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OUTREACH
STORIES
How I Fell in Love with Judaism - and a Rabbi
Erin Williams
A little over a year ago, I stood in front of a roomful of people – my family,
my friends, my now fiancé's family and friends – and traced the steps
that had led me to embrace Judaism. That was perhaps the last time I spoke publicly
about the experience, even though it is an experience I love to share, and I
am thankful for this opportunity to reflect on the intervening time since that
day.
The night of that simcha, I began by quoting
Louis Brandeis, who, a Jew in the early part of the century at Harvard Law School,
had been often pressured to repudiate his Judaism. When being given an honor
for his achievements in law, he stood in front of the large crowd and started
his speech with the words, "I'm sorry I was born Jewish." He was applauded.
But then he continued, "I'm sorry I was born Jewish only because I didn't
have the privilege of choosing it on my own." That is to say, purely out
of love for it, on its own merits. By the end of his speech, the story goes,
he received a standing ovation.
The ability to choose Judaism is indeed an incredible privilege. Not only because
in other times and places oppressive governments made electing to do so an impossibility,
but because being afforded this privilege one can choose Judaism out of love
for it, for its rich intellectual heritage, its ethical precepts, its deep reverence – and
its irreverence. A great Seinfeld episode, you may remember, is the one where
he accuses his dentist of converting to Judaism only "for the jokes." There's
that too.
This idea of choice is inherent in the very notion of covenant itself-this mutual
choosing. There is a midrash which says that
God went around and offered the Torah to many peoples-only the Jews chose to
accept the burdens and responsibilities that accompanied the joys and revelations
of its mitzvot. At the same time, another midrash draws
attention to the fact that the Torah was given in the wilderness – a placeless
place – rather than in the land of Israel, so that it remains open to all
people who wish to engage its teachings.
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The holiday of Shavuot is approaching, which
celebrates the giving of Torah at Sinai, and on Shavuot we
read the book of Ruth, the story of a convert – a woman from Moab who elects
to become one with the people of Israel. I interpret the fact that we read Ruth
on Shavuot as a sign that the covenant is not
only enacted once at Sinai, but can be entered upon by all with sincere conviction.
The story of Ruth has particular resonances for me, and I would like to relate
my story to you here tonight through the lens of Ruth. After the loss of both
of their husbands, Ruth accompanies her mother-in-law Naomi as she sets out to
return to her native Bethlehem. When they have traveled half way, Naomi tells
her to turn back. But Ruth replies, "Do not urge me to leave you, to turn
back and not follow you. For wherever you go, I will go; wherever you lodge,
I will lodge; your people shall be my people and your God my God. Where you die,
I will die, and there I will be buried."
Thus, it is not just a story about Ruth's moral and spiritual conviction-though
it is certainly that-but also about this devoted friendship, this solidarity
between women. This is where my story starts too. When I first moved to L.A.
to go to grad school four years ago, I moved in with three Jewish friends – we
had a mezuzah-hanging party, regular Shabbat dinners,
even meetings of one roommate's Jewish Gay and Lesbian circle – "The
Rainbow Draidels." Our running joke was that I was halfway down the road
to conversion. But often jokes tell the truth. And if I was halfway down that
road, its because I had not one but six Naomis – amazing women friends from
high school and college and after (one of whom is the Graffs' daughter Erin)
who taught me what it meant to be strong, passionate, committed Jewish women.
Then, when Ruth and Naomi arrive in Bethlehem, Ruth is called "the one who
returned from Moab" even though she's never been to Bethlehem before. The
theme of returning and the word return is repeated many times in the story. For
me, there is a way that embracing Judaism is a return as well. My maternal grandfather
was a Czech Jew who emigrated to Canada in 1938. Although he has followed another
spiritual path, and doesn't acknowledge his Jewish background, I have always
considered this a fundamental part of my family's heritage. As my father puts
it, I am in a way "coming full circle," and I feel that in acknowledging
that inheritance I am carrying it forward, rather than letting it be extinguished.
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It is impossible for me to express the innumerable ways that coming to Judaism
felt like coming home. Even when it felt strange, it felt familiar. The most
common question people ask me when they hear that I have converted is: "What
did your parents think?" Perhaps one of the most remarkable elements of
my story is that my parents have been not only completely supportive, but also
actively engaged in learning the most they can about Jewish tradition as well.
They've shared with us our Shabbat dinners, Passover
seders and for a Tu b'shvat party a friend of
mine had, my mother even made special cookies – full of nuts and fruits!
When I first met with Rabbi Artson, my spiritual mentor through this process,
he marveled at their willingness to accept this decision unequivocally. He said
he couldn't imagine Jewish parents reacting the same way in similar circumstances.
