{"id":12451,"date":"2009-02-12T20:09:25","date_gmt":"2009-02-12T20:09:25","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/production.ou.org\/life\/other\/hausman_leaving_the_church_and_cynthia_behind\/"},"modified":"2015-10-30T03:59:33","modified_gmt":"2015-10-30T08:59:33","slug":"hausman_leaving_the_church_and_cynthia_behind","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/inspiration\/hausman_leaving_the_church_and_cynthia_behind\/","title":{"rendered":"Leaving the Church, and Cynthia, Behind"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"image\"<\/div>\n

One of my conversion rabbis, Haskel Lookstein, recently made headlines for walking into a church. The timing strikes me as a little crazy because I can\u2019t stop thinking about a certain question I asked my other conversion rabbi, Elie Weinstock, and the ramifications of the answer he gave me. When I was converting to Judaism, I asked Rabbi Weinstock if I could walk into a church again. I wasn\u2019t planning on returning for services but I had my sights set on visiting the Sistine Chapel someday. It was also an answer that bothered many of my Christian friends, particularly my friend, Cynthia.<\/p>\n

Cynthia was a first-generation Italian-American Catholic, the kind of hardcore Catholic that went to church on other days besides Sunday. She was the big sister I had always wanted. She went with me to look at apartments in college so I wouldn\u2019t fall prey to strange roommates or swindling realtors. And it was Cynthia who gave me $800 once as a Christmas present because I wanted to visit my father in the Dominican Republic, who I hadn\u2019t seen in nearly ten years. Cynthia told me the experience would change my life and my relationship with my father forever. She was right, of course, like big sisters often are.<\/p>\n

I loved Cynthia. I saw a bit of myself in her. I wanted to be as generous as she always was. I wanted to be as good a person as Cynthia was. She was faithful. She attended church often, even helped in the rectory, I think. Unlike most of my friends, Cynthia refused to have sex before marriage. I looked up to her, even though we were both about 5\u20193.\u201d<\/p>\n

Like all good Catholic girls, Cynthia wanted to get married in a big Roman Catholic Church. I didn\u2019t. But I wasn\u2019t a good Catholic girl. I\u2019d dreamt of being married in a synagogue without ever having set foot in one. I\u2019d hungered to be Jewish before I\u2019d even known what Jewish was. At eight years old, in Sunday school, I had quickly learned that I saw G-d differently than other Catholics did. The idea of Jesus confused me but the story of Moses drew me in. I didn\u2019t know that one story came from the New Testament and the other came from the Torah. I just made it a point to watch \u201cThe Ten Commandments\u201d religiously every Easter and I gritted my teeth through church.<\/p>\n

But would I go back to church to see her get married, Cynthia wanted to know. So even though the idea of setting foot in a church again made me uncomfortable, I asked my rabbi about it. He spouted off phrases like \u201cfunctioning churches\u201d and \u201cthe pain and suffering the church has caused the Jewish people.\u201d He spoke of idols like the big crosses that had always made me cringe. The answer, basically, was \u201cno.\u201d I took that to include attending the wedding ceremonies of my family and friends, even Cynthia. And secretly, I was glad. Now that I had found my place in the world, I didn\u2019t want to look back. The church was my past, Judaism was my present and future.<\/p>\n

But telling Cynthia I wouldn\u2019t attend her big church wedding, even one that was very much imaginary at the time, was another thing. Cynthia had been incredibly supportive of my conversion. She had asked me only gentle questions about it. She had told me that if I really believed in what I was doing, it was the right thing for me. There were never any recriminations from Cynthia\u2014none of the unreturned phone calls there had been from other Christian friends after the confession: \u201cI\u2019m converting to Judaism.\u201d Cynthia still returned my calls and she never asked why I didn\u2019t, couldn\u2019t, believe in Jesus. Our friendship soared high above our religious differences.<\/p>\n

Then I told Cynthia I would never set foot in a \u201cfunctioning\u201d church again. I uttered the words in a calm, soothing voice, the kind you\u2019d use with a child, not a nearly thirty-year-old woman. She didn\u2019t understand. Her voice was shrill, high and taut with tension.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou won\u2019t come to my wedding?\u201d Cynthia asked. \u201cBut why?\u201d<\/p>\n

