I used to think faith meant defending what I already knew. But my journey to follow God asked me to surrender all I thought I knew. It wasn’t a moment of rupture, a clean break from one belief to another. Instead, it was a slow, sacred unfolding, deepening of a path I’d been walking all along. My transition from Christianity to Judaism wasn’t about abandoning one truth for another. It was about realizing the road I was on stretched further than I’d ever imagined.
My earliest memories of faith are wrapped in the warmth of a God who loved me and whom I loved deeply in return. I remember the moment, at the tender age of 3, that I committed my life to Him using the only words I knew to express my love for this great God. Christianity was my home, the lens through which I understood God’s presence. It taught me to love, seek, and listen for the divine in the quiet moments. But as I grew, so did my questions. They weren’t even doubts about the faith in which I had been raised, but a slow progression of following God's truth wherever He led me. People often think of doubts as sharp, rebellious, or cynical. It was never like that for me. They were softer, more like whispers: What is God asking of me? What is the best way to follow Him?
Those questions led me to explore the roots of my faith. I began reading about the Hebrew Bible, the Torah, and the ancient covenant between God and the people of Israel. I was struck by its raw immediacy, the way it grappled with God’s mystery, not as a distant doctrine but as a living relationship. I found myself drawn to the rhythms of Torah-based life: Shabbat’s quiet sanctity, the discipline of biblical eating, the way every act could be an offering to the divine. These weren’t foreign ideas; they felt like extensions of the reverence I’d always known.
My time in the Hebrew Roots movement, felt like a bridge, a way to live out the Jewish roots of my faith while still believing that my God had become a man to act as the Messiah that redeemed me from my sin. I began observing Shabbat, eating biblically, and studying the Hebrew scriptures with a new intensity. I thought that my faith was more complete than Judaism. But over time, I sensed a deeper call. Hebrew Roots had opened a door, but as I continued to learn and grow it also revealed a tension: what if what I had been taught about Jesus (or Yeshua, as I called him) was not true? Had he really fulfilled all of the requirements of being a messiah? What if my deification of him was actually idolatry rather than honoring the God I love? Perhaps the scariest question was, what price would I have to pay if I followed God's truth wherever He was leading me?
I wasn’t turning away from what I’d known; I was walking deeper into it, following a thread that had always been there. Friends and family wondered why I felt the need to “change” my faith. Some saw it as a betrayal, others as confusion. I struggled to explain that this wasn’t about choosing one religion over another. It was about answering a call that felt both ancient and urgent. The transition wasn’t a rejection of my past or of the people that I loved. I wasn’t turning away from what I’d known; I was following the principles that Christianity had taught me about walking with God and following Him above all else. I was being faithful to the commitment I had made to Him as a child, to give my life completely to Him.
Surrender became the heart of this journey. I had to let go of the need to have all the answers, to defend my beliefs dogmatically. Faith, I learned, isn’t about certainty, it’s about trust. Trust that God knows better than man. To trust Him even when His path doesn’t end where I expected it to.
Converting to Judaism wasn’t a destination; it was a commitment to keep walking. I immersed myself in study, in prayer, in the slow work of learning Hebrew and observing the mitzvot. Each step felt like a homecoming, not to a new place, but to a deeper layer of the faith I’d always carried. Today, as I light Shabbat candles or recite the Shema, I feel the presence of the same God I met in church as a child. The rituals have changed, but the longing hasn’t. My journey from Christianity to Judaism isn’t a story of leaving one faith for another; it’s a story of continuity, of following a single thread through different landscapes. I’m still seeking, still listening, surrendering to a God who is always lovingly guiding me toward Himself. For those who might feel called to a similar path, I offer this: Don’t be afraid of the questions that pull you forward. They’re not a sign of losing faith, but of deepening it. The road doesn’t end, it just stretches further than you thought possible.
