The People: What type of person decides to become a Jew?

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ccording to the rabbanim we interviewed, most people seek Judaism after feeling that “something isn’t right” with the religion they grew up with. In most cases, these potential converts are people thriving in their career and family life; it’s not a lack of success or poor social integration that prompts them to “look for G-d.” Rather, it’s because they sense there is more to life, and they go looking for it.

It’s not just our religion that applicants find appealing, say the rabbanim. It’s also our community and the sense of responsibility we share — a concept that doesn’t exist in the wider world. A giyores in Rabbi Zvi Romm’s beis din was a nurse at a New York hospital that serviced many Orthodox patients. She had no Jewish background, but was so impressed by the way frum families behaved under the most stressful situations — “how the community rallied, how children treated their parents and families interacted” — that she had to know more.

A sense of authenticity

Many of the people who approach Rabbi Romm’s beis din have already completed a non-Orthodox conversion, or were signed up for a non-Orthodox conversion course. Sometimes, this is the third conversion an applicant pursues.

“I once asked an applicant why she wanted to convert again with our beis din after going through a non-Orthodox conversion. She told me she was uneasy about the way she learned about Judaism in her previous program.

“The teacher told me that Judaism teaches that there’s this thing called keeping kosher, but nowadays a lot of people don’t do that,” the woman recounted. “Then he said, ‘Judaism invented a day called Shabbos, but nowadays a lot of people don’t observe it strictly.’

“The mantra was, ‘There are many ancient laws, which most people don’t keep in today’s modern society.’ Eventually, I asked the teacher, ‘You’re telling me about all the things I don’t have to do. What about the things I do have to do?’ ”

“Many times,” Rabbi Romm observes, “it’s the inconsistency in messaging that sets applicants on the Torah-true path.”

Automatic strikeout

While successful candidates tend to share certain traits, like searching for real truth, geirus applicants span a wide spectrum. There is also the occasional missionary, but dayanim can see them coming from a mile away, and they are swiftly sent packing.

Besides missionaries, there are people whom the beis din automatically rejects. The first kind is people who are caught by the beis din in a lie, particularly when they misrepresent how observant they are. Rabbi Romm remembers a case where the applicant was claiming to be shomer Shabbos and keeping kosher, only for the dayanim to discover photos of him on social media attending a birthday party on Shabbos and eating clearly nonkosher food. Another common lie is when the applicant doesn’t disclose if they’re in a specific kind of relationship.

Lying doesn’t happen that often, Rabbi Romm clarifies, but it triggers an automatic ejection. “After all, if we can’t trust you, how can we continue the process?”

Other automatic rejections are applicants who come to the beis din with conditions, like the woman who only wanted to keep most of the mitzvos, or the man who wanted to put the beis din on a clock.

“He told us he was making aliyah in two months, so his non-Jewish girlfriend needed a conversion within the week,” Rabbi Moshe Walter says. “We turned him down, of course, because we will never operate with a gun pointed at our head.”

There’s quirky, and there’s quirky

One of the more delicate jobs of the sponsoring rav and beis din is to ensure that candidates possess a basic level of stability. Becoming a ger involves making a cataclysmic change of one’s life. As such, among those seeking, a small percentage of applicants present with certain quirks, which require careful consideration.

If the beis din can’t get a handle on whether a person’s “quirkiness” is a sign of more deep-rooted mental issues, they turn to frum mental health professionals to evaluate whether the candidate would be capable of maintaining a stable and committed frum lifestyle. Not all forms of mental illness are disqualifying; it matters whether the condition is under control, and if the candidate has the capacity and stability to make such a consequential decision. Another factor to be considered is whether the candidate can hold down a job, as this is often an indicator of mental and emotional stability.

Often an unstable applicant doesn’t have to be turned away; they drop out. “While we certainly encounter applicants who seem to have a hard time functioning as normative members of society,” Rabbi Romm says, “generally such people lack the stamina to make it through the process.”

