by Rabbi Lewis John Eron, Ph.D.

Throughout my career as a rabbi, I have met many individuals who have experienced what they call conversion. For some, this has been a deeply personal shift in their self-understanding and spiritual awareness within their inherited religious tradition. Through some significant experience or set of events, they have been able to reorient themselves through rituals, imagery, metaphors, stories, and customs of their received faith tradition. 

For others, it has a recognition that over time they slowly moved away from the religious world of their past and found themselves in a different place spiritually and theologically. They found a new home in a different faith whose rites and rituals correspond more closely with their new spiritual orientation.

For others, conversion is a response to a sudden and unexpected spiritual experience – a vision, a calling, an encounter – that reorients their relationship with their past and their world. 

As a rabbi, like my counterparts in other religions, we often see guiding people’s spiritual growth as an integral part of our work. Often, it is the task of welcoming someone into our spiritual and cultural home. Sometimes, it is helping someone find a new home when ours no longer works for them. Above all, we believe that within the traditions we represent there is the possibility for spiritual growth and regeneration. At our best, we try to help individuals and communities find purpose and meaning in their lives so that they can find inner peace and share blessings with those they touch. There is something deeply refreshing and satisfying when engaged with people who have been transformed by their experience of the divine even when they are now connected to a religious tradition other than our own. 

We all relate to religious traditions in different ways. Not all find religion and religious traditions and structures engaging. I have met many individuals who have left their spiritual homes and have gone out in different directions. Some merely left what they identified as “organized religion” and crafted their own idiosyncratic spiritual lives. Some gave up on religion entirely seeing that the questions religious traditions ask and the answers religions give are irrelevant to their lives and the world as they see it. But some find a new home in other religious traditions.

As a teacher of Judaism, I have worked with people who sought to convert to Judaism from another spiritual tradition. In this process, my first step is to help them identify exactly for what they are looking. What is it that they are missing? What have they not found? Then I ask them to go back and seek again in their home tradition before they choose to participate in the life, traditions, rituals, and practices of the Jewish people. Often I find that people have a narrow understanding of both their religious tradition and of religion in general. They have not recognized the diversity of expression within their faith nor have they seen the different ways different cultures have organized and celebrated the human spiritual experience. Before I invite them to live in my home, I want them to make sure that their old home no longer works for them.

Conversion marks a fundamental change in a person’s life. It is more than changing a belief system; it is finding a new spiritual center in a new community with new and different traditions, memories, and experiences. It is as much leaving as it is entering. While one cannot shed oneself from one’s past, after conversion one’s relationship with one’s former faith and faith community changes. It is where one was and not where one is and hopes to go.

“Conversion marks a fundamental change in a person’s life. It is more than changing a belief system; it is finding a new spiritual center in a new community with new and different traditions, memories, and experiences.” ~Rabbi Lewis John Eron

Some broke entirely with their past, rejecting their old tradition and those who still adhered to it or were rejected by them. Most, however, sensed a need to honor from where they came even though that was no longer their home. For some, that meant joining their families for holiday celebrations. For others, it was engaging in dialogue with their former co-coreligionists. For others, it included spiritual and theological efforts to find a place for those they left behind within their new belief system. 

For many, particularly people who come to Christianity from a Jewish background, St. Paul’s spiritual journey resonates deeply. Paul was not the first convert but, perhaps the first to report on and muse about his conversion. From where we stand it might not seem entirely clear to what he converted. Christianity, as we recognized it, was just emerging.  Yet Paul was aware that he was exploring new roads that led him away from the religious practices and beliefs of his earlier life within the Jewish community. 

We have limited access to Paul. We possess those letters which the following generations of early Christians, predominately non-Jewish Christians, preserved. In some way, our Pauline canon reflects their concerns more so than Paul’s, but this is true of any anthology. We have long known that with Paul we only have no more than one half of a conversation and most likely less than that. Reading Paul is like playing the TV game show, Jeopardy. We have Paul’s answers, but we do not always know the questions or even the context from which the questions arose. 

