By James M. Branum
I understand myself today to be an Unbound Jew, which means that I seek to engage deeply with the Jewish tradition from a perspective of unbinding, which means, of course, asking relentless questions about our tradition. In this process, I’m empowered to question what traditions serve their purposes and which do not, and how some traditions might even bind us in oppression by promoting discrimination or other kinds of oppressive behaviors. This can mean questioning and attacking sacred traditions, but more often it is about seeking to reenvision traditions in ways that are unbound from the problematic parts.
A little over a year ago, I had the opportunity to take two classes from the Unyeshiva (a school of Jewish learning and unlearning, from the folks behind the Judaism Unbound podcast). Taking these two classes together (and letting the content of the two classes interact together in my mind), ended up sparking a burning desire by me to unbind an oppressive element that is that is present in almost every Jewish movement: a requirement that converts to Judaism must commit themselves to Jewish practices, to the exclusion of all other practices.
In this essay, I’m going to explore this area of oppression, in part through the lenses of these two classes, but also through the story of my journey of Jewish conversion. I’ll also discuss an alternative unbound alternative to what I believe is an oppressive approach to Jewish spirituality.
My experience of the two classes
First, I want to share a short summary of these two classes.
Choosing the Tribe: Jewish Conversion – Past, Present and Future was taught by Rabbi Esther Hugenholtz, who taught from her own perspective as a Dutch convert to Judaism who today is a congregational rabbi in Iowa. Hugenholtz argued that conversion has been present in different forms throughout Jewish history and that it has served a critical but often ignored role in reinvigorating Jewish practice. She also argued that converts are a distinct community in Judaism, and that we have a voice that should be heard, even though we often aren’t. To say it another way, if we converts have our own bit of Torah, Judaism is poorer if we don’t get to share it.
The other class was Jewish, And… Buddhist? Pagan? Christian? Can you do that? taught by Susan Katz Miller. I was especially excited to take this class because I had previously read Miller’s book Being Both: Embracing Two Religions in One Interfaith Family, which played a central role in the conversion path I ended up choosing. The class covered much of the ground as did her book, including her research that proves that children raised in two religious traditions turn out ok, and that a growing number of North Americans are deciding to engage with two or more faith traditions, despite the hostility that this practice sometimes sparks from religious institutions. We also spent a fair bit of time discussing how MRP (multiple religious practice) functions in Judaism today, and how that the practice of elements of Dharmic/Eastern traditions/faiths (such as Buddhism, Hinduism, and Taoism) are today largely accepted in many mainstream Jewish circles, but that practicing elements of other Abrahamic traditions (i.e. Christianity and Islam) are largely not accepted. This is why many Jewish synagogues offer classes in Yoga, Tai Chi, and meditation, but few would consider doing a class on the ethical teachings of Jesus or on Sufi meditative practices.
Of course, the question of Jewish intermarriage came up in to both classes. We discussed the reality that interreligious/cultural marriage is today the norm in North American Judaism. Yet, most Jewish communities are still telling those in these marriages that the only way that their offspring will be accepted as Jewish by the Jewish community is if the children are raised exclusively in Judaism. However, despite what is said by those in power, more and more intermarried Jews are voting with their feet and either choosing to do both traditions quietly, or they are finding alternative communities where they can live with MRP, with some forward-thinking communities going as far as doing Interfaith religious education.
Throughout both classes, I kept returning to an important question: why are Jewish converts asked to do something that people born Jewish are not required to do? After all, if a person born Jewish decides to dabble in another faith tradition (especially if is an Eastern/Dharmic one) they will largely be accepted (at worst maybe treated as a proverbial “bad Jew,” but still a Jew[1]), while a person who converts to Judaism will not be accepted if they can’t promise to their Bet Din that they commit to practicing Judaism to the exclusion of all other traditions?
I have yet to find a satisfactory answer to this question, which has led me to believe that this is just another form of anti-convert discrimination, a double-standard that needs to go.
This question is personal for me, and so I’m going to share a bit of my own story in this essay, in part because I think it helps to illustrate problems of this discriminatory minhag and what it is such a big deal.
My story
I will share the short version of my conversion story. I grew up as a fundamentalist Christian, in the acapella-only wing of the Churches of Christ. I was a true believer when young, but as a teenager I started questioning the strictness and the exclusivity of that tradition,[2] which eventually led me towards a more moderate charismatic Evangelicalism.
