Finding Miriam Within: My Conversion to Judaism

Sorry for the delay on part 3 of my conversion to Judaism story! Crazy busy end of last week.

Rounding out last week’s very religiously-themed posts, I conclude this series today with the story of my actual conversion to Judaism. You can catch up on part one, Finding G-d in the Music and part two, Finding Adonai at the Bar Mitzvah before reading today’s post.

. . .

When I turned around, Larry was standing there holding a little white box in his hands, a brilliant white diamond ring sparkling even in our fluorescent bathroom lighting.

“Will you marry me?”

I dropped the eyeliner pencil I was holding into the bathroom sink. My boyfriend had just proposed to me – while he was wearing a tux. It’s a classy picture that will never leave my memory. For almost two solid minutes, I said nothing except, “Oh my G-d, oh my G-d, are you serious?” over and over again, to the point where Larry had to ask me again: “Well??”

“Yes! Of course!” I threw my arms around him, gave him a huge kiss, and marveled at this carbon beauty on my left hand.

As we drove to downtown Washington D.C. for a lavish night out on the town (at my job’s expense, no less), I chuckled as I stared at my ring, creating tiny rainbows on the dashboard.

“Well, I guess I’ll officially need to convert to Judaism if we want to have a Jewish wedding, huh?”

Larry laughed. “Yeah, I guess so. About time already!”

We sped down the Beltway, laughing and smiling into that muggy April sunset.

. . .

Before Larry and I moved to Maryland, my mom took me to the Judaica store at a synagogue near where we lived. Coincidentally, it was the same synagogue that I went to years before for Randy’s Bar Mitzvah. She wanted me to buy a pair of Shabbos candlesticks since Larry and I were moving in together and creating our first home. Larry had already bought us a mezuzah when he went on vacation with his family to Venice the summer before, so my mom wanted to get me some other important piece of Judaica.

We still have those same candlesticks she bought us and light them every Friday, now finally in our first house together.

Back in 2004, Larry and I had graduated college and moved in together. I left my undergrad having served as both Secretary and Publicist for my Jewish Student Union. I had helped raise the JSU sukkah (using power tools for the first time in my life), I had been to countless bagel brunches, and read aloud from our Haggadah at campus-wide Passover dinners. I had taken a course in Judaism and Judaic Thought as an elective and studied privately with our campus rabbi, learning the intricacies of Judaism.

As far as I was concerned, I was already Jewish. I was fully living my life in observance of holidays, Shabbos and daily ritual. Maybe I didn’t keep kosher (I mean, how am I supposed to walk away from years of bacon cheeseburgers? Or shrimp? Or dare I say it – lobster? I mean, I live a half hour from Gloucester… you can’t ask me to give up shellfish) but I went to shul, I lit my Shabbos candles, and when asked, I told folks I was a Jew-by-choice.

I just hadn’t made it official in the eyes of Jewish law.

I made a lot of excuses: I worked full-time, it was expensive, I was already living a Jewish life… but once Larry and I got engaged, I realized that I needed to be legally Jewish. It was important to me that I begin our lives as a couple together by doing it right religiously: that meant having a Jewish wedding and thus, formally committing myself to Judaism.

. . .

Getting engaged was the kick in the ass I needed. Between 2006 and 2007, I studied with two different rabbis, taking Intro to Judaism classes, attending services all over D.C. and Maryland, and even taking a basic Hebrew language course.

It was my second rabbi under whom I would convert, as I studied privately with her and with her group of 2 other converts. Before I knew it, I was writing these deeply introspective pieces on my religious autobiography, of my various life’s encounters with Judaism before deciding to convert, and for a little “extra credit,” cataloging my complete Jewish library at home. Before I knew it, the date had been set for my beit din and mikveh.

With just 9 months until the wedding, I was finally going to formally convert to a religion I had been living for nearly 10 years at that point.

. . .

The conversion process is pretty simple: study, study, study. No really, have you studied about Judaism? Oh you have? Awesome. Go study some more.

Once you’re done studying (and honestly, you’re never done studying), you’re called before a beit din, a court of three rabbis who determine whether you’re fit for conversion. It sounds intimidating enough, but really, you’d never be sent before a beit din if you weren’t already prepared to speak with them.

From there, the convert heads to the mikveh, a ritual immersion. (The mikveh is actually the Jewish ritual that inspired the Christian baptism ritual.) You go in completely nude and must immerse yourself from head to toe. The immersion is typically witnessed by both the rabbi and “the mikveh lady” whose job it is to make sure that the immersion has followed the letter of Jewish law. A blessing is said and the convert “dunks” themselves in the water.

And then you come out a brand spankin’ new Jew.

Afterward, there’s a short ceremony where the convert officially receives their new Hebrew name.

. . .

From my LiveJournal, just days before my conversion:

Sometimes I stop and catch myself thinking, “Am I ready?” Then I remember it’s not like flipping a switch; I have accepted, infused, and become so much of this new identity already. Judaism guides my personal ethics, and provides a context for my actions and way of thinking. I have learned so much about myself in the last year. While my conversion is by no means a formality, I feel Jewish already.

I feel part of a cultural community, one to which I bear responsibility. It’s not about being ready to accept Judaism into my heart- that happened a long time ago. It’s not about learning everything there is to know about Judaism- one cannot achieve that feat in a lifetime. It’ about being ready to say to myself and others “I am a Jew” without hesitation, doubt, or regret, to present myself to this community of which I’ve become a part. It’s about marking this moment in time, and to ready myself for all the Jewish moments to come in my lifetime.

