Moves and Changes || Faith in Flux

I’m skipping over my time in the Intro to Judaism course—not because it wasn’t important, but because I don’t remember much of it. To be honest, most of the content was material I had already learned through independent study. What stood out to me were the open discussions about Jewish ritual, tradition, and history. I cherished my one-on-one conversations with the class teacher, Rabbi Green, though they often veered into questions outside the class syllabus. At that time, I was still grappling with the concept of a theistic God and reconciling it with the historical context of the Torah. My focus on modern Jewish life was mostly about how it was evolving—a question I felt wasn’t fully addressed in the course.

Shortly after finishing the course, I left my teaching job and began working in marketing. This change came with a significant shift: I moved half an hour farther from Kehillah, my synagogue of over a year. Now, the commute to Shabbat was about an hour and a half. Though the added time might seem trivial, I felt it with every trip. Gradually, I began attending less frequently. Zoom services didn’t feel the same after experiencing the community in person. I still went to Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur services, but the strain of the commute took its toll. It became clear that I needed to find a new synagogue.

Exploring Reform Judaism

One takeaway from my Intro to Judaism course was a clearer understanding of the distinctions between Jewish denominations. While I still find some of the lines blurry, I had a better grasp of the core values and ideologies of each branch. With this knowledge, I decided to explore a Reform congregation in my new city. I reached out and was promptly connected with Rabbi Chris.

Rabbi Chris showed genuine interest in my journey and my elongated conversion timeline. Early in our first meeting, he paused my recounting of my spiritual history to say, “Look, I believe you’re Jewish. We just have to get you there.” His words reassured and relieved me—perhaps I had finally found the right path forward.

Determined to be clear this time, I asked him directly about theism and the Jewish perspective on God. He recommended Finding God by Rabbi Rifat Sonsino, which I devoured in less than a week. The book helped me articulate my beliefs about Jewish theology. Over the next few months, I met with Rabbi Chris regularly, discussing Jewish ethics, theology, and practices. We dissected The Prophets by Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel and explored The Sacred Table to delve into Kashrut practices. On weeks we didn’t meet, I joined a weekly chavurah Rabbi Charlie hosted via Zoom to study Torah with synagogue elders. This period was rich with personal study and rabbinic guidance.

A Challenging Encounter

Despite the progress I made during this time, I grew increasingly nervous about the conversion rituals. I had strong opinions about some aspects but feared expressing them might make me appear uncommitted. Unfortunately, I never got the chance to address these concerns with Rabbi Chris.

During one meeting, we discussed the tragic events of October 7, 2023, in Israel. My views on the terrorist attack are complex, and I struggled with how to align my perspective with the synagogue’s openly pro-Israel stance. Without sharing my opinions, I mentioned that I didn’t equate pro-Palestinian protests with antisemitism. Rabbi Chris responded, “Well, let’s put it this way: if you can’t say the Shema, maybe you shouldn’t be here.”

Though said half-jokingly, his comment shook me. It was so unexpected and disappointing that I barely remember the rest of the meeting. I haven’t spoken to him since.

Looking back, I regret not addressing how his words affected me. Not to argue, but to seek clarity. What did he mean? As I write this, I’m contemplating reaching out to him for closure. If I do, I’ll update you in another post. For now, that encounter left me feeling lost and isolated in my thoughts. I didn’t know where to turn next.

Discovering Humanistic Judaism

I continued reading Jewish theological works by Heschel, Kushner, Fromm, and, eventually, Rabbi Sherwin T. Wine—the founder of Humanistic Judaism. His philosophy of a secular Jewish life intrigued me, and I learned about an online conversion program through the Humanistic movement. Excited, I reached out and connected with a Humanistic rabbi within a week. She affirmed my readiness to convert, and I eagerly followed her instructions: writing an essay of intent, choosing a Hebrew name, and paying a $100 membership fee.

I felt affirmed and thrilled. Finally, I was connecting with like-minded people and preparing to attend a Zoom service from a Humanistic congregation. But things quickly fell apart. I never received the link for the service. Instead, I got a certificate of conversion in the mail, along with some liturgy and reading materials. As I read more about Humanistic Judaism, I grew uneasy. Rabbi Wine’s writings seemed less secular and more anti-theist, a perspective that didn’t align with me. To make matters worse, I realized I had chosen the wrong Hebrew name. If the rabbi had paid closer attention, she might have caught the error.

I was crushed. That spring was one of the darkest seasons of my life. Discouraged, I withdrew from my journey entirely. For months, I avoided all Jewish content, unsure of my next step.

Returning to Kehillah

After a long summer of reflection, I felt it was time to return to what once brought me joy: Kehillah. With the help of my therapist (shoutout to Joe!), I decided to attend services again. It had been over a year and a half since my last visit, and I worried I’d forgotten too much. But as soon as I approached the door, I was greeted by Lisa, the French-American woman I’d sat with during my very first Shabbat there. She handed me a Torah and Siddur, and I took my seat.

To my surprise, I fell back into the rhythm of the service with ease. While I still didn’t understand all the words, the melodies felt like home. After the Torah reading and a short sermon, the floor was opened for discussion—a hallmark of Kehillah that I had missed dearly. The values of social justice, learning, and open dialogue were alive and well.

After the service, I introduced myself to the new associate rabbi, Rabbi Seth. He recognized me from Zoom and from graphic design work I had done for the synagogue years ago. We walked to Kiddush together, and I shared my journey since leaving Kehillah. He empathized deeply. Then, he asked me a question that would open new doors:

"Have you heard of Judaism Unbound?"