Story by Aliyah Hall

It’s sundown and the Hillel living room is so packed that the doors are propped open, allowing the night air to creep in. Chairs line the sides of the room and a table lit by two candles sits at the front. The people around me chatter in their seats, eagerly awaiting the night to begin. It’s time, and everyone flips open their Siddur, or prayer book, lifting their voices in harmony over Hebrew chants. Everyone else has been taught these prayers since they were kids. The language is unfamiliar to me, but I focus intently to keep up. As we welcome in Shabbat, there isn’t a doubt in my mind that this is where I belong.

Converting to Judaism during my junior year of high school took a month of careful research and deliberation. Before coming to the conclusion that this was the belief system I had been longing for, I needed to know what I was getting into. I was drawn to Judaism for multiple reasons. Beyond sharing the belief system, I fell in love with the culture and community that Judaism offered, such as the importance of family and the connection that is shared.

I converted to Reform Judaism, a liberal sect of Judaism that allows people to be involved to the extent they desire. Fortunately for me, Reform Judaism also does not require an official conversion.

I didn’t tell anyone that I had converted for weeks after the fact. I didn’t want anyone to think I was taking this decision lightly, especially with one of my good friends being Jewish. I had the fear that I wasn’t going to be accepted by people of Jewish heritage. It would mean that I could practice, but without a religious community to be open with.

I told my friend Bridget first. We were close and I trusted that she would be supportive. She was supportive when I told her, but as soon as we were back with all my other friends, she carelessly informed them about my conversion and reasoning behind it. “Aliya converted to Judaism because she likes pennies so much,” she said. I was mortified. I had spent time planning on how I was going to tell my friends about my conversion, and in a second it was gone.

Two other friends, Austin and Savannah, were stunned, giving me a chance to tell the story my way. One friend, an atheist, remained neutral about my decision. The other was a non-practicing Jew, who I was terrified of offending. Austin was quiet as I gave my explanation, but at the end told me that he thought it was great and offered to help teach me more about the religion and culture I was adopting. He spent the rest of the year helping and supporting me; he even bought me my first dreidel and a Star of David necklace for my birthday.

Eventually, after I felt comfortable enough with my decision, I decided it was time to tell my parents, whose contempt for organized religion intimidated me. I waited until we gathered for dinner to say it:

“So… I’ve decided to convert to Judaism.”

The table was silent for a moment. Suddenly, my father burst out in laughter, shaking all of the confidence that I had mustered. My mother began nailing me with questions: When did you decide this? Why do you feel the need to label yourself? Why not just have the same beliefs without actually being Jewish? I was trying to respond to it all when my father cut me off to tell my mother, “Just let it go. She’ll change her mind later,” he said.

My father’s words hit me the hardest. I could handle not being accepted, but I couldn’t stand having my decision dismissed because they doubted my dedication. To be treated like I was going through a rebellious phase was maddening.

It didn’t get easier when my extended family members heard about my conversion. During Thanksgiving, they began joking about it: “So you’re just not going to celebrate Christmas with us? Or are you going to do both? Did you convert so you can get more presents this year?”

“I didn’t know you could just jump ship!” Another relative said. “Can I be Buddhist now?” I soon left the room, unable to defend myself over their laughter.

I later confronted my mother about how insulted I was by their reaction. She listened, and began to take more interest in my Judaism, which allowed me to practice Judaism in my own home without feeling judged. She would buy me challah during Shabbat and listen to my prayers. My father stopped poking at me for my decision, and later my extended family did too. Now, two years from when I first converted, my mother misses me celebrating Shabbat at home and is excited to celebrate Chanukah with me when I come home.

Since I left for the University of Oregon, my journey with Judaism has continued. I am a regular at Oregon Hillel, the Jewish campus life organization. There I have made many friends, one of whom, Dejah, even calls herself my Jewish mentor. I have been accepted into parts of Eugene’s Jewish community, and with that acceptance I have found the courage to someday be officially converted by a Rabbi and travel to Israel. I recently discovered that my name, Aliya, means “ascent” in Hebrew, and refers to the mass Jewish immigration into Israel. To me, this signifies the importance of one day making a pilgrimage to Israel.

Until then, I am content spending my Friday nights at Hillel, celebrating Shabbat, and learning more about my religion. Two years after my decision to convert, I am more at peace with myself than I have ever been. I am where I belong.