|
| I wrote the following article which was published in the Baltimore Jewish Times on April 10, 1981. It has been excerpted in the book "Becoming Jewish" by Rabbi Maurice Lamm.] "You're a convert? Gee. That's interesting. If you don't mind my asking, why did you do it?" I suppose every convert to Judaism is asked the question and I've gotten used to it, but there is another comment I often hear that is disturbing: "You're a convert? There must have been a girl." Oy! A lot of people just can't believe that there is something in the Jewish religion worth having. Something that someone from the accepted, middle-class WASP world would want. So when a Jewish person makes this comment, I have to realize my patience and explain why I converted and how much value there is in being Jewish. I doubt that my parents will ever understand why I converted. All they see now is a yarmulka on the head of a son who's not the same person they watched grow up. But I am the same person. Yes, I keep my head covered, pray three times a day, put on tefillin, keep a kosher home and stomach, keep Shabbos strictly, and observe other laws that, in my parents' eyes, link me with the most fanatic and backward cult in the world. When I come home, it's not as if their son came home, rather it's as if they received a visit Still, it is doubtful that I could have become an Orthodox Jew without important training I received at home. My parents gave me a firm belief in G-d, a dedication to honesty and consistency, and a love for all people. Without these values I would have been lost in an agnostic world full of contradictions and ethical conflicts. I was 16 when I decided to become a Jew. But even at 14 or 15 I was very religious, active in my church and giving thought to someday becoming a minister as had my great-great-grandfather. I was developing ideas that were different from standard Christian doctrine: not knowing any alternative, though, I decided to use them in a Christian context. But all that changed one Friday night. My church confirmation class made a field trip to the synagogue in my hometown, Colorado Springs, Colorado. After the service, the rabbi stayed on and answered our questions. One student asked if the color of the rabbi's skullcap meant anything. No, he said. He has one to match his blue suit and others to match different articles of clothing. Another person asked him why they had somebody else (a cantor) sing the service. "Because he has a better voice than I have," he answered quickly with a grin. But I was cocky, and still believing that Jesus was Messiah, I baited the rabbi: "Has the Messiah come yet?" I asked. "No," he said. "Look at all the suffering in the world." "When will he come?" "Certainly not until we get better for him." "Then why should he come?" "Exactly." I was stunned. Obviously, his answers to my questions were brief and over-simplified. But he hit me with one of my own theories that had no source in Christian doctrine: man plays a key role in the salvation of the world. The world is not doomed to destruction, and man may be, ultimately, perfectible. I continued my studies of the New Testament. I was disturbed that the enlightenment of Jesus was fizzled by the narrow-minded doctrine of the Apostle Paul. Yet, when I finished my confirmation training, I was at the top of my class. On a test of Bible knowledge, the average score was 20 to 40 points. I scored an 88, double the next highest. Then my minister asked everyone in my class to write a statement of faith. This would be used when the church elders considered our application for membership in the Presbyterian Church. I prepared my paper with the same glee that Martin Luther must have had when he wrote his attack on the Catholic Church. First I attacked the way the Jewish ideas of Jesus had been cast away by Paul and other Church leaders and substituted with customs and values Then I attacked the dualism of Christianity. The devil got the blame for everything, I wrote with tongue in cheek, but where would Christianity be without the devil? What would motivate people to do good if not for the threat of eternal damnation? One of the elders eventually read my piece. He told me that I had some interesting ideas. And he recommended me for membership. I couldn't believe it. Didn't the Church have any standards? I should have refused membership at that point. But at the time, I felt I really had no choice but to accept. One day I just stopped going to church. But that didn't send me to the synagogue. I didn't know anything about Judaism. But I did know that I didn't like the way Christianity had developed. In my mind, what had begun as a Jewish cult, in a short time, became a religion that preached love and fought wars. One day, just by accident, I started reading Chaim Potok's "My Name is Asher Lev." Although some people call the book anti-Jewish, I became captivated with the idea that Jews have laws and live by them. That little bit of inspiration sent me back through history to learn at what point Christianity had abandoned Jewish values, what Jewish values it had abandoned, and why Jews have persisted in maintaining these values for 2,000 years. Before long, I was telling people -- actually promising people -- that I would become a Jew. People ask me when I first knew I had to be Jewish. I don't remember any one particular event. I have a feeling that there was a voice talking to me every night as I slept telling me that I was destined to become a Jew. The more I heard it, the more convinced I became. I really do believe that I was meant to be a Jew. There is a Chassidic thought that all righteous converts were at Mount Sinai with every other Jew, born and unborn. The difference is converts were born of the "wrong" parents. [I later found out that my great, great, great, great great grandfather was Gov. David Emanuel, who served as Georgia’s governor in 1801, and who had converted to Christianity from Judaism.] I studied for four years before I found the courage to go to a rabbi and ask to be converted. He put me on a long and rigorous study