NOTE TO READER: The following is a composite of many letters I have received and personal pastoral sessions I have conducted over the past 43 years with non-Jews contemplating pursuing an authentic Orthodox conversion that will be universally respected (at least by all normative Orthodox institutions and authorities in Israel and America). It is a composite, so when it says a person’s parents were “Croation,” another person’s parents may have been Irish or from Temecula, California or Lexington, Kentucky. This composite is faithfully consistent with the tone and substance of those letters and pastoral inquiries. Some curious or cute quips actually were in one letter or another. If some things sound outside belief or humorously exaggerated, snide or snarky, welcome to the experiences of a rav of 43 years who has served in “kiruv”/outreach settings as well as in major cities. What may sound funny to Judaic Insiders can be tearfully tragic to Outsiders trying to find a portal in. The names obviously are changed. It is quite worthwhile to read this letter in its entirety, in order to benefit fully from my next article that, G-d willing, will appear soon on these pages. That article will comprise my response. For the record, in the past 43 years, I have mentored and sponsored approximately 30 conversions. For time or health reasons, I have referred others whom I have counseled to other rabbonim (plural for: Orthodox rabbis) I respect. Although it is perfectly appropriate for a rav (singular for: Orthodox rabbi) to be remunerated a suitable fee for all the time, effort, energy, and responsibility he undertakes when guiding into the Jewish fold a prospective convert (“Ger,” pronounced like “guerre”— hard “g’ and rhymes with “care”) (plural: “Gerim,” pronounced “Gay-reem”), I never have accepted any payment, not a penny, for my work with those 30 or so people who converted under my tutelage. I have deemed that work to be perhaps the holiest work of my life, and I have been unwilling to accept remuneration for the opportunities G-d has presented me in this regard. ONE MORE WORD: If you believe this letter is not realistic and just a fantasy, feel free to stop reading. It is not meant for you. No one is forcing you to read it. The composite letter follows: Dear Rabbi Fischer, I apologize for intruding on your time. In fact, I hesitate to write and am doing so only because I am lost and don’t know where else to turn. A Jewish friend of mine apparently is a regular follower of yours, and (s)he recommended I write. He follows you because of your politics. That is not my reason for writing. My concern is my soul. My parents immigrated to America from Croatia. I was born here in California in a community where there are no Jews at all. I am now [25-50] years old, and I never even met a Jew until I was in college. I was raised a Catholic. My family attended church and mass occasionally, mostly around Christmas and Easter time. We weren’t intensely religious, but my parents and siblings do believe in our faith. I did, too, but I was impacted by many things that have moved me in a different direction over the years. As a girl in school, I read “ The Diary of Anne Frank.” That was my introduction to Judaism, to what it means to be a real Jew. It was stirring. Rabbi, that girl’s book changed my life. I never was the same again. I read it three times over the years and began to feel, more and more, that I should explore more about Judaism. Here she was, so pure and feeling the exact same things I was feeling about life, and yet she was forced to hide who she was. Rabbi, in a way, it was hidden from me, too. I never had heard much about Judaism or Jews. Not that my parents hid it. It’s just that no one had reason to mention it. In our home, we had no antisemitism or pro-semitism. The subject of Jews simply never came up. Why would it? We didn’t know any. But for me, I kept reading about Anne Frank. I had to learn more about what the Germans hated so much about her family and why the Franks just did not abandon what they were. I went to college and, for the first time, I met some Jews. They were pretty much like everyone else. None really stood out as much different from me. They ate what I ate, even pork and shellfish. They went to the college football games on Saturdays like me. Some of them cursed like the others. Others were more shy. Some became friends, one a good friend. One year, she came to our home for Christmas, and she brought me a Hanukkah present, some little cute thing. We sang three or so famous carols together — “Jingle Bells,” “Frosty the Snowman,” stuff like that. I asked her whether Hanukkah also has carols, and she said Hanukkah doesn’t have any songs, just a menorah that you light on the first night. That is, a menorah of eight candles that gets lit on the holiday’s first night, and then there are eight nights of presents. She said most of the presents are lame, like socks and a piece of chocolate wrapped in cheap fake gold foil, but they always go to Disneyland for the big present. A few years passed, and I met a Jewish guy in grad school. We hit it off great. I loved his parents. I would like to say, rabbi, that I was attracted to the Jewish part of him, but honestly he and his parents had no Jewish part at all. They never celebrated Sabbath, not even a Friday night dinner, were not kosher. No mezuzah on their door. I don’t think he ever attended a seder or a Yom Kippur. (If you are wondering how I even know about all these terms or things, I explain below.) We married. I wasn’t particularly religious — not as a Catholic and not yet quite clear about Judaism — so we got a reform rabbi and a priest who was OK with it because he said my new husband semed almost Catholic anyway. We got married. We had lots of fun together. And then the kids came. Rabbi, they are the greatest kids. We both love them. It was at that time I decided we have to follow some kind of religious tradition and give it to our kids. He never got that; I did. The paradox is that I, the one who wanted a religion for my kids, wanted to go with Judaism. I really respect my parents very dearly and my family priest, but, rabbi, I just don’t believe the water turns into wine, the wafer transsubstantiates, or that the Catholic understanding of an immaculate conception, a virgin birth, or the rest of it is true. I am not saying it is not true. I am just saying I personally do not believe it is true. My husband doesn’t care much because he doesn’t believe the