“All the world is just a narrow bridge; above all, is not to make yourself afraid.” — R’ Nachman of Breslov, Likkutei Moharan II, 48
I spoke with ‘my’ rabbi a couple days ago.
I guess I don’t have to put the quotation marks; he’s the rabbi of my closest Secular Humanistic Jewish congregation, and the one I’m working with towards the end goal of conversion/adoption, therefore he’s my rabbi as much as he’s anyone else’s.
And I’m glad of it, too. He’s a nice guy, easy to talk to, and is evidently possessed of a keen mind. Bonus points that he dual-wields Humanistic semikha with ordination from a more traditional rabbinical school — I don’t know precisely which one, but I have my suspicions. He also consumes marijuana edibles on a not-infrequent basis and this makes him something of a kindred spirit.
Last summer I almost launched another attempt at converting to Judaism. I last gave it the go-around in 2015-2017, which was an interesting period for me; the same span of time wherein my bipolar disorder first started manifesting itself and I first started to do drugs with all my new friends. Reading through my blog for that experience, Fiddling on the Roof (I know, I know), was like reviewing the contents of a time capsule: hopeful, intensely angsty and depressed, and revelling in good friends and drugs for the first time in my life. I could never stick with a specific denomination of Judaism long enough to complete the full conversion process and eventually availed myself of the services of a privately-ordained rabbi in Miami and his nondenominational shul. At the time I accepted this as a perfectly fine gate to enter klal Yisrael but eventually I grew ashamed of it; after all the beit din was only in name — I only spoke to the one rabbi, not his two colleagues who also signed my shtar geirus, and there was no study process to complete either. Naturally, no mikveh either. The lack of a study process didn’t bother me too much, as I’d already spent a considerable amount of time intensively studying Judaism on my own, but I couldn’t shake the fact that it barely (perhaps not even that) qualified as a halakhic conversion. It was not something I felt proud of.
Eventually I stopped identifying as a Jew and went on to experience a number of other religions, although my instinctual fondness for the Jewish people and somewhat militant Zionism never abated. One after the other I struck out, never finding a spiritual home. Last year I decided that enough was enough: my neshama was calling and I must answer. So I hit up my local HuJew rabbi and started getting the ball rolling. Why Humanistic Judaism, the smallest and most outré mainline Jewish denomination? It was not because I’m an atheist (I’m not) but rather because I appreciate the HJ approach to Judaism as a civilisation, resonate with the diverse humanistic liturgies, and identify with their commitment to radical inclusion and diversity. Shortly after entering into the process, however, I ended up spending a month in rehab; a period during which I, restless and sober, pinballed between five different religions.
Fast forward almost a full year to now, and I’m taking another crack at it. I picked up a full individual membership in the Society for Humanistic Judaism, have been davening from my non-theistic siddur (the fantastic Blessed Are You, Wondrous Universe by Herb Levine z’l), and have been engaging in self-directed study of Secular Humanistic Judaism. The Society’s conversion (or as we say, “adoption”) process is, at heart, very simple: become a member of the Society, write a reflection paper about a page long, pick a Hebrew name, then bing bang boom they’ll send your shtar geirus in the mail. The ease of this process reflects Humanistic Judaism’s convictions about Who is a Jew, which were laid out in 1988 at the International Federation for Secular Humanistic Judaism’s second biennial conference:
…in the name of the historic experience of the Jewish people, we, therefore, affirm that a Jew is a person of Jewish descent or any person who declares himself or herself to be a Jew and who identifies with the history, ethical values, culture, civilization, community, and fate of the Jewish people. (emphasis mine)
This definition is now and has historically been controversial, but on its basis Humanistic Judaism has intentionally made it easy to be adopted into the Jewish people under the Society’s auspices. Thusly if I wanted to I could simply write my paper and receive my formal certificate of admission — and that would be enough. However there are plenty of options for someone who wants a slightly more rigorous course of entry: study courses put together by the movement’s rabbis, liturgies for immersion in a mikveh (or for immersing just your hands, if you want something simpler or just don’t have access to a mikveh), and the option for a beit din if you so desire.
Which brings me back to my conversation with my rabbi.
My primary purpose for the conversation was simply to reconnect, which I did, and apologise for ghosting him after going to rehab, which I also did. It was nice to get back in touch; I really like this particular rabbi. We talked a bit about how I’m ’doing Jewish’ and what I have in mind, ending with a resolution to speak again after the High Holidays — essentially saying “let’s see if you can stick with it”, which is eminently fair, more than he knows really. My plan for now is to devour every book and video about Secular Humanistic Judaism that I can get my hands on, attend Shabbat services online when I can, and keep praying from my lovely siddur; not to mention attending the approaching High Holiday services. For moving beyond that I’m thinking further study then eventually a beit din and either a ‘hand mikveh’ or, more likely, a full immersion. I want this conversion/adoption to be something I’m proud of and satisfied with; not something I’m ashamed to divulge.
