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OUTREACH
STORIES
Catholic + Lutheran = Jewish?
Yisraela Bracha
Shabbat Shalom. It is an honor to share with you my journey towards Judaism,
and my great happiness in becoming a Jew by Choice.
My journey toward Judaism is, of course, the story of my entire life. It is the
story of how I was raised in a secular home and came to crave a spiritual home.
Of how I was once a devout and outspoken atheist, and then, a Jew. And of how
I – Debra Allen – came to be called Yisraela Bracha.
My mother's family was Catholic, and my father's family was Lutheran, but I would
not have considered either family to be religious. At the time I was born, neither
of my parents had any religious affiliation, but I was baptized Catholic – just
to be on the safe side. I considered my parents to be Christian. They believed
that if you followed the teachings of Jesus, you would be a better person, and
that if you accepted Jesus as your lord and savior, you would go to heaven.
My family life growing up, was for the most part, non-religious. We worshipped
Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. My parents made several brief attempts over
the years to get our family into a religious life, and when I was about nine
we joined a church. This time I was baptized Lutheran. It wasn't long, however,
before my parents grew tired of getting up early on Sunday mornings, and we stopped
attending.
I remember quite clearly an evening during my eighth grade year, when over dinner
I proclaimed to my parents that I was an atheist, and that a scientific explanation
of the creation was far superior to that offered by the book of Genesis! Although
I flirted with Christianity in my teen years, primarily because it was the heritage
to which I was born, and the religious persuasion of most of my friends, I never
did have a belief in God.
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Throughout my twenties I was content being an atheist and tended to be critical
of people who found it necessary to believe in God. And all of my education,
especially the many years of graduate training in psychology, strengthened my
resolve that God did not exist. I knew that every culture had sought something
God-like. This to me was simply evidence that there was no God, and certainly
no one single correct way to see God. It never dawned on me that this universal
search by all civilizations was evidence that there was, perhaps, something worth
seeking.
There did come a time in my life when I was in a great deal of pain, or existential
despair as I preferred to call it. Worshipping academia and popular culture had
left me empty, cynical, self-centered, and isolated. I began craving a serenity
that had eluded all my misguided attempts to find it. Through study and exploration,
and through the influence of people I respected, I came to a very gradual, and
almost apologetic acceptance, of my need for a spiritual life.
Someone once said to me, "Well, if there is a God, it's not you". From
that very simple idea grew a willingness to stop arguing the existence of God,
and to begin searching for a God of my understanding.
Early in this process I considered Judaism. I had had several Jewish friends
over the years that had offered me a glimpse of Jewish family life and culture,
and I had been greatly influenced through my education by Jewish philosophers
and psychologists. I met with a Rabbi from a Conservative congregation, and went
to a few conversion classes. But I still shied away from organized religion.
I was not willing to accept someone else's idea of God, and I didn't think I
would ever be able to keep kosher. My search for spirituality continued for some
years to be a solitary experience.
And then there was a critical event. I attended a Christian church with a friend.
I had not been in a church (except for weddings and funerals) for many, many
years. I was surprised. I loved it. I loved the singing, the people with happy
faces and good hearts saying hello and wishing you well, I even enjoyed the sermon,
which encouraged enlightened, thoughtful, and ethical behavior.
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And then it happened. The minister asked us to raise our hands if we were ready
to accept Jesus Christ into our hearts. I felt physically catapulted from the
room. I did not belong with these people. The truth for me was that I could not
worship Jesus. This felt like idolatry. But, what was also true, was that I was
craving that sense of belonging to a community with values similar to my own,
a community that would nurture my desire to live a life full of purpose and meaning.
Within days I was searching through the Yellow pages calling churches in my area
and asking, "Do I have to believe in Jesus Christ to come here?" I
found one that said "No". They believed in the concept of a higher
power. Well, that was a start. After months of learning from the sermons and
enjoying the fellowship offered, it was clear that the fit was not quite right.
Even though they portrayed Jesus as only one of many great teachers, there was
still an emphasis on his life and the scriptures from the New Testament.
I'd like to think that I did not come to Judaism because of a man. But to say
that a man was not involved would be less than honest. I had begun dating someone
who was Jewish. And although he is not religious, being a Jew is central to his
identity. It was important to me, perhaps more so than to him, that if we were
to become serious about one another, we would have to share a common faith and
a common way of life.
Before Robert, I had never heard about Reform Judaism. I felt encouraged by what
he told me about this movement, especially about the ways in which it differed
from the Conservative and Orthodox movements. That is how I came to call upon
Congregation Beth Israel, and met with Rabbi Magat. It was such a relief to not
be rejected at our first meeting when I shared my ideas about God. Rabbi Magat
was sincerely welcoming, and suggested I enroll in Basic Judaism as a start.
He told me that I would come to know if this was right for me.
