My name is “Chriss,” as in, Chris(t). My name has proved to be a blinking neon sign indicating to all in the Jewish world that I am the odd girl out. The first question is “are you Jewish?” and the second is “how?” Funny, that wasn’t my first question to you.

I came to Judaism knowing nothing… except for Anne Frank, I knew who she was. I had also read a few books by Chaim Potok, though I pronounced his first name like “chain” with an “m.”  Yom Kippur-the tiny printed words on every calendar was just an obscure Irish holiday (imagine my surprise…).

I grew up in a homogenous small mountain town in Northern California where everyone was from a Christian background. The primary faiths represented were Mormons, small evangelical groups or Protestants, like my family. I didn’t knowingly meet somebody that was of another faith (like Judaism) until freshman year of college.

I moved to New York City at age 22, and several years later I dated a Member of the Tribe. Friday night dinners with his observant parents, fasting during Yom Kippur and eating cheesecake all night once a year. It seemed awesome but everything was one big Hebraic blur. So, I enrolled in a “Judaism 101” course at a synagogue in Park Slope. They were egalitarian, friendly, engaging, and progressive in their views— everything I was looking for in an “organized religion.”  I asked a lot of questions throughout the course and when it ended after 6 months, I knew that I wanted to start the official conversion process (despite the end of my romantic relationship as well).

The first thing my Rabbi said to me was “just so you are fully aware- a Reform Judaism conversion is a bit controversial among the Jewish community.” I shrugged it off. A Jew is a Jew.

It took 2 years of studying, meeting with my Rabbi and observing various traditions, like keeping Kosher and Shabbat. As my Reform synagogue didn’t have much of a thriving social scene, my best friend showed me the social landscape of the Modern Orthodox in Manhattan. I was excited as well as a bit intimidated. Soon I started to feel that I was ready to be a full-fledged member of the tribe.

In May of 2014 I nervously met with a Beit Din who officially “approved” me and immersed myself in the warm waters of a mikvah on the Upper West Side. Outside the mikveh door stood my Rabbi, brother, and two good friends.  I was a Jew and I shouted this (literally!) through the streets of Manhattan and Brooklyn that day.

Prior to Judaism I connected with potential dating partners solely on good vibes, mutual interests, etc.  Religion played virtually no part in it.  Now that I am not a “shiksa” it is of the utmost importance. I want to have a traditional Jewish family with a smart, funny good-looking man who embraces his faith and culture, finds meaning in tradition, loves Israel and is progressive thinking.  Should be easy in New York. Right? Wrong.

I didn’t understand how my “type” of conversion would come into play in the Jewish dating world. First, as a convert I have to cross off all men with the last name of “Cohen.” I learned this after a man at shul said he’d love to date me but he was part of the Kohanim and as a convert I am forbidden fruit. The Ultra Orthodox, Haredim and most-any sect of Orthodoxy automatically discredit my conversion entirely. The hypothetical children I might produce down the road may be an issue for Reform or Conservative Jews as our offspring’s “Jewishness” maybe called into question. So that leaves me with secular Jews. So much for the dream.

Most men aren’t worried about my level of observance or thoughts on the religious front.  My “worthiness” is contingent on being the “right kind of Jewish.” Their verdict is usually asserted loudly and rudely after a few drinks. Apparently a traveling rogue Beit Din.

On a first date with a cute guy I had met at a costume party called “Challahween,” I learned he had grown up in a very religious family and was impressed that I had converted. His enthusiasm quickly faded when he learned one of the Rabbis I studied under was a woman. Huh? This is 2016.  Aren’t we passed the antiquated notion that only men can be accepted as rabbinical figures?  Not to mention that nowhere in the Torah does it forbid it. We disagreed and still made out. Regrets in feminism.

Recently I introduced myself to the host of a house party (where 99% of attendees were Jewish). He loudly exclaimed that now he knew “who the goy” was. He didn’t know it that the next day marked my 2^nd anniversary of going to the mikvah. I looked at my best friend sitting across from me. She was bracing herself for one of my long, bitter, tearful diatribes. Instead I simply said “I AM A JEW.” He didn’t understand his words pushed an atomic bomb like button inside of me. I spent the next hour singing my feelings out on his karaoke machine.

Last week “Sammy” on Jswipe asked for my phone number. I was delighted but as his profile mentioned having Jewish parents I decided to tell him upfront that my parents were not.  “Who and where did you convert through?” I knew where this conversation was going. I told him that I wasn’t Orthodox but I am Jewish. “I question your intentions when you go through conversion and don’t one hundred percent the life of a Jew with our culture. You are not a Jew.”

My intentions? Did he think I was some breed of religious terrorist? I I keep kosher, lived in Israel, observe Shabbat and chagim. He then called me a Christian… as a slur, and blocked me.

