When Israel was in Egypt's land
Let My People Go
-Negro Spiritual
-Song for Pesach
I sang the spiritual "Let My People Go" as a choir member in a Protestant church. We sang a song about a faithful people who found freedom by trusting in G-d. In fact, many Negro spirituals were not about the plight of Black Americans or the Christian Bible. Instead, they depict stories from the Hebrew Bible. I always wondered about the connection between the plight of Black Americans and Jews.
During my childhood, my parents told me stories about the segregated South and how they were able to survive through the generosity of employers who did not desire to treat Blacks differently than Whites. My father's college education was financed by waiting tables at a private Jewish nightclub where a member made sure that he gave a tip large enough to guarantee that my father always had enough money to complete his tuition payments. A gentile guest was once ejected from the club because he refused to address my father as “waiter” or "sir" as the rules required. The manager would not tolerate an employee being called "boy."
My mother paid for her college tuition by working for a Jewish employer who complained about how difficult it was to make a profit in his business when his college workers resigned each September to resume school. Somehow, he always had the heart to hire my mother back to work for him. His best workers were paid more than what Black college graduates earned teaching school.
I was never exposed to synagogues as a child. I was baptized as a United Methodist and participated in most of the youth activities of a large church in Los Angeles. I was pleased that the United Methodist church seemed more tolerant of other religious groups than many other denominations.
Listening to my parents' memories of the South and singing Negro spirituals, I remained a faithful Christian, but I always felt that something was missing from my life. I wondered how G-d could make a promise with the Jews and then enter into another agreement with the Christians. I wondered why Black Americans never closely identified with a group of people who overcame so many obstacles similar to what Blacks experienced.
My first exposure to Judaism was in the Cub Scouts at age eight. My Den Mother, who was Jewish, taught us the dreidel song to perform during the annual Christmas program. I remember asking my parents why we didn't wish others, "Happy Hanukkah." My father's answer was, "because we're not Jewish." I went to a neighborhood store and wondered how the Jewish customers felt as a bell ringer from the Salvation Army continually wished them "Merry Christmas" without a concern for their non-Christianity.
During my high school years, I met a Rabbi for the first time. He was invited to speak at my church as part of a pulpit exchange. His sermon focused on racial and religious tolerance. I respected the fact that the Rabbi spoke in universal terms and did not attempt to force his religious views on others. I thought that Judaism must be very tolerant of other religions.
As part of a class project in the 12th grade, I surveyed school mates on how religion affected their lives. Since my high school was 80% Black, it did not surprise me that most of the respondents were devout Christians. A majority of the students were either Baptist or Methodist.
After I conducted the survey, I felt a bit disappointed that there was not a more diverse response. I thought about how I attended church each week, but was not certain of exactly how I felt about Christianity. I worried that the Christian religion did not seem to have a place for the Rabbi who spoke at my church or my Buddhist Asian friends who also attended my high school. Salvation, I thought, had to be available for all decent people, not just Christians. I would later conduct another survey while working for the campus newspaper at my college with similar results.
During summer vacation, I was exposed to Jewish law and anti-Semitism. While working during summer break, a Jewish coworker asked me to go out for pizza with him. He quickly ordered a mushroom and olive pizza without seeking my input. When I asked why he didn't order pepperoni and sausage, he explained that his religious beliefs precluded him from eating pork.
Later, I received unsolicited advice from two other coworkers not to trust him because he was Jewish. However, I continued to eat my pork-free pizzas with my Jewish friend and ignored the unsolicited advice of my other coworkers. I appreciated that my coworker made sacrifices for his religion and couldn’t understand the hatred of my other coworkers.
During my adult years, I worked with several Jewish coworkers at a local public television station. One Jewish coworker, of blessed memory, was an artist who had made his own humorous Christmas cards. He gave me one which, on the outside, featured Christmas carolers and stated, "This Christmas season, may you eat all of the traditional holiday foods..." When you opened the card, a Jewish family was sitting around a table eating "traditional holiday foods" not normally associated with Christmas: gefilte fish, matzo ball soup and latkes. I laughed and thought that this would be a great card to give to the Salvation Army bell ringer!
