question of what I do, and when I mentioned that I finished my Master's in museum studies he brought up an exhibit at the natural history museum and later asked me if I'd like to go. I said ok, but I'm a little concerned about the potential for awkwardness. I will be forced to drop the "I'm a conservative convert" bomb, since I don't want to mislead anyone. Basically, I've imagined everything going horribly wrong, and him telling everyone in the neighborhood about it and then being shunned. Of course I've met people who were very open and didn't seem to be bothered about what kind of conversion I had, but I'm not sure what the reaction of the general populace would be.

Anyway, three shuls in one weekend and the take-home lesson seems to be that I've magically transformed into being more religious and that I have become increasingly sensitized to things that would not have previously bothered me. We'll see where this goes.

The Lone Feminist

2009-07-16T19:37:00.003-04:00

I recently moved to Washington Heights from Manhattan's Upper West Side, and my new community is known for being significantly more frum. My current roommates are not particularly frum themselves, but it can be interesting to navigate.

There have been a few incidents lately that have heightened my awareness of just how different I am and how strong my feminist leanings are. Last Shabbat, one roommate and I were having lunch in our apartment with a few of her friends. I can't remember the context exactly, but my roommate was describing a visit to the neighborhood before she moved here, on Simchat Torah. Apparently the rabbi at the local Orthodox shul had been explaining that the women would not be allowed to carry or touch the Torah, saying that was pushing too far. Mind you, a number of Orthodox communities in New York have permitted this. Of course I have to open my big mouth and say something to the effect that it is halakhically permitted for women to touch a Torah. One of the girls strongly asserted that women can't touch a Torah, and the other said it depends who you ask and her rabbi said it wasn't ok. The boys remained silent. After Shabbat, I looked this up to make sure I was correct, and apparently its in the Shulchan Arukh that it is permitted and that even a woman who is a niddah cannot trasfer tumah to the Torah. So what is the basis of saying they can't? I don't know, but that's not really the point of the story. The point is that I felt odd being the only woman, in a group of women, who was affirming the appropriateness of women taking an active role in Jewish life.

Today another incident occurred. My roommate had a couple of friends over, and they were talking about a good way to tell a guy you're not interested after a date. One of them mentioned that she would bring up things about herself toward the end of the date that might be unflattering. Another had apparently done similar things, saying that she said "so, what do you think about women's tefillaah groups?" Her father apparently said she should stop saying that because otherwise she would get a reputation as a hard core feminist (thereby hurting her chances for a good shidduch).

I don't know what I was expecting, these views are very much in line with mainstream Orthodoxy as I understand it. But there is a part of me that can't get over women subjecting themselves to restrictions when there is a halakhic basis for removing those restrictions. In some cases, I feel that it is driven by a lack of interest. If you're not interested in prayer in the first place, it's hard to imagine being a part of a women's tefillah group where you are expected to take a more active role.

I'm trying to understand the strength of the opposition to some of these innovations. Growing up going to the Catholic Church, I always knew only men could be priests, and I questioned the status quo, but I never got too upset about it. I never met anyone who was vehemently opposed to the idea. But bring up the issue of women's ordination as rabbis in some circles, and it seems like you've offended the very fiber of their being. I can see why men might be up in arms about it, but the women too? I have a lot of respect for women who are content with their role and find meaning in the separate spheres for men and women. I feel that many of them, comfortable with their own situation, would be open to discussing these issues. But the hostility that others - men and women - express when confronted with critique on women's issues seems to indicate a defensive stance, a reaction to a very real threat. The acknowledgement of the threat may be an acknowledgement of the power of the arguments posed by the opposition. If those arguments were insubstantial, they would not be so threatening.

So it seems I am destined to be a minority in whatever context I am in. Friday night I'm going to Migdal Or, a progressive Orthodox minyan in which men lead Mincha and Ma'ariv and women lead Kabbalat Shabbat. I'm looking forward to it, as I think this will be a place where I feel like I fit. I'm a little worried that this will cast me as that crazy feminist girl who isn't really Jewish anyway, since I need to find roommates and a permanent housing situation. But maybe this will be the place to be.

The Jewish Learning Gap

2009-07-14T19:57:00.002-04:00

I finished my conversion in May of this year, ending a period of formal Jewish learning that had taken place for the better part of two years. I actually finished my class at the end of February, but delayed my conversion as I was finishing the requirements for my masters degree. Now, conversion certificate in hand and facing unprecedented amounts of free time in my unemployment, I decided what better way to use this time than by increasing my Jewish knowledge? Easier said than done.

Sure, I love reading on my own and having informal discussions about Jewish topics (part of the reason I started this blog), but I feel like there are areas where I would benefit from some instruction. However, I find that most educational programming in the city is either geared towards those with a minimal knowledge of Judaism, or those who spent their whole lives in Jewish day schools.

