Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been twenty years since my last confession. You see, I’m a Jew By Choice. That’s right: I’m a JBC. I didn’t enter this world as a Jew. I converted about three years ago. Only, I didn’t convert officially. Didn’t take any conversion classes, didn’t stand before a bet din and explain why we celebrate Pesach, never dipped in a mikvah and said the prayers. However, I rock the holidays like Bubbe herself. I tear it up for Hanukkah, Purim, Pesach, and Sukkot and celebrate Rosh Hashanah (even made Tashlikh one year) and Yom Kippur (natch!). I’ve also got some basic prayers under my belt and I’ve mastered a minimal amount of Hebrew. If my mom were Jewish, she’d be kvelling. By no means am I ready for rabbinical college, but I’m always learning. And I still choose to be a Jew. Why no official conversion? Eh. I’ve been meaning to get around to it, but you know…there’s the time for classes, the expense, the schlep.

Since my informal conversion, I haven’t been the best Jew. I’ve lied. Big time. First there’s the whole not-really-officially-converted thing. I’ve simply lived my life as a Jew and claimed to be a convert. As lies go, it’s not the worst. While this unofficial sitch may be alright by some Reform folks out there, there are, however, people in my life whom do not yet recognize me as a Jew because I haven’t gone through any formal process. They can’t dance with me because I haven’t asked three times. In fact, for Passover this year, some friends delicately asked me ahead of time not to physically touch the special kosher wine because I’m technically not a Jew. Yep, just call me Pariah Carey.
Then there’s the Big Lie. Like all sequels, it’s bigger, louder, and more in-your-face (and the plot is pretty lame). I’ve presented myself as a Jew By Birth (JBB) to people, mostly in work situations. I haven’t just lied by omission; by keeping my mouth shut and letting people assume I was born a Jew. Oh no, I have out right lied: bald face lies that required a skosh of creativity, kind of like cooking. A dash of this, a pinch of that, or not so much of that. I’ve straight up invented stories about my heritage or just left out key information that I didn’t feel was necessary to share. For all my ex and current co-workers know, my mom’s side of the family is German (true) and my Nana was a stereotypical Jewish grandmother (not true, but she was a real piece of work). While we’re on the subject, I might as well wipe the whole slate clean. Tabula rasa and all that. See, it’s not just my work peeps with whom I’m creatively truthful. Technically, my immediate family doesn’t know exactly where I stand with my Judaism. To them, it isn’t fully hidden but I’m not completely out either. Let’s just say I won’t celebrate Easter or Christmas anymore but I haven’t exactly told them why Okay, I’m a little nauseated after confessing all this. Let me make nice.

Lest you think me seriously meshugenah, I’ve also been honest. I have, I swear on a stack of Bibles. Okay, maybe that’s a little much. Look, I promise you that I have plenty of friends, Jews and Non-Jews, who I’m out to. People who know that I was raised as a Catholic (nine years of Catholic school/church every Sunday until I was seventeen) but now I’m a Jew and they still love and accept me. Still there are others for whom it just doesn’t matter–doesn’t even merit any discussion because my beliefs (and theirs) do not affect our friendship. See? I’m not all bad.

I’m sure this has you riled up, but save your breath, Father. There’s no need for lectures. I already know why I lied about my Jewishness. I was afraid I wouldn’t be believed. I wanted to be accepted as a Jew without question, so I sort of banked on other people’s assumptions of what it means to be a Jew. I didn’t want to defend my choice to become a Jew (I’m a vegan, so I’ve done the incredulous, rapid-fire questioning routine. For the record, I’m over it.). I didn’t want people to think twice when I wasn’t at work for Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur. I just wanted to be a Jew. But I was afraid. I thought that if I passed for a Jew By Birth, I’d be accepted easier and faster than if I told the truth. I mistakenly thought people wouldn’t see me as a real Jew if they knew I’d chosen to be one. So, I shimmied. I slid. I sashayed around the truth. Actually, I’m a pretty good dancer, but I digress. Just think of me as the opposite of those showbiz folks who changed their Greenberg to Green. Is it that much different, really? On second thought, strike that. They did it to escape anti-Semitism and I did what I did to avoid some perceived judgment.

