My Conversion Story/סיפור הגיור שלי

It’s a question I literally get asked by almost everyone I meet

For those of you that don’t know, I converted to Judaism. I know, shocking; Hutchison is such a Jewish-sounding last name (and really easy to spell and pronounce in Hebrew – הוטשיסון). I think being half-Filipino and not looking like your stereotypical Jew has something to do with it ( although I have been called Roma before by some guy at a convenience store, with a kippah and tzitzit on). Even though I’ve written a lot about being Jewish, this guy used to be a good Catholic young man.

People are always trying to place one another, so when they learn that I converted, it’s immediately fascinating to them. Even though honestly it’s something very personal, it’s something I am constantly interrogated about. I used to mind it when people asked the question, but then I just started saying it’s because I’m crazy (that answer is a lot funnier when people know you actually have mental health problems). Really, it’s like asking someone why do they love their spouse, or what do they think is wrong with their children, or have they ever committed a crime. It’s a deeply personal question that I get asked at bars, at cafes, sitting on a bench by a random person next to me, and today in my meeting with my case manager.

I gave him the answer, so I thought, maybe I should actually write it down in case I forget one day.

It all started with a nice Catholic boy…

I grew up in a blended household. No, I don’t mean that I grew up with step-siblings (I did though and they know a lot more about Judaism than your average Gentile); I mean that my mother was a more-spiritual-than-traditional Catholic Filipina and my dad was a white not-very-religious Protestant. I remember my mother always telling me when I was growing up that her and my father had to go in front of a priest and sign some kind of document to get married in the Church that required them to raise any future children in the Catholic faith (went well for sixteen years mom).

So I grew up Catholic, which can mean a lot of things, so I’ll be specific. We had pictures of Jesus and the Virgin Mary in our house, we went to church every Sunday (my mom always complained that the church by our house was too modern because it had seats instead of pews), we observed Advent (Christian Hanukkah), we didn’t eat meat on Fridays during Lent, and I had my first communion and went to confirmation classes when I was old enough.

In fact, one of my earliest memories takes place in a church, or at least in a church parking lot. This was back when my parents were married, so I was a pretty young kid, and we were attending Christmas Eve mass. I remember the church where we lived at the time had this big golden sculpture that held everything for the sacraments, real awe-inspiring stuff. When we left the service, we went to the parking lot and found that our van had been broken into and the TV and the mobile phone from the console (yes, a mobile phone as in a literal corded phone that was also wireless in the console) had been stolen. We went back to the church to call the police, and I swear to this day that when the priest answered the door, he was wearing basketball shorts and eating Cheeto puffs.

Cheetos aside, I really was a religious kid growing up. I think that part of how easy it was for me to transition to Judaism, and why I never had an angry-angsty-atheist teenager phase, was because I’ve always had a very strong belief in G-d and His presence in my life. I went to Brazil when I was fourteen with my mom to visit family in São Paulo, and when I was there my mom was buying souvenirs from one of those shops that sell things carved from wood. One thing that really sparked my interest, besides the wooden ninja katana, was a rosary. When I got back, I started carrying it with me wherever I went. I learned the extra prayers for it that I didn’t already know. It really bumped up my faith level.

Losing my religion…or at least changing it

So, at around sixteen I started confirmation classes. They were fine enough, although as a teenager I definitely did not appreciate having to spend extra time in Church when I could have been hanging out with my friends. The priest leading the classes was nice enough from what I remember, and he always answered my questions.

There was just a certain point though where I stopped feeling it; I lost the vibe. Something about all of it just felt unreal and unlike me, even though it was all I had ever known. I started having my first doubts. I researched other religions, just out of curiosity. When I started reading about Judaism, something just clicked. I don’t know if it was the traditions, the peoplehood aspect, the emphasis on actions as opposed to just beliefs, or my own theological doubts about whether or not Jesus was really the Messiah; but something about Judaism just fascinated me.

Now, as an aside, there is this idea in chassidut that a convert is someone who was born with a Jewish soul, but it just happened to get placed in a non-Jewish body. The whole time, this Jewish soul is thirsting for Torah and Judaism, and that’s what eventually leads to conversion. I don’t know if I really believe all of that, but honestly, that’s what it felt like. When I was researching Judaism and reading Jewish texts, something just felt right.

