An Excerpt from Choosing to Be Chosen, a New Conversion Memoir
In my new book, “Choosing to Be Chosen: From Being an Atheist Non-Jew to Becoming an Orthodox Jew,” which was endorsed by Mayim Bialik, I detail my conversion process and tell my story.
I grew up in a secular Christian home in Baltimore, where we only celebrated Christmas and Easter. I believed in G-d as a child. But when I prayed to Him that my parents, who were fighting, would not get divorced – and they did – it shook my faith. Then, I prayed that my grandmother – my best friend – who suddenly became very sick, would not die. She did. That also hurt my confidence in G-d.
When I was 12, a friend said to me, “I don’t believe that G-d exists.” I never thought that was a possibility. But it made sense to me. He didn’t answer my prayers. The stories from the Bible sounded insane. How come He could make so many miracles back then, but they stopped in modern times? That seemed crazy. I didn’t believe in G-d either, I decided.
What followed was years of anxiety and depression, and the belief that there was no point to life, that everything was random, and that when we died, it was eternal darkness forever. I struggled throughout high school and college, constantly questioning my existence and feeling like I was on a road to nowhere.
After graduating from college, I started dating Daniel, an ex-Orthodox Jew who had been off the derech for 11 years. His only real connection to his Judaism was that he would sometimes go to Chabad for Friday night dinner, since there was no pressure to become observant again.
One Friday, when we were both broke and didn’t know how we would afford dinner, he asked me, “Do you want to go to this Jewish place called Chabad for a free Friday night dinner?”
“Sure!” I said, excited at the prospect of free food. I’d dated Jewish guys in the past and many of my friends growing up were Jewish, but they weren’t observant, so I’d never heard of Chabad.
It was at that Chabad in North Brooklyn, on Bedford Avenue, where I experienced the kindness of the Jewish community and, during dinner, felt a warmth in my chest that I immediately knew was G-d.
Every week, I’d ask Daniel if we could go back to Chabad. We would go there, and eventually, to his parents’ home for Friday night dinner.
In the following excerpt, I detail that first wonderful and eye-opening dinner at their home.
“One Friday, Danny and I went to their home in Long Island just as Shabbat was about to start at sundown. When we walked in, the house smelled like fresh-baked bread and chicken soup.
In the den, Danny’s mom was watching a YouTube video of a man speaking angrily in Flemish in front of what looked like a parliament.
“What’s that, Eema?” Danny said, as we walked up to his mom, calling her the Hebrew word for “mom.”
“This man is an anti-Semite,” she said. “He’s spewing hate against the Jews. He’s the new Hitler. Anyway, Shabbat Shalom.”
She kissed Danny on his cheeks and said hi to me.
“How are you doing?” she asked me.
“I’m good,” I said. “Thank you for having me.”
“It’s good to be home for Shabbat,” Danny said.
“It’s been a while,” she said.
“I know, I know. I missed you,” he said, giving her another hug.
“I always miss you, poppet.”
She then turned back to her soup and pointed toward the living room.
When we were in the next room, I said, “Danny, why was your mom watching that video?”
“Well, it sounds like the guy is an anti-Semite. You have to be aware of these things, or there could be another Holocaust, G-d forbid.”
I scoffed. “Really? Come on. That would never happen again.”
“Yes. It absolutely could.”
I thought they were just being paranoid. How could the Holocaust happen again? How could there be anti-Semitism? It didn’t seem fathomable.
When the sun went down, Shabbat started. Danny’s siblings and his parents’ friends started pouring into the dining room for supper. His mom, dad, grandparents, three brothers, and Jordana and her family were there. Danny explained what was going on with the prayers at the meal.
“We sing ‘Shalom Aleichem,’ which means ‘peace be upon you,’ to welcome in the Shabbat angels,” he whispered to me. “It sets the tone for the week. If you have a calm Shabbat, the idea is you’ll have a calm week. It brings good vibes into your home.”
I liked the idea of marking the beginning of the new week, which I learned happened on Saturday night after Shabbat was over. The Jewish days started at night, since the Torah said that G-d created nighttime before He created daytime. Acknowledging and honoring a new week gave more meaning to the idea of time.
Instead of going, going, going, you could stop to acknowledge the passing of time and take a nice break. I thought it could be good for me to slow down a bit, since I was always going a million miles per hour, and my head was racing with anxious thoughts all the time.
Following “Shalom Aleichem,” Danny’s father sang “Eshet Chayil” to Danny’s mom. It translated to “A Woman of Valor.” I read how wives worked hard for their families and how their husbands and children would praise them. Husbands sang this to their wives every week to let them know how much they appreciated them.
When “Eshet Chayil” was over, Danny’s father got up, placed his hands on Danny’s head, and blessed him. He then kissed Danny’s head and did the same for each of his three younger brothers. After that, he said the prayer for wine, and we all got up, washed our hands, and said a blessing to eat challah. We weren’t allowed to talk between washing our hands and eating the challah, so everyone was quiet around the table.
And then, once we ate our bread and could talk again, the table exploded in lively conversation, with everyone talking over each other and asking about their week.
Danny’s mom served delicious chicken soup, a Friday night tradition, along with salads, followed by potatoes, vegetables, rice, and a large roast chicken.
The meal seemed to go on forever. I ate so much that I thought my stomach was going to pop. Danny’s mom brought out three desserts, and I couldn’t resist.
She served something called Turkish delight and fruit salad and fresh mint tea. I hadn’t tasted food like this before. It all seemed very exotic.
Dinner was over around midnight. Danny and I got up from the table and plopped down onto our separate beds.
“I’m so full,” I said, staring up at the ceiling, clutching my stomach.
“Welcome to Judaism,” Danny said.
Excerpted from “Choosing to Be Chosen: From Being an Atheist Non-Jew to Becoming an Orthodox Jew” by Kylie Ora Lobell (c) 2026 Published by Wicked Son. Used with permission.
You can order “Choosing to Be Chosen: From Being an Atheist Non-Jew to Becoming an Orthodox Jew” (Wicked Son) on Amazon or Barnes & Noble.