I ended up studying at an undergraduate level seminary that was affiliated with the Churches of Christ,[3] which gave me a deeper appreciation for the Bible and for the diversity of the Christian faith.
During these years, I had a fresh encounter with the nonviolent teachings of Jesus, which forced me to rethink my conservative world view. In my early 20’s, I embraced the values of Christian pacificism, but also in time came to oppose nationalism and capitalism as being contrary to the teachings of Jesus.
In time (and with a few detours along the way), I would up in the progressive Mennonite tradition. I fully accepted the tradition’s emphasis on Jesus’ teachings about violence and peace, but also appreciated other cultural aspects of the tradition, especially their emphasis on frugality, simple living and the priority of Orthopraxy (right living) over Orthodoxy (right thought). These values ended up shaping who I was an activist, eventually carrying me forward into law school. By the time I graduated, my congregation called me to be their “minister of Peace and Justice,” which meant that I was paid a small stipend to help me take on more pro-bono cases, but also was charged with preaching about once a month. I also eventually continued my theological education at Anabaptist Mennonite Biblical Seminary in Elkhart, Indiana, which provided a further grounding in Mennonite/Anabaptist thinking but also gave me my first taste of engaging with the Hebrew language.
During my early-mid 30’s, I went through an intense time of professional burnout in both my ministerial and legal careers, but I also reconnected with an old friend who I had lost contact with. She had also grown up in the Churches of Christ but had left it, but was also rebuilding her life with her young son, after having survived a cancer fight and a divorce from her then husband. Over the last couple of years, we went from email pen pals, to friends, and finally to being married. (which also made me a step-dad to a 5 year old son)
About 9 months in our marriage, my wife came out to me – not about her sexuality but about her religious thinking. She confessed that she had been drawn towards Judaism a few years previously and had been secretly studying and engaging with the tradition on her own terms, (She has written much more eloquently about this for Kveller magazine so I won’t recite it all here except to say that she felt that the spiritual practices of Judaism helped her in her time of crisis more than did what she was given from her Christian upbringing) but was especially drawn to the holiday of Rosh Hashanah (which coincides roughly with the anniversary of her cancer diagnosis – a time that she now sees as kind of re-birthday of sorts). And so we decided to do the holiday, at home and on our own. And we loved it.
And so we looked ahead at the Jewish calendar and realized that Sukkot was just around the corner, so I built a small shack in the backyard and we did that holiday too, and we loved it (especially our son and our dogs), and so then we started doing Shabbat suppers. Over the coming months and years, Judaism was quickly becoming the focal point of our home life.
And yet, I was a Mennonite minister, and my wife was a Sunday school teacher (at first at a Methodist church, later at the Mennonite church). And so, we ended up living a bifurcated kind of life, Jewish at home, Christian at church. But the more we did Judaism, the more it kept coming to the surface. I was a part-time student at a Mennonite seminary during those days, so I, of course, had to take Hebrew language classes. However, I also ended up writing an essay for my Biblical Theology class, where I argued that since Jesus was not a Trinitarian, neither should we be. (Thankfully my professor liked the essay, saying it was a good defense of Unitarianism from a Mennonite perspective) We also ended up inviting some of our friends over for Shabbat suppers and other holiday gatherings.
Most of the time my Mennonite church was ok with my interfaith explorations, in part because of the tradition’s emphasis on Orthopraxy (taking actions in solidarity with the poor was seen as more important than believing in the trinity), but I did catch some grief from one of Mennonite friends who said that we were “culturally misappropriating Judaism” through our home practices. This concern worried me greatly, to the point that I recall having a late-night conversation on a train with a retired Mennonite pastor about it. This pastor offered very helpful advice when he said that I should treat the two religions in the same way as one would treat a language. Each system (religious or linguistic) has its own inner integrity and logic system, so it was best to engage with one at a time., but that one can switch back and forth when desired.
But I still worried that this wasn’t enough. I loved Judaism (especially Shabbat) too much to give it up, but I also didn’t want to give up my Mennonite community. And so, I decided that I needed to convert, but to do so in a way that was okay with me still practicing both traditions.