As my name often serves as a conversation “ice breaker”: I have thought by going solely by my Hebrew name (Miriam), but for 30-something years I’ve been Chriss. I don’t want to negate my family or the journey that brought me here for your convenience. There are Jews named Chriss. Here I am.

This past Shavout I heard a fellow convert say something very simple but powerful – we forget that despite our different backgrounds we once stood at Sinai together as one community. Maybe that was only a desert mirage.

Chriss Williams is currently finishing her degree in Religion at Hunter College. She created the blog “Shiksaism.com” which chronicles her adventures as a “Jew by Choice.” Chriss lives in Brooklyn and loves red wine, hookah, and dancing. Please swipe right. 

Images courtesy of Chriss Williams

The post Chriss the Jew; Dating as a Reform Convert appeared first on Jewcy.

Wanna feel old? Consider this: ‘Sex and City’ premiered sixteen years ago today.

Now, I know it’s cool to hate on Carrie et al these days, what with Girls and Broad City bringing the sexting, q-tips and authentic Brooklyn hipster poverty to the small screen. But I still have a soft spot for SATC, and I have a feeling you, dear reader, might feel similarly. Before it descended into the slavish consumer-fest of the later seasons (and the movies, of which we shall not speak), it was really, really good. Edgy! Risque! It’s where I learned about anal sex! And vibrators! (Ah, the sheltered decade of dial-up internet: we were such innocent teens.) Don’t pretend you don’t stop and watch an episode when you’re channel surfing/illegally downloading in the liminal hours between updating your OKCupid profile and falling asleep. You do, and you love it.

Anyway! SATC had a number of good Jewish moments, mostly focused on Charlotte’s conversion to Judaism for husband #2, Harry Goldenblatt, who woos her with his menschy, honest charm—one of more engaging plot-lines in the harried, lackluster final season. Wrote Sala Levin in 2012:

Nebbishy, lawyerly Harry certainly seems to be cut from the same cloth as his anxious, uncool brethren. Harry knows that the “shiksa goddess” Charlotte seems to be beyond the reach of “a putz like me,” as he puts it. But while the stumbling nerds of the popular imagination typically win the affection of their crushes despite not knowing how to interact with members of the opposite sex, Harry gets the girl with his brazenness, a forthrightness that Charlotte finds difficult to resist. It’s his openness about his desire for her—coupled with a talent for coupling—that distinguishes Harry from his geeky cohort. Like the female characters of Apatow’s movies, Charlotte ultimately develops feelings of real depth for Harry, noting that if his warmth and kindness are part of his Jewishness, being Jewish might be something she would want for herself. But—unlike in Apatow’s films—these feelings emerge only after the ignition of a sexual spark.

Charlotte and Harry’s love affair is served up with a generous dollop of borscht belt vernacular—a lot of putzing and schvitizing on Harry’s part, which feels tonally off for a 30-something man in the early 2000s—but underneath the schtick, theirs is a love affair of equals: two people who really understand and accept the other for who they are, hairy back, WASP-y affectations and all.

The depiction of Charlotte’s conversion is fairly accurate by sitcom-land standards: she’s thrice turned away by the rabbi before being accepted as a candidate for the “Jewish faith,” she and Harry bicker over differing levels of religious commitment, and eventually we see her take a dip in the mikvah to complete the process. There are a few anomalies—i.e. the rabbi’s family members seem to have confused Shabbat and funeral attire, and the rituals are overly-formal, almost robotically executed—but for the most part it’s a faithful (if abbreviated, sentimentalized) depiction of a non-Orthodox conversion.

Back in 2003, Samuel G. Freedman wrote that Charlotte’s conversion to Judaism radically redefined interfaith relationships in American popular culture:

Until the HBO series, no television show had ever presented a conversion with such visual and theological detail. Even more important is what the approving portrayal represents: a reversal of the entertainment industry’s tradition of viewing Jewish identity as something to be shed in the quest to become American.

For nearly a century, ever since the Broadway comedy Abie’s Irish Rose, the standard narrative of love between a Jew and a Christian has pointed toward interfaith marriage, and the implicit abandonment of Jewish observance and continuity, as the epitome of the melting pot… Unlike all of those Jewish characters of yore, who were so ready to reinvent themselves with a gentile wife, Harry insisted that Charlotte convert; he wanted their children to be fully Jewish.

And Charlotte wanted to be fully Jewish, too: from the very first heartfelt ‘shalom’ she offers to the custodian of the synagogue, to her decision to stop celebrating Christmas (a ritual she loved), she’s in it 110 percent—she even chastises Harry for watching baseball during Shabbat dinner, leading to a massive fight and temporary break-up. But it’s OK! They reconcile at a depressing singles’ event at shul, and have a big, fat, disastrous (but happy) Jewish wedding.

http://youtu.be/GKKau5XVF7k

So happy birthday, Sex and the City. I still love you, and I’m not ashamed to say so on the internet.

Image: HBO

The post Happy Birthday, “Sex and the City”! appeared first on Jewcy.