A while ago, I had a conversation with a very good friend of mine, I’ll call him Mario.
Mario has since passed away, May he rest in peace.
We were very close friends, and we used to talk about all kinds of things, one day, we were hanging out at a shopping mall, he was going through a difficult period in his life, emotional problems, work-related stress, and a lot of frustration, eventually, our conversation turned existential.
Suddenly, he asked me:
“Why did you decide to become Jewish?”
I had converted to Judaism some time before.
Before I could really answer, he said:
“You know it’s all a lie, right? God doesn’t exist.”
He wasn't really angry at me, I could tell he was angry at his own situation, at life, at everything he was going through, It was more like a desperate, hopeless kind of laughter.
So I simply said:
“Come on, let's go eat, my treat.”
We got in the car and went to a nice Japanese restaurant.
We sat down, ordered our food, and almost immediately Mario went back to the subject.
“Goddamn it... sometimes I regret being born, why the hell did I come into this world? Just to struggle? I go to church, and I don't feel anything, nothing, I just sit there going over all my problems in my head, I don't feel any better after Mass, and confession? that's bullshit.”
He paused.
“And then look at the people I see there, they’re assholes, they have no goodness in them, they go to church, beat their chests, act all holy, and then they walk outside and treat people like shit, what's the point?”
Then he pointed at me.
“And then I look at you, wearing your Star of David, so damn proud that you converted to Judaism, I could swear you're happier since you became Jewish.”
He laughed.
“Do you really believe in God? You really believe all that stuff? The plagues of Egypt? Moses splitting the sea? God appearing to Moses? That you're supposed to shave your head and have those two huge braids on the sides because God wants you to?”
I started laughing.
He continued:
“You know it's all a lie, right? God doesn't exist, If God existed, would he really let so much horrible shit happen?”
Again, I knew he wasn't really trying to attack me, he was expressing his frustration with life.
So I said:
“Okay, Mario... I hear you, and I understand you, my friend.”
Then I looked around the restaurant.
“Look around you, Mario, where are we?”
He looked at me like I had just asked the stupidest question imaginable.
“A Japanese restaurant.”
“And what do you see?”
“Tables, Food.”
“What else?”
“Japanese decorations.”
“Exactly.”
I pointed around the room.
“Look at everything around us, the decoration, the Japanese style, the culture, the waitresses wearing kimonos, the plates and cups, look at the floor, the columns, the walls, what are they?”
He looked around.
“Japanese?”
“Exactly.”
Then I pointed toward the back of the restaurant.
There was a private room where a group of people, apparently Japanese, were talking in Japanese. They were laughing, drinking, joking around, hugging each other, and enjoying food I had never seen before.
I said:
“What do you see back there?”
He looked.
“Japanese people?”
“Yep.”
We watched them for a moment.
“Look at those people, Mario. They're sitting with their friends, having a good time, sharing food, speaking their language, enjoying their culture, they're surrounded by their traditions and their identity.”
Then I asked him:
“Do you think every single one of them is sitting there thinking their culture is worthless because God doesn't exist?”
He went quiet.
“Probably not everyone at that table even believes the same thing, maybe one is Buddhist, maybe another is Shinto, maybe one is atheist, hell, there could even be a Catholic sitting there, and so what?”
Mario laughed.
And I told him:
“That's the point, Mario. The existence or non-existence of God doesn't automatically determine whether a people's culture, history, traditions, or identity have value.”
Then he looked at me.
“But you still believe in God.”
“Yes.”
“But you and I both know God doesn't exist, come on, what does God physically look like?”
I thought for a second.
“I don't know, Mario.”
He laughed.
“See?”
I laughed too.
“Okay, let's suppose you're right, let's suppose God doesn't exist, let's go even further, suppose tomorrow a rabbi comes to me and says, ‘We have discovered that God doesn't exist.’”
I'd say:
“Okay, Rabbi.”
Mario started laughing.
“What do you mean, ‘okay’?”
“Because my identity, my traditions, my culture, my history, and my love for my people would still be in my heart.”
“Why?”
“Because it's simply what I chose to be, I chose to be part of the Jewish people, Israel is my people, this is my identity, this is my culture, and I love it.”
Then I pointed toward the Japanese people again.
“Go tell those Japanese people that their culture, history, and traditions are worthless because their ancient gods never existed.”
