Shavuot is one of the most important festivals in the Jewish calendar. It marks the receiving of the Torah, a foundational moment in our story as a people. Pretty important, hey? But if you ask most people what it’s about, the answer is usually, “Um… cheesecake?”
I hadn’t heard of it at all until about five years ago. It’s not one of the holidays that gets the most attention, and before starting conversion, it wasn’t something I had encountered like Pesach or Yom Kippur. When I asked my husband what it was, he had to Google it. I baked a cheesecake.
Now, it’s one of my favourite chagim.
It’s a festival of learning. A night where people stay up studying Jewish texts and sharing ideas. A moment of spiritual intensity and connection. And it’s also, beautifully, a convert’s festival. On Shavuot, we read the Book of Ruth and encounter her story’s famous lines: “Wherever you go, I will go; and where you live, I will live; your people shall be my people, and your G-d my G-d.” Ruth wasn’t born Jewish. She became Jewish through choice, loyalty, and love. Her words have echoed through generations of converts. It’s something I have felt myself, and each Shavuot is another opportunity for me to reaffirm my choice.
I grew up in a secular home in Essendon. Shabbat dinners were very much not on the table, metaphorically or physically. And yet here I am, years into my conversion journey, building a Jewish life one mitzvah at a time.
My Jewish identity, one that starts with conversion and continues with the adjustment and growth that comes from joining a tribe I wasn’t born into, is rooted in a deep love and friendship with my husband. It was cemented when my son came screaming into the world and suddenly there was no further proof I needed that G-d existed.
For my husband, conversion has been the opportunity to reconnect with learning that had been dormant in his brain and expand it with a whole new level of understanding and growth. For me, it has been about slowly building something real and lasting, one candle-lighting, one blessing, one small choice at a time.
A question often posed to converts is, “Why?” Why choose this when there is so much hate toward Jews?
Just this week, I had a whole room of people pose this question to me, and I joyfully answered: because of love.
The first time I sat down with a rabbi, he said, “You might have heard we’re not very popular.” It’s their job to rebuff the convert. In a modern setting, I’ve joked with friends that you have to send three emails to the Beth Din before you even get a reply.
It’s not surprising that people ask about the hate first. As humans, we have a bit of a negative confirmation bias. It’s why internet disputes, drama and controversy always seem to get more traction than the many millions of positive stories that happen every day. But when I speak to other converts, there is a shared feeling that we didn’t choose this despite the hate. We converted because we love our families, our communities, and the joy of being Jewish.
Conversion is also not easy. Sometimes the learning is frustratingly slow as my dyslexic adult brain refuses to absorb a language that is back to front and in a completely new aleph-bet. For someone who likes to go a million miles an hour, being forced back to a primary school textbook is humbling. Meanwhile, the practical details like kashrut and taking on covering my hair come more easily. Those are things that live in my daily routine, and my brain likes those best.
One of the things that has helped me with study is an idea I learned because of Shavuot: that every act of learning can be done l’zchut, in the merit of someone or something else.
It reframed my learning when things felt too challenging, because along with all the love and joy, the antisemitism did find me. Surprise! The thing everyone warned you about is real. Focusing on something other than the hate being directed my way gave me a safe place to immerse myself. My learning wasn’t just a hoop to jump through. It was a mitzvah in and of itself, a force for good in the world.
Now, when I sit down to study, I dedicate it. For a healthy pregnancy. For healing after the death of a much longed-for baby. For my friends who are hoping to find love. For recovery from illness. For the safe return of the hostages. For peace. For a more compassionate world.
You don’t need to be preparing for conversion to do this. You don’t even need to be a “serious learner.” A podcast episode. A chapter. A class. A conversation. It all counts. And it can all be done in the merit of someone you care about, or something the world needs more of.
This kind of learning doesn’t just fill your brain. It buoys your spirit. It gives frustration a sense of purpose. It turns the quiet, internal work of learning into a gesture of love and hope.
So this Shavuot, yes, bake the cheesecake. I’ve been thinking an Oreo one, in the merit of Hersh Goldberg Polin. But also take in something new. Do it in someone’s merit. Do it in your own. Because it might not change the world. But it will change your world and you might even learn something new.
