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I Came to Judaism for Mitzvot

By Diane K. Lavett (Sh'ma 11/217, September 18, 1981)

Recently I flew from Atlanta to Chicago, met with a bet din, (court) and converted to Judaism. Without exception, my non-Jewish friends offered me warm congratulations. Almost without exception, my Jewish friends asked me, "why?" While I do not intend to answer that question fully here, I do wish to present a legal argument for conversion. I also wish to discuss some of the barriers to conversion which I encountered.

I found that the observance of the mitzvot was good for me, and I wished to continue with the practice of Judaism. However, a non-Jew may not continuously observe the mitzvot. If I obeyed the Law, I could not continue to be observant as a non-Jew. If I did not obey the Law, which as a non Jew I was not required to do, then I could continue to observe the mitzvot. Clearly, the only way out of this dilemma once I had decided that observance was good for me was to convert. My only other choice was to stop doing what was good for me.

My Jewish friends could easily follow the logic of my argument. What they could not understand was that I had found observance to be good for me. It may be that someone who was raised outside of the framework of Judaism and who comes to it having experienced another way of life can more clearly see what it is that observance does for him.

Let us take one mitzvah, the saying of a berachah (blessing), when one encounters something that is beautiful, and see what its effect can be. All my life I have come across sights of beauty in the natural world many times each day. I could look at them, be aware of my pleasure, and then I had simply to turn away because there was nothing to do with the emotions which were aroused. The gestalt was left uncompleted, which is always unsatisfactory. By saying a berachah, the gestalt is completed. It acts as a vehicle of expression for all the wonder and joy that I feel. Equally as important, the taking of the time to say the berachah enhances both my pleasure and sense of wonder because I become more aware of what I am observing in the act of response to it. Saying a berachah reminds me that I am (now) a Jew. It also reminds me that once I was not a Jew, that once I had no way in which to express my reaction to something I found beautiful, and that I am indeed capable of doing whatever is necessary for increasing my sense of joy in lift. Each time I say a berachah, I also increase my sense of thanks to the Jews for preserving this vehicle for me. Finally, saying a berachah makes me laugh a little at myself, a modern scientist who at one time would not have been caught dead engaging in an alogical process. It reminds me of the changes I have experienced. The possibility of observing this mitzvah, and gaining all that I do from it, presents itself to me hundreds of times each day.

Earlier Sense of Self-Doubt

The sense of joy which I feel now is in strong contrast to my earlier self-doubts, indecisions and the rather painful choices which I was forced to make during the last couple of years as a consequence of my interest in Judaism. There were barriers which seemed insurmountable at each stage. I treasure my joy now, but I cannot forget the pain which brought me to it. It, too, is a part of me.

The biggest barriers to conversion were within me.

While I could not deny that I was intellectually fascinated by Judaism, I tried very hard to deny the emotional comfort which I gained from study. It threatened my self-image. After all, I was a cynical child of the twentieth century, raised in a rationality rooted in humanism. I was a scientist who knew her history and, therefore, knew that it was the Enlightenment's emphasis on rationality which had allowed for so much progress in the world. How could I seriously consider giving up a strategy in life which had proven to be so successful? And what about abandoning humanism? The Law is in direct conflict with humanistic ideas on every social issue of importance today: right to abortion, right to death, homosexual rights, women's rights. The concept of rights in this sense does not even exist within the Law. Man has obligations, not rights. How could I possibly give up so much, withdraw from the mainstream of contemporary liberal thought? If I could possibly resolve these issues, there was still the biggest barrier of all, a seemingly insurmountable barrier, the belief in God. Conversion was ultimately a religious act, requiring a belief in God; I had always considered myself to be a devout atheist.

Thus, in the beginning, I was racked by self-doubts and a tremendous discomfort at what I was doing. I told myself that there was nothing wrong with an intellectual exploration of what was to me a new philosophical system, and I tried to deny that I was emotionally attracted to it also. My goal was simply to understand, I was not going to convert because it would be intellectually dishonest for me to do so.

Study Leads to a New Life

I studied. I read Buber, Fackenheim, Heschcl. I read history. I read Chasidic tales and portions from the Talmud. I read anthologies of fact and fiction. I studied at different times with four rabbis: one reform, one conservative, one orthodox and one Chasid. I read and read for over two years, and gradually I began to understand that I could not understand Judaism until lived as a Jew. I balked at that idea for months, scared to change my behavior but also wanting so much what only a change in behavior could produce.

A move resolved my ambivalence. I was changing cities, jobs, family composition and name. Surely I could tolerate just a bit more change, a change in behavior. I could look upon it as an experiment, one in behavior modification. If it were successful I would find myself relocated in time and space, reoriented with respect to the world, with changed feelings and identification; if it did not work, nothing would be lost. So I became a observant Jew within the constraints of my life situation. Initially I felt rather silly but, as the laws began to mold me, I was delighted by the changes I was observing in myself. They turned out to be very good for me in so many ways.

In the face of that experience, my earlier intellectual qualms seemed less important. My cynicism was clearly a product of fear, protecting me from the experience change. Rationality did not suddenly fly off because I was observant. My humanistic values remained in conflict with the Law, but who was I to demand of myself a solution when all of the major thinkers in Reform and Conservative Judaism were still struggling with the problems? Perhaps not all must be resolved immediately. As for a belief in God, I resolved the issues there, too.

The World Reacts to Changing Practices

Not all changes occurred within me. As I reacted to the world in new ways, the world changed its reaction to me. I experienced anti-Semitism for the first time from someone who had been a friend, and I learned from someone who became a friend that anti-goyism exists. Friends whom I trusted turned out to be threatened by what I was doing and withdrew. Others laughed at me and told me I was going through a phase; I withdrew from them. It was a time of testing of friendships and some were found wanting. And yet, other friends reacted to the changes in me with delight. Some could not fully understand what I was experiencing, but they were pleased for me and trusted that I knew what I was doing. With those friends I became much closer. Three years later, my constellation of friends is considerably altered.

Most of my new friends come from within the Jewish community, which as a whole responded in a disappointing way to my desire to join them. A convert is suspect. I now understand the many reasons why this is so, and my initial anger has modulated to sorrow. I am resigned to the fact that the Orthodox will never accept me as a Jew. Still, I feel that they are being very foolish in their refusal to acknowledge people such as me as a part of the Jewish community. Also, their recent and growing insistence on belief as a criterion of being Jewish threatens to split the Jewish people irrevocably into two parts. I think that I understand why this is occurring now, but it still makes me very sad. The differences in Orthodox, Conservative and Reform Judaism are not as big as is the unifying essence, living by and through the Law. Perhaps it takes the experience of living outside the Law to see that clearly.