I never experienced an epiphany. It was an evolution that had nothing to do with bagels or Borscht Belt humor. I was born to a Catholic mother and an anticleric father. I have rarely informed anyone that I am a convert. I construct a fantasy of a Maranno parentage and a series of quiet discoveries.

My wife takes me to shul. I’m into it. I’m sure the Rabbi is talking to me (no taxi driver uncertainty). He tells me to read—Wouk’s This is My God, etc. The Hebrew gets clearer. The ritual is for me. The Torah cognitively consumes me and makes me feel inadequate and dull and compels me to try again. Walking at night in Jerusalem calms me. I’m beginning to sense the poetry of Shabbat, Shema, Seder, Shalom, Siddur-and try to understand what others mean by ha-Shem.

I go to adult bar/bat mitzvah class with my wife. I’m a good student. The event approaches. And finally the Rabbi says that a non-Jew cannot be bar mitzvahed. But I already am a Jew and have been for a long time. The geyrut is not a change and is anticlimatic. My chosen Hebrew name (Boaz) continues the poetry.