by Peggy Fletcher Stack
You might think Jewish communities don’t really want any more members. Interested converts almost have to beg.
That could be because not only does Judaism eschew proselytizing (no door-to-door outreach, for example, or publicity posters on campuses), but many rabbis also actively discourage conversion to the faith by non-Jews.
In some traditions, the rabbi must turn away potential converts three times — following the biblical story of Ruth, who was rebuffed thrice when she wanted to join Israel — before allowing a candidate even to begin the process.
To Utahns accustomed to the vast missionary efforts of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, the Jewish approach may seem, well, counterproductive.
But the slowness and caution are meant to weed out the simply curious, the insincere, the unserious, the uncommitted, or worse, the deceivers — rather than to promote exclusivity.
In fact, Jewish converts in the Beehive State say they have been warmly welcomed and fully embraced into fellowship by the few congregations here. And in the past few years, more and more non-Jews have clambered to convert, which has put an extra burden on Rabbi Samuel Spector of Salt Lake City’s Congregation Kol Ami, the state’s largest synagogue.
“No rabbi in the country,” Spector says, “has more conversions than I do.”
They come from all religious and nonreligious backgrounds, the rabbi says, including Catholic, evangelical Christian, Mormon, secular and atheist. Marrying a Jew is often a motivator but so is history, social dissatisfaction and a yearning for something different, hopefully better.
It is not easy to get there, however. Every rabbi sets the guidelines, Spector says, “some are way more lenient than I am and some stricter.”
Once begun, conversion can be an arduous journey (“a marathon, not a sprint,” says a Jewish podcaster) that usually takes at least a year and often much longer.
It normally includes celebrating a year of Jewish holidays; attending Shabbat (Sabbath) services; connecting with the community; taking a weekly class studying Jewish history, theology, and dietary practices; writing up reasons for seeking conversion; and appearing before and being approved by a rabbinic panel. The process culminates by immersing naked in a ritual bath. And, if you’re male, it includes real or symbolic circumcision.
In a class this spring, for example, the teacher pointed out that Passover is “the Jewish Christmas” (not Hanukkah) and is the “most celebrated holiday on the calendar.” She also detailed the various meal items that are part of a “seder” (which means “order” in Hebrew), what they symbolize, what foods are forbidden, and how the meal has been adapted in different times and cultures.
A rabbi can speed up the progression, extend the timeline longer than a year, or cut it off altogether, Spector says. “I’ve had to tell people, ‘This isn’t for you.’”
Some who make it across the conversion finish line say they have always been Jewish in their hearts. They describe a feeling of rightness and belonging.