But marching to a different drummer isn’t an automatic disqualifier. “We’ve had situations where the mental health professional raised big red flags about the candidate’s stability, and we have had cases where they gave us the green light.  While a candidate may be ‘quirky,’ that doesn’t necessarily mean they can’t be a functioning member of society and lead a frum life.”

Don’t fake it till you make it

What if someone has ulterior motives — generally money or love — for converting?

Rabbi Mordechai Rhine has met his share of those: “Some people think all Jews are rich, so converting is a quick way to become rich, or they have a Jewish partner and want to convert to save the relationship.”

The true determinant in assessing stability is time, Rabbi Walter says. The geirus process is not a quick or easy one — by design. “Can someone lead a ‘frum’ life while they are in the conversion process under constant supervision? Absolutely! It is for this reason that a beis din must carefully assess, monitor, and scrutinize the candidate to determine if the candidate is fleeting in their religious experience or will become stronger and stronger as the months and years pass.

“Even if an applicant comes to their first meeting showing flawless book knowledge and technical skill,” he says, “the beis din will not move forward with a conversion until knowing full well that the candidate is deeply rooted in the community, has a close connection with a rav, and has experienced the seasons of the year with their shul.

“We want to see them live Pesach, to live Shavuos, to bond with their rav, congregation, and neighbors,” Rabbi Walter stresses. The beis din listens to the applicant’s answers, and speaks to their sponsoring rav before finally converting someone. That triangle — of the beis din, the community, and the sponsoring rav — allows the dayanim to view the candidate from three different angles, providing a well-rounded impression of how well he or she can handle a life of Torah and mitzvos.

Did you know?

Women are the more common applicants for geirus by a 75%-25% margin. Rabbi Romm believes that this is because Jewish or not, women are innately more spiritual than men.

The Process: What does it take to get from start to finish?

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hen Rabbi Linsker invited Loretta to learn, was it an attempt to overwhelm her with the rules of Yiddishkeit and thereby dissuade her from converting? If that was his plan, it didn’t work.

“It was a lot,” she concedes, “and I’ll be honest — it was hard — but everything resonated intellectually. Like I didn’t know that I was looking for this all my life.”

When she expressed interest in actually going through the conversion process, Rabbi Linsker connected her with a beis din of other rabbanim to oversee the process.

“The rabbanim put me through a lot,” she says. “They gave me this big book to read and be tested on. I had to join the community for Shabbos, and I just kept taking on more and more.”

At one point, Loretta learned that a married woman covers her hair. “I said, ‘Okay.’ Phillip was floored. ‘That’s it?!’ I told him I’d need to learn more, and I questioned Mrs. Linsker about the reason for this mitzvah. When I learned that we cover our hair to keep it sacred for our husbands, I was so touched. I thought that was the most beautiful thing in the world.”

At one point Phillip wanted to know what it would take to turn her off Judaism. “ ‘Nothing,’ I told him. By then, I was committed.”

At one point, Loretta went to lunch with a colleague. She’d begun to keep kosher, and she limited her food choice to fresh salad.

“Why are you on this salad kick?” her coworker asked.

Loretta explained that she was in the process of converting to Judaism and was trying to acclimate to kashrus. Her coworker asked more and more questions, until she discovered the ultimate horror: “You mean you won’t be able to go the mall on Saturday?!”

But not every story ended with laughs.

“My non-Jewish colleagues were very upset when I began covering my hair. They asked me if I felt denigrated, like a second-class citizen, and I remember thinking, If only I could make them understand that it’s exactly the opposite.”

Merging onto the highway

The uninitiated tend to focus on geirus’s final act — immersing in the mikveh and emerging with a new neshamah. But getting there can take years. Timing is very individual, but on average, it takes about two years from meeting the beis din until one is actually megayer.

The process of conversion often starts with the prospective candidate reaching out to a communal rav, and letting him know that he or she is interested in converting. This could be someone the rav somehow knows, or it could be someone who walked into a shul and said, “Hey, are you the rabbi?”

