The Solo Process
By Mary Wojcik
One night in April of 2004, Melissa, a friend and colleague of mine at ABC News, asked me if I was going back to Rhode Island to celebrate Easter with my family. When I said “no,” she immediately invited me to her family’s Passover Seder. Not knowing anything about Passover, but knowing that food and family were somehow involved, I said “yes.” Little did I know that a night of matzo balls, brisket, storytelling, singing, family, tradition and love, would change my life forever.
Almost three years ago, I made the decision to convert to Judaism. No, I wasn’t getting married. And yes, as difficult as people said it was going to be, I was thrilled to embark on this solo journey. Given my background as a Polish National Catholic, the decision was surprisingly easy, for I never encountered anti-Semitism growing up within my small church in Woonsocket, Rhode Island. The journey, as thought-provoking and fascinating as it is, is much more difficult than my initial decision.
For 20 years at Our Savior’s Parish, a church on a hill overlooking the town, the church elders and young families created a warm, welcoming environment. Festivals and markets were commonplace. The polkas never stopped, Bobby Vinton was king, and the pierogi (dumplings) and golambki (stuffed cabbage) made for our special events were fattening and fabulous.
Old or young, every church member played a role. Mrs. “K” directed the choir during services and ran the kitchen staff during food workshops; Mr. Bator doubled as the custodian and as usher, helping people to their seats and collecting donations during services; and Jennie, Mrs. K’s confidante, knew every parishioner’s life story and was the wise one everyone sought for advice.
I was the church organist and soloist for ten years. Nothing gave me more joy than to practice Christmas and Easter songs in both English and Polish. The music sent chills up my spine as the traditional tunes resonated through the rafters.
Over the years, Mrs. K and Jennie died, families moved on, I relocated to New York to follow a career in journalism and eventually found my way to Judaism.
The conversion process isn’t for everyone as many people going solo lose interest. Momentum quickly fades. In-depth classes pertaining to culture and religion are required. Following along with the Hebrew services should be considered an Olympic event. And keeping a kosher diet – separating the dairy and meat products? I failed more times than I remember. I openly admit the process has been a struggle personally and professionally, but never for a single moment did I believe that this wasn’t for me.
For the past two years while I’ve attended graduate school, I’ve concentrated more on completing my journalism degree, so the conversion process has taken me longer than most. I continuously looked for ways, small and large, to keep myself connected in some way, shape or form to the community and culture.
I didn’t have to look hard in New York City to find inspiration. But then to truly understand the culture, people and religion, I found that I had to immerse myself within the most observant of the population. And by default, I did.
My first assigned journalism beat was Borough Park, Brooklyn. Walking into shops and food establishments, I slowly realized that Jewish food wasn’t that different from the Polish food I knew and loved. The Jewish version of chicken soup was less greasy than what I remember my relatives making. Matzo balls were added in addition to the noodles. Stuffed cabbage had more meat than rice, while the Polish version had more rice than meat. I ate kreplach straight up, like a pierogi, until one of my Jewish friends pointed out that I was supposed to put the dumplings in my chicken soup. Horseradish was served with gefilte fish, not a pork- filled kielbasa. And then I discovered Jewish babka – changing my dessert world for the better. It wasn’t until about a year later that I found out there was a Polish version, too.
Once I saw the ethnic food connections, I began to see other connections too. At my synagogue, I found a warm and welcoming community. Stanley, an older man, helps usher. For the past two years, I’ve volunteered to help pack mishloach manot, Purim gift bags, with some of the older community members. For the holidays, the cantor and rabbi lead some of the services with the choir and organ. I swear I knew the tunes in the Kol Nidre service before I even knew they existed.
I will never forget both of my identities after I convert. Yet, with all these connections, it makes the solo process much easier.
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