12/12/2021 - The Emotional Journey

 I felt I needed a post dedicated to the emotions this journey has brought thus far.

For most of my life, I have felt Jewish, and ever since the first formal step in July, things have drastically changed. While I am excited about my eventual conversion, I am in no rush because there has not been a moment in this journey where I have thought twice or felt impatient.

I have thought so much about the day I officially convert and how on that day forward, I will finally be a Jew. But while reading Harold Kushner's book, To Life!, this afternoon I read those ceremonies for personal milestones do not bring the change but rather is celebrates the change. The celebration of change guides us to a deeper meaning when we celebrate as a community. Reading that was comforting. I've noticed in what I've read and discussed that Jews tend to feel things together. Whether that be a celebration, death, hardship, love, etc. To feel things together means no day can be completely horrible if there are others helping us carry the gloom, and that every celebration is grandiose in sentiment because others feel the joy with us.

I could be completely wrong in this assumption, but I imagine the moment I am hopefully told I am ready, sit before the beit din, and eventually immerse myself in the mikveh is what will truly mark the change in my life. Any sort of ceremony outside of those three moments will be celebrating the change, not bringing the change.

In Kushner's book it is also mentioned of, "Jewish souls mistakingly born into gentile bodies." I like to think that any conversion ceremony or ritual I experience will be a celebration of embracing what has always been within me and celebrating those who helped me get there.

Something that is brought up almost every day, either from my inner voice or from others, is why I am choosing to practice some Kosher dietary restrictions, why I choose Shabbat over getting drinks with friends on Fridays, or why I completely block off my Sundays for reading/studying. To say because I'm obligated to would only be a small part of the answer. But the real answer is simple - because I choose to. 

But some probe a little further, which is fine, and ask me why I specifically cannot eat pork, shellfish, mix meat and dairy, and why I say a silent blessing before I eat or drink wine. Which is a question I really didn't have an answer to until today. While it is partially an obligation, I do not feel obligated, it just feels right. It makes me feel more connected to God.

In Kushner's book, it is said that we do not necessarily have to find time in our busy schedules to be religious because we can incorporate religion into our everyday lives. Specifically, he said, "We come into the presence of God not by going to a certain place, but by translating our Jewish identity into action." That's not to say I do not feel a connection to God during service, but I don't want to only feel that connection only when I'm at service. Being cognizant of what I eat reminds me of the Torah, blessings before I eat remind me of God, Shabbat reminds me of the community, not taking His name in vain reminds me of the promise I made to Him during Yom Kippur, lighting the Havdalah candle reminds me to embrace the coming week, Sunday's remind me of my Jewish identity, and so forth. 

There really isn't going to be a way for me to describe the specific emotions I have felt thus far without feeding into some sort of cliche or sounding cheesy, but this has by far been, and always will be, the most profound moment in my life. Don't tell my future spouse that.

I have felt overwhelming excitement to come home on Fridays and light the candles and sip the wine. So excited that, as I've probably mentioned, I recite that blessing twice. I have felt overwhelming sadness studying Jewish travesties. Overwhelming gratitude for those that are supporting this journey with me. Overwhelming self-awareness as I begin living the life I'm meant to live. Overwhelming sorrow when we recite the mourner's kaddish. Most recently, and quite oddly, melancholy during the Chanukkah service with all of the rabbis on the bimah. 

I don't understand why I necessarily think it was melancholy but there was something about seeing all of the rabbis together and engaging with the congregation that produced a few tears. Something about seeing each rabbi, all of whom have been nothing but welcoming and compassionate, stand together with the congregation to celebrate a beautiful holiday and the history of our ancestors. I think what brought the tears was knowing that I was welcomed and encouraged without judgment. I think I recently described it to a friend as, "It's nice knowing that there is someone rooting for you."

But there was more happiness and beauty within that melancholic feeling. I don't even think melancholy is the right word. Maybe admiration or maybe even awe. Maybe at a very microscopic level, it's how some Jews must have felt at Mt. Sinai in sheer awe of seeing something so grand that they never expected to see in their lifetime. 

That's how I feel about Judaism, WHC, and rach rabbi at WHC. I never really thought that genuine compassion, encouragement, support, and love existed so unconditionally and nonjudgmentally.