I feel like I was given a fairly decent education, then left to fend for myself without appropriate resources. I have a broad-based understanding of Jewish practice, beliefs, and history and some knowledge of Hebrew. I love history and can increase my knowledge on that front by reading books in English. However, to engage with Jewish texts, I really need better Hebrew reading skills. But finding an appropriate class is harder than one might think. Most courses I've seen offered are geared toward modern Hebrew, whereas what I think I need is a course that offers me the tools to understand the siddur as well as Tanakh and Talmud. Not only that, but apparently no one wants to learn Hebrew in the summertime (at least this is what all the major Jewish educational organizations must think.)

I think what I want most of all is an opportunity to talk about the topics and issues that I'm interested in with someone who is knowledgeable about the relevant Jewish sources. I dream about having long one-on-one talks with some rabbi who will give me satisfying answers to all my questions, open my mind to new possibilities, and affirm me in my quest to lead a meaningful Jewish existence. Too much to ask?

I'm sure I'm not the first convert who has felt left out in the cold, as it were. Maybe what I'm experiencing now is part of the reason that the rabbi who taught my class said that it's much harder to convert on your own, as opposed to with a Jewish partner already in place. It is easy to feel alone without that built in support system. The responsibility is on me to reach out for help, but I feel vulnerable in doing so. There is the possibility of rejection, of a failure to understand. I yearn for connection.

I really have no idea how to end this post. I can't wrap it up with a neat conclusion, because I haven't found the conclusion yet. These are the outpourings of my soul.

Flirting with Orthodoxy

2009-07-12T17:17:00.002-04:00

I recently finished reading "Orthodox Jews in America," by Professor Jeffrey Gurock of Yeshiva University. The book presents a fairly even-handed history of Orthodoxy in the United States and raises a number of interesting points about the Orthodox community and the other movements that is developed in response to.

One insight was that many of the decisions of congregations to become Reform or Conservative was not borne out of any sort of ideological commitment, but rather a laxness in practice on the part of the community and a desire to blend in with other Americans. In other words, they were lazy bums. True, there were intellectual leaders who developed these movements, but I doubt most congregations who became Conservative decided to affiliate because they felt strongly about the Documentary Hypothesis. But the Conservative and Reform communities were not the only ones who were non-observant; as Gurock discusses, possibly the majority of those who affiliated with Orthodox synagogues were non-observant.

At any rate, Professor Gurock’s book brought to the surface some of the nagging questions I have about my Jewish practice, what my practice should be, and my place within the Jewish community. I acknowledge this is probably too big to tackle in one post.

I was reminded as I read the book of the fact that Jewish communities outside of New York do exist, and that I am very fortunate to be living in Manhattan. It recently occurred to me that if I relocate to another city and choose to attend the local Conservative synagogue, it is highly likely that I will knowingly have to violate halakhah. It is often only the Orthodox neighborhoods that have an eruv and a shul within walking distance, and in many cities, as is the case with Houston where I am from, these communities can be at quite a distance from Conservative synagogues. It’s a far cry from Manhattan where I can happily trot to and from services, tallit and siddur in hand, or bring a bottle of wine to a Shabbat meal at a friend’s apartment.

So the question arises, where exactly do I fit in? I have loyalties to the Conservative movement that supervised my conversion, but would I go to a Conservative synagogue at all costs? I find it difficult to navigate finding a community that shares both a commitment to normative Jewish practice and has effectively dealt with egalitarianism and gender issues in a way that works within tradition. As a Jew-by-choice, I feel pressure to define what kind of Jew I am, perhaps more so than other Jews, as the very question of my Jewish identity is at stake. While others can slip back and forth between Conservative, Orthodox, and “Traditional Egalitarian” contexts without a blink of an eye, I feel like I’m participating in a game of hiding in plain sight, choosing not to reveal what I “really” am.

So why don’t I just do an Orthodox conversion if I want to commit to following Jewish law and not feel out of place? The main thing that stops me is my feminism. Despite fairly conservative parents, I grew up with the assumption that I could do everything a man could and I balk at anyone telling me I can’t. But I can’t accept the Conservative position as unproblematic, especially as I have read more on the topic. I’m unsatisfied by the answers given on both sides. My main issue is with validating women participating actively in leading services and being counted in the minyan.

The Orthodox argument goes something like this (bear in mind I’m no authority on this): Why can’t women lead services? Because they don’t have an equal obligation to public prayer, and only someone with an equal obligation can perform an action on behalf of others. Why don’t they have an equal obligation to public prayer? I haven’t heard any good reason. And why aren’t they counted as part of the minyan and community? The rabbinic sources I’ve seen cited don’t say, but they’re pretty explicit that women don’t count.

