Because I’m not good at these essay things—I tend to get distracted, and after a hard night of writing, I find it impossible to continue where I left off, leaving me with a quarter-written essay, which I can touch and retouch but can never actually finish or conclude or somehow turn into something that people will want to read to discover what it says—I’ve decided to take the poor man’s route and turn this exercise into a transcription of a conversation on Judaism and conversion I had with my sister Randy yesterday (as in the day before I started writing this essay—who knows when and if I’ll finish it). There are problems with transcriptions (and, yes, I am adding these asides and throat clearing explanations for good and fine reasons, and, no, they aren’t because I don’t want to actually start writing and I figured it would be easier to explain the methodology rather than apply it; but good thinking, nonetheless), and in particular me transcribing, viz., I don’t have much in the way of a memory. Most of what I remember usually happened over the last five minutes. With that said, I’ll admit right up front, much of the remembering will be fictionalized by me—being the writer and, in case you’ve forgotten, an arrogant S.O.B. (no offense, mom)—as the hero in each and every scene.

Speaking of scenes, it’s raining outside (I’m in the recollection portion now—the rain miraculously wasn’t falling when I initially typed this, but, through the miracles of Seattle weather (and multi-day writing), is now falling, as it has been over the last 27 days, only five days short of some type of unholy Weather Record in these parts), a light mist in an otherwise warm day, and I’m walking in the dark after a not terribly busy day at work. I take a vanpool across the lake each morning and evening, and walk about fifteen minutes between the Castle and the vanpool drop off. As usual, after I leave the van, I dial the Doolies. I’ve long since grown bored of the scenery, and since few people walk in Seattle—not counting the joggers, who are only interesting when I have to dodge a pack of them, but counting the dog walkers, whose strange habits and careful picking up of their dog’s poop intrigues me in a disturbing-to-admit way—there’s not much to look at but non-Castley houses, dark lawns, and lots of cars, most filled with people at the end of their dark and wet night commutes.

This is my first day back to work after the New Years’ vacation, and I’m chatting with the Doolies when my call waiting clicks. The number is Private, and after mumbling a goodbye, I switch over. It’s my sister Randy. She asks if I have time to chat, and I explain that since I’m walking home from the van, I have nothing but time.

“I read the essay Doolies wrote for the Rabbi,” Randy says. Both Doolies and I wrote an essay as part of the first assignment in our Jewish conversion class. I was born Jewish, and by Jewish laws and customs, I don’t need to convert. Even a non-practicing person born of a Jewish mother (let’s say Jewish by genetics for now, I will explain the distinction between a converted and born Jew later) is considered Jewish, even if they (the person or their mother or their mother’s mother) practice or believe in Catholicism or Voodoo or Witchcraft or atheism. Judaism is not something you do or believe, it’s something you’re born into. (Randy once dragged me to a rabbi she was studying with. She introduced me as the brother who asked many questions and believed in little. Unlike other religions, Judaism thrives on questioning, although, to be fair (to me), most of the questioning revolves around explanations of the Jewish laws, e.g., “rabbi, why do we not eat the fat of the pig, which, when cut in thin slices and wrapped around a piece of fish, makes even dry and flaky fish delicious?” The very first question the rabbi asked me (before I could get into the bacon-wrapped fish query) was, “Do you have to believe in God to be Jewish?” I thought for a moment before answering simply, “No.” The rabbi looked at my sister and said, “I thought you said he was contentious?”) Doolies was not born Jewish, and therefore needs to convert to pass on Jewish-ness to our children, something that is very important to my family, and, surprising even myself, important to me.

Returning to the phone call, Randy continues, “and I wanted to talk about the last paragraph, the one where Doolies pointed out that Orthodox Judaism was sexist.” In case you didn’t get a chance to read the essays, the last question the rabbi asked us related to which type of Judaism we wanted to practice. Before continuing (okay, starting, really) on the conversation with my sister, I need to fill you in on the difference between Orthodox, Conservative, and Reform Judaism.

