The Second-Time Single Trend

I didn't know there was a name or a category for what I am, but someone sent over a Tablet article today that gives me one of those fancy ways to describe myself: "Second-Time Single."

Now, I know that I'm not technically single because I'm currently in a very happy relationship with Taylor, but for the greater Jewish and Orthodox world, what I'm doing isn't dating, it isn't serious, it isn't real in a sense. "She'll come around!" they say. "She's divorced and acting out!" they say. "Let us know when you're ready to date a Jew again!" they say.

At any rate, the article is quite interesting. I don't know that if any of these kinds of Second-Time Singles events would have "saved" me from my current situation as I don't think I was ready to date when I met Taylor. Sometimes, life just happens. I am glad, I will say, that the Jewish community is attempting to do something for the demographic of 20s, 30s, and 40s who are divorced or widowed -- it's a lonely, confusing road.

Statistics about the number of Orthodox second-time singles are hard to come by. Dr. David Pelcovitz, professor of psychology and education at Yeshiva University, said that while there is no “reliable, solid, empirical source” for such information, “there’s a sense that there are more divorces. It’s incredibly unscientific but, for example, when I give talks at rabbinical conferences, I ask, ‘How many of you have experienced a divorce in your community in the past few years?’ You get more people raising their hands. When I ask the people who are doing work in Jewish divorce courts, they tell me that they seem to be busier.”

I think a lot of people fall into bad relationships after divorces just to continue fitting the mold of their community. It's as if there's a conveyor belt of spouses ready to go just so everyone can fit that perfect get married, move to a newly marrieds community, have a baby, buy a house, move to a family community kind of plan. I worry about a lot of people I know who get back into it too quickly.

Also, I have to say -- not unpredictably I might add -- that (in the article) the shadchanim (matchmakers) that set up Second-Time Singles often set them up with other Second-Time Singles, and that grates my cheese. I think it's one thing that will never fade in the Orthodox community: Once you get divorced, you're damaged goods so you get married off to another divorced individual or an older individual. It's the same with converts, as matchmakers often try to pair them with other converts. I understand the sentiment -- oh, we've been through something similar, right? -- but no two people go through an experience and come out on the other side the same, so why try making that connection?

Maybe I'm just grumpy today. Anyway, let me know what you think about the article.

Conversion's a Racket

NOTE BEFORE READING: This is not a post bashing Denver. In fact, if you go back and read my past posts, I love the community here and it has been nothing short of amazing. This is a post about a specific topic: conversion to Judaism. This is not something that is isolated to Denver, it is a problem everywhere. My point is to express how instead of the weight of mitzvot making converts really consider their conversion, the weight of money pushes them away and out of the process, into Conservative or Reform conversions.

---

This is the scenario -- here in Denver, anyway.

$20 a week for at least 78 weeks = $1,560

+

$180 mikvah fee

+

however much it costs to fly a Queens rabbi out every six months = roughly $900

+

if you're a guy, $75 for the circumcision

Overall? You're looking to pay probably well over $2,000 to convert to Orthodox Judaism in Denver, Colorado -- and that's before you've even considered buying new dishes (Dairy, Meat, Passover, Parve) and all your other kitchen items that can't be kashered (probably $4,000 or so) and all those tzniut (modest) clothes, moved into the Orthodox community, and so on.

Can you imagine it? Dropping $8,000 or more just to be Jewish?

Some of you were lucky enough to be born into it. Not a single penny was spent for you to be Jewish.

And did I mention that all that studying is done to be converted on a private beth din with some local rabbis (not Rabbinical Council of America-affiliated) and a rabbi flown in from Queens?

You have no institutional backing, you just dropped $8,000, and there you are. Jewish in Denver.

Had I been living here when I decided to convert, when I was freshly starting graduate school and had zero cash in-pocket, I wouldn't have been able to do it. Even today, single and living on my own and struggling to find jobs that pay enough to pay the rent, I wouldn't be able to afford it.

It's a racket. An unfair, unconcerned-about-the-convert racket.

And I'm taking a stand, because I can't, in good conscience, stand by and let anyone convert under the current process.

At any given time, there are supposedly 10-20 people in-process. Those people should have options -- an RCA Beth Din, or the current, in-place private beth din that wants them to drop thousands just to be Jewish.

I've heard more excuses than I can really stand at this point -- bad blood in past bad conversions, a Christian couple that infiltrated the community, not enough RCA rabbis (which is no longer true), and so on.

It's not okay for some guy to have a monopoly on conversions, it's not okay to not have institutional approval, it's not okay to charge $2,000 for a conversion, and it's not okay that people aren't willing to take a stand and make a change.

So this is my mission: I'm going to reform and make more reliable, more attainable, and more stable the process of conversion to Orthodox Judaism in Denver, Colorado.

Come hell or high snowfall. I'm going to do it.

Note: When I was converting, I studied every week with my rabbi in West Hartford (I commuted about 45 minutes to do this study) and spent all of the Shabbatot and Chagim there, too. Ultimately, I ended up paying $250 to the RCA Beth Din for mikvah and beth din fees, and I donated $180 to the rabbi's discretionary fund -- never once was I asked to give my rabbi a paycheck. 


Also, if you want to read an article from September 2010 about all the "good" the current guy running things is doing, the article is here. He says that the fee "needn't be expensive." Seriously? I'm enraged. 