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It was fortunate that at the time I joined the class they were reading the book
Finding God, a book featuring the theological options affirmed by great Jewish
thinkers, from ancient to modern times. In this book I discovered that there
were Jews – apparently Jews in good standing – whose beliefs about
God were similar to my own.
This was a tremendous revelation to me, and effectively removed the last obstacle
hindering my search for a religious and spiritual home. Since that time, two
years ago, I have learned a great deal about Judaism and the principles guiding
the Reform movement. I believe in these principles, and accept them as truths
that guide my way of thinking, behaving, and worshipping. I have never had the
feeling that I do not belong. Instead, I have been continuously amazed at the
fit between the person I had become through a lifetime of experiences and Judaism.
Choosing a Hebrew Name was something that I did very late in the conversion process.
I needed to wait until I felt Jewish. I read through several baby naming books,
and books about Jewish women famous for their extraordinary deeds, and entertained
a couple suggestions from the Rabbi. But nothing was quite right. Then, one night
I was watching a news story about children from Mexico selling their bodies in
Balboa Park. They interviewed one homeless boy named Israel. Until that moment
it never occurred to me that people were named Israel. Yet, I had thought often
about the word Israel, which means to struggle or wrestle with God.
My journey towards Judaism has always been about my struggle with God: rejecting
God, seeking God, arguing with God. Yisraela, the feminine form, was the story
of how I had come to Judaism. It was, in a sense, the name I had been given by
life.
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The Midrash says that a Jew has three names:
one you are given by your parents, a second is the name you are called by others,
and the third name you acquire for yourself. Bracha, which means blessing, is
the name I hope to acquire. During the baby naming service, the Rabbi says, "And
may she be a joy to her parents, grandparents, family and community. May she
live to bring honor to the Household of Israel, and blessing to all humanity." While
it is certainly a bracha – a blessing – that I have found my way to
Judaism, Bracha as my second name is a constant reminder to me of my promise
to the Jewish people that I will strive to be a worthy member of the Jewish community.
The steps toward becoming a Jew by Choice here at Beth Israel include a year's
study with the Rabbis in Basic Judaism, a mikvah,
a Bet Din, and a public ceremony. And, if you're
a man, a ritual circumcision. My ceremony, here in this sanctuary, was one of
the most proud and fulfilling moments of my life. It was the moment when I received
my Hebrew name. It was the moment when I was blessed by the Rabbis, and I needed
this blessing to feel officially accepted into the Jewish community. It was the
moment when I held the Torah in my arms and recited the Shema. It was also the
moment when I made a very public proclamation to my friends and family about
my decision to embrace Judaism and join my destiny with that of all Jews.
I am very blessed with good friends and a loving family. They were all there
to celebrate this very important turning point in my life. I am thankful to my
friends who shared their own spiritual lives and journeys with me, even though
we choose to worship in different ways. And I am thankful for my parents from
whom I learned a love of life, family, and tradition; an acceptance and love
of humanity; a sense of compassion and responsibility for others; and who tolerated
my liberal bent and endless hours of debating at the dinner table. And along
with my parents there are grandparents, aunts, uncles, and siblings, who have
been incredibly accepting of my conversion. They have encouraged me along the
way, and have made an effort to observe and celebrate Jewish holidays.
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There was only one mention of regret or sadness, and that was when my mother
really understood that I would no longer celebrate Christmas. Christmas had always
been a magical time in my home, with lots of music and singing, lights, decorations,
and family traditions. But this year we celebrated our second Chanukah as an
interfaith extended family. My mom likes to get me one gift for each day of Chanukah,
and I don't have the heart to correct her misunderstanding about the Twelve days
of Chanukah.
Coming to see myself as legitimately Jewish has been a process. I think this
is due to the simple fact that most Jews are born Jewish, and I was not. My identity
as a Jew depends upon my living life as a Jew. I am Jewish, not because of my
mother or father, but because I choose to align myself spiritually, culturally,
politically, and intellectually with the Jewish community. My Jewish identity
is still in its infancy, but it is growing.
Judaism asks that we lead lives that are meaningful to ourselves and useful to
others. And that through our righteous efforts we repair the world. What my journey
towards Judaism has taught me is that I cannot fulfill this obligation alone.
I need other Jews. I need to be inspired, guided, and encouraged by those who
hold similar beliefs, and whose works in life I admire and respect. Without nudging
I would more easily settle for less from myself. It is important to my continued
growth as a Jew that I stay involved with the temple, through education, committee
participation, volunteering, and through observing the daily, weekly and yearly
rituals and holy days that connect one Jew to another, and one generation of
Jews to the next.
Since I am the only Jew in my family of origin, this Jewish congregation is my
Jewish family. You teach me about my Jewish heritage, and about the nuances and
pleasures of Jewish traditions. Thank you for accepting me, befriending me, and
including me. I am blessed to know you. I am blessed to be a among you. And,
I am proud to be a Jew.
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