3 Jewish Converts React to Nobody Wants This

In late September, the ten-episode rom-com Nobody Wants This premiered on Netflix, telling the story of a winsome Los Angeles romance between a cynical sex-podcaster, Joanne (Kristen Bell), and Noah (Adam Brody), a hot young rabbi she meets at a dinner party. Despite the disapproval of their relatives, the two quickly fall in love: Noah takes Joanne to her first Shabbat at a bar, and she introduces him to his very first sex shop. But when Noah gets the opportunity to be considered for head rabbi of his congregation, a position he can’t reasonably take on with a non-Jewish partner, he tries to subtly convince Joanne how cool Judaism is in the hopes that she will take the plunge and do “the big C” — that is, convert.

The series, which draws from creator Erin Foster’s own experiences converting to Judaism after meeting her partner, was viewed by millions and has already been renewed for a second season. It also came under fire for perpetuating stereotypes about Jewish women as controlling and pitting them against shiksas, a pejorative term for non-Jewish women the show uses frequently (at one point, Noah’s brother jokes that Joanne should rename her podcast The Slutty Shiksas). For all its dabbling in tropes, the series also explores the gravity of conversion with a nuanced hand, and by the end Joanne is conflicted about undertaking such a big personal change to be with a man. What does it mean to convert, outside of her relationship to him? We spoke with three women who began converting after meeting their partners about the joys and difficulties of the process and how it changed them.

“I feel more connected to Judaism now than even my husband does.”

I grew up on Long Island, where all my friends were Jewish and some of my ex-boyfriends were, too. My family was never very religious. We’d celebrate Christmas but never in a religious capacity; we never went to church or talked about God. It was more just family traditions, and if someone asked me what my religion was, I never knew how to respond, which felt isolating.

When I started dating my husband, I began going to High Holiday services with his grandmother and mom. Whether or not I was Jewish never seemed important to him, but I felt it was to his family, though they never said anything about it. I knew they were immersed in the Jewish community, that their friends were all Jewish. But there was never any pressure.

After we got engaged, we had no clue who was going to marry us and thought we’d ask a family member to get ordained, because we didn’t want it to be a complete stranger. My mom suggested we ask her neighbor, who was a family friend and happened to be a rabbi. The rabbi agreed, and we started these couples-therapy sessions with her, where she brought up topics we may not otherwise have considered in day-to-day conversation: finances, where you’re going to live, how you’re going to raise children — questions that might be awkward to discuss organically. When the topic of raising our kids Jewish came up, I realized how important it was to my husband. I said I was perfectly onboard with that. Then the rabbi said, Well, if they’re going to be raised Jewish and you are not Jewish, either they are going to have to convert at some point, or you can convert before you have kids, and through that process, they are born Jewish.

Because I’d struggled with my religious identity to begin with, I never wanted my kids to feel that way, so I was happy to convert. I worked with the rabbi to start the process so that we could have a Jewish ceremony that would also be a celebration of me becoming Jewish. I had my mikvah before my wedding.

The whole process was therapeutic. I didn’t feel it was heavy on having to have certain beliefs; it was more a discussion of history, family, traditions and the meaning behind them. Afterward, I felt more part of the community, and a lot of people joked that now I would know more than my husband about the background of traditions. I felt more strongly about certain holidays than he did, and our kids are now in preschool at a temple and come home learning Hebrew words. I feel more connected to Judaism now than even my husband does.

We’re four or five episodes into Nobody Wants This, and I find it cute and relatable. I’m surprised my husband likes it so much, and my mother-in-law watches it, too. We think it’s sweet and funny. The shiksa and Gentile jokes resonated; I always used to get that from my husband and friends. I’ve heard the criticism about the portrayal of Jewish women: that the show portrays them as uptight and bossy — not that my friends felt that way. Maybe me not being born and raised Jewish is why I don’t feel offended by it, but most of the Jewish people I know are finding humor in it and laughing at themselves. I also related to how the rabbi’s family judge and are fearful of the Kristen Bell character. We always get a lot of jokes about my husband looking very Jewish and me looking very not Jewish. Like Joanne, I have straight blonde hair, and when she makes a joke about having fine, thin hair, that’s like, Me too. —Jean, 36, Long Island 

“My mom felt I was giving up so much to be part of my husband’s family.”

I grew up Roman Catholic and always felt connected to religion but never the one I was raised in. There were certain things I didn’t like, such as the fact that a woman was not able to become a priest. I felt connected with God and prayed when something was upsetting, but I wasn’t drawn to Catholicism.

I met my now-husband during freshman orientation in college. I was up front with him that conversion was not an option for me because I didn’t want our relationship to be based on the expectation of me doing it. I said to my husband early on, “You love me for who I am, and who I am is not Jewish. If you’re okay with that, I’m okay with that.” He definitely got pushback from his family, which felt terrible. We had this wonderful first year, then he went home for the summer and told his parents about me, and they were kind of like, “But she’s not Jewish.” He said, “You’re right,” and we broke up for a period of time because I wasn’t going to date him if he wasn’t comfortable going against what his parents told him to do. So we broke up, but he soon came to his senses and told me, “I love you more than I care about making my parents happy. It’s my relationship, not theirs.” As soon as I heard that from him, I said “Okay, if you’re good, then I’m good.” It’s not that family isn’t important, but I didn’t feel his was in the right for dictating who he could and couldn’t date. Once he decided he didn’t want to base his choice on religion, we got back together, and we’ve been together ever since.

I came to the decision to convert as time went on. The school we went to had a lot of Jewish people, and my roommate was Jewish, and I experienced the Jewish holidays with him and his family. I realized how beautiful a community it was, and I felt drawn to Judaism without realizing it. Ten years in, I brought up to him that I was thinking about converting and asked him what he thought about that. I knew that if we got married, I wanted to celebrate the same holidays as our children. He was shocked. Because of how serious I was leading up to the conversation, he thought I was going to tell him I was pregnant. We got engaged a few months later.