It’s an affirmation of who I am. It’s coming home and starting anew all at once. It’s something for which I’ve prepared for nine years. It’s about finally feeling complete with myself and my place in this world. It gives me purpose, hope, and humble gratitude that I have made it to this moment.

. . .

I was nervous the day of my conversion. It had been a very tumultuous week. Only 4 days before, the Virginia Tech shooting had just occurred. The actions of Professor Liviu Librescu, a Holocaust survivor who sacrificed his own life to save his students’, weighed heavily on my heart. My conversion ceremony was on April 20, 2007 – not only the 18th anniversary of the Columbine massacre, but what would have been Hitler’s 118th birthday.

My parents and sister and brother-in-law were all there to support me. First, it was time for the beit din, consisting of my rabbi, another rabbi, and a cantor. I was allowed to bring in one person with me to my beit din, so I brought in Larry. He was not allowed to speak unless spoken to.

We talked about a lot of things: what drew me to Judaism, how I’d been observing it for the past 10 years, what my relationship with Larry was like. They asked me about our upcoming wedding and how we planned to live out a Jewish life together. My family waited outside anxiously for nearly an hour as I engaged in a very lively and inspired conversation with my beit din – for me, the time flew by.

I had their blessing.

And then it was off to the mikveh.

. . .

The thing about the mikveh is that you don’t go in unclean to be cleansed. In fact, you actually have to take a very thorough shower – between the toes, behind the ears – before you can enter the mikveh. It’s not a bath, rather, the mikveh an immersion of sanctification.

I took my shower and very timidly tip-toed into the water, climbing down seven steps into a pool of neck-deep, lukewarm water. It was especially nerve-wracking as I couldn’t wear my glasses or contacts, as there must be no barriers between any part of my skin and the water. Despite the handrail, I was terrified I was going to slip and fall because I truly couldn’t see anything.

Once in the water, I dipped my head below the water. The mikveh lady noticed I didn’t get the very crown of my head under the water, so I dunked again.

I recited the blessing:

Baruch atah Adonai Elohenu melech ha’olam asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu al ha’tevillah.

(Blessed are You, O Lord, Our God, King of the Universe, Who has sanctified us with His commandments and commanded us regarding the immersion.)

I dunked two more times and was told I could take my time in the mikveh as they left the room. I floated in this lukewarm water, my vision blurred without my glasses. I was surprisingly buoyant and rather than feeling exposed in my nakedness, I felt embryonic instead. I stayed there for another ten minutes, floating in this peaceful silence, the occasional splash of water as I moved, the air heady and thick with holiness.

I got out, got dressed, and was greeted by my family and rabbi pelting me with little chocolates – apparently this is a celebratory custom.

We headed to the naming ceremony.

. . .

I had chosen Miriam as my Hebrew name. Miriam was Moses’ wily sister who kept watch over his basket floating in the Nile. She persuaded Pharoah’s daughter to become her handmaid so she could help keep an eye on her brother. When they crossed the Sea of Reeds, Miriam led the women in joyous song and dance in their freedom from the Egyptians. And during the years of wandering, she maintained a mystical well that followed them wherever she went, provided water to the Israelites in the desert. When Miriam died, the well dried up.

Miriam is one of the more musical women of the Torah, as she leads the women in song and dance with her tymbrel. I felt it fitting that since I found G-d through music, I should honor my new Jewish identity with a musical heroine of the Torah.

Miriam is also the ancient root for the name Mary. There was a brief period before I was born that my mother intended to name me Mary, after her mother.

Miriam seemed to be the most fitting name to encapsulate my family history and my unique journey to Judaism.

. . .

Here are a few pictures from my conversion ceremony, taken by my father:

. . .

Afterward, we went to a nice Jewish deli and I got myself a heaping corned beef sandwich. (Seriously.)

That evening, our friends graciously let us host a huge Shabbos dinner at their house as we invited a ton of friends to celebrate my newish Jewish status since they couldn’t come during the day to the actual conversion ceremony. It was a joyous evening filled with amazing food (we even killed our Magic Bullet trying to make fresh hummus) and wonderful friendship.

. . .

And from that day on, it’s been official: I’m Jewish. I don’t even note my status as Jew-by-choice anymore. As far as I’m concerned and according to Jewish law, I’m Jewish through and through. As I sit here finishing this post, I’m looking at a row of nearly three dozen books on Judaism and Jewish living; the spines are broken and they rarely get dusty because I frequently turn to them.

We had our big Jewish wedding. We hosted our first Passover seder last year and our first Rosh HaShanah dinner for family and friends the year prior. We fast on Yom Kippur and light the menorah each of the eight nights of Hanukkah. When I hear the news that someone has passed, the words “Baruch dayan emet” come from my lips instinctually.

My Judaism is like breathing: I hardly give it a second thought and yet it is vital to living every moment.

It’s been a very winding path to Judaism and I’ve shared with you the bigger parts of my journey. There’s still a lot more to this story that I’ve been saving for a memoir on my complete experience.

And the story even takes a very interesting turn: there’s the possibility that there might be a Jewish relative several branches back on my mom’s family tree. We need to do a little more genealogical research into early 19th century French relatives.

Depending on what we find, my trek toward Judaism may have simply been a trek home…

We’ll see.

. . .

I wish everyone a l’shana tovah – a blessed New Year – and a renewing Days of Awe.