It's Time for Your Opinion: Conversion for Marriage.

A friend is letting me post this here, so be kind and focused with your responses. I'll be writing my own, but I want to hear what you folks have to say first!

I live in a community with a lot of converts, which is nice in that there are a lot of people who I share a common experience with and who I can make feel more welcome and comfortable by saying "hey I did that too!" but it's also not-so-nice because of some of the sentiments in the community--being "one of the rabbi's converts," etc.

Recently some of my friends, who are single, have been complaining about the number of people in our community who got engaged/married right after their conversions were finalized. (The rabbi openly states he will convert for marriage, provided the prospective convert prove they would keep halakha even if the relationship ended.) A male friend says that he, as an ffb, feels cheated for doing what he was raised to do--only date Jewish girls--because people in the community date "out" and their girlfriends convert. A female friend, also born Jewish, feels like her odds to get a Jewish man are lower if there's a culture wherein it's essentially OK to date non-Jews who will convert.

I say this not to call out these converts--it's not my business and I can't read their hearts and minds--but because I'm frustrated with hearing my good friends saying "there's a problem with converts in this shul, no offense." While I think they have valid reasons for at least feeling upset (whether or not I agree with them), the "no offense" part hits me the hardest. Has anyone had similar experiences, either with this issue in particular, or simply with others criticizing others' conversions to you?

Ask Chaviva Anything!: Zionism and Non-Orthodox Jews

So many interesting questions keep pouring in, so I'm just going to keep on rolling through them. The variety is amazing, and the thought put into the question is impressive. You guys never cease to amaze me!

What do you think of Zionism? Are you a Zionist?

What do I think of Zionism? Well, I think that it was/is a powerful movement that was/is necessary for the establishment/maintenance of the State of Israel. Zionism itself was always a political movement meant to secure a national homeland for Jews of all stripes, and that homeland happens to be the biblical and modern Israel. So I think it's awesome, necessary, and without it, I think there would be fewer self-identified Jews in the world because there wouldn't be something binding us all in a physical manner.

As for whether I'm a Zionist, that's a good question, and the answer is yes. I think that a lot of the original understandings of Zionism and the reasoning and necessity for a Jewish homeland have been lost throughout the years, and sometimes I wonder if we're in a post-Zionist world, but then I'm reminded daily of the hatred of Jews that still exists and how important a homeland truly is. I do, however, think that sometimes the terminology is abused in order to validate actions by both Jews and the government of Israel.

What's you're beef with non Orthodox Jews?

My beef? I wasn't aware that I had a beef with non-Orthodox Jews. After all, more of this blog's history is probably devoted to me as a non-Orthodox Jew than an Orthodox Jew. My stance has always been that everyone's on a journey and everyone needs to travel at their own pace. As long as it's up, we're all in a good place. If you want to clarify, add a comment or re-ask your question, and feel free to cite specific instances that gave you the impression I wasn't down with my non-Orthodox folks.

What is your definition of Tzniut?

I hate to simply copy and paste, but I wrote back in my response to The Tzniut Project the following. (Also, you can read more about my take on tzniut here.)

For me, the first thing I think of is, "Where does it come from? What does it mean? Why do we do it?" I suppose it's only natural that I'm plagued with questions from square one. It's easy for me to explain to people why we cover our hair (the sotah portion) and why we cover as much or as little as we do. But when it comes to clothing and speech and thought, it's a lot harder. As many others have said, it's a type of lifestyle, but lifestyle sounds too much like choice to me, and for me, yes I choose to do it, but the outline of what's to be done is less of a choice. Tzniut means more than modesty, it means living your life in a way that others wish to emulate. Making your modest clothes look beautiful, to emanate inner beauty, to carry yourself in thought and speech in a way that others say "Wow, if that's what tzniut is, then count me in." It's being a light, really, unto all people. It's being humbled before haShem and all that's been provided us.

From Micah 6:8:

הגיד לך אדם מה טוב ומה יי דורש ממך כי אם עשות משפט ואהבת חסד והצנע לכת עם יי 

HaShem told you what is good and what is required of you: do justly, love mercy (loving-kindness), and walk humbly (modestly) with HaShem.

The word used -- הצנע (ha'tznea) -- is the same word/root for tzniut. So, basically HaShem is saying "Walk this way."

Ask Chaviva Anything!: Hair, Struggles, and School

I've already received so many great questions for my new Ask Chaviva Anything! series. Here's my response to a few of them, and stay tuned for more! If you want to ask me something, anything, just click here.

For you, what's the hardest part of being a convert?

That's a really excellent question, for which there are many answers! I think the hardest thing about being a convert is those moments when you feel lost or wandering (which is how I feel right now post-divorce and post-move). The thing about being a born-Jew is that no matter how far you stray, you can always come back -- Once a Jew, Always a Jew. (Okay, let's not talk about Spinoza here.) When you're a convert, you can't stray and come back, because your credibility is shot. As an Orthodox convert, the option to give up kashrut and the mitzvot just isn't an option if I want to stay or be accepted by Israel and Orthodox Jewry. I'm not saying I want to give everything up, but that the pressure to stay on the straight-and-narrow sometimes means that you feel as though you can't spread your wings and fly in ways that you might before converting.

As I wrote here, the temptations to fly in either direction -- more religious, less religious -- are strong when you're feeling lost, and staying the derech can be exceedingly hard, but that's part of being Jewish, and that's what I signed up for!