All the more so, this is the case with Paul’s conversion to Christianity and Paul’s relationship with Jews and Judaism before and after the event. The road to Damascus event as it is recounted a generation later in the Book of Acts, is told so that Act’s predominately non-Jewish Christian audience could relate to it (Acts 9:1-10). Paul’s own and less dramatic account of his conversion in Galatians 1:13-17 serves to establish his bona fides as an apostle at least as much as it recounts the experience. 

Despite Paul’s bold declaration that there is no division in Christ – neither Jew nor Gentile, slave or free – his correspondence testifies to his continuing struggle to make sense of the polarities in his life including his understanding of the people of his past, the Jews, and the people of his present, the Gentile followers of the emerging Christian community.

In Paul’s presentation of the evolving understanding of Christian faith, he often refers to Biblical topics and Jewish concerns. Yet his thrust is not to explain Jewish spiritual insights and religious practices. They serve another purpose – to clarify his Christian faith and show how it is different and more appropriate to the spiritual challenges he and his audience face than the Jewish traditions and beliefs that once meant so much to him. 

One cannot unpack Paul’s understanding of Jews and/or Judaism without the realization that Paul has moved away from Judaism of his past. He no longer locates himself there. The Paul we have, the Paul of the New Testament Epistles, sees himself walking a different spiritual path than either the Jews of his day or, even, the Jewish followers of Jesus. His struggle is not to defend Judaism, the cultural and religious complex that did not answer his most fundamental questions. Paul’s spiritual task is to understand the polarities of his life, particularly the relationship between his past and his present. Paul’s task concerning Jews and Judaism is to figure out where and how members of his former community and their spiritual heritage fit into his new belief system as a follower of and a believer in Jesus as the Christ. There is no guarantee that Paul will make room for Jews and their traditions, or, if he does, will it be in a way that would make sense to them.

Reflecting particularly on the conversion stories of friends who moved from Judaism into different Christian denominations provided me with a new key to understanding Paul’s relationship with the Jews of his time and their spiritual and theological traditions. Put simply, Paul could not find in the Judaism of his day, just as my friends could not find in the Judaism of our time, the answer to their spiritual needs. It wasn’t there for them, although it was and remains there for me. 

To try to understand Paul, I need to accept that on a very deep personal level, Paul’s knowledge of and experience with the diverse Judaism of the 1^st century CE was not satisfactory to him as a spiritual seeker. When I read Paul, it is not my job to defend Judaism either of his day or mine or to bring Paul home. It is to listen to his words and to try to figure out what was missing in his former life and how that loss is filled in his present one. 

If asked, I can talk about my journey and how I found a place within Judaism. It is clear that, unlike Paul (Acts 22:3), most of Rabban Gamliel’s students remained within the Jewish world and became the great spiritual heroes of evolving Rabbinic Judaism. Their spiritual insights were no less impressive than Paul’s but led in a different direction. But they were different people, with different backgrounds, and different make-ups. 

When I think of friends from my High School and University days who moved from Judaism to Christianity, I think about how much we had in common – similar education, similar cultural and economic backgrounds, similar life cycle events and holiday celebrations, sometimes, even many of the same teachers. Like my friends, I, too, turned away from much that I received, but perhaps for different reasons and certainly with different results. In the course of my life, I continued to find something deeply meaningful in the rituals, customs, and traditions of the Jewish people that kept me engaged and connected. It was not so with my friends who found meaning in another place. The richness of the Christian spiritual path provided them with the precious gift of experiencing the Divine presence in their lives, the gift I received and continue to receive within Judaism. 

Yet, it can be hard for us to engage in dialogue – to learn from each other’s journeys. While dialogue does not mean compromising one’s faith, it does mean acknowledging that our partners’ faith is as dear and real to them as ours is to us. This is particularly challenging when one’s dialogue partner is a member of a faith tradition one has left. How does one see the depth of commitment and meaning in a tradition for one’s partner when that tradition did not provide that for one’s self? And how does one firmly rooted in a faith tradition understand how that faith tradition failed one’s dialogue partner? 

