Conversion witness discovers link between two Sarahs

The rabbi had never heard so much giggling coming from the mikvah.

It's true. Serena giggled in between dunks. Anyone who knows Serena Shaw would agree that her laugh is contagious, so of course, I couldn't help but giggle along with her. Even though as her witness, it was my sacred duty to ensure she was fully submerged.

In retrospect, it was more holy than amusing. Because on that June morning at Beth Jacob Congregation in Oakland, at a time when I was experiencing deep sadness myself, I was able to experience the joy of witnessing the birth of my friend Serena as a Jew.

Of course beforehand, she had shared with me her journey to Judaism. Her father is Irish Protestant and grew up active in the church. He abandoned his faith while in his 20s. Her mother was raised in the Bay Area, attending an Episcopal church. She, too, stopped going once she became old enough.

In an essay Serena had to write for the three rabbis who made up the rabbinical court, or beit din, she said: "Our parents raised us three girls without any sense of God or spirit or soul. We were raised to be good people, to try to leave things better than we found them, to be considerate of others, but without a sense of a power higher than humans."

Growing up, Serena felt something missing. She noticed her Jewish friends' families having traditions and holidays that required them to observe certain rituals in the home. She wondered why her family didn't. And she always felt a certain affinity toward her Jewish friends. She noticed that when they all began preparing for their b'not mitzvah, she felt she had nothing to prepare for.

When Serena was in her 20s, she began dabbling in different religions. With some denominations she felt more comfortable than others. But she felt most at home with Judaism. Then, in 1996, Serena decided to attend High Holy Days services at Congregation Emanu-El. It was there that she felt a sense of "finally," even though at that time, she still knew very little.

By the end of High Holy Days that year though, she decided to become a Jew.

But who to study with? In investigating, Serena quickly ruled out an Orthodox conversion. She attended a lot of different services during this time, Reform, Conservative and Renewal. After attending Congregation Netivot Shalom in Berkeley, she decided she would like to study with its spiritual leader, Rabbi Stuart Kelman. He accepted her as a student before Passover 2000.

Labor Day weekend, almost a year ago, Serena and I went on a walk. We talked about her progress, and knowing she would need a witness, I asked who it would be. While I had known people who converted over the years, I never had a close friend who did. When I said it would be such an honor, she immediately said yes.

In the months leading up to Serena's conversion, I joked that I was almost as excited about it as she was. Once, when I had to speak to Kelman for something work-related, I told him I was going to be Serena's witness. "So when is she going to be ready?" I asked him. He gave me the same cryptic answer he had been giving her. "She'll be ready when she's ready." We had no idea when that was.

In mid-May, Kelman hinted that it was almost time. "We have to finish you up," he told her. Since the time I'd asked to be her witness in August 2001, my own life had taken a dramatic turn; my mother had been diagnosed with terminal cancer. Just as Serena was preparing for a major life transition, so was I. By mid-May, though I didn't know it yet, my mother was in the last two weeks of her life. She passed away May 25.

Serena called me in New York on June 6. I was to return home the next day; my mother was buried in New Jersey. Serena had just left Kelman's office and called from the car.

"Alix, what are you doing June 21?"

It was a Friday morning. I couldn't think of anything, besides work.

Finally, she was ready, and I was the first person she called.

Throughout this process, I informally became one of Serena's teachers. I say informally, because she later pointed out the things I taught her, without even realizing I was doing it. And they were the kinds of things she didn't get from the rabbi. I taught her the meaning of shanda (disgrace), one of my favorite Yiddish words.

And then there was that crucial e-mail exchange that took place the day before her conversion.

"Serena, tomorrow at this time, you'll be an MOT!"

"Mother of Torah?" she wrote back. "A modern Orthodox teacher?"

"Serena, there are so many things you need to know!" I responded. "MOT is 'member of the tribe,' a slangy way to describe what you will be in less than 24 hours!"

Armed with this knowledge, she not only had the rabbi's approval to become Jewish, she had mine.

The next morning, I met Serena and her mom, Roberta, along with Kelman and the other two rabbis who made up the beit din at Beth Jacob Congregation in Oakland. Two other women were converting that morning as well.

First Serena had to go, alone, in front of the beit din. Among the things she was asked was how she felt about the increased climate of anti-Semitism.

Then, it was off to the mikvah. With her mom and Kelman outside the room, and the door opened a crack, Serena undressed and descended into the small pool.

Kelman instructed her to take her first dunk. She did, and then came up and said the blessing, which ends with the words vitzivanu tevilah, sanctifying the immersion.

Then after a second immersion, she said the Shehechiyanu, to thank God for allowing her to reach this moment. One last time, and she could get out.

After she got dressed, Kelman led her to the Torah, which she held for the first time.

She recited the Sh'ma and Ve'ahavta, and the rabbi blessed her with the Hebrew name she chose, Sarah Rena. He also said that he hoped the Torah and being Jewish would bring her as much joy as she seemed to be having at that moment, since her giggling hadn't stopped since leaving the mikvah.

That was it. She signed her name to a certificate, and at 33 years old, Serena officially became a MOT.

"I don't look to Judaism to explain reality to me," wrote Serena. "I choose Judaism because it helps me deal with this living on Earth. I have a spiritual practice that allows me to feel a connecting with God, or at least with my own inner peace, but what I didn't feel before Judaism was a grounding to this world, or enough of a sense of meaning or purpose for being here."

We held a Shabbat dinner that night at my house in her honor. Three weeks later, she was called to the Torah for the first time at Shabbat morning services at Congregation Netivot Shalom. She sang the blessing as if she had been doing it all her life. After she was done, Kelman welcomed her into the community of Israel, and everyone sang "Siman Tov, Mazel Tov." A woman approached her afterward, saying, "I thought you were Jewish all this time!"

The next day, Serena threw herself a party to celebrate Judaism. Her parents were among the entertainment, and her mom played guitar and sang a song in Hebrew she learned from an Israeli while living at the International House more than 40 years ago.

"The rabbi said yesterday that Serena is the daughter of Abraham and Sarah," her mother said, by way of introduction. "But really, she's the daughter of Roberta and Frederick."

After the entertainment, "Mixtress" Yehudit played her ethnic tribal dance music, and we danced in celebration.

I could never have known that Serena's conversion would take place so soon after I lost my mother. It was still within the 30-day mourning period, in fact.

Serena chose Sarah Rena because it sounded like her name, and because Rena means "joy." Sarah was also my mother's name.

When I embarked on this journey with Serena, I couldn't have known how large of a role my community -- of which Serena is a part -- would play in bearing witness to my own transition, that of losing my mother. That I could participate in such a life-affirming ritual during this time allowed me to fully experience life's continuum in a profoundly personal way.

And I certainly couldn't have known that as I was mourning the community of Israel losing one remarkable Sarah, I would be witnessing it gain another.