Did you get a heter from a reliable rav to uncover your hair? 

Believe it or not, I answered this in a recent blog post! I didn't name the rabbi, but if you really want to know, shoot me an email.

What happened to grad school? Are you going to have to pay back your scholarship? Are you going to go back or are you finished?

Currently, I'm on a "Leave of Absence" with the option to return in the Spring. Will I? Probably not. I might see about getting it extended with the option to return in Fall 2012, but I'm still undecided.

When I initially started my second and third masters' degrees at NYU, I wanted to be a Hebrew language educator, or at least a trail-blazer to update and revamp the way Hebrew is taught in the United States. I was super stoked to be at NYU after getting my first M.A. at the University of Connecticut -- I'd dreamed of going to NYU since I was in high school. When I moved to the NY area, however, my focus changed over to Social Media and the role it plays in the Jewish nonprofit world and in Jewish day schools. The problem? There isn't much of a curriculum at NYU for such a field, because it's hard to teach Social Media to someone like me who knows and does as much as I do already. Also, it being an experimental field, I'm probably better suited to be teaching than taking the classes. (Man, that sounds snobby, but I was going to take a Social Networking course and the teacher asked me to come speak to her class because of my experience.) So I'm really torn and questioning what the Education and Jewish Studies program can really do for me; I was struggling to find meaning in the program for a while now, and it might just be chocked up to the difficult emotional time I was going through.

I don't have to pay back the scholarship, but I know what a hardship it will be for the program and thus this is not a decision I'm making lightly. NYU was my dream, but some things just don't turn out to be what we think they are.

Hereville: Orthodox Jews and Monsters!

Last night, while staving off sleep, I picked up one of the many books I nabbed at the library on Monday. The book? Well, it's not so much a book as a graphic novel.

What's a graphic novel? According to m-w.com, and the easiest possible way to explain, a graphic novel is "a fictional story that is presented in comic-strip format and published as a book." Some of the most well-known graphic novels in the Jewish world include Maus I and Maus II, as well as the bounty of works by Will Eisner. I used to read a ton of graphic novels -- they were the ginger to my sushi, clearing my palate between "real" books.

So a friend suggested the graphic novel Hereville: How Mirka Got Her Sword, which I devoured very quickly, while learning some Yiddish on the way. The interesting thing about this comic? It's a comic book about an 11-year-old troll-fighting Orthodox Jewish girl. 

Yeah, you read that right. 

The graphics are really great, and the inclusion of a bounty of Yiddish terms and explanation of Jewish traditions (like Shabbat and challah), and the theme of the narrative is interesting. A girl growing up in a town where pretty much everyone is like her and where there are certain expectations, she finds her own way without losing sight of who she is as a Jew. 

My advice? If you have a kid, get them this graphic novel. At least check it out from the library. And tell your super frum friends who don't read my blog to read it, too. I think this book would be kosher for any Jew, whether you're observant or not, I think the book has a great message. 

And to the author, Barry Deutsch? Give us something else soon!

The Tzniut Project 11: It's a Lifestyle Choice

This is the eleventh in a multi-part series called The Tzniut Project. Women from a variety of backgrounds with a variety of observances have volunteered to anonymously answer questions that I have written about their practices, people's assumptions, and more. For more information on the project, click here. Please continue to check back with The Tzniut Project to read more stories and comment abundantly!

Note: This post is contributed by a reader. 


1. How do you affiliate Jewishly? Feel free to elaborate on the words people use to describe you and the words you use to describe yourself. 
I would define myself as modern orthodox. I grew up in a modern orthodox community where most women didn't cover their hair, and wore pants, and went to the community modern orthodox yeshivas and high school. I went to a secular, ivy league college. I actually cover my hair, but still wear pants, and T-shirts and at times dresses/skirts that are a little bit higher than my knees (definitely not mini though)

2. Growing up, did your mother or grandmother dress modestly in any way? Do you think modesty was something instilled in you by your family? Did you dress modestly growing up? 
My mom wears pants and T-shirts and does not cover her hair. She never dressed immodestly, although at times she can wear things that are a bit lower cut and definitely skirts above the knees. She also wears long "Bermuda" shorts in the summer. She was always cautious that I not dress "slutty," which meant, in her opinion, very revealing tight tops and very short skirts. However, growing up I did wear short shorts in camp and tank tops as well as sleeveless sundresses.

3. Are you married? How does your spouse feel about your choices for modest dress? Is it a dialogue or does your partner leave the mitzvah to you? 
I am married. My husband actually prefers women to dress modestly. His opinion isn't necessarily based in halachic principle, rather he cares more about me showing too much to other people, and prefers this only to be for him. He actually really dislikes that I wear pants, again, not because of any halachic reasoning, but because he doesn't like the way women look in pants and prefers me to wear skirts. Before we dated, I definitely wore things a lot more low cut, and I wore pants more often. Now that we are married I wear much higher tank tops under my clothes, as well as higher long-sleeve undershirts and try to buy clothes I know he will like. In terms of covering my hair, he always thought it was my choice and would support whatever decision I chose.

