I wanted to see what would happen if I shared my past with one of the friendly, popular girls in camp
Idiscovered something interesting in camp. I learned all about “in-towners” and “out-of-towners.” But both groups considered me “different.”
Because of my quality upbringing, several years of homeschooling, coupled with the fact that my parents had never allowed a television in our house (as I mentioned, this was before we became religious; they believed that TV “makes kids dumb”), I was a rather sheltered young teen. I wasn’t familiar with references to outside culture, didn’t know movies and characters, and didn’t know any non-Jewish music. I was so sheltered, that in many ways, I related more to many of the “in-towners,” who had also grown up without those things. But culturally, I connected much more with “out-of-towners” and shared their opinions, thoughts, and feelings on many topics. Ironically, the fact that I didn’t share many of their experiences led them to mark me as “sheltered” and “yeshivish.” It was a weird place to be. I didn’t feel like I fit it anywhere.
I was trying to join a culture that would never accept me — even if I wore shirts with alligators and had side bangs. There seemed to be very rigid lines deciding who fits in and where.
When I’d first started in Bais Yaakov, I was calm and confident in my status as a convert. Not only that, but I knew that the Torah demands that geirim be treated with the utmost respect. It didn’t occur to me that frum Jews wouldn’t observe this halachah carefully. After the incident with my favorite teacher, which I wrote about earlier, it hit me that not all religious people thought that being a convert was so great. When I realized that, I closed up. Instead of confidently and proudly sharing my status as a giyores, I stopped sharing. I stopped telling people that I wasn’t born Jewish.
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