I tried to explain, the words like peanut butter stuck to the roof of my mouth, I couldn’t get them out right, I stumbled over them. My sister later told me I should have said, \u201cThis is one of the things my new religion asks of me and I can’t turn my back on it.\u201d I don’t think that would have ameliorated Cynthia\u2019s hurt. She said at church that they always prayed for the Jewish people. She couldn’t understand why my religion asked me to never walk into a church, not even for one-time events and I couldn’t understand why it wasn\u2019t enough that I would attend the reception I couldn’t eat at\u2026if it wasn’t in a church.<\/p>\n

I remember the fear that enveloped my chest like fingers with long nails piercing and squeezing my heart. I was afraid that if I hung up on Cynthia, I would never hear from her again. On the phone, I emailed my rabbi, hoping that there was some other way he could say “this church thing” in a way that wouldn\u2019t hurt Cynthia. I remember signing onto a Jewish website and reading the answer to some question like \u201cWhy can\u2019t Jews go to church?\u201d and then reading the answer aloud to Cynthia in a shaky voice, bereft of soothing tones, a voice that cracked with fear.<\/p>\n

I remember thinking that Cynthia wasn\u2019t listening. I pictured her as a child, crying in the corner, her ears covered up with her hands. There were no words that would make it better. Our friendship was being tested and I would soon learn whether or not our religious differences could really separate us. She told me again and again that she would go to my hypothetical wedding in a synagogue and that it injured her that I wouldn\u2019t be there for her wedding. It felt like we were playing tennis, volleying the same ball, the same words, back at each other over and over again. The conversation lasted hours but we weren\u2019t getting anywhere. There was no place to go.<\/p>\n

In the happy ending of this story, we would have both swallowed our pain to maintain our friendship and \u201cthat church thing\u201d would have become the elephant always in the room with us. We would have never spoken of it again. We would have glanced at each other more warily until we finally came to trust each other again. Maybe I would have given in and said, \u201cFor you, I\u2019ll set foot in a church again, but only for you.\u201d But I didn\u2019t say it. When we finally hung up the phone, I trembled slightly, trying to battle against the fear that threatened to unhinge me. We would move past this, I told myself. But there was doubt. I counted on my fingers the body count left over from my decision to convert, the friends I had offended, insulted and hurt, the number felt high. Too high. I tried to reassure myself that those had been lesser friendships, not true friendships like the one Cynthia and I shared.<\/p>\n

I emailed Cynthia. I apologized profusely for causing her pain. I told her how much I loved her and I detailed how much she meant to me. I left messages with her mother and father, who fondly remembered feeding me, and I listened deeply for signs in their voices that might help me gauge whether Cynthia was ignoring my calls. They said she just wasn\u2019t home. Eventually, I stopped bothering them. She never called. She never wrote. I never heard from Cynthia again. She never made it to my big synagogue wedding; I never found out if I would have caved for her big church wedding.<\/p>\n

Three years later, when my in-laws took me and my husband to Rome for a big family vacation, I knew the first place I wanted to go. It was the only exception I had been willing to make early in my conversion. I had always known that if someday it were possible, I would go to the Sistine Chapel and stand below Michelangelo\u2019s rendition of Adam and G-d. I tried not to think of Cynthia when I finally stood under the ceiling and I told myself that the Sistine Chapel was not a functioning church.<\/p>\n

The next step on the tour, though, was St. Peter\u2019s Basilica. Its claim to fame according to my guidebook was a statue of St. Peter and the Virgin Mary, the 1972 story of the man who yelled \u201cI am Jesus Christ!\u201d before smashing the Virgin\u2019s nose and fingers on the statue, and an infamous crypt. The Basilica also held relics that included St. Veronica\u2019s handkerchief bearing Christ\u2019s face and finally, \u201ca fragment of the True Cross.\u201d There was no way I was setting foot in that church. Instead, I sat in front on the steps while my family filed in to \u201clook at the art.\u201d I eyed a mass schedule that told me the Basilica was very much a functioning church and I could think of nothing but Cynthia.<\/p>\n