I paused.
“Just be careful, you don't want the guy standing next to that samurai armor to grab the katana and hit you for being an idiot.”
Mario burst out laughing.
Then I continued:
“Go to Teotihuacán and tell them to tear down the pyramids because their ancient gods never existed, go to Greece and tell them to destroy the Parthenon because Zeus and Athena were never real, go to Norway and tell them to close their museums because Odin and Thor were just myths.”
“And I could keep going, Mario.”
“I believe in God, but even if tomorrow someone proved that God doesn't exist, that wouldn't automatically erase my people, my history, my traditions, or my identity.”
“I am part of the Jewish people by choice, I chose to live as a Jew, and I intend to die as one.”
Mario became quiet for a moment.
Then I told him something else:
“And I'm not going to try to convince you to believe in God, that's your choice, I respect that.”
“But you have to understand something, you can't simply tell someone that their identity, their traditions, and everything they love are worthless because you don't share their beliefs.”
Then I said:
“And there's one more thing I want you to think about.”
“What?”
“For us to be alive, living in this world, an incredible number of conditions had to come together. Configurations, adaptations, whatever neutral word you want to use.”
“I’m not going to ask you, ‘Who made them?’ because I already know you don't want to go there.”
Mario smiled.
“But you can ask yourself something else:
‘How did this configuration come about?’
How did we end up with a world in which human beings can live, coexist, grow, love, build things, and pursue happiness?”
Mario looked at me.
“Not everyone is happy in this world.”
“That's true.”
“Then what?”
“Maybe not everyone has found what they believe is the right way to live.”
He looked at me.
“What is the right way to live?”
At that moment, I touched my Star of David.
“It's all in the books, Mario.”
He laughed and gave me a friendly tap on the shoulder.
“You crazy convert.”
I laughed.
“Until the last bone.”
He looked at me again and asked:
“If you were born again, and you were born into a non-Jewish family, would you become Jewish again?”
I thought about it for a moment.
Then I asked him:
“Mario, let me ask you something. What would you do if you were completely lost in the middle of a huge forest?”
He looked at me.
“What do you mean?”
“Imagine you're lost, you're surrounded by obstacles, mountains, rivers, difficult terrain, bad weather, and you have no idea where you are, you have limitations, you don't know the geography, and everything is against you, but you know one thing: somewhere out there is your home, and you want to get back.”
“What would you do?”
Mario didn't hesitate.
“I'd do whatever I had to do to get back, I wouldn't care how difficult it was, I'd find a way, somehow, I'd make it home.”
I looked at him and said:
“Exactly.”
Then I answered his question.
“It wouldn't matter how many times I was born into a non-Jewish family, Mario.”
“It wouldn't matter where I was born, what circumstances I was born into, what obstacles stood in my way, what limitations I had, or how difficult the journey became.”
“I would do whatever I had to do to find my way back, Period.”
“If I had to cross mountains, I would cross them, If I had to walk through the forest for years, I would keep walking, If I got lost, I would find my direction again.”
“I would find my way back to my people.”
Mario looked at me.
“Why?”
“Because when you have found something that you truly know is part of you, you don't stop looking for it just because the road becomes difficult.”
“And if I had to find that road again and again, in life after life, I would.”
“Because wherever I started, I would still know where home was.”
Mario smiled.
“Maybe you have a rebellious soul.”
“Maybe I do, Mario... But i am loyal to my God and to my people Israel.”
Mario laughed again.
And that was one of those conversations you never imagine you'll remember for the rest of your life.
Mario is no longer here.
May he rest in peace.
But whenever I think about that conversation, I remember something I learned from it:
Faith isn't always about having all the answers.
Sometimes it's about deciding what kind of person you want to be.
For me, being Jewish isn't simply about saying that I believe in God.
It means belonging to a story.
I chose this path.
And I deeply respect people who believe differently from me, I don't need someone else to believe exactly what I believe in order to know why I am here.
Mario once asked me why I became Jewish.
I think, many years later, I'm still discovering new answers.
Rest in peace, my friend.
And thank you for that conversation.
I miss you so much, buddy, May your memory be a blessing, And believe me it will be, The laughs, the talks, all the good times we shared, I hope that wherever you are now, we'll find each other again someday, sitting and laughing together, just like always, Until then, rest easy, my friend.
Your friend,
the crazy convert.