The first thing the uninitiated needs to understand is that unlike some religions (say, Catholicism), Judaism does not have a central authority, there is no pope, no ultimate, all-powerful rabbi or committee who makes decisions for the religion. There was a time before the destruction of the Second Temple in Jerusalem (we Jews are nothing if not systematically oppressed—I have my theories about that as well, but I’ll save that for another essay) where there was such a body. With that said, there are committees of rabbis who do opine on certain matters, and their opinions, while not exactly law, are followed by their communities. These Rabbinical Assemblies (I’m guessing on the name here) are further broken down into three major sects. There may be one or two others, but I’ve decided to talk about the Big Three because growing up these were the only ones I knew about.

You can think of Judaism as a spectrum, across which there are varying degrees of observance and belief in the laws of our ancestors. The strictest reading of these laws is, not surprisingly, the Orthodox Jews. They believe that God handed the Torah to Moses, and their Rabbinical Assemblies are very strict with the interpretation of these laws as they relate to the modern world. For example, an Orthodox Jew will not drive on the Shabbot or eat non-Kosher food (e.g., the bacon-wrapped fish). Orthodox Jews refer to themselves as Observant Jews, in that there is no real difference between an Orthodox Jew and a Conservative Jew—if you’re born Jewish, you are a Jew. Period. There are only different levels of observing the Jewish laws.

The middle ground for Judaism is the Conservative Jews. I was raised Conservative and because of that have the firmest understanding of their practice. Like the Orthodox Jews, the Conservative Jews believe in the laws of Moses, but they also believe that some of the laws need to be reinterpreted because society has changed an awful lot since the time of Moses. For example, while Orthodox laws would never allow a woman rabbi to lead prayers, most Conservatives (with the congregation where I grew up an exception), allowed woman Rabbis, and provided woman with the same opportunities as men in prayer. With that said, I find that Conservative Jews tend to be less observant in other more meaningful ways. A good way to judge observance is to see when people attend services (group prayer) at temple. By way of example, when Doolies and I visited a Conservative temple in the OC, during Kiddush (food plays a big role in all Jewish activities, and the Kiddush follows the Saturday morning service with cake and wine), we sat at a table munching away on our food with another couple. The other couple pointed out—and this seemed almost defensive in nature, almost as if they needed to get this out before we could have a conversation with them—that they did not normally attend Shabbot services, but because their son was being Bar Mitzvah’ed (i.e., celebrating his 13th birthday and, by Jewish law, his becoming a man—which, incidentally, goes completely against my monster theory, that states that children stay children until they turn 26) the following weekend, they decided to attend. For prayer and observance, most Conservative Jews attend services during the high holy days (three days every year) and for life events.

And, finally, there is Reform. I know the least about the Reform movement because I was never exposed to it. From what I do understand, Reform Jews pick and chose the laws that suit them, a smorgasbord, if you will, of rules for the choosing. With that out of the way, we return to my phone conversation.

Ah, I mentally rub my hands, Randy wants to have a religious discussion. “Before we get started,” I start in, “Doolies’s comment was based mostly on my descriptions of some of the Orthodox laws related to woman, and how they seem awfully old-fashion and—and I think I used this word exactly to describe it—sexist.” Although true, I did this to deflect the blame away from the Doolies. Doolies has been incredibly good about the conversion process. She has been doing lots of reading (while Doolies is a good student, she isn’t always the best reader, e.g., see how few of these paragraphs (outside of the sentences with her name in it) she reads—which, when I think about it, probably has more to do with what I’m writing and how I’m writing it than her desire or enjoyment), reaching out to rabbis and attending Shabbot dinners and Orthodox and Conservative services, in other words, she’s being more Jewish (regrettably, only in the “observant” way and not in the being Jewish way—if only it were that easy) than me.

