A ritual circumcision was done to symbolize Abraham’s Covenant. As the rabbis watched, a drop of blood was drawn. This ancient ritual connected me to thousands of years of Judaism. I thought of Ruth, the first Jewish convert. I thought of my great-grandfather who was forced to renounce his Judaism. One rabbi told me that converts were God’s way of replenishing the lost Jewish souls of The Holocaust. Another rabbi told me that if you save one life you save the world. I felt like I was saving future Jews as I brought Judaism back to my family.

Finally, I dunked myself in the mikvah three times and said the bracha.

Baruch Ata Adonoy Eloheinu Melech Ha Olam Asher Kidishanu B’Mitzvotav Vitzivanu Al Ha T’Veelah.

While I was underwater, I cherished the silent moment. All the struggles, all the adversity, all the questioning of my Jewishness only prepared me for life as a Jew. I knew that now I would not only be judged by Jews, but non-Jews as well. As I came to the surface and saw the faces of three bearded men, I finally said to myself, “No one can take away my Jewishness. I am a Jew.”

They gave me loud hearty “Mazel Tovs” and handshakes. I chose the name Akiva Micah Ben Avraham Aveinu. I signed the conversion document and walked out of the unfamiliar shul to my car. The three rabbis got in their cars and drove away, leaving me to process what just happened. I was standing in a strange parking lot, in a strange town, and, yet, after 34 years of living, I, for the first time, finally felt like I was home.