My friends were happy and supportive about my plans to convert, and my husband’s family was obviously thrilled. But my family was really upset. My mom took it the hardest, as a personal offense that I was moving away from the religion she’d brought me up with. She felt I was giving up so much to be part of my husband’s family. And listen — people do convert for marriage or to appease their partner or their family, but that was not my story. I felt strongly about my decision. I joke to my husband when he’s being annoying, “If we ever get divorced, I’m going to continue and marry someone Jewish.”

I converted under the conservative level of Judaism, which is how my husband identifies. It was a yearlong process of studying and experiencing life as a Jewish person: hosting Shabbat dinners, reading through the Torah, going to events, and things like that. At the end, you go in front of a panel of three rabbis, who ask questions about your journey. I submerged into a mikvah to complete the conversion. The whole process was extremely transformative. You essentially live a Jewish life before it becomes official, so the officiality wasn’t such a line in the sand, but I did feel a little different walking into synagogue or being able to say, “I am Jewish. My husband and I are Jewish.”

I’ve fully embraced the Jewish lifestyle. I’m a member on the board of our synagogue; I go to Shabbat all the time. Our kids are in Jewish preschool. My mom had a hard time with it all, but we’re approaching the ten-year mark of my conversion and she’s now mostly onboard, though there’s still awkward conversations and situations. For her, the fact that I had a Jewish wedding was a big deal, and so was my son’s circumcision. But she’s as supportive as she knows how to be.

Although there’s moments where Nobody Wants This leans into stereotypes of Jewish people and pokes fun at them, I thought it came from a place of joy rather than judgment. For me, the show hit on what it’s like to come in as an outsider to the Jewish world and what it looks like to be an average Jewish person. Joanne’s confusion about what it meant to convert and what it would look like long term, what it means for children in the future — those are things you don’t often get insights into because you may not know a lot of converts and the conversion process can be hush-hush, especially among older generations. —Jennifer, 36, Upper East Side

“Am I the shiksa standing up here that everybody is looking at?”

I grew up in an Evangelical household, and everything was about church. I went to a Christian school, my parents were youth-group leaders, and I’d go to church on Wednesday nights for Bible study with my family. We were told the Bible’s word was ultimate. Questioning Scripture or someone’s interpretation of it was seen as forbidden, and I was always the type to push back against authority: Why is it this way? Why do we believe this? I questioned things from an early age and was seen as a troublemaker because I wasn’t just keeping my head down and praying. Whereas with Judaism, an integral part of it is questioning God.

I met a friend in college who started explaining Judaism to me, which was my first exposure to it and piqued my interest in the faith. I met my husband at a friend’s house when I was 19 or 20. At the time, he was more culturally Jewish than actively practicing his faith.

My husband’s extended family is very religious. His aunt is a rabbi. As we got serious, I asked my husband repeatedly, “Is conversion something you’d want me to do?” He said, “Absolutely not.” But I felt othered when we went to his family functions for High Holy Days or Passover or Shabbat. Everyone at the table was Jewish except me. In my Christian faith, I was taught that my relationship with God is very individualistic: “How is your walk with the Lord?” Whereas in Judaism, your relationship with God is just as important as your relationship with God’s Chosen People. I wanted to actually become part of my husband’s family, so I dove more into Judaism and felt a pull to convert. I felt this connection to my husband’s roots, and if in the future we had kids, I wanted them to have that experience too. There was no pressure on me, unlike Joanne in the TV show or, I’m sure, many other people. It was solely my decision, and my parents were very supportive. They’ve had experiences in the Church that left them kind of soured, and their faith isn’t what it was when I was little.

I Googled Reform conversion classes in Orange County. I started taking some through the local synagogue. The process was almost like becoming a citizen of another country. I joined the High Holy Day choir. My husband joined the temple board. I wrote an essay for the rabbinical court, which is a common part of the conversion process, and then I had my mikvah in the Pacific Ocean. It was a beautiful day in Huntington Beach — clear blue sky with a beaming sun. A good friend of ours walked me to the shoreline and witnessed my immersion. After I came out of the water, I felt like I came home. It was as if some part of myself had been out there in the universe and I finally reconnected with that part of me; it’s the most complete feeling I’ve had, next to the birth of my child.

After the Tree of Life synagogue shooting in 2018, which was not long after I converted, I remember feeling very affected and upset. I made a post about it on Facebook at the time. My late mother-in-law, a very private person, called me on the phone and said, “You need to be careful of what you say and what you post online because you weren’t born Jewish. So you don’t really know what it’s like.” Those words have never left me. I think about them when we prepare our Seder table. I think about them every year around High Holy Days. When we go into services and we talk about meeting at the gates, I’m always like, Am I standing at this gate not really fully Jewish? Is that the way God thinks of me? She did apologize, but it’s something I’ve never forgotten.

In Nobody Wants This, characters often fear the judgment of the congregation: Oh, what are they going to say? That resonated with me. My husband and I were already married when we first joined our congregation and I hadn’t yet converted, but the first year I started my conversion classes, I was sitting in the choir feeling uncomfortable in my seat because I was like, Is the congregation looking at me differently? Am I the shiksa standing up here that everybody is looking at? Do I deserve to be a part of this? Which, of course, is not what anyone in the congregation was thinking. They were happy to have people who wanted to be involved. But I definitely identified with being the outsider looking in, though, nowadays, I don’t feel like that at all. I don’t feel like that with my family; I don’t feel like that in shul. I feel like a Jew. —Sabrina, 35, San Luis Obispo, California 

Names have been changed.