“Some of the Jewish laws relating to women are quite beautiful,” Randy says. By this time I’m walking down the hill that leads to Wilson avenue. This is a tricky hill as the ground is wet and it is steep enough for a construction sign warning “Snow Route Do Not Enter” to be leaned against the Stop Sign, ready to be deployed in the rare Snow Event in Seattle. There is also some over-brush, which I have to duck and maneuver my head around, which is difficult because a rain hood obscures my vision and the brush blocks the light so I end up running into low-hanging branches, some of which have dangerous curved spikes.

“Beautiful but sexist,” I say. “Just look at the laws involving covering the body, or the that-time-of-the-month laws, or the keeping house laws, or the not going to temple laws, or the separation of men and woman at temple laws, or the having children, lots and lots of children, laws. Where do you want to start with defending these laws and showing how they’re not sexist?” Just so we’re on the same page, I’ve studied Judaism, but I am in no way an expert or even someone who is terribly knowledgeable about it. I can’t quote the Mishnah or the Talmud, or tell you who begot Rachel (the biblical Rachel, not my beautiful niece, of whose parentage I’m fairly certain), or whether removing the stopper of an ancient water jug would be considered work prohibited on the Shabbot, the day of rest. There are many things I don’t know, so take everything I say (and the words I put into Randy and my mouth) with a large chunk of good old NaCl.

“Where do you want to start?” Randy asks. She doesn’t give me an opportunity to answer. “The laws are beautiful when you understand them. Do you know why Orthodox men are not allowed to touch women?” This was one of the laws that Doolies learned when she met a Chabad rabbi during a Jewish class in the OC. Before the class, her friend—a Jewish coworker who has been helping Doolies experience the California version of Judaism—warned her that the rabbi would not shake the hand of any woman at the class. When Doolies asked me why, I explained:

“Cooties.”

“Close, but not exactly,” Randy says. “Orthodox men do not touch woman other than their wives out of respect for those other women.”

“Respect in that the other women are protected from the groping hands of the lecherous Orthodox men? Do you see how the Jewish religion has no respect for women? It thinks that if an Orthodox man touched another women, he would—or is it she would?—be unable to resist her charms, analogous to how rape is the ‘woman’s fault.’”

“Let me finish before you judge,” Randy says, warming up to the debate. “For two weeks of each month, a married woman may not be intimate with her husband.”

“Ah, this one I know is about the cooties and how unclean the woman is during her cycle.”

“No, again, you’re not seeing the beauty. It’s not about being unclean, it’s about desire and the increasing of the sexual desire of the married couple.”

The hill is steep and I end up walking much faster than I realize until at the bottom the sidewalk widens into a semicircle, which provides a runway to work off the extra speed and complete the turn. Wilson avenue is busier, and after turning, I switch the phone to protect it from the cars zooming by.

“When you don’t see Doolies for a few weeks, how do you feel when you see her again?”

I don’t answer because it’s a trap. I see where she’s heading, and it’s nowhere good. She wants me to admit that desire is increased by absence, and, hence the Jewish law makes sense, and everything is right with the world. In situations like this, I find it’s better not to answer, to change the subject or, in this case, to pretend bad cell phone coverage.

“You feel more . . . attracted to her, don’t you?” Randy prompts me. “It’s the same way with the Jewish two-week period. By not touching each other for two weeks, the couple enjoys heightened desire for each other. You’re probably now going to ask what this has to do with a man not touching another woman.”

“You seem to be doing great without me.”

“During the two-week period, the woman is not allowed to touch any man. Another beautiful aspect of this law is privacy. It is considered rude for someone outside of the marriage to inquire about the woman’s time of the month. Because a man doesn’t know, and can’t ask, when a woman is in her two-week cycle, he assumes that she always is, and therefore never touches any woman but his wife, to protect the other woman from having to either disclose the timing of her cycle, or to disobey the Jewish law.”