The Rabbinical Assembly of the Conservative Movement has presented the argument that not counting women in the community has the status of minchag (custom), and so is less compelling. Still, even if this is so, do we just chuck something out because it doesn’t quite accord with modern sensibilities? The Conservative responsum on this issue also advanced the idea that women can voluntarily take on the obligation to public prayer as a group. But this basically assures that most women will be in non-compliance with Jewish law. Besides, there is something attractive about the fact that traditional Judaism exempts women from public daily prayer so that they can more easily attend to childcare responsibilities. Of course, this could just be me being lazy.

I don't really have a problem with the mechitza per se. The Orthodox have a valid point with that one, as I can attest to, having gone to shul with a guy I was dating who succeeded in distracting me, although I think that was more a function of him not paying attention to what was going on and flipping through the chumash. I think valid arguments can be found for both having or not having a mechitza, but I find the history of its deinstallation in many synagogues had more to do with congregants not wanting to appear backward in front of their Christian neighbors sitting in mixed pews than with any basis on sound halakhic reasoning. I do find that many mechitzot do not promote a meaningful davening experience in the women's section, but conscientious people could find creative ways to address the problems of synagogue architecture, as they have in many cases.

Other ways I seem to fall more in line with Orthodoxy: I think the Conservative responsum that have allowed driving to synagogue on Shabbat is totally out of line. Even if we acknowledge that large numbers of people in suburban communities will drive on Shabbat, we should be clear that this violates basic Shabbat prohibitions. Additionally, I don't buy the argument that turning electricity on and off is permissible because electricity is more like like water than fire. The changing of language referring to the reestablishment of the the Temple and sacrifices in the Conservative siddur is problematic as well, and is an example of the Conservative movement following in the footsteps of Reform. I don't know how I would feel about reinstating sacrifices either, but I'm not sure we should just start excising things from the prayer book. An on the theological front, I think you tread on dangerous ground when you accept the theory that the Torah was redacted from several (human originated) documents. I'm not much of a literalist myself, but when you strip away the divine origin of the Torah, the foundation for following mitzvot cracks.

So what should I do? I am intrigued by a number of Orthodox communities and minyanim that have innovated in allowing for greater participation by women, such as Darkhei Noam, Migdal Or, and the Hebrew Institute of Riverdale. I feel I may be led one day to pursue an Orthodox conversion, although I fear that even then it would not be accepted by all authorities. I can never make everyone happy I suppose, but for now I'll keep trying to figure out what's going to work for me.

The Right Jew for You

2009-07-09T22:59:00.000-04:00

As a friend once said, to rip-off that much-lambasted phrase from Teen Talk Barbie, “Dating is hard. Let’s go shopping!”

Dating is hard. It’s arguably harder if you’re Jewish. And if you’re a convert to Judaism…well, oy. I’m not the first to talk about the merits of Jewish dating or Jewish dating as a convert. Many of the issues that come up have been covered by Mia Rut in her post “To Date a Jew.” What I’ve observed from my experiences is that it’s not just a matter of finding a Jew, it’s a matter of finding the right Jew for you.

As a Conservative convert, there are a whole host of issues that come up in dating that Jews-by-birth never have to contend with. I have also discovered that within the scope of the Jewish community, I am somewhat of a freak.
First of all, as much as I may go around thinking and acting like a Jew, there are some people who are never going to accept me as a member of the Tribe. My Conservative conversion will not be accepted by most Orthodox authorities, or presumably by the Orthodox men on the dating scene. This gets tricky when I attend some of the many social events for singles in their 20s and 30s, where many people assume I’m Orthodox, probably because I usually wear skirts and generally refrain from wearing anything revealing at these kinds of gatherings. It’s also apparently inconceivable to many people that someone who is not Orthodox could keep kosher and be Shabbat-observant. If I’m talking to a guy who happens to be of an Orthodox background, I usually feel compelled to reveal that I underwent a Conservative conversion. Many of these guys seem to be ok with it themselves, but I’ve heard from friends that the real problem would arise with their families. I also don’t want to be accused by some Orthodox rabbi of leading his flock astray. So, Orthodox men….maybe not the best way to go.

What about guys from Conservative and Reform backgrounds? Well, many of them want to meet a nice Jewish girl, but not someone too religious. Alas, I am frequently placed in that “too religious” category, and have probably been there since well before my conversion took place. There are a large number of guys who have no interest in incorporating certain Jewish observances. And yet they always seem to find me on JDate, despite the clear display of information about my synagogue attendance and kashrut observance, and then express shock and sometimes even disdain upon learning about my practices. Yes, I can feel that pool of potential dating partners shrinking around me.

