My parents planned a big party and they wanted me to speak. The thought of getting up and speaking publicly about my commitment to Judaism made me very nervous. The actual decision, whether or not to remain Jewish, wasn’t much of a question. I loved our community, I loved the people, and I loved the learning. Our community was filled with people so kind, welcoming and warm, and I knew that they were that way because of the Torah, our ultimate guidebook on how to be good people. It really was clear to me: I’d learned about all the mitzvos that demand that we stretch ourselves to be kind, to think of what others need, mitzvos like leket, peah, tzedakah, chesed, being kind to orphans, widows, and converts… It was like the ideal program on how to become the best kind of person you can be.

My parents were very excited about this special milestone. They made me an elaborate party in a kosher restaurant. It was a formal event, and it makes me smile to remember how seriously we all took my bas mitzvah; my siblings had much smaller, more chilled events. (None of my sisters had to speak!)

Before the actual birthday, my father took me for a long drive. He wanted to make it clear to me that it was my choice whether or not I would remain Jewish, and that my parents would love and support me either way. “Don’t worry,” he told me. “We won’t kick you out! We will always love and appreciate you.” I was a worrier as a kid, and I think he wanted me to feel that there was no pressure, but it actually made me feel more confused. Like I said before, there was no question in my mind. I knew I wanted to remain a Jew. I had a relationship with Hashem. I spoke to Him, davened to Him, and since I’d learned that Hashem loves geirim, I felt like I was Hashem’s favorite. This wasn’t a connection I wanted to lose. Being a Yid was the best way to retain my special relationship with Hashem. And what about Shabbos? Yamim Tovim? All the beautiful experiences that make up frum life? I knew what life was like without it all. I remembered. I knew the difference. I was also well-acquainted with non-Jews after spending years in public school. Being Jewish meant being obligated to take the high road. To be committed to the truth, to be a truth-living person. It was a standard of goodness. I wanted to remain a part of that.

Not long after my bas mitzvah, we finally made the long-awaited move to a larger Jewish community. And my parents fulfilled their promise: I was promptly enrolled in the local Bais Yaakov.

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha Jr., Issue 939)