4.What would you wear on a typical day? On Shabbos? If you dress differently on weekdays and Shabbos, why do you make this distinction and how? 
I actually work at a religious institution so I wear skirts below my knees, and 3/4-length-sleeved shirts with a high neck everyday. I also have to wear socks or stockings with my shoes. On Shabbos, I tend to wear fancier outfits, also more indicative of my style, so a lot of them have short sleeves or v-necks where I can wear tank tops that don't cover my collarbone. Generally on Saturday nights and Sundays I wear pants or short dresses with tights/leggings underneath. If I didn't work at my current job, I would most likely wear pants more often during the week. My Shabbos clothes are always more fun than my weekday clothes, and I always try to dress up more than I do during the week, by putting on more makeup.

5.What do you think other people infer from your clothing and hair covering choices? Has anyone ever said anything to you outright that expresses a judgment based on your appearance? (Ex: “You don’t cover your hair or wear skirts, so why do you keep kosher?”) 
I'm not really sure what people think. Walking with my husband, while we are on vacation, I cover my hair and he wears a kippah but I always think people are confused when I wear pants. However, I actually have a lot of resentment from my mom about covering my hair since I chose to do something that she doesn't do. She often comments about the way my sheitels look (in her opinion bad) and asks me to uncover my hair the minute I walk into her home.

6. Have you ever surprised someone by dressing more or less modestly and making them rethink their stereotypes about what it means to be an observant Jew? 
When I was younger I was extremely active in NCSY, and I spent alot of time with Jewish non-affiliated kids who went to public school. I always wanted them to see me as a more religious version of themselves. A lot of times people can view tzniut as constricting or restricting, but tzniut is really in the eyes of the beholder. Just because you choose to dress more modestly does not mean you cant be trendy, and it doesn't mean your sleeves have to be past your wrists. So I think having me as a reference point was a little less scary to them as lets say someone who was completely covered up all the time.

7. When you see someone who observes tzniut differently than you, what are your initial thoughts? How do you deal with them? 
I try not to judge someone based on how they are dressed. I have many family members who are more religious than I am and appreciate the way that they dress, just as they appreciate the way I dress without judging me. I always feel bad for people who wear tights and long sleeves in the summer, it can get super hot! But I respect that they dress the way that they do and hope their shirts are the breezy kind so at least they aren't so uncomfortable.

8. I say modesty or tzniut … what does that mean to you? 
Tzniut to me is a lifestyle choice. It means being modest in appearance but also in personality. I was always taught not to be too loud, or outlandish, or even incredibly flirty with my personality because that isn't necessarily being a modest person. I really feel like if you let your inner modesty show, that even if you do wear pants you can be considered a modest or tzniut individual.

9. Anything else you’d like to add about your choices, experiences, and more! 
Personally, know that wearing pants and covering your hair are two completely separate mitzvahs within the tzniut realm. In terms of wearing pants, I tend to wear less tight fitting jeans or pants and prefer the baggier, or gaucho style believing that to be a bit more tzniut than the traditional tight jeans. After learning about hair covering in school I always felt a great urge to cover my hair and believed in the mitzvah. Many of my more religious family members were surprised that I wanted to do it, and my sisters, when I got married each bet how long I would cover it for (three months and six months respectively), and I definitely have surpassed those numbers being married for two years, and I still really appreciate and believe in the mitzvah.

The Tzniut Project

After hitting up several stores today for what I thought was called a "pencil skirt," I was corrected by some of my Twitter friends and realized what I really was looking for was a "straight skirt." All I know is that the straight skirts I have I have outgrown (even though I haven't lost weight) and they sag on me in weird areas (maybe I bought them thinking I was bigger than I was?). I love them, and I got them super cheap from Lands End, but I haven't had luck finding anything else like them. I suppose I could always get them tailored, but, wel, that costs money. (I know; I should learn how to use a sewing machine.)

Ahh to be a modestly dressed woman in search of light, summer-appropriate, tzniut skirts that won't break the bank and will withstand the hot temperatures of the U.S. and Israel. Woe, oh woe is me.

I posted something to Facebook a few days ago, and I received a surprising amount of emails and Facebook messages from women hoping to participate, so I'm stoked about what one responder called The Tzniut Project. What's this mean? I want to start a series of Q&A posts with Jewish women who observe tzniut (modesty) and the stereotypes they face, the experiences they have, and everything about what it means to dress one way and have people perceive you in their own way. You know, the classic frum (observant) woman who wears pants and short sleeves and doesn't cover her hair but would kill her kid for flipping the TV on on Shabbos or eating anything that bears a Triangle-K hechsher. We all have our preconceived notions about the way people dress and how it reflects who they are spiritually or religiously, and I want to start a dialogue about it. (This also plays to a post I wrote last week that got some questioning replies.)

Are you interested in participating? Shoot me an email and the questions will be on their way. There are about 10 questions and you can take your time answering them. This is going to be an ongoing series, and I will be doing minimal editing (only for my OCD grammar concerns) -- and most importantly, all posts will remain anonymous.

For all the posts, click here!

Conquering the Conversion Conversation

You know me -- I really try to ignore all of the "who is a Jew" convert business because it saturates the news in Israel and the U.S. at all hours of every day every few weeks or months. Something happens, there's an outcry, and then it settles down, we go about our business, and then something else happens. I don't like to dwell on the negativity that swirls around conversion in the U.S. versus Israel, but lately it seems to really be taking on a life of its own.

There's the outcry that it's easier to have a "liberal" (i.e., Conservative or Reform) conversion and make aliyah than for the Orthodox convert who went through the process outside Israel. Personally, this seems pretty ridiculous, and it will drive converts to go Conservative and live a happily Conservadoxish life. It defeats the purpose of trying to get converts to go on that happy Orthodox path of truth and light (sarcasm, folks).