A major turning point for me was when my minister was a guest on a local talk show which featured a Catholic priest, a Protestant minister, and a Rabbi. It was hosted by Dennis Prager. My minister advocated unconditional love and taught that the death penalty was immoral. He proudly declared on the program that he was a pacifist and did jail time instead of serving in the military. The rabbi asked him if he would have fought in World War II. He answered, "No". The rabbi then told him that his position was immoral because he would not have taken steps to stop the murder of seven million Jews. I later questioned the concept of unconditional love. The Nazis did not deserve love. They deserved justice. The rabbi's challenge caused me to change my view on the death penalty. The Christian concept of turning the other cheek was one that I could no longer embrace.
On the news, I learned about a congressman who was on a mission to feed starving Ethiopian children and died in a tragic plane crash. I was impressed that this man dedicated his life to feeding starving children. This man was Mickey Leland, of blessed memory.
I read in Congressman Leland's obituary that although he was a Christian, he frequently read a Jewish text called the Talmud. He often quoted the phrase, "He who saves but one life has saved the world entire." I quickly visited the bookstore to learn about this book which inspired Congressman Leland to do such beautiful things. I purchased my first Jewish book, a commentary on the Talmud.
On several occasions, a Jewish friend of mine invited my family to attend an annual Hanukkah presentation at his synagogue. When we visited, I always felt relaxed. I thought of Judaism as a religion that allowed one to enjoy life. I remembered the dreidel song from my childhood and sang along. I also purchased more books on Judaism.
I continued to listen to my radio talk show which featured different clergy members each week. After listening to a show, I usually felt that the Rabbi had the best responses to the questions. I then began to "church hop." I went from church to church, trying to find the church which offered the best theology. By the middle of each service, I would feel uneasy. Each time there was something missing, but I couldn’t quite identify it. By this point, I was married to a Catholic woman and had two children. My family deserved to have a husband and father who was rooted in his religion.
I received a catalogue from the University of Judaism by mail and read it from cover to cover. I longed to learn Hebrew so that I could read the Bible as it was written and not listen to interpretations from others. I enrolled in a class in Genesis taught by Dennis Prager. We learned about Jacob struggling with G-d and obtaining the name, "Israel." I thought about my lifelong struggle and wondered if Judaism was the answer. One class was held in the campus sanctuary.
I looked around with a curiosity that I never felt before. At first, I was a bit nervous, but I didn’t know why. After awhile, I felt the warmth and comfort of feeling that I belonged there. I didn’t want the class to end because I felt that I was in a place where I should have been all along. I thought this is where I should be worshiping. My church-hopping days were over.
I later approached the Rabbi who taught the Introduction to Judaism class and told him of my thoughts of conversion. He was concerned that since my wife and children were Catholic, my conversion could cause marital conflict. I had a long heart-to-heart talk with my wife. My wife recognized that I would be a better husband and father as a content Jew as opposed to a husband still searching for a faith to call his own.
My next visit to a synagogue was on Rosh Hashanah. I'll never forget the sense of joy I felt while watching the Cantor during the Torah procession as he sang Ki Mitzyon Teytzey Torah, From out of Zion the Torah shall go forth. There was a sparkle in his eye as he carried the precious Torah scroll. I didn’t understand the Hebrew, but I felt that I was experiencing something sacred.
During the service, a young man sat in front of me and carelessly placed his prayer book on the floor. A feeble older man slowly carried a chair up the aisle, placed the chair next to the man, and placed the prayer book in the chair. The older man gently stated, "The word of G-d appears in this book. Be proud of G-d's word and hold it up high. Please don’t let G-d’s word touch the ground." I pictured myself in a Torah procession holding up the word of G-d. While discussing possible Hebrew names, the Rabbi mentioned that he found it interesting that many Black Americans named their children after persons in the Hebrew Bible. I smiled and replied that my grandfather, father, and uncles were named after persons in the Hebrew Bible.
