My post about Alysa Stanton, an African-American woman who had an Orthodox conversion and then decided to pursue a career in the Reform rabbinate, has sparked a lot of controversy off the blog. Does one Orthodox convert’s decision to leave Orthodoxy affect the way that other Orthodox converts are perceived? Should it? I think we should all be judged fairly and for that to happen, we need to all be judged as individuals, not as a collective group.

And what if someone doesn’t find a home in the Orthodox Jewish community, should they leave? So much of Judaism is about the community. How could someone stand not fitting in? How do I stand it?

On any given day, I don’t feel particularly accepted in the Jewish community. It’s a struggle. I have had a very different life from most of the Orthodox Jews I meet. I come to Judaism with a different perspective. Often, I feel that I’m “not appropriate for the Shabbos table” because I’m different and I don’t want to be like everyone else. I’ve tried that, it went horribly, and I think G-d’s been trying to tell me that I should just be me.

I realized the other day that though I have made some friends, many of them are not people I would be friends if we were not living in the same community or practicing Orthodox Judaism. To compensate, I have created my own microcosmic communities within the community. I moderate an online support group for converts. I write a blog that I know people are reading and responding to on a daily basis. I go to a writing workshop with other Orthodox Jewish women. I attend workshops with other wives of rabbinical students. I signed up to present at Limmud NY and spoke at Limmud LA last year.

I didn’t become Jewish for the community. I remember early on thinking that it was just a plus. It was something unexpected and at times, quite lovely. But I didn’t do this so I could get Shabbos meals every week, which is good because I don’t. My condition, fibromyalgia, prevents me from having Shabbos guests often so I get very few invitations myself. I spend most Shabbos meals reading and chatting peacefully with my husband over relatively plain meals. I can’t complain but sometimes, of course, I do.

I did convert because I wanted to have this special thing going with G-d. We already were on good terms but I had an idea that if I did things the Jewish way, my relationship with G-d would get even better. Certain obstacles intervened and things with G-d are not going as smoothly as I had hoped. But yes, I still believe this is the best way to live my life. That doesn’t mean I have any idea about how other people should live theirs.

If it really was about being accepted, I don’t think I’d survive all the racist jokes and all the lack of Shabbos invitations. I don’t think I’d survive living in a neighborhood that is clearly not for me. I don’t think that I’d survive everyone assuming that I chose Judaism because I wanted to erase my past and where I come from because I thought it was “lesser than.” I don’t think I’d survive all the nightmares I have about all the different ways the community will judge me and take me apart when I’m a rabbi’s wife.

So in the end, I hold onto to the hope that my troubles with the community will never drive me away from Judaism or come between my personal relationship with G-d. I didn’t come for the community. But I know that on the good days, they’re part of the reason that I stay.