These difficulties can be compounded by the nature of the conversion experience. The life-changing feeling of being called to a new and deeper spiritual relationship with God and/or creation seems objectively true. It is hard to comprehend the personal and subjective nature of religious experience and life when one’s own life has been so profoundly reoriented. 

But for dialogue to exist, we need to acknowledge that there is something personal and subjective about religion in general and our religious/spiritual lives in particular. Converts who recognize this have been some of the best promoters of interfaith dialogue and understanding. With personal and familiar connections to both worlds, they have the skills to build and sustain bridges. However, those converts who see their task as bringing the blessings of their conversion experience to their former community members only block true dialogue. 

One friend recently shared with me her experience of being called by God to follow the Christian path. Although we have not been in touch for many years, when we were younger, we were close. She was, even then, a spiritual seeker. While initially reluctant she followed that call and has become a devout and knowledgeable Roman Catholic lay teacher. Although she continues to acknowledge her Jewish roots, she sees them now through Christian eyes. For her, the power of her experience was so great that she saw it not as a personal answer to her individual spiritual search but as a particular expression of a general call to all Jews and to all humanity. Not only was the Jewish tradition inadequate for her, but she feels that in some way it is also inadequate for me. We can talk about many things, including our spiritual lives, but can we truly engage in dialogue?

Like Paul of old, her Jewish background is part of who she is although she has left the Jewish community. Like Paul, Jewish themes, memories, and experiences help form her self-understanding and continue to play an important role in her engagement with her new faith. But will she be able to see the Jewish tradition as something other than a stepping stone to the path she is now traveling? 

Were Paul our contemporary, would he be able to be in dialogue with members of his former community? Dialogue, as we know it, was not part of Paul’s social or intellectual world. There could be a serious, respectful, and cordial discussion among people who share a common worldview. But even in those cases, the goal was not mutual understanding but clarifying or defending established positions or pursuing a singular truth. Christian literature of the first few centuries CE is full of polemics and apologia. Paul starts out persecuting proto-Christians and, after his conversion, alienates himself from the diaspora Jewish communities he visits, contends with other apostles, and negotiates with other Christian leaders. At best, we can glimpse his internal debate on the status of Jews and other Jewish paths in light of his conversion experience. 

Central to this internal conversation is Paul’s understanding that the Judaism he experienced was inadequate for his personal spiritual needs and for answering the universal spiritual concerns not only of Jews but of the other people in his world. The role that Jews and Judaism may or may not have in Paul’s understanding is no longer determined on Jewish terms but is envisioned by Paul through the lens of his conversion experience and the needs of his new community. 

Within the context of inter-religious dialogue, converts can play an important role. They bring personal experience and knowledge of different traditions to the table. Their spiritual journey can remind us of the deep, personal connections we have with our faith traditions and our spiritual path. Religion is more than an abstract collection of rites, rituals, and beliefs. It ties us to a community. It provides a vocabulary to discuss the ineffable. It serves as a compass as we pass through life. 

Yet the challenge we all face in discerning and accepting the full validity of our dialogue partner’s faith is particularly acute when a convert enters the dialogue. Feelings of loss, betrayal, and rejection can cloud the dialogue. Seeing others fulfilled in what one felt was inadequate can be confusing. 

We do not know what happened when Paul visited the local synagogues in the course of his travels beyond that he no longer fit within those communities. The result of his discussions with the followers of Jesus in Jerusalem was separation more than collaboration. In his letters to the emergent Christian communities, we find correction more often than consideration. 

I often wonder what it would be like to have Paul as a dialogue partner. That is impossible but I look forward to being in dialogue with friends who have turned off my spiritual highway and found another route. I hope that we will remain connected. I would like to know them better, to see how their souls work and, through the dialogue, gain deeper insights into my spiritual life as I share my journey with them.

None of us are of the same caliber as Paul or Gamliel’s other students. I doubt that we will have a lasting effect on the unfolding of our respective spiritual traditions. To do so is an unreasonable expectation. But I have been enriched by knowing my friends and watching them change and grow over the years. I cherish their wisdom and honor their choices. Our continuing dialogues have deepened my understanding of who I am as a Jewish person as well as of the Christian world within which they have found a new home.