Ditching the Double Life.

For a long time, I didn't want to friend my mom and stepdad on Facebook. Although I loved them dearly, it seemed so weird for me to throw them in the mix with all my friends, colleagues, and guys I was dating. I told them about my life, but allowing them full access to the virtual version of it seemed a bit too far. And then one day I realized that there was actually nothing on my page that I wouldn't want them to see, and if there was, what would it say about my life?
I think many people feel that becoming religious, AKA letting G-d into every area of their life, will mean having to become a totally different person. And that perception isn't coming out of a vacuum—I'm aware of the religious communities who do expect you to fit into a tidy little box, trust me. My first Rabbi wanted me to move into his Jewish community within a month of our first meeting (in May) and said that I could be converted by the end of the summer if I was doing well. Going from 0 to 613 in 3 months or less would have been trying on a persona, not actual growth, and I'm quite sure I would have slipped out of it at some point, just as easily as I stepped in.
This is why I stress finding the right community and Rabbi and finding your own golden mean in observance (shout out to the Rambam). Being close to G-d doesn't require you to put on a uniform and act like everyone else. You are a unique creation, with a one-of-a-kind mission. Should you choose to accept it, you have the challenge of figuring out how to sanctify every part of your distinctive life, not discarding it completely. Here's an example: Before I made the decision to convert, a huge part of my life was going out every weekend. There's a saying: "If you don't stand for something, you'll fall for anything." And it's true—without any other context, I simply went along with the clubbing experience like everyone else. I wore too little, drank too much, took a lot of pictures, and reconvened with friends over brunch the next morning to collectively try to remember what had happened. Real meaningful life, huh?
So, the easy and obvious solution for a lot of religious folks would have been to ditch the clubs completely. There were two reasons I chose not to: First, I had experienced G-d in the club. (He was at a table, natch.) After a month of mitzvot and studying, I knew I wanted to become a Jew, but had no idea where to begin. So I went along with my normal life, and that included attending a friend's birthday in a club, where—long story short—a BT friend of a friend landed in my lap and helped me not only kick off my journey, but became a dear friend who wasn't afraid to challenge me along the way. Suffice it to say I would be nowhere near where I am today without him.
The second reason is that for the first time in my life, I was exposed to the idea that the physical and the spiritual don't have to be at odds with one another. Given the fact that my friends were then all either non-Jewish or non-religious, I wanted to see if I could infuse my social life with G-dliness before I presumed the two were irreconcilable. It took a little time and a lot of explanation—one friend tried his best to argue why a boat party on a Saturday afternoon wasn't work. But now my friends know what I can and cannot drink, that I'll only go out on Saturday nights, and best of all, they know they can ask me all kinds of questions about my Jewish beliefs (and boy do they ever).
And that leads me to why I really love going out now. In line with Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks' argument that religious observance helps us to cultivate our altruistic tendencies over our egoistic ones, a club is no longer a place where I go to feel hot and get my ego stroked. It's just another opportunity to bring light into the world. I understand this may sound crazy to some, but I can't tell you how many times I've met people who poured their heart out to me upon finding out that I'm religious. Sometimes that conversation begins with me declining champagne; others it's from the innocent question, "What did you do today?" I've had the privilege of clarifying common misconceptions about Judaism. You see, most people in those places aren't G-dless hedonists; like me just a few short years ago, they simply haven't had the opportunity to look at life differently. Maybe they think that all religious people are judgmental jerks who would look down at their lifestyle, and perhaps meeting me can change their mind a little.
Above all, my thinking is this: If I feel the need to exclude G-d from certain parts of my life, then what does that say about my life? And if I believe I can only act Jewishly around other religious Jews, then what does that say about my Judaism? Maybe it's time to consider that the places that may seem the darkest, are the ones that need our light most of all.
cbg