Every year on Shavuot, we dust off the Book of Ruth and return to a familiar figure: the Moabite woman who becomes the great-grandmother of King David. But in liberal Jewish spaces, Ruth is more than a literary ancestor—she has become the paradigmatic convert. How many women who join the Jewish people take the name Ruth as their own? How many rabbis quote her declaration—”Your people shall be my people, and your God my God” (Ruth 1:16)—under the chuppah or at the mikveh? In many Reform and Conservative communities, Ruth is the model for conversion.
But why?
She never goes to the mikveh. There’s no formal beit din. The Book of Ruth, in its plain sense, includes no halakhic process whatsoever. What we witness instead is devotion: loyalty to Naomi, commitment to the Jewish people, and a radical choice to stay.
Was she even our first convert? That’s debatable. The Talmud discusses Abraham and Sarah bringing souls into the covenant (Genesis 12:5), and there’s rabbinic discussion of Yitro (Jethro), Moses’ father-in-law, joining the Israelites. But Ruth is different. She is not just part of the community—she becomes the lineage. The outsider who becomes the grandmother of royalty.
Liberal Jews love this story. And for good reason. Ruth didn’t convert because someone dragged her to class. She didn’t need status. She didn’t even need to marry—Naomi tells her she’s free to go home. But Ruth clings, and in doing so, we see what the rabbis call devekut—deep, spiritual attachment.
Later rabbinic tradition tries to retrofit Ruth into a halakhic framework. The Midrash (Ruth Rabbah 2:22) imagines Naomi testing Ruth with the laws of Shabbat, kashrut, and family purity. She accepts them all. The Talmud in Yevamot 47b outlines the proper conversion process: a prospective convert must be told some of the commandments, accept their obligation, and undergo ritual immersion (and circumcision if male) before a rabbinic court. Maimonides codifies this in Hilchot Issurei Biah 13:14, but also insists we treat converts with respect and never question their motives once accepted.
In other words, Ruth’s halakhic bona fides are invented after the fact. The rabbis love her—but she doesn’t fit their rules. So they write her in.
Today, liberal movements flip that script. Ruth becomes the reason the rules should flex. Her story validates a different model: that conversion is about moral clarity, personal transformation, and covenantal identity—not just process. That’s why she is quoted in Reform and Conservative prayerbooks, conversion rituals, and High Holiday sermons. Her story makes us feel proud: look who we come from.
But we must be honest. Some of our attachment to Ruth is aesthetic. Her book is beautiful. Her narrative is tight. Her outcome is glorious. She becomes the matriarch of a king. That makes her safe, even lovable.
So here’s the uncomfortable question: Would Ruth be accepted today?
And what about our own communities? Would Ruth be embraced—or would we still ask for her Hebrew name, her sponsoring rabbi, her paperwork, her resume of observance?
The truth is, Ruth tests us. She reminds us that Jewish peoplehood was never purely legal. It was ethical. Emotional. Relational. Covenantal. She is not merely a recipient of tradition—she becomes part of its unfolding.
And yet, we live in an age of anxiety. About assimilation. About authenticity. About Jewish continuity. And in our fear, we create tighter gates, more requirements, and fewer invitations. But Ruth didn’t pass a test—she was the test.
So maybe the real question isn’t, “Why is Ruth the model?”
Maybe the question is, “Why aren’t we more like Ruth?”
Would we cling to a broken people with no guarantee of belonging? Would we leave comfort for covenant? Would we choose Judaism not because of what it gives, but because of who we must become?
That’s what Ruth does.
She becomes part of us—not by checking boxes, but by showing up. Fully. Fiercely. Faithfully.
Leave a Reply