Preparations were well under way for our first Passover in Solon, Ohio. We decided to offer a model seder for members of the community as one of our educational programs. About a week before our model seder, I was approached by a woman while standing in a local supermarket.
"Excuse me, sir," the woman asked, "are you a rabbi?" When she learned that her guess was right, the woman, named Connie, told me she was studying the Book of Exodus at her church in Hudson. She was very interested in seeing how the Jews (she used the term "Chosen People") celebrate and commemorate the Exodus.
I told her she would be welcome to attend a model seder at the Chabad Jewish Center of Solon a few days before Passover. She said she would try to come. That Saturday night, when the model seder was about to begin, Connie walked in together with Pam, a friend from her Bible class.
The evening began with a Havdala service, marking the end of the Sabbath, and I was surprised to see that Pam seemed vaguely familiar with the service. During the seder, Pam made educated comments about various traditions. She knew why matza was eaten, the significance of the bitter herbs, and even seemed to recognize the sweet taste of charoset.
I wondered about such a traditional Christian woman being so informed about Judaism. When we took a break for the "Shulchan Aruch Meal" where we served Passover refreshments, she asked me, "What is your background, Rabbi?" I explained to her that I grew up in Israel but my parents had immigrated from Russia when I was an infant.
"Oh, my parents are also from the Soviet Union," the 40-year-old woman said. "From Russia?" I wondered aloud. "Yes," she replied. "And actually, they were Jewish too!" Seeing my surprised look, Pam explained that she had grown up in Los Angeles, with Jewish parents but a very limited Jewish education or participation. She recalled attending services periodically for Shabbat and holidays.
As a teenager, her strong urge for spirituality was not satisfied by her local rabbi. Through friends, she got involved in a nearby church, and before long she decided to convert to Christianity. "This is the first Jewish event that I attended for the last 20 years," she said.
Now it was my turn to surprise her. "According to Jewish law, you are still Jewish," I told her. "Once a Jew, always a Jew. All the conversions in the world cannot take away one's Jewish soul." Much of the rest of the evening was spent discussing Jewish philosophy with Pam and other participants. As the hour grew later, we decided to proceed with the seder. Upon reaching the last part of the seder and the afikoman, Pam was moved to tears.
Before Pam left I asked her if she would like to be put on our mailing list, and she said yes. Six months passed. It was Yom Kippur eve. The room was full of solemn worshippers as the first prayer of the holiest day of the year, Kol Nidre, was about to begin. I noticed a woman whom I vaguely recognized walk through the door. It was Pam. After the services, Pam apologized for not telling us that she was coming. She had been tossing the idea of attending services back and forth for weeks. At the last
