Tipping Point || Faith in Flux

Rarely does a single moment change someone’s life. More often, it’s a collection of events working together to influence a person’s path. For me, my journey toward conversion to Judaism traces back to my first teaching job after college. I worked as a first-grade teacher in an after-school care program, where my students and their families changed me forever.

Student Advocacy

I didn’t get along with my first teaching boss, the site coordinator. She was egotistical, incompetent, and outright mean. We clashed frequently, but I focused on my job and tried to keep things running smoothly. That approach worked—until the holiday season.

Our program implemented a week-long craft activity where each student made a Christmas tree ornament to hang in the director’s office before taking it home for the holidays. Something about the activity felt wrong to me. I knew I had a diverse class, including one Muslim student and two Jewish students, alongside many white Christian children.

I approached the director with my concerns, explaining that the project excluded non-Christian students. She dismissed me, saying, “Don’t take it personally.” Feeling unheard, I decided not to have my students participate. When she confronted me later in the week, I stood my ground and explained that forcing the activity on students from different religious backgrounds felt inappropriate.

Unbeknownst to me, a parent overheard the conversation.

Meeting Mrs. Brohm

The week passed with no complaints. Some of my fellow teachers even skipped the ornament activity as well. One evening during pickup, there was a knock at my classroom door. It was a parent I recognized from another class but had never spoken with before.

“Hello, Mr. Gardner. I’m Evelyn Brohm,” she introduced herself. “I wanted you to know that I overheard what you said about the ornaments—and I just had to thank you.”

I was stunned. I’d assumed the silence following my decision meant disapproval.

“You see,” she continued, “we’re Jewish and didn’t feel comfortable with the activity. We planned to stay quiet about it, but hearing you speak up gave us the courage to say no. As a queer Jewish family, we didn’t know how to stand up—but you helped us.”

Her words affirmed that I’d done the right thing—but she also unintentionally opened a new world to me. By revealing her family’s Jewish and queer identity, she challenged the narrow views of Judaism I’d unconsciously held. In that moment, I thought, How interesting.

Early Exploration

Over the next few weeks, Mrs. Brohm and I talked daily at pickup. We discussed queerness in early childhood education, global exposure for children (the school’s theme), and—most importantly—Judaism. She mentioned she was converting to Judaism for her partner, something I hadn’t known was possible.

The idea fascinated me. Here was a Black, queer, Jewish family thriving in ways I hadn’t realized were possible after leaving the church. My nights were filled with Google searches and Wikipedia rabbit holes about different Jewish movements. I brought questions to Mrs. Brohm, and she answered them patiently.

Winter break came and went, and we stayed in touch. She invited me to synagogue events, but I was too nervous to attend—I feared being intrusive or culturally insensitive. Finally, one spring afternoon, I worked up the courage to ask the question that had been weighing on me:

“Do you have to believe in God to be Jewish?”

I’d Googled the answer countless times but trusted her perspective more.

She paused thoughtfully before responding. “I think it’s time you talk to a rabbi.”

Excitement and fear surged in my chest. She gave me her rabbi’s contact information from the local Conservative synagogue. That evening, I drafted an email but hesitated to send it. Days passed as I typed and retyped my introduction.

Before I could hit send, the world came to a halt. The COVID-19 pandemic reached North Carolina, and everything shut down.