The way my husband and I met is soooo very high school. I have known my husband for 22 years. I am only 39, so you can do the math. We met at our high school….he had seen me in a video store and had known I was friends with his ex-girlfriend, so he asked her to meet him at lunch one day. My friend came back puzzled. “I think Jeremy is going to ask ME out again.” “Do you want to go out again with your ex-boyfriend?” I asked. Well, as these stories always go, it went from one of my friends to another friend who asked Jeremy in French who he was asking about. He was actually asking about me, and inquired that if he asked me for a date, would I say yes?
The rest is history--A wonderfully shared, two-kids, Volvo, golden retriever, monthly mortgage history. Yet even on that fateful first date, the issue of whether or not I was Jewish came up. My husband has always known that he wanted to marry someone Jewish and wasn’t afraid to say it. As someone who really wasn’t raised any religion, converting seemed the most logical answer, and I said so. My seventeen-year-old self said I would convert, which seems a bit ridiculous now that I look back on it.
What’s ridiculous is that when I was blithely saying that I would convert, I had no idea what it meant. What it would mean to my family. What it would mean to Jeremy’s and my relationship. What I did know, as our wedding loomed, was that I couldn’t and wouldn’t do it alone. I needed his help and support.
Thankfully, he was the one who pushed it. “You need to convert before the wedding,” he reminded me. He was one who contacted the Rabbi who performed the conversion. He was the one who signed us up for the required class, and he gently encouraged me to attend the meetings with the Rabbi. He was wonderful at explaining the confusing texts and generally helping me through the process.
As for his family, at first, they really weren’t on board with the whole a convert-becomes-a-Jew thing. She wasn’t born Jewish, so how does she become one? And my parents took it as an insult to them. In their eyes, I was rejecting my childhood. Jeremy’s parents soon realized that I had put a lot of work into converting, and I was serious about it. Acceptance came soon after.
My parents are still a little wary. They don’t know a whole lot about Judaism, and it’s a little uncomfortable to talk about it. They feel like I have made a choice that takes me even further away from them, and in many ways, they are right. Judaism is a very mysterious, confusing religion. The language alone makes you feel like an outsider. When you add the traditions, the food, and the holidays, it’s very overwhelming. They love my husband and my kids, and I keep hoping that they will feel more comfortable.
When Jeremy and I moved across country from Washington, DC and Portland, we quickly joined a synagogue. In Washington, DC, we didn’t join a synagogue or really participate within the Jewish community. Yet, here, we dived right in. I worked on committees at the synagogue, joined a women’s committee at Jewish Federation, and made many, many Jewish friends. It made the transition from our life in the East to a new one in the West so much easier. I began to see why it was important to have Jewish friends and to create a Jewish community. I recently had a health scare and ended up in the hospital for a few days, and I was surprised and touched to see how many people contacted me with well wishes and concern. I am sincerely grateful for being part of a warm, loving community and I have never regretted my decision. In fact, it’s one of the better ones I have made, besides saying yes to that first date with that very cute high school junior.
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