Then there is the story about the Modern Orthodox Canadian convert who has been denied immigration, even though he had an Orthodox conversion and is married to an Israeli Jew! The policy has always been that if you're a convert and married to a halachic Jew, it's like a golden ticket for aliyah. So what gives? Oh, right, he converted with rabbis who are on the International Rabbinical Fellowship (read: heretical rabbis who want to overthrow the Rabbinical Council of America's domination of the Orthodox conversion process in the United States). I'll admit that I am a little troubled by the fact that this individual had an Orthodox conversion and continued to work on the Sabbath and not fully observe, which is a requirement of the post-conversion life, but in reality, they converted him, he's Jewish, that's that (maybe this bothers the power that be in Israel, too?) What he chooses to do is up to him (this, of course, is a simplification -- post-conversion you're watched like a hawk).

On that note, this little morsel from the tail-end of the story surprised me, I'll admit, but it makes me feel pretty solid with my conversion.

For immigrants from North America, the Chief Rabbinate is only recognizing conversions carried out by the Rabbinical Council of America, a primarily ultra-Orthodox group.

I guess that means I'm ultra-Orthodox? Oy to the vey.

For all intents and purposes, there is a list that is regularly updated list that includes all of the batei din accepted by Israel for the sake of conversion. Of course, this is for Orthodox conversion, but the point of all of this hullabaloo is that Reform and Conservative conversions have the potential to be less problematic when it comes to moving to Israel -- what happens when you're there is a different story. But wouldn't this encourage people to have a Reform conversion in the U.S. or anywhere else, make aliyah, and only then have an Orthodox conversion? In Israel itself? Is that good enough?

What's my point? My point is that this is all the usual, run-of-the-mill junk that is out there regarding whose conversion is good enough, whose is the best, whose is accepted, and who should go back and restart the game of geirus. It's hard, and it's tough, and it's mind-bogglingly frustrating, but it's the reality of the situation right now. As Harold Kushner surely would say, it's how we respond to it that makes a difference. We cannot control the powers that be, nor can we control who says whether our conversions are good enough. What we can control, however, is how we react to the situation -- with grace and dignity and patience or with anger and disengagement and giving up. I encourage everyone to choose the former. To get angry only fuels the fire of those who surely would say that only a born-Jew is good enough to be a Jew.

A Mikvah Miracle?

I'm pretty sure HaShem reads this blog.

No, I'm serious. I've always had these sort of weird moments where I'll wonder about something and *poof* it'll show up on the next page of what I'm reading or I'll be frustrated about something at shul only to find out that the text I'm reading is focused on that very frustration in the next chapter. It's like HaShem is willing me to understand the things I don't and to cope with the things that frustrate me. Of course, it doesn't happen often enough, nor does it happen with the major questions and frustrations in life, but beggars can't be choosers.

I wrote a blog post back in December called The Mikvah is Lost On Me, and it's one of my most oft-read posts these days. A lot of people gave me a lot of great advice, and I took a lot of it into account during my next trip to the mikvah. The thing of it is ... is that it was probably the best mikvah experience as a married woman that I had and have had.

I was frustrated with the rush, the time curiosity, the mundane nature of the preparations, and the quick fly-by of the actual mikvah dip itself.

And then I went to the mikvah, after airing my frustrations, and the entire experience was heavenly. I paced myself, went through a set routine, but with emphasis on each aspect of preparation. And when the mikvah attendant came, she was the friendliest and most kind attendant I've had. She kept insisting that I take my time, all the time I needed, that there was no rush, and that if I had any questions or needed anything to just ask. We got to the mikvah and she again assured me that it was okay for me to take my time. So I counted the steps as I entered the pool, and when I was in, I took my time with each dip, thinking about all of our mothers, the great women of Jewish memory. I counted the steps as I came up, I put on the robe, reentered my room, and for the first time I felt relaxed, not rushed or unfulfilled.

It just felt right. I knew in that instance that HaShem read my blog post. You probably think I'm nuts, but seriously, what are the chances to land a mikvah lady that attuned to my greatest frustrations with mikvah-going? Okay. Maybe the mikvah folks are plugged in to my blog and brace for when I come in.

Or maybe, just maybe it was a fluke. Maybe it won't happen again, and maybe I just got lucky. Maybe I was looking for that rekindling experience, one that would set everything right again.

Either way, it gave me a little bit of hope that the mikvah and I were going to be okay after all.

Be Prepared to Review the Conversion Manual

December 25, 2007. I was living in Chicago, at a point of frustration with my Judaism. Unsatisfied with the Reform synagogue I was attending, I stopped attending. On December 25, 2007, I was in flux. I volunteered at the Spertus Jewish Museum for their family day because, well, what else do Jews do on Christmas? I was excited. I was eager. I was stoked to spend Christmas Day -- a day of alienation in the U.S. -- with gobs and gobs of other Jews, appreciating Jewish history and art. And then? Well, I'll let you read for yourself. I think that this day, and this post, was a huge turning point for me in my Jewish journey. If you've never been put in a situation like this, then you likely don't know how intense and soul-crushing the words of a single little old Jewish man can be. Even as strong and confident as I am in my Judaism today, this story continues to hurt. This, folks, is the reality of being a convert.