My response was that as we never had a religious upbringing, they didn't see
my choice as a rejection of anything, only an affirmation of the things our family
cherishes: commitment to each other, to community, to the world around us. A
sense of awe and humility in the face of creation and the ineffable. Abraham
Heschel describes the root of Judaism as a "legacy of wonder," and
this is a legacy my parents and grandparents have long transmitted to me.
To return to the Ruth story, even when Ruth has arrived with Naomi and is living
in Bethlehem, she is still not yet part of the community of Israel. It is not
until Boaz, a kinsman of Naomi, shows his generosity and offers her his love
that her journey is completed. For me, meeting Micah was the catalyst for the
final part of my journey. His generosity knew no bounds, his spirit inspired
me and his love called me to unite in something that continues every day to amaze
me.
At the beginning, however, as you can imagine, our feelings for each other produced
an extreme conflict. In fact, we kept meeting through mutual friends, and were
drawn to each other immediately, but we kept avoiding each other. One fateful
party we both attended, we spent the entire night talking, then I left with a
friend, saying the famous last words "I hope you're not upset that I spent
the whole night talking with Micah because you know nothing will EVER happen
between us."
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Well about three weeks later something did. About three or four days later, Micah
came over totally distraught and said "I can't see you anymore. I'm falling
in love with you and I can't do this. I'm a rabbi; I've committed myself to the
Jewish community. I love what I do." So we agreed not to see each other
anymore. But that night I lay awake all night, overwhelmed by a powerful spiritual
conviction that meeting Micah was pushing me to actualize something that was
already present in my life, to develop it fully and consciously.
I already felt Jewish! My community was Jewish, my convictions were Jewish. I
was already a literary scholar; my entire vocation consisted of interpreting
and finding meaning in texts. I walked over to his house on Shabbat morning and
poured out to him a long list of reasons why I felt that to convert would not
even be converting – that word implies a change from one state to another – it
would be affirming what I already felt myself to be.
Like any good Rabbi, he said no at least three times. But ultimately, he took
an enormous leap of faith and chose for us to be together. The reaction of Micah's
parents initially, before they met me, was deeply distraught, as is only understandable,
but even then I felt a profound conviction that the situation was so right that
it could only work out. And in remarkable speed, it in fact did. Within months,
we were having dinner with Micah's parents every week, and have become extremely
close. I could not be happier about the family I am joining.
The end of the Ruth story is with the entire community welcoming and celebrating
her in her marriage to Boaz. The people wish her prosperity and that she like
Rachel and Leah should build up the House of Isreal. When I went to the mikveh to
perform the ritual immersion associated with the passage from one state into
another – a very powerful symbol – the mikveh lady,
Lillian Zeltzer, who was guiding me, announced that I should enter the warm waters
like the "warm embrace of the Jewish community around me."
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I have felt all the way through the process the overwhelmingly joyous support
of the community around me, not only friends and parents of friends, but people
I don't know, people I meet, who have celebrated the decision I have made. The
Jewish name that I chose, Rina, kept the letters of my name while adding a heh,
and perfectly encapsulates my feeling about the experience as it means joy.
I have been extremely honored to share my story with you this evening, particularly
on Shabbat, because I feel that Shabbat itself
is a great gift, and for Micah and me, the most important element of our Jewish
practice. We observe Shabbat every week, and
while there are challenges involved with that, we strive to make it what Heschel
calls "a palace in time" a cessation of doing, a time to just be, and
be thankful.
Becoming Shabbat observant was sometimes a difficult
thing to explain to people, but I came up with an analogy that I would like to
share with you as a parting thought. When I was growing up, in my family, we
had dinner together around the dinner table every night. There were rules involved
with that: you couldn't start until everyone was seated; you couldn't leave until
you'd been excused; we couldn't watch TV or answer the phone.
Those rules weren't set up as obstacles, they were there to create that time
around the table as time set apart, time for us just to be a family together,
and doing that everyday is what grounded us and built the fabric of our lives
together. Shabbat then, I say, is like dinner time extended over a whole day.
A time of joy and peace.
Shabbat Shalom.
Erin Williams is a Ph.d. student at UCLA in the department
of Comparative Literature, studying 19th and 20th-century European literature
and art. She was born in Canada, grew up in Palm Springs, California, went to
college at Berkeley, and lived for several years in Italy and France.
After many years of participating in passover seders, purim parties and shabbat
dinners, she decided last year to finally take the mikveh plunge and commit herself
fully to Judaism – an experience she describes as "the most profound
of her life." Her goals for the future include continued study, going back
to France and becoming a good rebbetzin, as she is engaged to be married to Rabbi
Micah Hyman.
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