If the rav feels that the candidate is sincere, he will either mentor the candidate himself, taking on the role and responsibilities of a sponsoring rav, or he will connect him to a rav who is qualified and comfortable to guide a candidate through geirus.

Having a relationship with a sponsoring rav is not only crucial to learning about Yiddishkeit, it’s mandatory for the geirus process. The sponsoring rav will introduce the candidate to Yiddishkeit and guide them to take on more and more mitzvos, all while monitoring their progress and evaluating their sincerity. “The geirus process is like merging onto the highway,” Rabbi Rhine says. “You start out slow as you edge your way in, and then gradually speed up and seamlessly merge into traffic.”

The job of the sponsoring rav is a crucial yet difficult one. As Rabbi Walter puts it, “We become their parent, mentor, posek, and friend. We end up making them part of our lives and become their family. We find them homes to go to for Shabbos and Yom Tov, we find them friends and chavrusas. We’re their shoulder to cry on and a listening ear.”

Many times, the sponsoring rav even escorts the ger to the chuppah, an experience akin to marrying off a child. Many geirim are alone because of their choice to leave their past lives behind, and the sponsoring rav is their first step toward family.

But the rav cannot forget his ultimate duty — to be an objective observer and evaluate whether his candidate can live a life shomer Torah u’mitzvos. The beis din depends on his reports and impartial analysis. It’s a fine line to walk.

When the sponsoring rav feels like the candidate is truly sincere about converting, and has mastered several milestones (integrating into the community, keeping Shabbos within a certain level), he will recommend that they meet the beis din. This is only the first step in the multiyear, two-track educational system.

This elongated timeframe is by design, Rabbi Romm explains. “Over the course of two years, we will get to know them better and assess their sincerity and willingness to follow rabbinic guidance.”

The geirus timeframe isn’t set in stone; all rabbanim mention having candidates that are still working through the process three, or even four, years later. “We don’t kick them out,” says Rabbi Walter, “but we don’t graduate them until we feel they’re ready.”

Two-track learning

How does one learn to be a Jew? There are two parts to the educational component of conversion. The first is an established curriculum, where the beis din will assign seforim for the candidate to learn and be tested on. Over the course of the program, the candidate will have to master the following topics: the cycle of the year; hilchos Shabbos, Yom Tov and Chol Hamoed; tefillah and brachos; taharas hamishpachah (if applicable); tzniyus and yichud; understanding the Yud Gimmel Ikarim of the Rambam; and finally, reading Hebrew, ensuring comfort with the Chumash and siddur.

These are pieces of knowledge that take a Jewish child over 12 years to learn in school, and the candidate is expected to learn this material in a much shorter span. Hilchos Shabbos and hilchos brachos are the entry-level lessons, and though this can all seem overwhelming, Rabbi Walter stresses that the curriculum proceeds in conjunction with the sponsoring rav’s updates on the candidate’s progress. “We work according to the candidate’s pace,” he remarks. “No one wants to overload them. That is not a healthy, organic, or productive way of growth.”

As the candidate becomes educated in the halachos required to live as a Jew, they will gradually need to start modeling the lifestyle as well; practice is as important as the theory.

Which brings us to the second track, which has proven to be a bigger indicator of ultimate success than the candidate’s test scores: the community integration program. A beis din will not take an applicant seriously until he or she moves to a frum community, within walking distance of a shul. Not only because this allows their sponsoring rav (and community) to get to know them better and monitor their progress, but also because a willingness to uproot your life is an important step in proving sincerity.

Embrace the challenges

One of the questions that a beis din asks a potential ger is: “What are some of the challenges you faced in the process, and how did you handle them?”

The rabbanim explain that admitting to a challenge is not a trap; they want the candidate to face and overcome hurdles! If the process is too smooth, it might mean the candidate didn’t really make sacrifices or actively choose this life.