Warning: It's long, but I promise you, it's worth it. And if you do read it? You'll be touching my soul in a way you cannot possibly understand. 

Please read all instructions carefully. 

I read all the books. I made sure to read and reread all of the chapters and digressions into the plight of not converting Super-Mega-Ultra-Orthodox. I checked the little box that said "You realize that a lot of Jews won't think you're Jewish, right?" I joked with my Reform rabbi and my Reform friends and even made sure to read all of my mom's nonchalant e-mails about how "You know, you'll never REALLY be Jewish, right? Just look at what's his face, you know, Sammy Davis Jr.!" But a lot of the time, it doesn't matter. About, oh, I'd say, maybe 36 percent I guess. But then there's wanting to marry the perfect Jewish mate (did he have to go through this? or was he lucky enough to be born into?), or have kids, or go to Israel, or interact with other, well, Jews. And most of the time, I don't really think about who thinks I am or am not a Jew. It's irrelevant, because I know that I am a Jew. Yes, I went through the process, I dipped, I was presented, I had the bet din, I did the whole shibang. But I did it Reform, and to a lot of Jews, that isn't good enough. It isn't enough because those three Reform rabbis aren't *really* rabbis and the ceremony wasn't *really* halakhic, and my process definitely wasn't *really* halakhic.

And then this guy today had me back to that square one point, where all Jews by Choice end up at least every now and again, when something happens or someone says something. That point where you think, "If I was meant to be a Jew, then why the heck wasn't I born that way?" It's not a statement of denial of the present person, but rather a struggle to figure out why it's so much easier for everyone else, why the trials and tribulations for me? And as I write this, I recognize that it's quintessentially Jewish to run into these hurdles, these questions, these insecurities -- but for these things to be brought on by another Jew? Albeit, a Jew who thinks ("knows") he or she is a *real* Jew?

Listen. I volunteered today at the local Jewish museum. It's Christmas, and for Jews that means we need something to do that doesn't remind us that, ya, the rest of the world is ignoring their credit card debt while opening shiny new toys and noshing on ham. So I volunteered to hang out for three hours and make sure little kids didn't shmear their chocolaty fingers all over the new exhibit on the top floor of the brand spanking new building. The day was going along absolutely perfectly. I was so stoked to see Orthodox and Reform and the random passersby join together for some Kosher baked goodies and a giant inflatable caterpillar. It was this Jewish utopia where all Jews are created equal. I even ran into a coworker who is as excited about Judaic studies as I am (she's the Orthodox gal I work with). I was on top of the world, I was hanging out in the upper echelon of Jew excitement and happiness, and it seemed like it was only getting better when this stout elderly man in a newsboy cap started talking to me.

His name was Wolf. He was carrying a bag of something and had his pants pulled up in that old man way where they sit far above the waistline, which disappeared years ago. His little cap made him look like an overgrown child and when he asked me where all the food was, I thought, this is someone's grandfather! someone's father! and here he is asking me where to get a nosh. I explained that the treats had been gone long ago, swept up by hungry munchkins. I then told him he could go down to the cafe for some food if he was interested. We walked for a little bit and he struck up a conversation with me, poking fun as to why I hadn't managed to save him a brownie. After nearly two hours of silence and wandering around, I was excited to be talking to this little old Jewish man.

Then came the questions.

Is the cafe kosher? he asked. Yes, I answered. Do you keep kosher? he asked. I grinned, knowing where it was going. I made a motion with my hand to sort of say "so so" and said, To some extent, yes. He responded with, You're a good Jewish girl, no? You should keep kosher! I laughed a little and explained that I was working toward it, feeling almost guilty that I didn't, in fact, keep fully kosher. Old people have this way of making you feel guilty, and this guy, without even trying, was laying it on thick. What's your name? he asked. Amanda, I replied. What's your last name? he asked. I hesitated. This is that point where that whole "What's in a name?" thing comes out. Um ... Edwards, I replied. The look on his face made me anxious and nervous, so I blurted out, Not very Jewish, eh? He got a very stern look on his face. You are Jewish, yes? he asked. I quickly responded, (realizing that if I was volunteering there on Christmas I had to be Jewish, right?) Oh yes, of course I'm Jewish. He cocked his head a little, still looking fairly serious, children were buzzing around us, strollers and people muddling about the lower gallery. So what are you then? he asked. A convert? I got excited suddenly, with this jolt of convert pride flew up out of me, forcing me to respond, Yes, I am a convert ... by my own accord, too. He then started asking me why I converted and what led me to where I was and I gave him the brief version of how I ended up where I did. I explained Nebraska wasn't filled with Jews and that I'd spent about three years on the process.

So what are your parents? he asked. Christians? Jews? What? I never know how to answer that question, because they're more or less agnostic, I guess, but they believe in Jesus, so they're sort of Christians, but completely non-practicing. I explained this to him and he said, So are you sure they're not Jews? Are they definitely Christians? I didn't get what he was implying, though now that I think about it perhaps he wanted to know if there was any Jewish lineage in my past. I responded, Nope, they're Christians all right. I'm the only Jew -- so far as I know -- in my family tree.

