This past December, when the Conservative Committee on Jewish Law and Standards (CJLS) voted on the teshuvot about “the status of homosexuals” in the Conservative community, I had already completed my application to Hebrew Union College, thinking that it would be years before the Conservative movement made a step forward.

A few days later I sent a letter to the new chancellor of the Jewish Theological Seminary, Arnold Eisen, who was instrumental in pushing for this change. I grew up Conservative, I said, but as much as I love my Conservative rabbis and congregation, I’m not so sure that I trust the movement to be as accepting and supportive as they are individually. And I applied to HUC as a second choice, since I was absolutely not willing to be in the closet for five years.

In February I auditioned for HUC, and in March I was rejected. And a week later, I was dizzy with relief to see that JTS had decided to admit students who were openly gay and lesbian (as I’ve said before, a separate post on their exclusion of bisexuals or the transgendered will follow…), and that they had extended their admissions deadline for anyone who still wanted to apply for 2007.

I’m auditioning and interviewing next week at JTS, and I’m nervous, but for very different reasons than last time. At HUC, I was nervous about the fact that I wasn’t really a Reform Jew, and I felt the need to try to prove that I could be. This time around, even though I’m secure in my identity as a Conservative Jew, I’m not sure what, if any, discussion there will be about my sexuality. I’m thinking a lot these days about my various identities and how to explain them, especially to people who are so encased in their binaries.

At the time of my preliminary interview, I was dating a boy, which was a first for me. And when I mentioned that my boyfriend had given me his hand-me-down tefillin (best present ever!), I saw the shadow of confusion on my interviewer’s face, but didn’t know what, if anything, to say. Among my friends I could have said something funny like “Yes, I am a lesbian, but I don’t discriminate,” or more simply, “I prefer the word ‘queer’.” But among those who have no experience with the LGBTIQQ communities (and have no idea what those last 5 letters mean…) I don’t want to start my interactions with a discussion of identity politics. That can come later, and is certainly necessary, but I’d rather start off with the reasons I want to go to school, not the reasons why they wouldn’t have considered me as an applicant two months ago.

And that’s my real fear, in the end - that my interviewers won’t care so much about my love of music, my Hebrew skills, my Yiddishkeit, or my involvement in synagogue life. I worry that the question of who I date will take precedence over how well suited I am for cantorial training. I have to keep reminding myself that it’s a new situation for them, as well as for me. Even if I think it’s crazy that a school of higher education in New York City doesn’t know how to deal with the queers, I want to be respectful of the majority of faculty and students who voted to move forward by working to help change the opinions of the minority who didn’t.

Many people have been moaning and whining that the Conservative movement is dying, or already dead, as a result of this decision. I think they’re wrong; I think that the movement is going through the same kind of growing pains it endured when it first ordained women, and I think that the movement will be energized and strengthened by every step forward.

No matter how the interview goes, and whether I’m pleasantly surprised or disappointed by the experience, I’m determined to be one of those growing pains. This change is a step forward, but it’s not enough. There’s still a long way to go, and I’m hoping for the opportunity to join others in helping the movement get there.

For more by Marisa on this topic, click here.