Rabbi Rhine shares the story of a candidate who appeared before the beis din several years ago, convinced that she was ready to complete the process. When the beis din asked her how she handled eating bread in her (secular) workplace, she responded that she never eats bread because the washing and bentshing is too involved, and she didn’t want her coworkers to notice. That raised a red flag. The beis din followed up with a question about eating kosher in the office, only to be told that the candidate is careful to ensure that no one notices her kosher observance.

“It was obvious that she was not ready. She was living like the Anusim, afraid to be Jewish in public. We told her that if she wants to finish the process, she would need to become comfortable living like a Jew outside her apartment walls.”

After some reflection, the candidate ended up approaching her manager and letting him know that she would be keeping kosher and making brachos over her food. The manager readily accommodated her, authorizing the use of an empty conference room as needed.

While a conversation like that might seem trivial, it was a major breakthrough for this candidate — and the one that ultimately drove her over the finish line. Had she not been comfortable with openly observing Yiddishkeit, the beis din would not have proceeded with her conversion.

Rabbi Rhine remembers a (now) giyores whose first language was Spanish; English was something she struggled with even though she was a part of the community. During her the last meeting before finalizing her geirus, the beis din asked her whether she believed in sechar v’onesh — one of the 13 “Ani Maamin” principles of faith. But the word “punishment” was not registering with her, and she had no idea what the beis din was asking.

Suspecting a language barrier issue since she was too far along to not be familiar with the concept, the beis din called her husband (who was converting alongside her) and asked him to translate.

Rabbi Rhine laughs. “I still remember to this day: The husband said, ‘Castigo [punishment],’ and her face lit up. She yelled earnestly, ‘Castigo? That’s why I’m here! Because I believe in that!’ ” The beis din converted them both.

Did You Know?

Mastery of the curriculum is only one of the indicators that a candidate is finally ready to be megayer, according to the rabbanim. They look at their shemiras Shabbos, their kashrus, and their ability to say brachos instinctively — particularly asher yatzer. Why asher yatzer? Rabbi Rhine explains, “We want to see if they can identify with Hashem on something as ‘mundane’ as using the bathroom.” It’s really about examining how well the candidate has integrated Yiddishkeit into their routine and identity.

The deciding factor of whether someone can be megayer isn’t just about how well they know their halachos, it’s the question of whether they are sincerely and comfortably living the lifestyle.

The Mentors: What role do mentors play, and how pivotal is their part?

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he conversion process was intense, Loretta recalls. “They put me through my paces. But I understood that they were trying to discover how sincere I was. During that time Phillip and I got married, and I found out I was expecting shortly afterward. I was going through a very difficult pregnancy, and still I persevered through the geirus. Looking back, from the time I expressed interest in actually converting until I went to the mikveh was less than a year (before my baby was born). I got off easy!”

While she was preparing for geirus, Loretta spoke to her mother every Sunday. “This was in the ’80s, remember. Long-distance phone calls were expensive back then, especially for my family! My mother completely did not understand what I was doing. I mentioned it one week and it seemed to just pass her by. She asked me about the weather.

“The next week, she expressed some skepticism; she’d obviously done some research about Judaism. But even her reaction was nothing to my older brother’s, who’d watched the then-recent miniseries Winds of War by Herman Wouk. He was not happy with my conversion; why would I choose to be different? But there was nothing he could do about it. From time to time, he’d remind me that if my dad were alive, there was no way I’d be going through with the conversion. Which was probably true. My dad would not have taken it sitting down.”

During that year, Loretta spent Shabbos with families in the small, close-knit community in New Haven. At one point, Rabbi Linsker set her up with another convert.

“I asked her all my questions,” Loretta recalls, “and she was very honest with me. Particularly about how hard it would be after I converted.

“ ‘You will always be different,’ she told me. ‘There will always be a divide between Jews from birth and you.’ ”

No surprises

That kind of tough, realistic guidance is typical among mentors who help potential geirim navigate the process. Neither the sponsoring rabbi nor the beis din wants surprises on anyone’s part, so they’re unambiguous about explaining to the candidate what they’ll be getting into.

