A hand shot up from the middle of the crowd.

“I don’t know if this is too personal…”

I was at a book event for The New Jew in Milwaukee, my hometown. One of my favorite parts of author events is the opportunity to answer questions. Not only does it bring me closer to readers and vise versa, it helps me to understand myself. It’s cheaper than therapy.

“… You mentioned you’re single. I wonder, as you look for your next partner, would you only have a committed relationship with someone who is Jewish?”

She was right  – it was a personal question. But then again, I had written a very personal story and the question was relevant. My book is about an interfaith love affair, and it was an issue I was facing again, but in reverse. I was compelled to offer a truthful response. If only I had one.

“That is such a good question,” I considered the room of inquisitive faces.

The truth was, it was something I had thought a lot about. I embraced Judaism nearly ten years ago because it was very meaningful to me. I’ve always wondered what it might be like to be in love with someone who loved my traditions, who found them meaningful. It would be amazing to continue Jewish studies together. I loved the idea of sitting in shul next to the man I love, knowing he felt at home there. It would be a shared identity.

Yet, not every Jewish person finds meaning in his or her religion. It could be disappointing to be with a Jewish man who felt nothing for his heritage.  After all, not all Jews are created spiritually equal.

I thought back on my own path to Judaism. When I met my husband, I was Catholic. What if he had closed the door to all gentile women? Our love affair – a beautiful part of my life – never would have been. Our children never would have been born.

I also remembered what it was like to be shut out of a world that I was drawn to – the Jewish community. It wasn’t just the traditions that made me feel alien to the religion. I felt it in countless conversations. Even today, it hurts when Jewish friends express their hope and desire that their children marry someone Jewish. Some have told their children that under no uncertain terms should they marry a gentile. Does that mean that they only accepted me in my marriage because I converted? Would I have been any less of a loving, nurturing, spirited soul had I not?

As I started my response, the truth formed itself.

“Life is different for me now. I am not looking to a partner to share a religion with so we can raise our children in one religion. My children are Jewish – I’m Jewish – it’s already settled.” I paused.“Yet I love the idea of falling in love with a Jewish man, sharing a religion we both love. I can only imagine our own love for each other would grow deeper with each shared experience.” The crowd nodded, knowingly.

“But here’s the thing: I can hardly think of anything more hypocritical than to shut someone out based on his religion, after having the exact same thing happen to me.”

I don’t know if I will be in an interfaith relationship or not. But I do know that, no matter what his religion, I will be with someone who shares the same passion and optimism for life. I feel blessed that the tenets of Judaism support my beliefs, and I would bless the religion that gave him the same spirituality. It would be incredible to share my days with someone who shared my zeal for life. And that type of love transcends the borders of faith.

As the event wrapped up, I know I found my truth.