When my husband and his family exited the church, my husband looked stunned. Everyone, including the Jewish tour guide, had gotten caught up in the middle of Mass. They\u2019d had to sit through parts of the service before they were allowed to leave. My husband was sheepish but I felt ever more certain of my convictions to sit out that part of the tour. Cynthia had been too great a loss. Walking into St. Peter\u2019s Basilica would have felt like a desecration of my long lost friendship with Cynthia and the oath I had taken before her.<\/p>\n

As we left St. Peter\u2019s Basilica, I looked back once. I was looking back on my past as a Catholic; I was looking back at it as the wife of a future rabbi. I was looking back at Cynthia, too, feeling my heart clench just as painfully as the last day we had spoken to each other. And then finally, I turned, looked ahead and put one foot in front of the other. I knew there was no going back.<\/p>\n

\n

Aliza Hausman<\/b> a Latina Orthodox Jewish convert, freelance writer, blogger and educator. Currently working on a memoir, she lives in New York with her husband who is pursuing rabbinical ordination.<\/i><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

One of my conversion rabbis, Haskel Lookstein, recently made headlines for walking into a church. The timing strikes me as a little crazy because I can\u2019t stop thinking about a certain question I asked my other conversion rabbi, Elie Weinstock, and the ramifications of the answer he gave me. When I was converting to Judaism,<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":278,"featured_media":45084,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_cloudinary_featured_overwrite":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[85],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-12451","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-inspiration"],"yoast_head":"\nLeaving the Church, and Cynthia, Behind<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"At eight years old, in Sunday school, I had quickly learned that I saw G-d differently than other Catholics did. Jesus confused me, Moses drew me in\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/inspiration\/hausman_leaving_the_church_and_cynthia_behind\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Leaving the Church, and Cynthia, Behind\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"At eight years old, in Sunday school, I had quickly learned that I saw G-d differently than other Catholics did. Jesus confused me, Moses drew me in\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/inspiration\/hausman_leaving_the_church_and_cynthia_behind\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"OU Life\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2009-02-12T20:09:25+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2015-10-30T08:59:33+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/files\/Synagogue-Doors.jpg\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"427\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"640\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/jpeg\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Aliza Hausman\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Written by\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"Aliza Hausman\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"9 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/inspiration\/hausman_leaving_the_church_and_cynthia_behind\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/inspiration\/hausman_leaving_the_church_and_cynthia_behind\/\",\"name\":\"Leaving the Church, and Cynthia, Behind\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/#website\"},\"primaryImageOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/inspiration\/hausman_leaving_the_church_and_cynthia_behind\/#primaryimage\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/inspiration\/hausman_leaving_the_church_and_cynthia_behind\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/files\/Synagogue-Doors.jpg\",\"datePublished\":\"2009-02-12T20:09:25+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2015-10-30T08:59:33+00:00\",\"author\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/#\/schema\/person\/3650a3a45fbad569f6eda571fdf696e2\"},\"description\":\"At eight years old, in Sunday school, I had quickly learned that I saw G-d differently than other Catholics did. Jesus confused me, Moses drew me in\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/inspiration\/hausman_leaving_the_church_and_cynthia_behind\/\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/inspiration\/hausman_leaving_the_church_and_cynthia_behind\/#primaryimage\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/files\/Synagogue-Doors.jpg\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/files\/Synagogue-Doors.jpg\",\"width\":427,\"height\":640,\"caption\":\"Synagogue Doors\"},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/\",\"name\":\"OU Life\",\"description\":\"Everyday Jewish Living\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":{\"@type\":\"PropertyValueSpecification\",\"valueRequired\":true,\"valueName\":\"search_term_string\"}}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/#\/schema\/person\/3650a3a45fbad569f6eda571fdf696e2\",\"name\":\"Aliza Hausman\",\"image\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/73038dafd00ac26c68e3cb275f0e3dfe9a5664ea706a274b0a8be1983b93e888?