Rabbi Romm also explains some of the challenging realities of Orthodox Jewish life — like the shidduch crisis — where female geirim are at a profound disadvantage. Unlike a ger, who has no halachic restrictions on whom he may marry, female converts are forbidden to marry Kohanim, which can limit their options. And the reality is that even for non-geirim, it’s easier for men to get married than for women. According to all the rabbanim, a man can be megayer at 40 — or even 50 — and immediately have shadchanim plying him with prospects… he is that desirable. Unfortunately, if a woman is megayer — even at 30 — she’s putting herself in a situation where there’s a chance that she will never find her bashert.

Rabbi Romm makes sure to relay the information sensitively but feels that the candidates deserve to know the unvarnished truth before making such a life-altering decision.

“It’s never an easy conversation, but we tell them outright: ‘In frum society, by the time you’re 25, you’re considered an ‘older single’ and finding a shidduch can be challenging. It’s not fair or right, but that’s the reality of it.’ ”

Then he asks the candidate, “If you know now that becoming an Orthodox Jew means there’s a considerable chance that you won’t find a marriage partner and will never become a mother, do you still want to convert?”

And amazingly, Rabbi Romm continues, most of them say yes. “I’ve been told by many women, ‘I know the risks, but this is important to me. I just want to be connected to Hashem and His Torah.’ It’s an incredible commitment that these women are making: transforming their lives and risking living alone without a family.”

Rabbi Walter’s beis din will similarly educate and share potential challenges regarding being a convert and Jewish life with the candidate if and when it is warranted.

Kabbalas HaTorah in our time

For many geirim, conversion is a sacrifice that means cutting off contact with their biological family. Sometimes, it’s for their own safety. Rabbi Walter was involved with a convert who originated from a Middle Eastern country and still has immediate family there. (In Islam, apostasy is punishable by a brutal death, so a Muslim who converts to a different religion is risking their life regardless of where they live.) This candidate confided in the beis din that if their geirus became public knowledge in their home country, their entire immediate and extended family back home would be tortured and murdered for having the audacity to be related to them. And they’d be hunted down — even in the United States — and murdered for apostasy. There was no trigger or reason for this person to convert, they just found Hashem and knew it was worth risking their life for the truth. But the convert’s own parents have no idea.

In some cases, the severing of ties is not because of safety, but ideology. One ger’s parents are fundamentalist Christians; they considered his conversion to be the act of the Devil — and cut him off.

Bringing others back

Rabbi Walter points out that the beis din has seen cases when a Jew goes off the derech and marries a non-Jew to permanently sever ties with their faith. However, the non-Jewish spouse’s interest and curiosity toward Yiddishkeit ends up bringing them both back.

He remembers a case in which a young man from a very religious background abandoned Yiddishkeit and married a non-Jewish woman. Over time, she started asking him about his background and questioning her Christianity, and eventually wanted to be megayer. She was a successful candidate, and through the course of her journey, awakened the pintele Yid in her husband. Today, they are a solid, frum couple building beautiful doros.

Rabbi Romm encountered a similar case with a completely different outcome. A non-Jewish woman in her twenties met a Jewish man who, like his parents, was not fully observant. The family insisted that the woman undergo Orthodox geirus before marriage would be considered. The woman began to study and incorporate Yiddishkeit into her life. She was disappointed to see that her boyfriend was maintaining his less observant lifestyle and questioned him on it. This led to tension between the young couple, until the candidate presented her boyfriend with an ultimatum: If you do not become fully shomer Torah, we can no longer be in a relationship.

The couple broke up, but the woman decided to continue on the path to conversion. She eventually converted, moved to Eretz Yisrael to study in seminary, and married there. Similar scenarios have played out numerous times.

While historically, and halachically, batei din are not supposed to convert a candidate who wants to become Jewish for their partner, Rabbi Walter says that for centuries, and based upon the psak of gedolei Yisrael, many batei din are willing to work with such cases if the applicant is committed and sincere.

