He'd grown up in an Orthodox family, and his parents, my future in-laws, were devastated that he was marrying a nonJew; under religious law, a child is born a Jew only if the mother is Jewish, so any kids we had would not technically be Jewish, either. An Orthodox rabbi pleaded with my fiancé one night not to marry me, then vomited all over the sidewalk possibly from too much alcohol, but the point was vividly made. I remember feeling elated to realize that I could solve the problem by converting. It turned out not to be so simple. For decades, through our marriage and divorce and my subsequent remarriage, I lived like a Jew without becoming one. At home, my family lit candles and said blessings on Shabbat. I shook a lulav and etrog on Sukkot, taught my children when to make noise during the Megillah reading on Purim, and learned enough Hebrew to read and sing at the Passover Seder. It wasn't until a Yom Kippur sermon last year-and, two weeks later, the events of October 7ththat I decided to finally follow through.