Leaving the Wilderness, Finding Judaism

Today’s episode is a Shabbat Replay from our Shavuot Shabbat service on May 30th. Caroline Miller, a Davening Team member, lay leader, and BluePrint class conversion graduate delivered a sermon about her experience rediscovering herself in Jewish community after years in a personal wilderness.

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Produced by Mishkan Chicago. Music composed, produced, and performed by Kalman Strauss.

Transcript

Transcript

Shabbat shalom. I’m Caroline, and I converted to Judaism with Mishkan a few years ago. Every once in a while, when I tell someone I converted, people respond like I got tricked by an evangelizing rabbi, going door-to-door peddling the Torah. But Jews don’t seek out new converts. We don’t try to convert people. Converts to Judaism not only come to the religion completely on their own, but they take on quite the challenge when they start the conversion process. It takes about a year of reading, learning, and classes. After that, you have a beit din (Hebrew for “house of judgment,”) where a rabbinical court asks you questions, and determines whether or not you should join the Jewish people. If you pass, finally, you go to the mikveh. After all that, you have officially converted. It makes sense for the conversion process to Judaism to be long and intensive. Judaism is an intricate, multi-faceted religion, with an intricate, multi-faceted culture. Our history as a Jewish people is complex, and often tragic. Our present day as Jews is complex, and often tragic, as we have experienced in the last two weeks alone. It makes sense that Jews don’t let people join on a whim.

But when someone has completed the process, they are not only welcomed into the Jewish religion, but celebrated as a full-fledged member of the Jewish people. When you convert to Judaism, you’re not only Jewish, you become a Jew. Shavuot, the holiday we are celebrating today with copious amounts of dairy, is a holiday where we celebrate our converts. We read the Book of Ruth, who is the very first convert, and we discuss how the souls of converts were present at Sinai when God delivered the Torah to Moses in the desert.

But why did God pick the desert for this great revelation? The Israelites notoriously hated the desert. They complained almost the entire time. It’s an odd choice for God to give Moses the Torah in such an unglamorous place, but when you think about it, God’s choice makes sense. The desert is a wide and empty place, which is the perfect backdrop to see the vastness of the Torah. Sometimes, you have to be in an empty place before you can receive something truly immense. But while the Torah was fantastic, the desert was not. We have all had our deserts, our places where we felt lost.

https://youtu.be/fYTuNI5Wr3M

I became lost 6 years ago. I used to be a professional classical musician. I played the bassoon. And not to brag, but I was good. I played with multiple professional orchestras. I performed in music festivals from coast to coast. I was a finalist for the master’s program at Juilliard. I got into the Manhattan School of Music on scholarship, to study with the principal bassoonist of the Metropolitan Opera. I accepted a fellowship to study at a competitive music school in Texas for my master’s degree. Music was my life, and it had been since I was a child. I had no life outside of music, because between the hours of practice, rehearsals, reed making, and auditioning, there was no room for a life. I sacrificed a lot to pursue my dream, and it seemed to be paying off. But then I got sick. Really sick.

The summer between my first and second year of my master’s degree, I was diagnosed with a chronic illness. The average life expectancy for someone with my illness is a decade shorter than average, 30% of us are unemployed, and 20% of us will die from it. This grim prognosis, combined with the hand tremors caused by the medicine I had to take, made performing extremely difficult. My professors were sympathetic, but there was nothing anyone could do. The classical music industry is extremely competitive. Sink, or swim. I sank. Symptoms of my illness, combined with the tremors in my hands, led to countless humiliating performances, lessons, and auditions. Reality crumbled. I lost my career, my dreams, my future, my community, and I lost myself. I realized that while I desperately needed music, the classical music industry did not need me at all. I was completely replaceable. A dime a dozen. There were hundreds, if not thousands, of other bassoonists equally qualified as me, and 99% of them didn’t have a debilitating illness. My own biology sabotaged me, which enticed a level of self-hatred I didn’t know was possible. After 11 years of pursuing my dream, I quit. If I kept going, I knew it would literally kill me. I didn’t play music anymore. I didn’t listen to music, unless I had to. My life’s goal and identity was gone. This was how I started wandering through my own desert.

Over the next two years, I started all over - because I had to. I had no marketable skills. I sold sunglasses at the mall. I was ashamed and miserable, but slowly, I started to pick up the pieces of myself. I began a relationship with my now-fiance. I went back to school for software development, and got a job. But there was a vast void in my life where music used to be. I tried filling the void with a few different things, but none of them stuck. My fiance and I moved from Texas to Chicago. When we arrived, Chicago felt bizarrely familiar. I was instantly much happier, like I had finally taken off a backpack full of bricks. I felt hopeful. 

On a run in November 2022, I had a really random thought. And it simply was, “Maybe I should convert to Judaism.” And I thought, “This is the weirdest intrusive thought I have ever had in my entire life.” No one had talked to me about Judaism. The only Jewish thing that I had been recently aware of was an extremely antisemitic Twitter rampage by a *certain rapper*, and that definitely didn’t make being Jewish look like a whole lot of fun. I Googled “what do jewish people believe” and myjewishlearning.com gave me the basic beliefs of the Jews. And I thought, “Wait. This is what I’ve believed my whole life. I thought I was a bad Christian, but it turns out, I might just be Jewish?” I emailed R’Steven about enrolling in what was then called Exploring Judaism, and he generously let me join the class three weeks late. 