Did You Know?

The idea that a sponsoring rabbi is supposed to ritualistically dissuade a person three times is a bit of an urban myth, according to Rabbi Romm, who finds it funny that the one thing everyone “knows” about geirus is a midrash that generally isn’t put in action. (This concept is documented in one midrash only, and is not mentioned in the Gemara, Rambam, or Shulchan Aruch.)

Rabbi Walter’s beis din also doesn’t turn down an applicant three times, because it’s not their job. “If an applicant is at the point where they’re meeting us, they’re long past the ‘dissuasion’ stage. Honestly, at this stage, they probably have been ‘dissuaded’ twenty-five times.”

The Rest of Us: What do geirim and their teachers wish we knew and appreciated?

“I

know a woman who got divorced after her children were grown,” Loretta says. “Her children weren’t talking to her. During this time, there was some more upheaval in her life, and she suddenly discovered that she was Jewish. She had every reason to fall into despair, but she didn’t. She moved to the community to learn more about her faith, taking on observance in her fifties. It took incredible strength. It’s not easy to change your life at fifty years old.

“I think about her from time to time. If I were on a deserted island, would I want to take up Yiddishkeit? And the answer is yes. All the way.”

Loretta traveled to New York for her conversion around Shavuos time, and she and Phillip got married k’halachah on 16 Tammuz. Her oldest child was born three weeks later, the day after her first Tishah B’Av.

Loretta had two more children after that, but in the end, her marriage fell apart, and she was left an agunah for many years. When she finally got her get, she understood that she would have a hard time dating. “I was a woman with three children, strikes one and two. And I was a convert, strike three,” she says bluntly.

“But Yiddishkeit is not about how you relate to the world. It’s about how you relate to the Ribbono shel Olam. And I thank Hashem for showing me the way, and allowing me the relationship I have with Him.”

Demystifying the mysterious

Most of us have no idea how many geirim are in our communities, Rabbi Romm points out. “Everyone thinks geirim are an exotic and strange story. But almost every mainstream shul and community has geirim.” Some are obvious, but there are people who grew up Jewish, within our communities, and have Jewish names, but still need to be megayer because of a problem with their mother’s conversion, because they were adopted, or for other reasons.

And no matter their background, the Torah obligates us to embrace our geirim under the mitzvah of v’ahavtem es hager.

According to Rabbi Rhine, the obligation starts once it’s clear that the candidate is sincere about pursuing their conversion. Potential geirim are appealing to us for help, he remarks. “It’s our obligation to help them make this kiddush Hashem.”

Dayanim stress that often the strength of the ger depends on the strength of their communal support system. So we should host geirim for Shabbos, give them emotional support, and make them a true part of our communities.

It’s not easy to be a ger, especially when they are stigmatized by certain traits that cannot be changed (like skin color or not having “ethnically Jewish” facial features). “That’s why,” points out Rabbi Rhine, “it’s a major affirmation of Torah when we’re able to see beyond skin color and recognize the kabbalas haTorah that took place. We must reconfigure our attitude toward geirim in the same way we try to train ourselves not to be jealous.”

Include, don’t exclude

We also need to be mindful of the instinctive social behaviors that can be exclusionary.

“It’s an old joke that if you put two Jews in a room for long enough, they’ll discover that their great- great-great-grandparents were feuding in the shtetl,” says Rabbi Romm. People play Jewish geography all the time, often as an icebreaker while hosting a Shabbos meal.

“But imagine you have a ger at your Shabbos table, and when it’s his turn to answer where he went to high school, he answers, ‘St. Mary’s.’ He’s embarrassed, everyone feels awkward, and what are you supposed to respond, ‘Umm… who’s rosh yeshivah there?’ While it’s something we don’t think twice about, Jewish geography can be very uncomfortable for someone who didn’t grow up Jewish.”