I combined my given name with my grandfather’s given name so my chosen Hebrew name would be Michael Shmuel ben Avraham v’Sarah. Michael translates to he who is like G-d or as I prefer he who tries to be as G-d wants. Shmuel translates to he who G-d has heard. I truly feel that G-d heard me as I searched for a way to follow Him and helped me to embrace the Jewish religion.
After my conversion, I joined a local Reform synagogue and became a part of the choir. My first solo was the Negro Spiritual and Jewish Pesach song, "Let My People Go." I felt as though a broken link had been reconnected.
As a convert married to a Catholic, I recognize that I have responsibilities that most other Jews do not have. These are the responsibilities to my wife and children who are not Jewish. My Beit Den warned me that they would not want me to convert unless I had a commitment to being my children’s Santa Claus while reaffirming my own Jewish faith.
I take that commitment seriously and allow time to learn more about the Catholic faith so that I may be able to support my own family. Having attended Catholic services with my family, I found two things to be true. First, Judaism and Catholicism are two distinct faiths. Second, there is a distinct connection between many faiths based on our worship of one G-d and our desire to conduct ourselves in a manner which pleases G-d. Also, it’s possible to feel the presence of G-d in many different settings.
While I feel it’s important to attend synagogue services, I feel it’s also important to support my wife and kids in their Catholic faith. Because I am now grounded in a faith which meets my needs, I feel enjoyment in attending my wife’s church.
With both children having attended Catholic schools, I helped them in their religion homework and was also a guest speaker on the topic of Judaism at their school. I was able to balance the life of being a faithful Jew and yet be the “Santa Claus” to my children while they were growing up.
Since my conversion, I have visited Conservative, Reform, and Orthodox synagogues in a variety of communities from Texas to Los Angeles and I have never sensed that there are Jews who resent the presence of a Black person in their presence. My own Reform congregation elected me as Vice President of Religious Practices. If anything, my experience has been that White religious Jews are keenly aware of the horrors of racism and are passionate about promoting justice for minorities.
I sometimes ponder how I should refer to myself as a person who is both Black and Jewish. I tend not to use the term “Black Jew” because I feel the term sets one apart from the larger group. When I walk into a room full of Jews, I want to be acknowledged as a Jew and to be treated just as the other Jews in the room are treated. I can honestly say that I am given that respect in Jewish settings. After spending over 15 years as a Jew, I have enjoyed conducting Internet research about other Jews who are Black. At my synagogue, I met a former Christian minister who informed me that he longed to convert to Judaism but feared that he would not be accepted into the Jewish faith because he was Black. I then felt an obligation to him and others to share the fact that Judaism is open to any converts regardless of ethnic background. This led me to develop my own website (angelfire.com/ca/dorseydon). The goal of my website has been to inform potential converts that the faith of Judaism is available to them and to provide current Jews with information regarding diversity within the Jewish community.
Through my own site and other Internet sites such as Face book, I’ve met many persons of color who either were born Jewish or converted to Judaism. Over the years, I’ve learned of people of color who are Rabbis, Members of the Israel Knesset, actors, and presidents of Jewish congregations. I’ve concluded that Black people are a vital part of the Jewish community.
I feel that Judaism is a gift. It has allowed me to feel closer to G-d in ways I’ve never dreamed. I was able to celebrate my Bar Mitzvah and also attended an Orthodox service where I actually understood much of the Hebrew. I have found a new faith family that accepts me as a Jew and have no qualms about my Blackness or the fact that I was not born Jewish. My wife and children have accepted my faith and we enjoy engaging in discussions about the Bible and moral obligations. My struggles with G-d have led me to a very happy and satisfying place: a part of the people, Israel.
Copyright © 2012 Michael Hudson Sr.
Registered with the Writer’s Guild of America, West. WGAW # 1613942