Old Testament is true either. But, rabbi, I do. (I hope you’re still reading.) So I did something crazy, I guess. Every day, when I drive on the freeway from my exurb in the hills to the suburb where I work, I notice off the freeway that I am passing a large building with a big Jewish star on it. So, one day, I detoured and went to the building. I knocked on the door, told the lady my story, and she set me up for a conference with the rabbi. The rabbi was warm and inviting, and we agreed I would enter his conversion class. I became a Jew, rabbi. Mazal Tov to me! (Can you “Mazal Tov” yourself?) I loved becoming a Jew, rabbi. I was so excited. There were some things about Judaism that were a bit difficult for me, I admit. Having been raised Catholic, it was more than a religious belief; it was a way of looking at things. I guess I came in with some of the more traditional Catholic social culture. So I was a bit uncomfortable learning from the rabbi that, unlike Catholicism, gay marriage is a beautiful thing in Judaism, and a woman’s right to abort is a central belief in Judaism. The rabbi explained that Judaism is about free conscience and social justice. We don’t interfere with what women want to do with their bodies, and anyway the Bible was written by men, by straight men. I loved the rabbi (kind of still do), and I converted and started going to temple with the kids every Friday night. I even joined committees and the choir. One week, my new best friend at temple asked me whether I would like to join her the next Saturday for a bat mitzvah at her friend’s temple a few freeway exits down. I obviously said yes. So I went with the kids, and it was like a different religion, rabbi. First, the prayers were on Saturday morning, not Friday night. Second, the prayers were in Hebrew. Third, some of the people in the temple sang along. Fourth, when they brought the Torah around, people kissed it. Fifth, the men wore yarmulkas. Some of the women, too. Yes, the sermon was on similar themes — gay rights and abortion rights, and plenty of attacks on Trump — but this rabbi did not criticize Israel or tell us that the Mideast solution is about “plenty of blame on both sides.” As far as Trump, I don’t care about politics, one way or the other. I just want a religion for my kids and us to build a family. This rabbi was squarely on Israel’s side. Although I still had not yet internalized Judaism’s strong support for gay marriage and abortion as a “woman’s right,” I really liked this rabbi. She was just great. Our family moved to the new temple, even though the Shabbat drive was several miles longer. I soon learned that I now was in something called “Conservative Judaism.” It did seem a bit curious to me, rabbi, that the conservative form of Judaism is identically as liberal as the reform version — emphasis on gay rights, abortion rights, and hating Trump — but this really was so much more authentic: Hebrew, yarmulkas, Bible references, Torah kissing, and a sense that you officially don’t eat pork. The rabbi told me that, unfortunately, Conservative Judaism does not accept my Reform conversion because I never immersed in a mikvah for that one, and also my son was converted by the reform rabbi without a circumcision, so I would have to convert again. The temple’s mikvah was under renovation so the rabbi set me up for immersion in a large swimming pool, my son for a “moyil” (I think that’s how it’s spelled), and she said I could attend a reduced class load for conversion since I already had learned some things. She said I also would have to learn a few brochos , after explaining what they are. But she added that I also would have to un-learn some things. We began. Rabbi, you may think I am making this up. I promise you: I am making nothing up in this entire letter. The entire first class for converting into Judaism at the Conservative Judaism University of Judaism seemed to focus on pronouns — English pronouns. I won’t say more. It went on forever, it seemed. I am not for Trump, rabbi, or for any politics. But I did not come to learn all the different English-language pronouns that are appropriate for addressing G-d and for other purposes. When I got home, I cried. My husband told me to forget about it, that all religion is a racket. He is so cynical. So I called my best friend at the reform temple and told her my situation. She and her husband invited my husband and me for dinner, and he started googling. He found your web page about converting to Judaism and then said “I actually know this guy. I read all his stuff. Some is political, some is theological, and some is whatever is on his mind. He definitely is not for all tastes, but I think you should email him and set up a meeting. Talk to him. He is Orthodox, but sounds like he lives in the real world.” So I am writing you now, Rabbi Fischer. You are my third Judaism. I already am a converted Reform Jew and a converted Conservative Jew. So I already am Two Jews. I don’t know what your Orthodox Judaism is going to do to me next. With respect, Rabbi Fischer — and I truly mean this very humbly and respectfully — this has to be my last Judaism. If there are more Judaisms after reform, conservative, and orthodox, please just send me to the end of that line, the one that honestly is the real thing that every mainstream authority and institution across the board will accept and recognize, and that will outlive me and carry through my children and future generations. I know that other religions also have a bunch of versions, like my friend who describes three different kinds of Lutheran. But, really, I am sincere, but cannot keep running like this in a wild goose chase. I assume your group’s Jews won’t accept my Conservative Judaism conversion just as the Conservative rabbi explained her group would not accept our Reform conversion. Please guide me. I have only one more Judaism conversion left in me. Sincerely, Katherine Mary (Shira Anat) Goldstein (To Be Continued with Answer in Forthcoming Article) Subscribe to Rav Fischer’s YouTube channel here at bit.ly/3REFTbk and follow him on X (Twitter) at @DovFischerRabbi to find his latest classes, interviews, speeches, and observations. To be attend any of his three weekly Zoom classes — Sundays on the past week’s events impacting Israel and world Jewry, and Tuesdays and Thursdays on the Tanakh (Bible) and Jewish law — send a request to rabbi@yioc.org Watch Rav Fischer’s nightly 45-minute Chanukah programs, gathered together here at bit.ly/42esX2b
