To answer this question, he says that there is in fact no transformation. No transformation—the person does not actually change. If a person converts to Judaism, if a person becomes a Jew by choice, that means that they were already Jewish. Their soul was already a Jewish soul. Its just now, through this ceremony, that their soul receives public recognition as being Jewish. So, it is a communal recognition—now the whole world knows that you were always Jewish.
So, there really isn’t a “choice” for a convert. Not in the way we usually think about. They were always Jewish.
So, what “choice” is there when a convert receives official recognition as a Jew? What is the choice?
It is the same choice that each and every Jew living in a liberal democracy has. Every single Jew, whether they were born to a Jewish family or not, makes the choice every single day to be Jewish. Every Jewish person here could make the choice to not be Jewish anymore! You could say that you’re fed up. There are too many rules, there is too much antisemitism, the situation in Israel makes life too difficult and too complicated. Life is already hard enough. Just being a human being is already such a struggle. So, why not just leave it all behind, go live your life, and live a much less complicated life?
So, this begs the question: what is the point of being Jewish? Why make that choice?
Each one of you must find your own answer to this question. But I’ll share mine.
Although I have the choice on whether or not to be Jewish, I FEEL like I don’t have a choice. I think everyone here knows that I am not your typical rabbi. I haven’t had the sort of standard, Hebrew School to day school, Jewish camp, BBYO, Jewish youth group experience. The sort of regular experience intentionally crafted to keep enough people Jewish to ensure that the tradition survives and a few of those people are inspired to become rabbis. That was not my experience.
After being raised Christian, converting twice, becoming a Hasid, throwing my hat off of the bridge from a bus before cutting off my peyot, then becoming a hemp-wearing hippie, then training people to become rabbis in my early 20s by teaching Talmud, before studying to become a Buddhist priest—I then finally became a rabbi. Not your typical Jewish journey.
Then, after becoming a rabbi, I was once again filled with doubts. All those reasons that makes being a Jew hard that I mentioned above, antisemitism, Israel, the rules—and Jews are difficult people to get along with in general—especially if you work in the Jewish world, oy oy oy, let me tell you, its hard—all of that made me wonder if, by choosing to be Jewish, if that choice was actually the right choice for me.
So, I decided to plan a little vacation to a very spiritual place, Sedona Arizona. I actually used to live just 15 minutes outside of Sedona, in a tiny little town called Cottonwood. So, Sonia and I went up there for an extended weekend.
I had not been there in around 20 years, and I saw Cottonwood had grown. They now had a Panda Express! And a Starbucks too! The town had bloomed, sort of, having grown from a population of 10,000 to 12,000 in 20 years! So, it was still a tiny town. Somewhere you could REALLY choose whether or not to be Jewish, for there was not a Jew for miles.
Freedom!
One morning I woke up in our hotel to go grab us breakfast. I open the door, and see a Hasidic guy, peyot, tzitzit, and all, walking right past my door. I looked at him like a dear in headlights. He noticed by dumbstruck look—the look foreigners get here in Taiwan if you go to some place like Pingtung—all of us not from Taiwan know that look. While he, like us, has certainly been met with that face before, he had no idea what my particularly dumb face actually meant. So, he kept walking.
He then made his way to the pool, and looked over the fence to make sure no women were there—because of course he couldn’t go swimming if women were there, God forbid!—and then he went swimming.
I saw this as God’s finger pointing me in a direction, the direction back to Him through the Jewish tradition. In a town in the middle of the desert, with NO Jews around, God arranged that me and this Hasidic family would not only be in the same town on the same day, but in the same hotel, in rooms right next to one another. Not only that, but that he would decide to go swimming, and I would decide to go get breakfast, at the same moment so that I would see him, and he would see me, someone who he probably thought was some ignorant country boy (especially given my cowboy hat and boots) gawking at him.
So, why am I a Jew? Why, every day, do I choose to be Jewish? Because it is what I believe that God wants from me. It is too obvious. I’m not a person who is big on signs from heaven or miracles, as looking for signs and wonders is actually greatly discouraged in Judaism. But when a sign is thrown right in your face—when you’re not only not looking for one, but trying to run away from them—it would be stupid to ignore to ignore them when they are dancing on the tip of your nose.
So, that’s the first reason. There’s another, more selfish reason. I LOVE Judaism. I love it! OMG! Judaism is so sweet and delicious. Learning some gorgeous, uplifting teaching from a Hasidic rebbe can set my soul on such a lofty level that it keeps me going for days. Or, breaking my brain, trying to make it through a difficult Talmudic passage. As much as it hurts, its what we call in Yiddish “geshmak.” Geshmak, such a wonderful, wonderful word! It is hard to translate, but its that feeling when your heart, soul, and intellect all smile! It is like an intellectual, emotional, and spiritual “deliciousness.” As though your entire inner being ate the most delicious cholocate cake in existence. The most delicious ever! That is geshmak, and Judaism, if done in a way that is right for you personally, is truly geshmak.
That doesn’t mean that Judaism isn’t hard, or that choosing to be Jewish is without obstacles. While it makes life more difficult, it also makes life so, so geshmak. Geshmak in a way that nothing else can come close to.
So, those are my reasons for being a Jew. I believe that this is what God wants from me—without a doubt—and that geshmakkeit, that deliciousness, is something that my life would be—has been—impoverished without.
Many people from the generation before me cite antisemitism as the reason TO be Jewish, saying likes “We can’t let Hitler and Hamas win.” That is a very valid reason. However, it doesn’t work for my generation, or the younger generation. Although, right now, antisemitism does inspire me to double down on my Judaism, its not the REASON I choose to be a Jew each and every day.
Each of you, right now, is making that choice to be Jews as well. If not, you would not be here! So, as times continue to be dark, as the world continues to tell you that there is something wrong with being Jewish, I encourage you to dig deep into yourself and find out what is the reason for your choice. Then hold onto that reason, with both hands, and never let it go. Because there is always someone, somewhere in the world, who might try to take it away from you.
Shabbat shalom.
