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Choosing a title for my Jewish conversion memoir is like picking a tattoo: intensely personal. But unlike a tattoo, it’s on display for everyone to judge in an instant. Or maybe it’s more like naming a golem you’ve created—one you’ve spent ages with, puzzled over, and corrected It’s a strange challenge: how do you name a story about "becoming Jewish" for every reason except religion? I needed a title that summed up a year of identity experiments and "pretending" without sound

When I was five, my mother invited a nun into our home for “the talk.” I don’t know where she got the idea from. I was an active child and all I wanted was to be climbing our one tree or bouncing on the sofa. Alas, my mother made me sit and listen to this woman she introduced as Nun Something. I wasn’t thrilled. Her long gray dress, strange white cape, and the way she stood with her hands clasped over her stomach didn’t help. My mother stood by the doorway, watching nervously

I was born in a small village on France’s Atlantic coast. My father insisted that my name be short, simple, and easy to pronounce worldwide — and, most importantly, shaped by his own life experience, free of any ties, religious or otherwise. He chose Claire, from clarus  in Latin, meaning bright and clear. My mother agreed. “Claire” was classic and neutral. August 1989 — The last picture before I left their home for good, posing with my little cousins. That was the final year

If you’ve followed the story of this blog from the beginning, you may notice a paradox: how can a story of conversion not be about religion? Believe me—it is not. It’s about identity, belonging, and the sacrifices we make to feel accepted. In my case, to win the approval of my in-laws. Before moving from France to Tel Aviv at twenty-two, I had met them only twice, briefly. My impression was that they were kind, warm, and generous. I didn’t sense any particular religiosity. Wh

The BBC camera crew really outdid themselves this year. Happy 2026! 🎆 It is that time of the year when everyone wishes everyone a happy new year. I had always done so myself, until 1990, assuming it was — let’s say — universal. But did you know that Judaism once recognized four different New Years — not just one? I didn’t, when I arrived in Israel in 1990 and discovered that December 31 meant very little there. It was only my second month in the country, as a new immigrant —

The light of belonging: Finding my place in a tradition I didn't grow up with. I know my website is only a few days old, but with Hanukkah just around the corner (December 14 at sunset until 22 at sunset), I had to mention it! Israel usually celebrates Hanukkah in December, though it can fall in November because Jewish holidays follow the Hebrew calendar, while everyday life uses the Gregorian one. In the Hebrew calendar, the twelve lunar months— Nissan, Iyar, Sivan, Tammuz,

Finding clarity in the storm: A walk along the Isle of Man coast where the idea for my memoir first surfaced. 2021 There were a few reasons I began writing this memoir. When the 2020 pandemic hit, I found myself rethinking how I was spending my days—cooped up in a small apartment in a new city and country we had just moved to. I needed a project to keep both my hands and my mind busy. Cooking didn’t interest me, cleaning and decluttering only got me so far, social networks fe