I read many books, but the two that were the most helpful were Anita Diamant’s Living a Jewish Life and, of course, the book by Susan Katz Miller that I previously mentioned. I also engaged with a lot of writing online and eventually discovered that there were only two communities/movements that would accept a convert to Judaism who didn’t want to renounce his old tradition, Sim Shalom (a congregation that describes itself as Jewish Universalist) and the Society for Humanistic Judaism.
I ended up choosing to convert through the SHJ for a very Mennonite reason – it was more affordable. ($100 instead of $1500) But I also appreciated the Humanistic Jewish movement’s rejection of an interventionist deity, which reflected my own beliefs (wavering between agnosticism and pantheism).
A lot would happen during the ten years to come. I eventually left my ministry role with the Mennonite church (but remained an associate member of the congregation — and still preach there occasionally). My family and I also eventually became active members of a Reform temple in our city (which was where my wife and son both formally converted to Judaism). Over time, I also got more involved in the Humanistic movement of Judaism (editing the movement’s magazine for three years and later being a co-leader of a Humanistic havurah), but I’ve also continued to nurture my connections with the Mennonite tradition that has given me so much.
I’ve been fortunate to find a way into Judaism that was compatible with my life (and I’m especially thankful for the forward thinking members of the CCAR’s responsa committee who clarified that Humanistic converts to Judaism should be accepted in the Reform movement), but I’m frustrated that this path is not widely known, and that most converts to Judaism are being told that there is no way to “be both” or “do both.”
A proposal for how we can start evolving a new minhag
I have four ideas of how the current oppressive policy regarding MRP and Jewish converts can be undermined and eventually changed.
1. For those movements that already accept bi-religious converts (Humanistic Judaism and Jewish Universalism), it is time to share the good news about MRP. Although there is growing awareness and discussion of the phenomenon, it remains largely unknown and underdiscussed, especially outside of these movements. — Also, worth noting is that the acceptance of Humanistic converts within the Reform movement (as discussed above), means that there is effectively a loophole for converts who engage in MRP but who also want to be part of a Reform synagogue — because one can convert Humanistically and then be seen as Jewish in the Reform context.
2. We need to engage in thoughtful conversations about the complications of culturally-sensitive MRP. Many Jews are concerned with the movement of Messianic Christians[4] and their blending of Jewish practices with Evangelical supremacist understandings, but also fail to see the ways that contemporary Jewish practices have been shaped and influenced by many other faith traditions, including Christian ones. I do not think that I have the answers for this question, but I know it is a conversation we need to have.
3. Jewish conversation programs need to give serious thought to why two questions tend to show up on every Bet Din — (1) what do you think about Israel and Zionism, and (2) are you willing to practice Judaism to the exclusion of all other traditions? These two questions have pushed away a lot of good future Jews, people who would contribute so much good to our tradition. I think it is time to get rid of these questions, or to at least reconsider their value as a litmus test.
4. We need to embrace an expansive, unbound view of Torah. This will mean hearing the voice of converts, but it will also mean seeking to learn from the wisdom of those who engage in MRP.
My life has been deeply enriched by MRP. I’m glad that in one weekend I was able to lead an arts farbrengen event (an exploration of Frida Kahlo and her art and its connection to Judaism) for my Humanistic Havurah, play harmonica and Irish tin whistle at the Sunday morning service at my Mennonite church and then in the afternoon go to High Holiday choir practice at my Reform Temple. I’m glad I refused to convert in a context that would deny me this blessing of diverse experiences, but I wish more folks could experience it too.
[1] And if you are Bob Dylan, you can even get away with doing gospel music albums while still being claimed by most Jewish cultural institutions as Jewish.
[2] My main early rebellion was falling in love with Christian rock music – forbidden to me in the acapella-only Churches of Christ. While my friends were hiding their CD’s with raunchy lyrics from their parents, I was hiding my Christian albums!
[3] While I was moving away from the COC tradition, I believed my parents wouldn’t accept me studying in another tradition’s school.
[4] Terminology is tricky here, as this movement often refers to itself as “Messianic Judaism,” while most Jews refuse to use this term for them, but also because there are many Jews who have messianic beliefs but who do not believe Jesus is the said Messiah. So for the sake of clarity, I’m using the term “Messianic Christian” to refer to Evangelical Christians who practice a hybridized faith that blends elements of Judaism with Evangelical Christianity.