What 19th-Century Jewish Converts Can Teach Us About Today
In December 1864, Ada Walker stood before the congregation of Beneh Abraham in Portsmouth, Ohio, and formally embraced Judaism. Her story, and others like it, reveal a moment in Jewish history that challenges common assumptions about conversion—one that may have surprising relevance for today. Many assume Judaism has always been a closed, ethnically-bound faith, but 19th-century America tells a different story. A resident of Brownstown, West Virginia, Walker had been “for some time instructed in the principles of Judaism” by Rabbi Judah Wechsler. According to a letter written by Wechsler to The Israelite, published on December 12, 1864, Walker “persisted that in this faith alone she would live and die.” Before the gathered congregation, she was publicly questioned on her knowledge of Jewish principles and declared her belief in “the leading doctrines of Judaism,” after which she was “declared a member of our creed.” Shortly afterward, she married Dr. Daniel Mayer, a Union Army surgeon from Pomeroy, Ohio, who later served as the first Jewish state legislator in West Virginia and a US consul to Argentina. Mayer’s prominence in public life reflects an often-overlooked reality of 19th-century American Jewish history: significant Jewish leaders and contributions could be found in many small towns and not just major cities. But it is Ada Walker’s conversion that makes this story particularly noteworthy.
Far from being an isolated case, Walker’s conversion was part of a broader pattern. Reports of conversions appeared frequently in The Israelite, or as it was later known The American Israelite, reflecting an era of openness to those who sincerely sought Judaism. This pattern challenges some modern assumptions about Judaism always being a “closed” faith. In 1855, The Israelite reported that an editor of the Louisville Anzeiger reacted with sarcasm and frustration when a young German man named Herman Jost embraced Judaism. The piece also stated that Jost was the son of a Jewish convert and had been encouraged by his father to practice the faith. In 1857, The Israelite described how a Christian woman in Landau, Germany, caused “quite a sensation” by embracing Judaism. The article contrasted this with the United States, where such conversions were “not even noticed anymore.” In 1858, The Israelite reported that a distinguished German theater actress in Milwaukee had embraced Judaism after being taught by Rabbi Isidor Kalisch. The article emphasized that she had “been thoroughly convinced of the truth of Judaism by self-reflection, before she ever took any instruction.” In 1877, The American Israelite noted that John Grube, a non-Jew who had eloped with a Jewish woman, later converted to Judaism and remarried his wife in a Jewish ceremony in Indiana. Still later in 1904, The American Israelite described Dr. Parvey Hill, a former Unitarian, as having “adopted Judaism from conviction and formally embraced that faith some time ago.” These examples, selected from hundreds of reports, show that conversion to Judaism, particularly in Reform communities, was neither unheard of nor necessarily rare.
Perhaps the most striking element of these reports is how The Israelite framed conversion as a serious and dignified process rather than something done for marriage, which can be the assumption today. As a contemporary convert, I have been asked more than once, ‘Who is the lucky girl?’ Rabbi Wechsler’s letter about Ada Walker’s conversion stresses her conviction and knowledge of Judaism. Similarly, the 1858 report about the actress in Milwaukee highlights that she embraced Judaism only after deep personal reflection. This aligns with the broader Reform Jewish vision of the 19th century. Reform leaders like Isaac Mayer Wise saw Judaism not just as a faith for those born into it, but as an ethical and rational tradition that could attract seekers. They envisioned Judaism as a light to the nations—not through active proselytization, but by welcoming those who sincerely sought it. In an 1873 article discussing Jewish converts in ancient Rome, The Israelite noted that Judaism had once been attractive to outsiders, drawing many converts until Roman persecution curtailed the practice. The article implied that Judaism’s historical openness was worth reviving in modern times. Reform Judaism in the United States was positioning itself as a faith with a universal moral mission. Public lectures by Rabbi Max Lilienthal and Rabbi Judah Wechsler, both covered in The Israelite, demonstrate that Jewish religious leaders were eager to engage with the broader public—not to proselytize, but to share the ethical and philosophical teachings of Judaism.
At the same time, Reform leaders were careful to distinguish their openness from Christian missionary efforts. Conversion was welcome, but not aggressively pursued. As Rabbi Wechsler put it, “such a step must be done by conviction, and there must be no outside pressure to influence anyone.” It is notable that most of the converts publicly reported in The Israelite were women. This likely reflects the reality that male converts could be dissuaded by the significant operation, circumcision, required to convert or the reality that women were often key figures in American small-town Jewish communal life. In the 19th century, Jewish women were central to the establishment of synagogues, Sunday Schools, and charitable organizations. A striking example of group conversion to Judaism is a report from St. Louis in 1855, where a woman converted to Judaism along with her seven children. The Israelite described the ceremony as “very solemn and impressive,” and emphasized again that the conversion was motivated by sincere belief rather than external influence.
Today, the idea that Judaism has always been a closed or exclusively ethnic-based faith is commonly found among both Jews and non-Jews. But history tells a different story. In the Hellenistic and Roman periods, Judaism attracted large numbers of converts, including notable figures like Aquila of Sinope, whose translations of Jewish texts became central to Jewish tradition, and Helena of Adiabene, who was queen of a small kingdom in modern-day Iraq. In 19th-century America, Reform Judaism embraced conversion as a natural outcome of its mission to bring Jewish ethical teachings into the wider world. Over time, however, this vision of an open and expansive Judaism was overshadowed by other historical forces. Between 1881 and 1924, more than two million Jewish immigrants arrived in the US, many facing significant poverty. The rise of fascism in the 1930s and the devastation of the Holocaust further impacted American Jewish communal priorities. Finally, the establishment of the State of Israel in 1948, heavily supported by the American Jewish community through efforts like the United Jewish Appeal, continued the focus on the survival and protection of Jews in what would soon become the world’s largest Jewish community. Yet, in the 21st century, when new generations are rethinking religious identity, we may be witnessing another moment of religious transformation. The Springtide Research Institute has found that many young Americans are open to redefining their traditional religious identity. This concept of “Faith Unbundled” describes how young people mix elements from different faiths rather than strictly adhering to one tradition. This represents a moment of openness to new ideas where it is not uncommon for Americans under the age 25 to explore various faith traditions.
At the same time, American Judaism exists in a unique position. It is the largest and most visible Jewish community in the Diaspora. It also exists in a society where religious conversion is socially accepted. Many American Jewish families already include non-Jews. Interfaith marriage in the United States has been above 50% since the 1990s. As historian Jonathan Sarna has noted, more people convert to Judaism in America today than at any point since at least the Roman era. The story of Ada Walker and Daniel Mayer sheds light on the deep roots of converts as part of American Jewish history. Rather than making a prescriptive argument, it invites us to ask what we can learn from this moment in Jewish history. How did American Judaism of the 19th century balance openness to seekers while maintaining a strong communal identity? Are we, once again, at a moment where Jewish openness might take new forms?
Sometimes, looking back at forgotten moments—like an 1864 conversion in a small-town Ohio synagogue—can help us think differently about the future. Are we now entering a moment where these lost chapters of Jewish history might once again become relevant? With increasing interfaith families, spiritual seekers, and a more fluid approach to religious identity, is there something valuable in revisiting this forgotten history?