Personal Journeys:
Finding a Home in Judaism

BY MEGAN MURPHY

Megan Murphy, a student at Texas A&M University, describes how participating in the first birthright israel trip as a member of the KOACH contingent was a defining moment in her Jewish life. (Yes, as Megan says, we got the name right!)

I wear my name bravely as a scarlet "C" on my figurative sweater: Convert. Below, I will try to paint a picture of my journey through conversion and show how the creators of the Birthright Program-with the help of the KOACH staff-made one of my dreams come true.

As a person who chose Judaism, I am frequently asked a lot of interesting questions. It's not every day a girl my age goes through conversion, and Jews and non-Jews alike seem to be fascinated by it.

The first, question people ask is, "So, what were you before you converted?" Usually, when another Jew finds out that I am Jewish too, I get the more subtle opener, "Oh, is your mother Jewish?" Most of the time, I just say no, but sometimes it's fun to surprise them with "No, she's Irish Catholic. So's my dad."

People then ask how I came to choose Judaism. Until the age of eight, I was raised in a small Nebraska town where everybody was white and Christian. My parents divorced, and my mother and I moved to Omaha. It was in seventh grade that I discovered there was more out there than Christianity, and it was then that I started to become intrigued with Judaism.

In high school, two of my closest friends were Jewish. I would ask them hundreds of questions. What's your favorite holiday? (Passover) Why Passover? (Because of the seder.) What's a seder...?

Exasperated, one friend flung a book at me and told me to read it, saying that it would answer my questions. It was a Jewish history book. I devoured it and came back for more. She gave me a book on spirituality, and I read it three times. I begged her to teach me the Hebrew alphabet song. She laughed and asked what I could possibly do by just knowing what the letters sounded like. I didn't really care--I just wanted to know. She really thought I was crazy when I asked to borrow her bat mitzvah tape so I could memorize a few lines from her Torah reading.

My friends went off to Israel the summer before our junior year. They brought home four weeks of stories and memories, sunburns and pictures. They couldn't stop talking about it. From Shabbat and Masada to falafel and camels, the details of their journey were told over and over.

I was hooked. You could find me in the Judaica section at the bookstore, for hours at a time. I called it my "Barnes and Noble time void" because I never could tell exactly how long I was reading until I was finished and was surprised by the moon overhead. I'd read anything-Jewish humor, Jewish literature, Jewish cookbooks. The books I found most helpful in the beginning were the equivalent of Judaism 101. These gave me clear answers to many questions I had already asked, and answered questions I was bound to ask. I think it was during these hours in the bookstore that I decided concretely to pursue conversion.

I was a senior in high school when I knew. When I toured Texas A&M, I noticed the Hillel building with an excited rush. Maybe I could pray there one day! I read whatever I could on conversion, but I was too timid to talk to a rabbi. I was sure he'd ask me all sorts of questions to see if I was "fit" to start conversion. What if I couldn't remember the date of the fall of the Second Temple? Surely he'd see if I had done my homework.

It wasn't until the week before my sophomore year at A&M that I got the courage to call the rabbi. One Friday, I dialed Hillel. A man answered, "Shalom!" Was I brave enough to do this? I asked him whether services were Reform or Conservative. I started to blurt out that I was interested in conversion, but I thought I would do it in Omaha, since that's my home town, but I was interested in going to services to see what it was like, and I thought I wanted to be Conservative.

My mouth kept going, and I'm sure that parts were incoherent. He laughed, introduced himself, and told me to come in to talk before services. He said there was no need to wait until I was back in Omaha; he would guide me through conversion.

That night he explained the game plan. Shabbat services started at 8 p.m. Afterwards was an oneg, then a class for Jews-by-Choice. I would spend every Friday night from 7:45 to about 10:30 at Hillel. The rabbi told me that conversion was like marriage. Some people know that it's right within a few months; some people know after a few years. I wanted to elope.

August of that year was the first time I had stepped foot in Hillel, and by Rosh Hashanah I was one of the crew. Quickly, I formed a large circle of Jewish friends. I was standing with a group at tashlikh when the rabbi came up to me and said, "Gosh Megan, you've taken to all this so well. I keep forgetting you weren't born Jewish; you'll have to remind me to convert you!"

A year to the academic calendar date, I was done with my conversion process, which consisted of weekly classes, reading, and discussions with the rabbi. I went down to a synagogue in Houston with the rabbi's daughter and immersed myself in the mikveh. I was reborn. On the evening of my conversion ceremony, the Hillel was packed. Pending my conversion, I was named a vice president of the executive board.

One day, the rabbi told us about an exciting announcement from an organization called birthright israel. Two noted philanthropists had a vision: They wanted to enhance the spiritual lives of thousands of Jewish college students by sending them on an all-expenses-paid trip to Israel. This seemed too good to be true. At last I would have an opportunity to visit Israel.

Unfortunately, our Hillel didn't get any slots for the first trip in January 2000. Still, I was determined to go. I found the application for the KOACH trip on the Internet. I realized that this contingent would be the best for me, since I wanted to learn more about the Conservative Movement. I sent in my application the next day.

The staff from KOACH stopped at nothing to make the trip amazing. I had already met Robyn Fryer, a KOACH fieldworker, through numerous preliminary phone calls. One of my favorite memories from the trip came when the wheels of the aircraft touched down on the runway in Tel Aviv. "Welcome home," Robyn said.

This was a superbly planned tour. In just ten days, we got to experience Israel and Israeli culture without feeling too rushed. Two events surfaced as my favorite parts of the trip. The first was visiting the Kotel for the first time. Walking in awe to the Wall, I placed my hands upon it and sobbed my way through the Sheheheyanu. The second event came one night at dinner, when Richard Moline, Director of KOACH, came to our table asking it there was anyone who hadn't become a bar or bat mitzvah. My hand shot up, and he said that there was an opportunity for me to participate in a ceremony at the top of Masada. I was speechless.

A few days later, a small group of us assembled on Masada to do the blessings over the Torah during services. Looking frum in my skirt and tennis shoes. I became a bat mitzvah. Each of us gave a speech. Rich Moline suggested that we talk about our Hebrew names or how we spiritually got to the point that we were standing there in the Holy Land. I started my talk with the translation and background of my name, Nivchara Simcha--joyous choice. Indeed it was.

(This article first appeared in the Fall 2000 issue of The United Synagogue Review.)