For the better part of this past week, I’ve found myself utterly enraptured by Tales of the Unbound, a seven-part podcast series made by the folks over at Judaism Unbound. The series tells the stories of two men—Josh and Ari—and their journey towards conversion to Judaism. The journey towards conversion is intimately personal and multi-faceted. This is even more true for Josh and Ari who are, at the time of this podcast series, both incarcerated. Navigating the components of studying towards and completing ritual requirements for conversion from inside requires a lot of out-of-the-box thinking and a sincere commitment to supporting these men. It is not easy, logistically, but the profound, heartfelt desire to make this yearning real drives not only Josh and Ari but those who sponsor them. It’s option three Judaism at its best.
At a time of such deep rupture and crash, I find myself, often, searching for stories of Jewish joy, Jewish resilience, Jewish belovedness even. Not because I want to escape or turn away from what is, right here and now, but because I am, at a soul level, an option three Jew, a part of me picking up pieces and making things anew all the time.
As our teacher, R. Benay Lappe reminds us in the CRASH Talk, when our foundational stories crash, we have three options.
Option one: Deny the crash ever happened. Pretend things aren’t as they are. Insist, in fact, that things are not as they actually are.
Option two: Reject the foundation entirely. Leave our story behind and find another to replace it. This, too, ultimately, and inevitably will crash, as our teacher reminds us.
Then we come to the option that animates me and has always done so. Option three. Find what works, don’t reject the foundation but utterly reshape it. Make it yours. Take it into your body and soul. Dig into every aspect to understand the many levels of meaning and insight. Ask tough questions without expectation of neat and tidy answers or any answers at all.
Each of these options has many valences. There is no one way to go option one, for example. As human beings, I believe we are sometimes compelled to remain in a construct of our own design because it orders the world around us and helps us make sense of things. We do this on so many levels, from the micro to the macro.
The sixth episode of Tales Of the Unbound is largely the story of Rabbi Miriam Terlinchamp’s journey to the rabbinate and ultimately to working alongside Josh and Ari towards their conversion. Hearing her journey resonated so profoundly with my own. The pull towards Torah that I desperately tried running from, even when I was in rabbinical school. Trying to go option two when you’re actually an option three person is a truly wild ride, let me tell you! Her journey towards living and teaching Torah and being in service grounded me in the work. I resonated so deeply with the crash points she named, the times when things happen in life that invite—sometimes even force—a change in direction. The way in which taking hold of Torah reminds us we are not alone. We’re here, together, navigating this time.
Rabbi Terlinchamp speaks about her conversion to “wilderness Judaism”, noting that when one is guiding a person through the conversion process, it is not as if it’s a one-way relationship. In fact, multiple conversions happen.
I was moved and challenged. I have been shaped by traditional practice and find much meaning there still. Yet, I’ve always been marginal, different, not fitting into the narrow mold. As my spiritual director reminds me, the contemplative and the traditionalist within me will be in a long conversation for a good while. Or, in other words, the growing pains have arrived. How will my own inner landscape continue to evolve and unfold?
Many of us have been experiencing this and asking similar questions. So much has broken open. So much is lost. Our souls are devastated, seeking and yearning. As the Mussar tradition insists, daily introspection and action are essential. Just as necessary is an exploration of our own crash points as we find our ways down untrodden paths. I’ve been exploring this through a variety of questions of and to myself.
Exploring my own conditioning and ways of thinking: in what ways do I habituate to an option one mindset? What is there for me? What might need to be released so I can move into a place of greater growth and openness, no longer grasping?
In what ways do I habituate to an option two mindset? What’s there for me? How does the religious trauma I’ve experienced impact my powerful desire, particularly in these times, to go option two and leave it all behind? What am I turning away from by doing so?
What scares me about option three? What am I curious about? How will we spiritually begin our next chapter? What work will we have to do, now, to bridge the gap between what was and what is to come? As we teach our tongues to say, “I don’t know,” as our Mishnah teaches us, perhaps we can approach what is to come with a curious mind. When R. Yochanan Ben Zachai left Yerushalayim in a coffin to go to Yavneh and begin building the rabbinic Judaism we practice today, I can only imagine the devastation he felt. It could not have been a straightforward journey. So much had to be worked with and through. Knowing I will never know the felt sense of that, I try to imagine his inner landscape, strengthening my empathy for myself and all of us collectively. This interstitial period, this liminality, is unfathomably hard.
Anchored by our svara—our moral intuition—we recognize that we are bearers of an immense privilege and responsibility. May the paths of Torah we teach be paths of love, peace and pleasantness. May Torah always be a well of living waters from which we get nourishment.
I believe in us. I believe we’re going to make it. And I know it’s going to be so hard. Stay with us. You’re not alone.