plan after he was convinced of my sincerity. All along I found that my own ideas I had developed before talking with any Jews were in fact Jewish. Sometimes word-for-word. I've met other observant converts with similar experiences. Many people convert through Conservative or Reform rabbis. But I became Orthodox because I felt that I had to go all the way in order to be consistent and honest with myself. The basic question I had to ask myself is what makes a Jew? We learn that the Jews are the chosen people. But it is not just that G-d chose the Jews, but more importantly that the Jews chose G-d. We chose not only to believe in His existence and kingship over the world, but we also chose to accept His commandments. In any conversion, Reform, Conservative, or Orthodox, the male convert must undergo circumcision. If he had been circumcised as a baby, then even a ritual bris milah must be performed by drawing a drop of blood. Why should anyone want to go through such an ordeal just to say he's Jewish and to go to temple on Friday nights? Circumcision is performed on converts because this is one of the commandments that G-d gave to Abraham. Notice I said commandment. Not suggestion. We were given more than the 10 commandments. G-d gave us 613 commandments at Mount Sinai. He commanded strict observance of the Sabbath. He commanded us to keep kosher homes, not because kosher food is better for you (would G-d command us to do something that isn't healthy?), but because He wanted us to be holy and separate from the pagan world. For us it should be enough that He commanded it. My parents taught me to be consistent. It wouldn't be right for me to look at all of America's laws and decide to keep every law except those laws concerned with stealing. Life might be easier if I could take things that don't belong to me, but people can't just choose to observe those laws that are most convenient to them. In the same sense, I don't feel right going through the Torah and then deciding only to keep certain commandments and not to accept the others because I think they are outdated or inconvenient. Being honest with yourself and consistent to your principles is never cheap. I had to give up my dream of being a newspaper reporter because American newspapers don't hire people who can't cover a breaking story whenever it happens. And I've had to risk breaking up the good relationship I've had with my parents. Although there is great tension, fortunately I am still on speaking terms with them. The conflict with my parents came to a head one night when they visited me. My mother was crying as she asked me if the Bible said I was supposed to honor them. "You've rejected your religion. You've given up your career. I suppose next you'll reject your country [and leave for Israel]. When are you going to reject us?" It's hard to deal with such arguments. They come from an emotional level it's best for me to stay away from. The Torah says that even if your parents do not observe G-d's commandments or even curse G-d, you are never to show disrespect to them. So I listened to them as they vented their frustrations and kept quiet most of the night. I did explain to them that I can't break G-d's commandments. [Over time the relationship warmed. I gave the eulogy on behalf of my brothers and mother at my father’s funeral in 1999.] The rabbi I studied with made very sure that I understood this and that I also understood that in many ways my mother and father would cease to be my parents. When they die, for example, I cannot observe the laws of mourning for them, no matter how beneficial it might be for me. And, he said, I would never be as close to them as I once was. He was right. But I still love them. I love a lot of people who perhaps look at me as a freak today. Maybe I'm not always tolerant of people around me. For example, I would prefer that more Jews convert to Judaism. But my father and mother taught me how to love all kinds of people; to give freely of myself and of my possessions. In a way, they gave me my first lessons in the laws of tzedakah, charity. Because of it, I'm a better Jew. I couldn't wait to become a Jew. But the conversion process is long and frustrating. Some people never get beyond the first stage. I know one rabbi who weeds out the less sincere by first teaching them the laws of family purity -- those laws which restrict the times when a husband and wife can sleep together. He told me he likes to "hit them below the belt" to see if they are really sincere. Many Jews have come to me and said that I know so much more than the average Jew. I don't see that as a point of pride; in fact, I find it very sad. When I was studying with my rabbi, I was sure that I knew enough to be converted. But my rabbi waited. I think his goal was to convert me when he was sure I knew enough but when I realized that I need to learn a lot more Torah. Finally, I went to the mikvah to be immersed in its warm waters and complete my conversion, and I felt elation and joy I've never felt before. Many people will never understand why. But all at once I had the very positive feeling of completing one difficult assignment successfully, and having another challenging assignment before me. The boss liked my work, and now He was giving me a new challenge He knew I could handle. Thanks for Your faith in me and all of us. NOTE: Bruce James converted to Orthodox Judaism in June 1980. Bruce has continued his Jewish studies, including learning “Daf Yomi”(a program where students around the world study a page of Talmud each day). He completed the entire Talmud on March 1, 2005 and marked it, along with thousands of others, at a Siyum HaShas ceremony held at Madison Square Garden in New York. In honor of the 20th anniversary of his conversion, in 2000, he translated a page of Talmud Tractate Kesubos for Art Scroll Publications and is listed in Volume III of Kesubos as an editorial contributor. By Bruce H. James © 1981 and 2004 by Bruce H. James |
All information on this website is copyrighted 2006
Contact administrator with comments and feedback |