So, one day I just told my mom that I wanted to stop going to confirmation classes. I told her that I didn’t know if I really believed in all of it, and that I didn’t think it was for me. She was disappointed but supportive, and I’ll always be grateful for her reaction. In general, she took all of my transition to Judaism pretty well, minus the whole not eventually being able to eat in her house thing.

Fast Forward through a lot of cringe stuff

When you come from an area with almost no Jews and want to convert to Judaism, you do a lot of dumb stuff. You do things like eat at your school’s cafeteria (not even kosher-style), while wearing a kippah and tzitzit. You get written about in your school paper because who the hell converts to Judaism in a school of thousands with like less than a dozen Jews? In college, the Chabad house rabbi immediately knows you’re not Jewish because you bike up to him in a kippah and tzitzit and he has no idea who you are beforehand. Eventually, I learned to take that stuff off until I was ready, but man I must have looked like a real idiot.

Eventually by my senior year of college, I started taking stuff seriously. I kept Shabbat and kosher, and I usually stayed at a friend’s house who was within walking distance of the Chabad house on Shabbat. The rabbi gave me the code to the building, and I would go before my morning bus driving shift to pray shacharit. After I graduated, I went to a summer yeshiva program in Morristown, New Jersey and really learned about Judaism and how to learn about Judaism. I stayed in the dorms, went to shiurim, attended fabrengens, and I even spent Gimmel Tammuz by the Ohel.

Eventually, I ended up back in Houston and moved to where the Chabad community was. My studying consisted of my continued individual learning as well as from a reading list that my beit din sent me, but it was also important just to live a Jewish life in a Jewish community. Seeing how daily life flowed, keeping a kosher kitchen, going to shul for davening during the week and Shabbat, and eventually dating in a kosher way. What I needed was just time to prove to them and to myself that I could do this, that this demanding lifestyle was for me. On the second of Kislev in the year 5774, I officially became Aryeh Leib ben Avraham, and it’s been a continued adventure ever since.

The More Important Question (I Think)

So, people ask me all of the time why I converted to Judaism. I’ll admit, it’s different and unique. There’s a lot of converts out there, each with their own individual story, and I could never speak for them, but I can tell my own story. However, I think that the more important question never gets asked.

Why am I still Jewish?

I mean, conversion is permanent, and if I was to fall to the lax side I’d still be Jewish; but I mean why stay observant? After everything I’ve been through, all of the mental health problems, all of the pain and trauma I’ve endured, how can I still remain a believing and practicing Orthodox Jew? How can I believe in a G-d that has let me suffer so much? Now that nearly a decade has passed since my mother passed away, my eyes have been opened up to all of the sadness and suffering around me. I worked closely with trauma victims for years, and I’m still paying the consequences for it. I’ve been hospitalized, days away from killing myself. So how am I still a believer?

I think it all goes back to that simple faith that I have in G-d. Even when I was in the hospital, and I didn’t feel His presence like I once did, I still knew He was there. Prayer eventually saved me in that place, it kept me going through all of the horrors that come along with being in a psych ward. I still believe in the beauty of Judaism, and how it allows us to elevate every physical object in this world to a new spiritual height and imbue our actions with holiness. I still have faith regardless of what has happened to me because I have seen the power of belief and persistence, and the wonderfully amazing things that happen in this world because of G-d’s continued involvement. I love being part of the Jewish people, and being a part of this huge shared history and tradition. I love how I am now helping to build a State for our people, and it feels like I’m living with miracles here.

I love being Jewish, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Sure, sometimes it makes my life a little more difficult, but it’s those tests that make me feel like I’m really trying at something meaningful in life. It would be easy to abandon everything, but I get more out of life now than I ever did before. I get asked the conversion question all the time, and I’ll never get tired of answering it. I’m proud that I chose this, and that I get to live my life with purpose and meaning. I think anyone can find their own way in life, and that’s what I did. It’s one decision I will never regret, and one I will always cherish for the rest of my life. May we all increase in our connection to G-d and one another, even if it means answering personal questions all the time.