Classes started, and things felt great. R’Steven’s coursework was exciting and challenging, but also felt familiar and nourishing. Everything I was learning about felt just right. As the months went by, I felt the pieces of me sliding into place as part of a larger, beautiful puzzle. I developed friendships that I cherish to this day, and I learned new things. My parents revealed that I actually have Jewish ancestors with a long history in Chicago, which was a complete surprise to me, but explained a lot. No wonder I feel so at home in Chicago! No wonder I feel so at home with the Jewish people! No wonder that side of my family is racked with chronic anxiety and digestive problems! As I learned more about Judaism, my family, and myself, I started to feel like perhaps I’d found my place. 

When the camp of the Israelites is described in this week’s parshah, it read, “And there Israel camped opposite the mountain.” But unlike all the other mentions of the Israelite camp in the Torah, where it is described as the plural, vayachanu, this particular instance instead uses the singular, vayichan. This singular word paints all the Israelites being described as one, unbreakable entity. All our souls were accounted for at Sinai, our fates as a Jewish people inextricably intertwined with one another through time. The Isrealites physically present at Sinai started a series of chain reactions that led to you and I being Jews today. 

For those born Jewish, a miraculously unbroken genetic chain led you here. And for converts, our non-Jewish lineage brought us here. My mom, who curates literally thousands of historical garments for local museums as a volunteer, taught me tzedakah (righteousness and giving.) The level-headed, scientific mindset of my dad, who stays cool even under extreme levels of stress, taught me menuchat hanefesh (calm and composure.) The unconditional warmth and generosity that my older brother shows to literally everyone he meets, sometimes at his own expense, taught me chesed (kindness.) Maybe your family taught you similar things. Maybe it was your friends. Maybe you had to learn from people who only showed you what not to do. But each of us has our own chain reaction that brought us to here, now, in our Jewish journey. Each of us can be traced back to Sinai.

My beit din was in mid-July of 2023. I recited a number of affirmations, including, “I hereby affirm, of my own free will, my commitment to Judaism and the people Israel. As Ruth said to Naomi: “Your people will be my people and your God, my God.” My mikveh was August 25, 2023, and I was officially a Jew. Hooray! But I didn’t think I would really be important or valuable to the Jewish community. I was just happy to be here. But Judaism is not a spectator sport. R’Lizzi told me at my beit din that Judaism was like a muscle, and that without exercise, it would start to atrophy. And she’s right, of course. 

What do we learn from Ruth, the first convert? We learn that converts are not only full citizens of the Jewish community, but that we must contribute to the community. Ruth showed unwavering loyalty by caring for her mother-in-law, moving to a new land, and starting a Jewish line that eventually bore King David himself. So, Ruth is a big deal. And if you’re a convert, or a born Jew, you’re also a big deal. As part of the Jewish people, you are compelled to share your strengths with the world. Look within yourself, see your strengths, then look around you, and see where you can apply them. Follow R’Lizzi’s advice, and work your Jewish muscles. 

For me, I built my Jewish workout over time. I joined the Torah study small group. I became a mentor for Blueprint students. I performed and wrote skits with the Purim spiel team. But my biggest (and favorite) Jewish workout is being on the davening team. I was scared to audition because of everything I’d gone through with music, but I had a gut feeling that was telling me to do it. I was accepted onto the team, which genuinely surprised me because I hadn’t had a successful audition since 2018. 

My first rehearsal with the team reminded me why I fell in love with music in the first place. The davening team is fun, joyful, and creative. Being a part of it gave me the second chance with music that I so desperately needed. Before I knew it, I was playing the flute solo at Kol Nidre last year, facing my demons head-on, in front of over 1,000 people.  As I stepped up to the microphone, holding my flute from 8th grade, an unfamiliar feeling of calm washed over me. I began to play. There was no tremor. Miraculously, there I was, playing music for people. I realized, standing there in front of our community, that two things can be true at the same time: we can have things about ourselves that we would give anything to change or erase, and we can do incredible things. As Jews, we accomplish things not in spite of the burdens we carry, but because of the lessons we learn from them.

I knew then that my painful loss years before wasn’t pointless suffering, but it was just a necessary step toward something better. Getting diagnosed with my illness six years ago was undoubtedly the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, which is why I very rarely discuss or disclose my illness, even with my own family. But, this beautiful life I get to live now is so worth it. In the words of Rabbi Shefa Gold, “The harsh inner reality of the wilderness purified whatever traces of enslavement we still carry. This wilderness is the midwife of our new life, after long and hard labor. The wilderness forces us to face the resistance, ambivalence and self-delusion that has kept us from whole-heartedly receiving our birthright: the promised flow of milk and honey that is given to us, and through us, with each moment of life. … In the wilderness we are stripped of disguises. …  Each part within us is forced to show its true face.”

Judaism and this community at Mishkan has changed my life. But I have not changed. Instead, I’ve been taught the radical notion that I’m good. The void I felt in myself after I left the music profession wasn’t a void at all, but rather, a delusion that I needed external validation to justify existing. Judaism didn’t fill a void, it showed me that we don’t have voids. We are all born complete. And from that base of acceptance, I’ve been able to grow in ways that I didn’t think were possible.

My hope for all the converts, almost-converts, and born Jews out there today, is that we can all see your strengths demonstrated in our community. Say “yes” to opportunities you’re drawn to, even if they might be outside your comfort zone. Because at the end of the day, the Jewish community needs you. You, specifically. We need your experiences, thoughts, and hopes. Your divine existence makes you impossible to replace. We are each a universe. Show us what your universe is like. Because there’s no telling how far we will grow together, many beautiful and different humans, as one Jewish people. 

Shabbat shalom.