In my more cynical moments I say “What does it matter? Jew, non-Jew…either way they’re probably not going to shul with me!” But truth is, I would like to find a Jewish guy with similar commitments. And not just because I long for vicarious access to Jewish family life (never again would I have to wonder, “Where am I going for Passover?”) I’d like to share my love for Judaism and desire to learn more with another person, and have my choices validated and supported.

So for now I’ll keep looking. Even though it often seems like I’m looking in an impossibly tiny niche dating market, I’m reminded that all it takes is one.

My conversion story

2009-05-12T15:10:00.004-04:00

At the end of my conversion course, I had to respond to several questions about the process, my beliefs, and observances. Here is my description of how I came to convert:

Throughout my life, I always strove toward a greater understanding of the world and finding meaning and purpose. Growing up in the Catholic church, I tried to make sense of what I was taught but there seemed to be a piece missing for me. I could not understand why what seemed to be so simple for others was beyond my grasp. My questions seemed to have no satisfying answers and I felt at best like an outsider playing a part. My curiosity about the world and search for deeper understanding motivated me to study anthropology and philosophy in college. I was relieved for a time to leave theological questions aside. However, I eventually became open to considering them again.

During my junior year of college I realized that I had several Jewish friends and was becoming aware of holidays and practices that I had never been exposed to before. I saw flyers for a women’s monthly Rosh Chodesh group. One time I was at the meeting place for the group immediately after it ended, and happened to pick up a few leftover handouts related to women in the Torah and in the legends surrounding it, which I later learned was known as midrash. I was struck by how different it was in perspective from all of what I had learned about the Bible growing up. In response to my recognition that I knew very little about Judaism and that there was more involved than I had ever supposed, I started by asking, and researching the answers for, a few questions that I had. Why did Christians not celebrate the same holidays as Jews, even though many are explicitly mentioned in the Bible? Why do Jews not accept Jesus as the messiah? I was satisfied with the answers and my curiosity led me to exploring more.

During the summer, I went to the local library and read every book I could find about Judaism. I read the JPS translation of the Torah with commentaries, and was surprised to find that a book that I thought I knew could be so fresh and yield new insights. The more I read, the more I wanted to know. I decided as the summer concluded that I would go to the campus Hillel when school started and go to services. As the fall began, I started going to Friday night Shabbat services every week, as well as Torah and Talmud study. The service was confusing at first, but with my transliteration I was able to follow and soon became more familiar with the structure and melodies. I found the community to be welcoming and I participated in dinners following services. The Hillel rabbi approached me about an Introduction to Judaism class she was co-teaching at the local Reform synagogue on Sundays. I attended every session and learned all I could. I also learned to read Hebrew through the Hebrew Reading Crash Course. I participated in services and activities for the holidays and was invited to a friend’s house for a Passover seder.

By the end of the year, I knew I wanted to convert. I had initially thought of going through a Reform conversion, but as I moved to New York for graduate school, I felt that I was more at home in Conservative Judaism. I enjoyed the more traditional service and I wanted to be part of a community that was committed to a more traditional observance of Jewish law while still accommodating necessary changes. It is amazing to me how far my thinking has shifted. When I began my journey into Judaism, I was initially attracted to it philosophically. I was then drawn by the beauty of the synagogue services, the holidays, and Shabbat rituals – lighting candles, saying Kiddush and Motzi. Those things remained with me, but over time, as I continued to learn and to incorporate new practices, the need to begin observing the laws of Shabbat and kashrut became important. I began to feel a real sense of commandedness. I hope to continue exploring and growing in my Jewishness and look forward to the possibilities for the future.

Greetings!

2009-05-12T14:40:00.002-04:00

Welcome!

As someone in the process of converting to Judaism, I have had the opportunity to learn, discuss, and think about a wide variety of issues related to Jewish life. As I approach my official conversion, I feel that I have truly become a part of the Jewish community and want to share my ideas with others who are engaging with the same issues. Having not grown up Jewish, I think I bring a unique viewpoint to the table. Some of what I discuss here will involve my personal experiences and issues particularly relevant to converts, but I will also write about community, theological questions, increasing religious observance, and any other Jewish topic that catches my attention.

As of this writing I am nearing the end of the conversion process, which officially has involved a year-long course and individual meetings as well as a lot of learning and practice on my own. At this point, I need to take a test on my acquired Jewish knowledge and go into the mikvah. As one fellow convert-to-be put it, she is "all but mikvah." I'm looking forward to the actual conversion, but I feel that my life will not substantially change once it happens. I'm sure I'll go into more detail about the process later. If anyone has any general questions about conversion I'm happy to answer them or point you in the direction of some resources.