Just then a lady he knew walked by, and I felt absolutely relieved. He went back into jovial-old-man mode and started showing pictures from his recent trip to Israel. He had pictures of him playing the violin for the rebbe (or at least this is what he said, I'm not sure about the status of the rebbe, so I could have been misunderstanding) in Israel. He was so proud of the pictures, and kept saying, Now those! Those are some serious Jews! Eventually the woman walked away and the old man named Wolf picked back up his questioning. This is when the situation got truly uncomfortable, and at the end, I was left feeling emotionally drained and as if I'd let down the world. As if I wasn't good enough. As if I'd failed on my mission to become who I was meant to be (Lech L'kha). So you converted? he said again. Yes, I replied, in April 2006. How did you convert? he asked. I stopped, dead in my tracks. It's times like this that I wish I could create lies on the spot, but I've never been good at that. I can't make up fake telephone numbers or random facts or anything. I'm just no good at lying, but I regret the truth so much because of how it made me feel, because of how it turned this nice little old man into the ultimate naysayer about who I really am. Well, I said with a slight tone of disappointment, I converted through the Reform movement.

He just stared at me. With these piercing eyes, like all of a sudden I was a stranger, I wasn't worth joking with and I wasn't really his kin, his anything. I laughed uncomfortably.

But, I said, you know, I have considered going through more serious (yes, I said serious, because I knew that was the right word for this man) conversion. I think about getting married or having kids, I said, and I wouldn't want them to be ... (I trailed off.). Then he finally spoke up. You know, he said, do you want to marry yourself a nice Jewish boy? I replied, Of course, of course. Then, he said, you know you're going to have to convert Orthodox, it's the only way, really. At this point I just listened. He started talking in this flurry of urgency that when I think about it almost sounds more like he was saying "You idiot, what were you thinking!? You have to be more serious! You have to go the whole nine yards! What a waste of time and flesh!"

But then came the real kicker.

You know, he said, I don't want to sound like I'm judging you, because I'm not, but you know, and I'm being serious here, that you're not really Jewish, right? You're not really Jewish Jewish. I felt like I was going to vomit. It was those words "You're not really Jewish Jewish" that echoed in my head from the point he walked away until just now. And those words will continue to echo from this point forward. Before, I'd read those words, from my mother and friends and people who didn't really believe what I was doing. But I'd just read them. On paper or the erasable tablet of the Internet. No one had ever said them to my face in a way that was so cutting, so vile, so personal ... and even now, as I write this, those words and this story -- what should have been a pleasant story -- brings me to tears.

Our conversation deteriorated after that. He repeated the "I'm not judging you" line, and continuously encouraged me again and again to convert Orthodox. He wanted me to understand the "reality" of it. He then started talking about wanting to hit up Lake Geneva and then wished me a good day and walked away. I was absolutely devastated. From that point on, I started noticing things. All the men with their yarmulkes and the Orthodox women with their caps and long skirts and the tzitzit and sidelocks and the quintessential "Jewish" nose. I went to the bathroom to escape it. I suddenly felt like I was on the outside looking in. I was outside the window, looking through the glass at this world that I so want to belong to, that at my very core I know I am a part of, yet at that moment I was so far away from it. I looked into the mirror, and thought to myself, At least you were born with hair as dark as night and skin as white as the snow. At least you look Eastern European, Amanda. At least you have something going for you.

I get that being Jewish isn't about looks or about perceptions. And 98 percent of the time I really get it. But this time, just this time, I stopped feeling Jewish and started feeling like someone who is trying so hard to be something that she wasn't born as. I looked at the kids and the teenagers and was reminded that I'll never go to Hebrew school or have the traditional bat mitzvah. I will never grow up learning the aleph-bet or see my little brother be circumcised in the tradition of our people that has survived thousands of years. I will never. And every time these thoughts crept back in, I reminded myself that when they came for the Jews, they didn't come for the Orthodox, they came for ALL Jews -- secular, converted, religious. They came for them all. And I hate that this is what it comes to, sometimes, when I'm reminded that I am not Jewish enough for the rest of the world.

I'm struggling right now to feel positive about where I am, and it's because of an old man named Wolf who just wanted a nosh, but the words from this old-school Jew who plays the violin and keeps kosher was enough to really tip me over and spin me around. I don't think my reaction to a similar conversation with a Jew my own age would have incited such panic and stress and emotion in me, but when an elderly Jew who has managed to retain the tradition his entirely life calls me out and questions my Jewish authority, I just feel the need to feel accepted. Maybe it's because I never connected with my own grandparents, or maybe it's because I admire the Jews of generations past who had to grow up with such different lifestyles than me, when assimilation and acculturation were so pressured upon new Jews in America. Now, I know I can't know where this Wolf comes from or how long he's lived here, but I do know that when he was a kid his family used to go to Lake Geneva. He had the slight hint of an accent, so maybe his parents were from the old country or maybe even he was born in the old country. Either way, I'm projecting this imagine of the traditional Jew who, despite all odds, managed to hold on to his tradition, his culture, his people-hood. And what am I to this old man?

A nothing. Schmutz. Someone who is trying, but hasn't tried hard enough, and who isn't Jewish Jewish. If you get my drift.

I'm not sure where to go from here. I have this mental image of what I want my life to be like, how observant I want to be, how observant I want my future husband to be, how I want to raise my children to be proud and involved in their Jewishness. And I know -- at this point I am completely conscious of this -- that my present state just isn't going to make those things happen. And then here comes Wolf, reminding me that I'm definitely not able to make those things happen, being Reform and all.

