Although born and "raised" Jewish, I converted to Catholicism at the age of 41. I never felt connected to Judaism. I always felt an outsider, uncomfortable with my religion. It seemed growing up, the more I fought against being Jewish, the more it was jammed down my throat. My mother, who never had any religious instruction, could not read or recite any of the Hebrew prayers although her parents were fairly observant (my grandfather having been a rabbinical student before escaping the Cossacks in Russia). She went to synagogue on the Holiest Days, but sat in her seat with her open book, pretending to read along, because that was what she was supposed to do (and was afraid if she did not attend services, what would the neighbors think). She feared my grandfather, who was an opinionated, narrow minded, angry man intolerant of anything that wasn’t Jewish. (She kept kosher until her parents died, and then became too lazy to continue.) My sister and I were forced to attend Hebrew school, observe the holidays and discouraged from any non-Jewish friends or activities. I hated it and rebelled at every opportunity. I dated a Jewish boy only once (my mother had us married on the first date) and out of boredom, broke up with him pretty quickly. He turned out to be a doctor, but that’s for another posting.

I dreaded every Jewish holiday, I still do, and I felt and still feel forced to participate against my will. It’s a powerless feeling. Because my sister and I were not observant, we were not welcomed in most Jewish social circles and instead of being embraced we were pushed away. We therefore did not have many friends as young children and I did not understand or see any joy in Judaism.

I did not feel a connection to a God that was always looking to punish me for my sins and send me to hell if I was disobedient. I knew more things that were considered a sin than I knew blessings. That is what I was taught... that God was a vengeful and wrathful God who would write my name down in the Book of Death rather than the Book of Life if I did not lead a good life throughout the year and atone for my sins on Yom Kippur. Every Yom Kippur I was terrified that my name would go into the wrong book and I would die. And that when the Messiah came I would not be worthy to ride on his winged horse into the Gates of Heaven. And since I didn’t know anything other than being Jewish, my alternative was to become an athiest.

I chose not to believe in God at all. When my parents divorced at age 12, my father broke free of the ties that bound him and married a Catholic woman with 5 young children. I went to church for the first time when I was about 14. It was like coming home. I felt an overwhelming sense of peace and love and knew that there was a God that loved me. And so I decided. I wanted to be Catholic. My stepmother felt sorry for me. She knew my mother, who vehemently hated my father, would be furious. So I decided to keep this to myself. I knew some day I would make a change, but not then.

Time passed. My mother is very intolerant of non Jewish people, she’s a bit narrowminded thanks to her upbringing by a bigoted father, and never really broadened her world very much. All her friends are Jewish, she only dates Jewish men. When my lover and I started dating, not only did she have a fit that he wasn’t Jewish, she had a double fit because he was not Caucasian. It was war everyday for years. She gave both him and I a very hard time. We are still together and my mother doesn’t understand why he doesn’t like her and keeps his distance whenever he can.

Anyway, things went along in life and one day my job took a turn for the worse. I found myself in an intolerable situation with some coworkers who were harassing me to a point that it made me ill. I lost 30lbs in 4mos and could not eat anything that my body didn’t react to in some awful way. Rumors abounded that I had AIDS or some other disease, which didn’t make things any easier. My doctor told me I had to get another job, for the job was killing me. I was too stubborn. I stuck it out. Why should I be the one to leave a good job? Why should I let them drive me out?

And then one night, I had this dream. I still remember it 10yrs later. I was sitting in the hallway at work and was hysterically crying. Just sitting there. Just then, one of the members of upper management (who was actually once a nun) approached me and told me her name was Bartholomew. She embraced me and told me that everything would be alright and that God loves me and is watching over me. Nothing will happen. Everything will be alright. Jesus is walking beside me. I woke up crying. I felt better. I felt an immediate sense of peace and it changed everything for me. It was an epiphany. I had the strength to move forward and deal with those awful problems at my job. Things began to calm down.

It was then that I joined the Bible study group that met at my job every Wednesday during the lunch hour. It was a group of Christians of all denominations, that studied the Bible and talked about faith and Christianity in a beautiful atmosphere of a mutual desire to learn God’s Word. I felt as if I had hit the mother load. They gave me a Bible. My first. It was a study Bible. We all received one from the gentleman that presided over the group (so we could all use the same references when discussing things). I learned. I loved it! It gave me strength. I can’t describe the feeling. Several months later, while traveling with my lover to his native country, we walked into a church one Sunday for Mass. I will never forget that day. That church made me feel peaceful. Even though the Mass was not in English, I found myself understanding what was being said. I can’t put this into words. But when I moved far enough away from my old neighborhood to feel "free", I walked into a church and inquired about conversion. It was time.

A wonderful elderly priest met with me every Saturday morning for an hour or so and gave me one on one instruction for almost a year, until I was baptized by him with only my God-parents and my lover in attendance. Nothing could have been more perfect. I attend church joyfully and feel at home in my faith. I never felt this as a child.

My family does not know. I can never tell any of them . It would kill them and they would never understand. It is a conflict for me. But in honoring my mother, I could never disrespect her beliefs or the beliefs of my aunt or other family members by telling them of my baptism. It would accomplish nothing but cause untold pain and disappointment to people who would never understand no matter how I tried to explain. It is not worth hurting them. It would just be a selfish act. My friends who know me, would never tell them either. They understand and would never hurt them. I love each and every one of them for that.

As for my father, well, he died a Methodist. My uncle never forgave him and until the moment of his death, asked over and over again about a Jewish burial. My father arranged his own funeral, with his own minister presiding. He was cremated and his ashes scattered over his favorite hillside in North Carolina. I never got the chance to tell him but he would have been happy for me.

I am Catholic. I have accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior. And at this time of year, Christmas, I just wanted to share a little part of myself that I rarely reveal to anyone. Faith and religion are very personal choices that each one of us should have the freedom to decide. No one should have to feel anything but joy and peace in that which they choose to believe and in the way they choose to pray. No ones belief should be imposed on another. It creates pain, it breeds hatred and intolerance and it causes war. Tolerance is what God teaches. Why can’t we all of us be tolerant of each other’s faith, and embrace our belief in the one God, not in how we choose to believe in Him.

Merry Christmas to one and all.