I also lied because I was confused. I’m not sure I fully grasped the idea of conversion when I was swayed by the passion to undertake it. My heart was faster than my head. I naively assumed that acting like a Jew By Birth would help me morph into a real Jew faster (in fact, living one’s life as a Jew is advice I gleaned from a book on the subject of conversion). But I thought I had to change who I was, to become some idea I had of what a true Jew really is. It’s embarrassing to admit that I had so narrowly defined what it means to be a Jew, but cut me some slack. I grew up in WASP-y Town. I knew of a handful of Jews scattered about in the town. I actually knew one Jewish family for a very brief period (Girl Scouts: the great equalizer). So everything I learned about Jews and Judaism came to me from books, movies (including documentaries), what little interaction I had in Girl Scouts, and my utter horror that anything like the Holocaust could ever occur.

Since I’ve looked into it a little further lately, I’m starting to understand it all a lot better. Being a Jew is a choice of belief and of action, not of personality. I’m embracing new ideas and traditions, not simply throwing on a skirt and bowing before the Torah hoping no one will notice that I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m actively educating myself. I’m engaged in a process (a conceptual term that sounds eerily 12 Step-y). I am rocking monotheism. There’s no more Son of G-d for me, no more Christmas, no more Easter ham. I see it not so much as a giving up as I do a release, like getting rid of a much beloved tee that just doesn’t fit you anymore. And I’m gaining…new connections, new ideas, new holidays. I love finding out that someone is Jewish. It’s like Shake-n-Bake family. I love the tradition of questioning and arguing in Judaism. The Son of G-d story I got as a kid was pretty much stuffed down my throat. I loooooooove me the holidays with their remembering and eating, both of which I do pretty well. Probably what I love most of all is that my choice to be a Jew is valid simply because I’ve made it, no explanation needed. Not only does it count, but it adds to the history of the Tribe. My individual story, my history, what I bring to Judaism is woven into the fabric that unites us all. It’s as if I’ve just joined up with the gang as they wander around the desert. I take up walking right alongside of them, as if I’ve been there all along. And they welcome this tall, tattooed, vegan, half German girl with open arms.

Why’d I become a Jew? Does it really matter? For one thing, there will always be playah haters, so why even engage in a dialogue with them? I’ve chosen something so outside the norm (of my upbringing, of overall society) that some people will see it as a radical choice and dis me regardless of my reasoning. But since you’re curious and all: I fell in love with a Nice Jewish Boy. Classic, right? But I didn’t convert for him. It was because of him. I wanted to walk the spiritual path that had shaped him into the beautiful being that he is. Are you sick yet? It’s true. I wanted to know that world, that G-d, those teachings, the community. Nice Jewish Boy encouraged me to consider my choice carefully, almost to the point of discouraging me. He wanted me to be sure that being a Jew by Choice was right for me.

So where do I go from here? Well, I know there’s a formal conversion process in my future because I want to marry Nice Jewish Boy and make some more members of the Tribe. I’d love to have a kosher kitchen (another great thing about being vegan…I’m half-way there). And, hey, keeping Shabbat would be fantastic, but, you know, one step at a time. I’m still keeping my tattoos and there’s huge chance I’m getting more. I’m cool with skirts, but only when I choose to wear them and wigs are really best suited for Halloween and Vegas in my opinion. Sometimes I’ll side with Israel, sometimes I’ll disagree with them. I will keep arguing and questioning. And learning. Yes, I promise to come clean in person with apologies to my co-workers and to my family, as penance for my little masquerade. I’m truly sorry for lying and I won’t do it again. I am writing this to come clean, to make nice, to come out. Lying about it has tainted the joy of embracing my new spiritual path. And I feel genuine remorse, and more importantly, humbled by how much I still have to learn. But before I go any further, let me just say one thing to get it all straight: Mom, Dad, Co-Workers, I’m Jewish.

So, whatcha think?
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