Essay Contest Winner!!! : Kristen

Making

      I used to be ashamed of being a Jewish convert. In some strange way, it made me feel naked, like I didn't belong. My secret fear was that I would be treated as a Jewish imposter. I thought that this would be baggage I'd carry throughout my Jewish life. However, today, I have the capacity to acknowledge the path I took to get where I am.

      I was raised in a devout Roman Catholic household. Being Catholic was of great pride to my family, as we came from the town of Pope John Paul II. I attended Catholic school and high school. But, I always felt connected to Judaism, which prompted me to spend years contemplating being a Jew.

      Sheepishly, I eventually began attending Shabbat services. I can remember the first time that I heard the phrase: Baruch Atah Adonai. I knew that the words were familiar to me, though I had never heard them. My bones ached in realization, it seemed as an awakening of my soul. I knew, then, that I had an obligation to myself to further my study of Judaism, to see where it goes. It was this decision that eventually led to my conversion.

      My study of Judaism felt like a marriage of my lineage: my past greeting my future. I felt as if I, the Chicago Polish girl was coming home to be a Polish Jew. And, the more that I thought about it, the more certain I was that my ancestors might have converted from Judaism to Catholicism many years ago. When I consider clues, my suspicions feel as if I could be right. For instance, as a child I often ate my paternal great-grandmother's potato pancakes recipe: potatoes and onions shredded from scratch. My grandma remembers boxes of matzah crackers stocked in my great-grandmother's pantry, a staple for her. I suppose that I was not the only family member questioning our heritage, as my mother always suspected that my great-grandfather “looked” Jewish. If I do come from a family of converted Catholics, the mystery of why will never be answered.  Perhaps my family may have felt pressure to assimilate, as so many Jews throughout the generations have. Perhaps lips were tight in the hope that time will cleanse all memories. Sadly, today my feelings and clues are all just hunches without any data.

      I know that there are Jews out there who will question my significance as a Jew and that saddens me.  But, I'm not afraid of the conversation anymore. For, no one will ever rob me of my faith. No one can take from me the way my soul is cleansed when I recite the Shechechianu. For, I feel that there was a reason I was born into a Catholic family. There was a reason that I was raised to learn about Jesus and the New Testament. It had to happen. I had to research the Torah and avodah. I had to make the promise to myself and to my Rabbi that I would raise my future children as Jews. These steps remind me to never take my faith for granted.  

      Today, I am proud of the direction that it took to get here. It has been a blessed journey. My Judaism is my path home. As a convert, I understand the language behind Christianity. I know what it's like to wake up on Christmas morning wondering what time Santa visited. Now, on another team, I light the channukiah with my daughter and share with her the sacredness of my potato pancakes recipe.