Listen. I'm happy with who I am, believe you me. I'm happy with my conversion, and it was right for me when it happened. I was my newly ordained rabbi's first convert, and for him and me that's something memorable. My conversion had a goof in it and caused me to dip in the mikvah twice. My rabbi took me for sushi afterwards and we talked about how I should enter the rabbinate (his idea, not mine). My conversion, the night of, that is, was the night of the final banquet for my college newspaper, and a few of my friends skipped the formal part to come watch my conversion ceremony at the temple. I then went to the party and got drunk, on what else, Manischewitz. The thing is, my conversion has a story, and there was a lot leading up to it that is emblazoned on my brain, and I wouldn't change any of it for the world. In 2006 when I converted, I truly became Chaviva bat Avraham v'Sarah.

But times like these, times like these I wonder if I shouldn't go further. If that Orthodox kid who I met at Starbucks in D.C. in summer 2006 -- ho said "So why are you Reform again?" when I explained my status, my beliefs, my observance -- had a point. I think, if anything, his point was more significant and dare I say it, thoughtful, than old man Wolf's thoughts on my situation. At any rate, if I convert more "seriously," it won't be because of Wolf or the Orthodox kid. It will be on my own terms, in my own time, and in my own efforts. And that will never change.

I just wish Wolf, and his posse of holier-than-thou Jews, would let me be, would let my mind be at ease, would allow me to be who I am, Jewish as I am. I get that I'm not Jewish enough for a lot of you, but I'm Jewish enough for me. I checked the little box, remember?

Niddah: Cover Your Hair in Bed?

A Tale of a Tichel

Note: A tichel is a head scarf, much like the one I'm rocking in this photo from one of my many adventures at Starbucks. 


I'm so glad that my post on shomer negiah elicited so many comments -- both positive and critical of a sweeping understanding as modesty and separation as a cure-all for wedded bliss. I agree: There is no cure-all, not even the observance of ta'arat ha'mishpacha (family purity) can guarantee that a couple will last as many years as Abraham and Sarah or that they'll be blessed with a gaggle of children and happiness.

But those who warn, Beware, you feel this now, but in a few years? ... I ask you to hold that thought. I know a lot of people who have stopped covering seven or ten years into a marriage, women who have opted to wear pants three years in, or couples that have decided that observing the laws of niddah just isn't working for them. I know women who don't go to mikvah, women who cover their hair in-shul, but cherish their flowing locks outside the walls of the beit k'nesset. And yes, I'm aware that at some point, without knowing it, I might become one of those women. I hope, however, that I always feel as I do now.

The funny thing is that covering, for me, is something I was excited about. A friend commented that at some point, I might miss being able to soak my hair in the fresh rain. Truth be told, I hated walking in the rain before I covered. After all, my hair style limited me from just about any kind of poor weather. I hated walking to shul in the rain, I hated rain jackets, I hated wearing hats (they flattened my awesome hair). Now? Well, it's been raining the past few days and I've relished in it. I've walked outside, looked upward, and almost danced to my car with rain drops on my tichel or hat. At last, I feel comfortable in my skin -- and all because of a simple head covering.

I feel more comfortable walking around Monsey, too. I know it's silly, and I don't seek acceptance, but walking around with Tuvia before I felt like people knew we were dating, shopping together, even, but unmarried! What a shonda! I'll admit that little kids still look at me funny when I'm in Monsey (after all, my jean skirt and colorful tichel with bangs a blowin' in the wind don't exactly scream "Monsey), but I felt like the reason the clerk at the health food store spoke so kindly and willing with me was because, well, I clearly was an observant, Jewish woman.

The funny thing is, I almost feel less comfortable walking around in the general Connecticut population. A man with a gigantic cross at Christmas Tree Shops (oh the humor in that one) looked me up and down, watched me standing at the register. Maybe I was paranoid, but I felt a piercing glance. If anything, covering my hair makes me "look the part" a little more than I used to. In the end, I'm okay with that (I dream of someday living in Jerusalem when looking the part just means looking like everyone else).

I know it's crazy to think that a few weeks into being married I'm so sure about how I feel, where I'm going, and how I will observe for the expanse of our happily wedded future, but my neshama hasn't led me astray yet, and the excitement, passion, devotion, and eagerness I feel about all of the things rolled up into the ideas of modesty and family purity has me thinking positive.

For all intents and purposes, I'm a modern girl. I'm liberal (let's not go into how I feel about women and the GLBT community and how people think it doesn't fit into Orthodoxy), I'm a Democrat, I like funky fashion, I think communication with the outside world and within the greater, global Jewish community starts with Social Media and the Internet, and I see Orthodoxy as awesomely modern and beautiful. I may appear to be a contradiction in terms to many, but in truth I see myself as a positive example of the possibilities of Orthodoxy in the 21st century -- what Orthodoxy should be: halakic, positive, modern, fulfilling.

I hope you all stick around for my journey as a married, Jewish, Orthodox woman ... I'm sure I'll have plenty of interesting things to offer you as life moves on (and I mean that literally, as we're moving at the end of the month to Teaneck, New Jersey!), and I only hope that you read with open eyes and ears and that if -- at any time at all -- you have questions or misunderstandings about something I say, that you'll email me and ask. I'm equal opportunity here, and I want to appeal to every person (Jew or not, Orthodox or Reform or Reconstructionist or Humanist or Lubavitch, etc, etc).

Peace and tichels, friends!