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By Claudia Hall
(Read aloud by Claudia from the Bimah during her conversion to Judaism on August 18, 2017)

When did I become a Jew? As a convert, it’s a long story, and as a retired minister it’s a really long story. In hindsight, the seeds were planted early. I was raised in fundamentalist Christianity, and I knew I was meant to be a religious leader, but I was told that God would never call a woman to ministry, so I was wrong. This was the first split between me and Christianity. I thought it was just one church, so I found one that ordained women and went to seminary. There I realized that often denominations cared more about money and prestige for the religious leaders than caring for the needs of the marginalized.

My personal experience of Jesus was not what the church said I could feel. I saw him as a revolutionary prophet, reforming his faith and calling people to ethical, devout religion. He was my teacher, my loving brother, the moral figure who inspired me- my role model of a decent life. Outsiders like women and LGBT folks and other, even more marginalized people were the kinds of folks Jesus hung out with, but they were not welcome inside the church walls. I could not stay in the church, but I could not stop caring for those who were hurting either. It was a time of turmoil as I made the choice to leave my denomination and take on interfaith work and contracts at various churches, always looking for a place to belong. Even in my own questioning, people kept coming. Asking me questions, seeking ways to connect with faith, wanting to know from me that God cared. I did what I could to care for these folks, even though I was in my own disconnect from the church. Then I became pregnant, and my elation seemed to make up for the tough times before. But when my son was born, we soon learned how ill he was, and my career and soul-questions took a backseat to keeping him alive and to trying to help him have a good quality of life.

I often say that my son made me a Jew. Before Nic was born, my younger sibling married into a Jewish family, and when he was sick, they came to visit us at the hospital frequently. One day when we were in the PICU, the Jewish chaplain stopped by because he saw them, and from that day on we were in the hospital records as Jewish. I lived there for months on end, and every time he was on shift he would stop by, and we would talk about life and love, death and hope, joy and pain. The church I was working for when Nic was born refused to baptize him because I am queer, and when I told Rabbi Justin this, he asked if I wanted a naming ceremony for Nic. I guess he knew even then I was Jewish at heart. I said yes, and he helped me decide on a name for Nic. To go with Nicodemus, which means victory of the people, his Hebrew name is Netzach, which means victory through endurance, and which I later learned is a name of God in the Kabbalah. Nic died shortly after, and Rabbi Justin again stepped up and did the funeral.

I started going to synagogue with my family to say kaddish for my son, and while their services are great, I didn’t connect with the Rabbis the same way I did with Rabbi Justin. My family asked me to go to an interfaith conference where I met Rabbi Amy, and the rest is history, I’ve been at TI ever since.

 While my son was alive, I was too busy caring for him to do much else, but since his death I find myself thinking about soul things every day. I tell clients to follow their deepest joy, and my deepest joy is learning and teaching. In Judaism, especially at Temple Israel, learning is seen as the exquisite beauty of a soul seeking God. Wrestling, debating, arguing, accepting, rejecting, altering the Talmudic opinions to fit experience, these are the holy duty of each Jew. For in the wrestling we come to grips not just with the text, but with our soul, expanding on the thousands of years of tradition we have inherited and making it ours. To study Jewish texts is a choice to not be consumed with tabloids and vanity shows, but to seek God. When I wrestle with the deepest thinkers of the tradition, I know that my questioning everything is not what could get me kicked out, but rather it is what proves I belong.

So in all this wrestling and fighting with the texts what have I learned? I have learned that I am a Jew because what Jesus taught was Jewish. He taught one God, the God of Israel. I'm a Jew because I know beyond a doubt that God created the world good, not full of original sin. My baby boy was not sinful, he didn’t go to hell or limbo, he came from pure love and returned to pure love. I am a Jew because I understand that sex, and everything we do with our bodies, can be holy, not secondary to the sacred. It isn’t to be treated lightly, but it isn’t inherently evil either.

I’m a Jew because I can ask questions and not be shut down. When I question even the most important of traditions the Rabbis are more likely to give me a high-five for questioning than they are to shut me down. Questioning is sacred. Learning is holy. Reading and reflecting and interpreting the texts are the hallmarks of devotion, rather than holiness being defined as a blind acceptance of what the leaders tell you.  

I am a Jew because I can be open about my family, and they are all welcome here, even when they don't fit into anyone's box. Rather than having to be in a closet, or pretend to be something I am not, rather than being scared to be honest, I have found a refreshing acceptance in this community that no church, fellowship, or congregation has ever given me before. As a Jew it is that kinship, that tribe which comes first. We do not always agree, but we are always family.

I'm always going to compare what Rabbi Jesus did with other Rabbis of his era, and he holds a special place in my heart as my first Rabbi, but now I know I can go deeper than what he said, and I can admit how the church changed what he taught over the centuries. When I think of Jesus’ death, I do so in the larger context of every Jew who has fought for the freedom of the Jewish people, from Moses to individuals practicing tikkun olam, and those who fight oppression and injustice like the prophets. Rabbi Jesus taught me that the heart of Torah, the way to usher in the messianic age, was this: to love God with all that I am, and to love my neighbor as myself. This was the heart of his teaching not because he was different from other Jews, but because he was following a long tradition that started at Sinai: a religion that is always growing and changing while seeking to maintain the covenant between us and what is Holy.

I'm wrestling, sorting, and determining who I am and where I belong under this umbrella of being a Jew. But that I am one I can no longer doubt. Rabbi Jesus gave me my start, but it is you, my people, who are giving me and my family our future. It is the kindness of my family who connected me, the incredible teaching and gifts of the rabbis here, and their amazing pastoral presence that has challenged me, pushed me, held me back and always, always loved me even though these last three years have been one grief after another. My journey has been strange, long, and heavy, but today I can proclaim the Sh’ma and say that here, here I belong and that you are my people, and your God is, truly, my God. Amen.

Above: Claudia Hall converting to Judaism on August 18, 2017