Geirim are often alone, Rabbi Walter says. We need to be there for them. While a ger may declare that they understand they might never be able to marry or have children because of societal prejudices, it’s very different in theory and in practice. Belief doesn’t inoculate you from loneliness.

Rabbi Walter also appeals on the behalf of children of geirim. “Let them into your schools, arrange playdates with your children. Let them feel like a part of the community and witness all kinds of Jewish homes. Like children of baalei teshuvah, children of geirim don’t have the natural family system like FFBs do.”

A small act of outreach can change a life.

Appreciate the sacrifice

Above all, the mentors who help geirim on their journey to Judaism wish that the rest of us would recognize just how much they’ve sacrificed to join Klal Yisrael. “Yes, they gained something infinitely priceless,” Rabbi Walter says, “but it was still a loss, and we need to recognize and acknowledge that. If you think shidduchim is a nightmare for FFB women, try being a giyores. These tzaddikim and tzidkaniyos are risking dying alone — never marrying or having children (something they can do easily if they remained non-Jewish)  — all because they wanted a relationship with the Borei Olam.”

Geirim point a magnifying glass on who we should be; they often show us up, he says. “The African American who converted at sixty-five? He’s the first one in shul every morning, and he’s a stalwart member of a 5:30 a.m. Daf Yomi shiur. Geirim are required to know hilchos Shabbos and the Yud Gimmel Ikarim — and believe them. Do you? I would venture to say that there are geirim who understand hilchos Shabbos better than some people reading this article. Because they learned it, because they believed it, and because their acceptance into Klal Yisrael hinged on it.”

Every positive encounter that a ger has with a frum family bestows infinite benefits, Rabbi Rhine says. “That friendship, that kindness, that acceptance is monumental. You see it in the story of Rus: Chazal were very clear; Boaz was a hero and Ploni Almoni was not.

“Before you side-eye a ger struggling with social norms or reading Hebrew out loud, here’s something to think about. As children, we were given at least twelve years of schooling (let alone what we learned at home) to teach us the halachos and nuances of frum life. Yet geirim, as adults, are trying to master it all in a significantly shorter timeframe.”

And that’s just on an educational level, he says. Consider the emotional level, too. “If we FFBs find going into Pesach overwhelming, how does a ger or baal teshuvah feel? They need our support. Not just halachic guidance, but emotional support. Most of us have immediate and extended families that we can call to kvetch. If a ger calls their parents to kvetch to them about their struggles, what do you think the response will be? They’ll be told: ‘You did this to yourself, no one made you turn Jewish.’”

The proper admiration for geirim can deepen and enrich our own observance, Rabbi Walter adds. “There are thousands of Ruses walking around nowadays; these people turned their world upside down to get closer to Hashem. This should force us to ask ourselves: Do I know the Ribbono shel Olam? Do I have a connection with Him? What did I ever do to question my faith and secure my understanding? Do I really believe, or do I act by rote because I was born into the system?

“Talk to a ger and listen to their story. You might actually learn something.”

No Pay to Play

Batei din charge an “opening fee” and a “closing fee” for the conversion process. Rabbi Walter says that while the dayanim do not take a salary, the money goes towards the support staff’s salaries, rent, and utilities depending on each beis din’s set up . A reputable beis din doesn’t charge an exorbitant fee; an “expensive” conversion should be a red flag that the beis din might not be entirely legitimate. Geirus shouldn’t be a “for profit” enterprise — that would create a conflict of interest.

Private vs. Systemized Geirus

Several decades ago, geirus operated the same way kashrus did: through individual rabbanim creating their own system and hashgachos. A potential convert would find a local rav who would independently handle the process. He would teach the applicant, and when he felt they were ready, assemble another two rabbanim to create the beis din that would implement the conversion. Although most, if not all, of the rabbanim who performed private geirus were trustworthy and capable, this system caused problems as it was unregulated, there weren’t any unified standards or qualifications, and it was hard to judge whether the shtar geirus was valid when it was performed by an unknown rav or someone who passed on decades ago.

