A heartfelt memoir about the search for religion and identity “I’m not Jewish.” For years, that’s what David Weill told anyone who asked about his religious background. Yes, his father was a Jew who had left Nazi Germany as a boy. But his mother was a Southern Baptist. Growing up in New Orleans, religion wasn’t something his family discussed, let alone practiced. As an adult, he developed a fervent zeal and profound devotion to his work as a specialist in organ transplants. Transplantation was all he needed to define and fulfill him—until a crisis shook him to the core. 
In 2015, after the simultaneous unraveling of his carefully crafted career and the death of his father, Weill began to doubt everything, including his purpose in life. While grappling with emotional pain and sinking deeper into despair, he began to suffer perplexing physical symptoms. In his moment of crisis, he was seized by a strong desire to practice a formal religion. But for Weill, the real question was, Which religion? Eventually, he chose Catholicism and was baptized at age fifty. He found solace in heart-to-heart talks with a priest and his daughters’ happiness at having the whole family at church together. Everything was fine—until 2020, when he learned that his mother had converted to Judaism right before marrying his father. He was born a Jew. And in the eyes of the Jewish faith, he would always be Jewish. That realization sparked his second quest. 

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