“Before you go any further,” I say, “take a step back and realize who is making these laws. While they may appear beautiful to you—and for now I won’t argue their intrinsic beauty—understand that this was not a cabal of Jewish woman sitting around deciding what was best for woman. Instead, this law—as well as all Jewish law—was written by men, interpreted by men, and enforced by men, men, I should add, who were mostly older and had a thing for long scraggily beards. I’m not one to judge a person by his facial hair, but there you have it.

“What happened to it being God’s law?”

“Don’t get me started on this line, or we’ll never move beyond this. Suffice to say—and this is only the tip of the proverbial iceberg—there were many authors of the Torah, the five books of Moses. To think that Moses would transcribe the words of God, and then use different voices, tenses, tones, and, more particularly, styles in a single work boggles my mind. So many wasted opportunities for proving or at least supplying additional evidence, even outside of faith, for the honesty and authorship of the Jewish works. Let’s stay in the realm of provable and good, as in these laws are good for a good reason, and not because God said they were good. With that said, I imagine a cranky group of old men dressed in black sitting in a small room and deciding what is best for woman. Even if we assume that God wrote the Torah, it has been interpreted by rabbis, and by rabbis, I’m again speaking of male rabbis. Why weren’t woman involved in this?”

“Women are inherently closer to God,” Randy says, “and don’t necessarily need the study and prayer that men do to understand God.”

“Hogwash. That is a man’s excuse for excluding woman from important religious decisions, and keeping the woman barefoot and pregnant. But let’s move on. Let’s continue with the inherent goodness of these laws. What about the modesty laws? Why must Orthodox Jewish woman cover themselves from their heads to their toes?”

“They don’t cover themselves from head to toe. Their face shows.”

“We’ll get back to that after you set the groundwork,” I say, enjoying setting her up to be knocked down later.

“Fine. Woman cover their body out of modesty, and—and the idea here is similar to the prohibition on sexual relations during the two-week cycle—this rule again increases the sexual desire of the couple. Everything that you keep hidden makes it that much more exciting and special when it’s finally revealed. When you see bathing suit-clad woman, are you even attracted to them anymore? There’s nothing hidden.”

“I can assure you I am.”

“Anyway, the hiding is what makes it appealing. Think how much more appealing a woman is when you don’t see flesh all day every day.”

Walking down Wilson avenue,

Walking on the street. Crossing the next hilly road.

Sending Doolies a book.

Crossing the road that leads up to the driveway.

Getting to the Castle, checking the mail, turning off the alarm.

I consider myself rather eloquent when I work myself into a lather. Passion brings it out in me, the lather, that is. I can talk hours about something I’m passionate about, continuing to speak long after my overly developed conscience would normally have stopped me (one of my notable features is that I am very empathetic of what other people are thinking when I speak—i.e., I’m always watching the listeners for some sign of either boredom or contempt. This consideration usually takes the form of imagining me in the listener’s place and considering what I would be thinking if I were they. I know this is terribly inaccurate since I have a much lower threshold for pain (of the ennui-type) than most normal, well-adjusted people, but I cannot bring myself to end this practice, similar to how I still cannot watch the climax of most situational comedies, imagining me in the place of the confused stooge who is about to realize that he has completely misunderstood the situation, think Jack in any episode of “Three’s Company”). And the Jewish conversion process has me up in arms now. I thought I’d write a short essay to share some of my early understandings of it, explain the ins and outs of some of its particulars, and, in general, to peel things from my chest.

Journey every day. Something you see and deal with and have to like a habit get used to. Like my daily walks to and from the van. It’s a habit, and that’s what Orthodox Judaism demands of its converts. Conservative demands love, and love is an awfully important part. But Orthodox takes it the next step. They want you to follow the mitzvots, the Jewish laws, and the way you follow the laws is to do them every day. You don’t teach children to cross the street by explaining the concept of Safe Street crossing. Instead, every time you cross the street with them, you grab their hand, look both ways, and show them how it’s done, until they start emulating and eventually crossing the street as you do. It’s the same with Orthodox beliefs.

Little old man in the airport. What type of monster am I?