In most cases there was nothing wrong with the shtar geirus, but the inability to verify its “kashrus” tragically led to a hesitancy among FFB families to do shidduchim with geirim, especially as stories of improper geirus and corresponding issues with their children’s yichus leaked into public awareness.

Over time, rabbanim involved with geirus felt the need to systemize the process. By creating a network of affiliated batei din, they hoped to remove any doubt over a shtar geirus, eradicate the issues of improper geirus, and ensure that people don’t have to worry about being meshadech with geirim moving forward.

A frum, upstanding member of the community discovered that his mother went through a highly questionable geirus, and he’d need to do a geirus l’chumra. He applied to Rabbi Walter’s beis din, and completed his geirus within the week.

But the beis din recently became part of the RCA’s network and has agreed to its oversight. So when the applicant completed the process in such a short timeframe, the RCA flagged it immediately, and called for an explanation!

Rising Tide?

Is it true that geirus is on the rise? The rabbanim share their experience

Rabbi Zvi Romm: Our beis din does about 100 geirusin a year, and that number has been remarkably consistent over the past 15 years (There was a drop during Covid, which was an incredibly difficult period for applicants in the process). We have many cases where the applicant was raised Jewish (or became a baal teshuvah) and discovered that they weren’t halachically Jewish and needed to have a proper geirus. Perhaps their mother’s conversion wasn’t up to par or their mother didn’t have a conversion at all. In some ways, the geirus process is easier for these candidates since they have a basic familiarity with Yiddishkeit, but in other ways, it can be more challenging because they need to unlearn some habits.

Rabbi Mordechai Rhine: We’re seeing a tremendous upswing in geirus, and many batei din around the country are seeing this as well. Our beis din has been active for over a decade, and the cases have been trending upward. There are all sorts of reasons given for this trend. Some people put a kabbalistic bend on it — we’re in Ikvesa D’Meshicha, and all the neshamos are coming down, while some claim a more pragmatic reasoning: There has been such an erosion of societal values that more and more people are intrinsically recognizing that something isn’t right and are searching for the truth with a greater intensity.

Many people ask if October 7 had an effect (in either direction) on geirus. I understand why people would think that way, as the Jewish people become stronger when there’s adversity. Rabbi Moshe Sherer used to say that Klal Yisrael is like a teabag: You don’t see our strength until you put us in hot water!

However, while October 7 did bring an increasing awareness of many people’s Jewish identity, we haven’t noticed much of a change. We did have a candidate approach us after October 7 about converting; she was passionate about her Jewish identity and about advocating for Jews worldwide, but we wouldn’t accept her until she integrated into the community and became stronger in her shemiras mitzvos.

Finding comfort

Although a ger is not obligated to sit shivah for a non-Jewish relative, many find the grieving process to be therapeutic. Sitting shivah also helps many geirim feel integrated into the community. Alternatively, some geirim may not wish to sit shivah as they are anxious about well-meaning questions that might force them to reveal more about their past lives than they feel comfortable. Whether a ger decides to sit shivah or not is personal, and it is incumbent on us to respect their choice.

A Call for Introspection

By Rabbi Zvi Romm

AS a rav involved with geirus, I have so often heard members of our community say, “I can’t imagine why someone would want to be megayer — why would they want to take all of this on? It’s so much easier to remain non-Jewish.”

While I appreciate the sentiment, and I understand where the mentality comes from, the truth is that people who think this way really need to ask themselves this question: Is Yiddishkeit that much of a burden?

If Hashem approached you and said, “You know what, I’m going to give you a choice. You can stick with the program, or leave it with no hard feelings or punishment,” what would you choose? If you found out that you weren’t Jewish after all (and had no family or societal ties to weigh your decision), would you convert, or live your best life as a non-Jew? Is the only reason you’re committed to Torah and mitzvos because you were born into it and have no choice? If you were on the other side of our round table, would you choose this on your own?

If you can’t imagine choosing the path of Torah, perhaps a cheshbon hanefesh is in order.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 945)