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/73038dafd00ac26c68e3cb275f0e3dfe9a5664ea706a274b0a8be1983b93e888?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"caption\":\"Aliza Hausman\"},\"description\":\"Aliza Hausman is a Latina Orthodox Jewish convert, freelance writer, blogger and speaker. Currently working on a memoir, she lives in New York with her husband. Visit her blog at http:\/\/www.alizahausman.net\/.\",\"sameAs\":[\"http:\/\/www.alizahausman.net\/\"],\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/author\/aliza_hausmanou-org\/\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"Leaving the Church, and Cynthia, Behind","description":"At eight years old, in Sunday school, I had quickly learned that I saw G-d differently than other Catholics did. Jesus confused me, Moses drew me in","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/inspiration\/hausman_leaving_the_church_and_cynthia_behind\/","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"Leaving the Church, and Cynthia, Behind","og_description":"At eight years old, in Sunday school, I had quickly learned that I saw G-d differently than other Catholics did. Jesus confused me, Moses drew me in","og_url":"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/inspiration\/hausman_leaving_the_church_and_cynthia_behind\/","og_site_name":"OU Life","article_published_time":"2009-02-12T20:09:25+00:00","article_modified_time":"2015-10-30T08:59:33+00:00","og_image":[{"width":427,"height":640,"url":"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/files\/Synagogue-Doors.jpg","type":"image\/jpeg"}],"author":"Aliza Hausman","twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_misc":{"Written by":"Aliza Hausman","Est. reading time":"9 minutes"},"schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/inspiration\/hausman_leaving_the_church_and_cynthia_behind\/","url":"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/inspiration\/hausman_leaving_the_church_and_cynthia_behind\/","name":"Leaving the Church, and Cynthia, Behind","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/#website"},"primaryImageOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/inspiration\/hausman_leaving_the_church_and_cynthia_behind\/#primaryimage"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/inspiration\/hausman_leaving_the_church_and_cynthia_behind\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/files\/Synagogue-Doors.jpg","datePublished":"2009-02-12T20:09:25+00:00","dateModified":"2015-10-30T08:59:33+00:00","author":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/#\/schema\/person\/3650a3a45fbad569f6eda571fdf696e2"},"description":"At eight years old, in Sunday school, I had quickly learned that I saw G-d differently than other Catholics did. Jesus confused me, Moses drew me in","inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/inspiration\/hausman_leaving_the_church_and_cynthia_behind\/"]}]},{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/inspiration\/hausman_leaving_the_church_and_cynthia_behind\/#primaryimage","url":"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/files\/Synagogue-Doors.jpg","contentUrl":"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/files\/Synagogue-Doors.jpg","width":427,"height":640,"caption":"Synagogue Doors"},{"@type":"WebSite","@id":"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/#website","url":"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/","name":"OU Life","description":"Everyday Jewish Living","potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":{"@type":"PropertyValueSpecification","valueRequired":true,"valueName":"search_term_string"}}],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"Person","@id":"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/#\/schema\/person\/3650a3a45fbad569f6eda571fdf696e2","name":"Aliza Hausman","image":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/","url":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/73038dafd00ac26c68e3cb275f0e3dfe9a5664ea706a274b0a8be1983b93e888?s=96&d=mm&r=g","contentUrl":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/73038dafd00ac26c68e3cb275f0e3dfe9a5664ea706a274b0a8be1983b93e888?s=96&d=mm&r=g","caption":"Aliza Hausman"},"description":"Aliza Hausman is a Latina Orthodox Jewish convert, freelance writer, blogger and speaker. Currently working on a memoir, she lives in New York with her husband. Visit her blog at http:\/\/www.alizahausman.net\/.","sameAs":["http:\/\/www.alizahausman.net\/"],"url":"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/author\/aliza_hausmanou-org\/"}]}},"acf":[],"brizy_media":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12451","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/278"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=12451"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12451\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":50772,"href":"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12451\/revisions\/50772"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/45084"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=12451"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=12451"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=12451"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}