Gang Member and Convict Turned Orthodox Jew

Yehudah Pryce had just spent three years in county jail. The 22-year-old gang member was involved in an armed robbery, where he robbed some drug dealers with the help of an accomplice. The accomplice turned him in for a plea deal and Pryce ended up behind bars.

After being in jail, he was set to receive his sentencing: 24 years in prison. The court gave him four years for robbery, 10 years for a gang enhancement, and 10 years for a gun enhancement. He was promptly sent to Pelican Bay State Prison, a maximum-security prison in California.

“I thought prison was cool,” Pryce said in an Aish.com interview. “I understood what it meant to be a gangster and a thug and in this sort of environment. It made sense to me. I was aggressive and confrontational. I felt like I could outsmart my adversaries. And I didn’t care if I lived or died.”

Becoming a gangster

Pryce grew up in Orange County, California, a sunny SoCal enclave. He is the son of a Sri Lankan mother and a Jamaican father. His parents were divorced, so his mother and Caucasian stepfather raised him. He felt out of place because in his neighborhood, he was a minority.

Yehudah Pryce

“Before I turned 8, my identity crisis started,” he said. “If I got into an argument with a friend who was black, he’d bring up my family. I viewed it as my Achilles heel. Everyone what super invested in race and what I looked like. I couldn’t enjoy my life.”

Pryce didn’t fit in at school, and he didn’t feel like he belonged at church, either.

“We only went on specific holidays,” he said. “When my biological father took me to church, we’d try to get there late and leave early.”

By the time Pryce was a teenager, he was lost – until he discovered the gang lifestyle. He started selling drugs, stealing, and carrying guns at 13.

“I wanted to take control and belong to something,” he said. “I was living the way I wanted and not being weighed down by my family’s or society’s ideas of what I should or shouldn’t do. I was not excited by the idea of going to work every day, getting married, and having kids. It wasn’t enough for me. I was trying to actively avoid that.”

He didn’t have a role model, so he admired the gang members.

“I didn’t look up to anyone or see myself in anyone,” he said. “Once I got connected to the gang members – who were violent and sold drugs – I looked up to and respected them.”

When the teen became a gangster, he didn’t belong to any one gang, and that was on purpose.

“That’s how I could gain notoriety amongst a multitude of gangs and in the subculture generally,” he said. “Your reputation precedes itself when you go from gang to gang.”

Pryce was sent to juvenile hall a few times for robberies and selling drugs. When he was 16, and his entire family was at home, his house was shot up. No one was hurt, thankfully. The dramatic event didn’t stop him from leaving the gang lifestyle, either.

“I felt like I belonged,” he said. “There was a camaraderie. When you are doing crimes together, it builds a bond among people. No one questioned my identity, either. Maybe it was out of fear. Beyond that, I loved having guns. There was a sense of power, where you controlled life and death. It solidified me in this world. I liked being feared and respected.”

When Pryce legally became an adult, he decided he’d rob drug dealers, since he thought they wouldn’t call the cops. He’d be less likely to get arrested. But after his robbery at 19 – when his accomplice turned on him – his days on the streets were over.

He was now facing over two decades behind bars.

Finding his faith in prison

At Pelican Bay, where prisoners spend all day in their cells and are rarely allowed to go outside, Pryce suddenly had a lot of time to fill. He picked up some books on Christianity, Buddhism, and Islam, but didn’t connect with any of them.

And then, Pelican Bay brought in a rabbi to speak to the prisoners. The rabbi came during lockdown and was there to meet with a few incarcerated individuals. The prison offered him a chair, but instead, he sat on the floor with the prisoners.

“It wasn’t meant to make a statement of any kind,” Pryce said. “His natural character traits stood out to me.”

That rabbi was only temporary; Pryce would go on to form a six-year relationship with the next one who came in.

He’d argue with the rabbi about organized religion, calling it the opiate of the masses. One thing that stood out about the rabbi’s talks was he said that to be a good person, you didn’t have to be a Jew.

“That made so much sense to me,” Pryce said. “My problem with religion was people saying their religion was the only way. I thought, how could you claim that?”

He also learned about discrimination towards the Jewish people throughout history.

“The Jews were persecuted wherever they lived, and they thrived,” he said. “This, to me, was evidence that God existed. I wanted to be more connected to it.”

After reading books on Judaism, Pryce turned to the prayer book, which resonated with him. He memorized the silent Jewish prayer, the Amidah, by heart.

“I wanted to be able to pray by heart in case we went into lockdown,” he said. “Then, I could daven three times a day.”

Pryce’s fellow inmates were anything but encouraging. Race and identity meant everything behind bars; Pryce was once stabbed simply because he’s black. Once they saw him learning about Judaism, they taunted him.

“They told me the Jews wouldn’t accept me,” he said. “They said I wouldn’t fit in.”

Still, Pryce had to follow his heart. He got ahold of a smuggled smartphone and read up on Judaism as much as he could. He also ordered a tallit and tefillin and put them on every day, and met a Jewish woman named Ariella on Instagram. He started keeping kosher in prison and observing Shabbat on his own. He became a Jewish chapel clerk and ran Jewish groups.

After two years of studying Judaism, he decided he was going to convert and do an Orthodox conversion – even though he’d never met an Orthodox Jew.

When he was in his thirteenth year in prison, there was a legal ruling in California that because the prisons were overrun, inmates who were convicted prior to the age of 23 could become eligible for early parole.

Three years later, in 2018, after spending 16 years total in prison, Pryce got out. He was now dating Ariella, who had grown up in an Orthodox family but had strayed from practice, and he had applied for his conversion. When he met the Orthodox rabbi who performed conversions, he was taken aback by the response.

“He didn’t judge me,” Pryce, who is covered in tattoos, said. “He told me, let’s give it a try. My experience has been one of full acceptance.”

Living as an Orthodox Jew

Pryce joined the Orthodox Jewish community in Irvine and converted in 2020. He then married Ariella, who moved from Canada to California to be with him. His family accepted his decision.

“My mom converted from Islam to Christianity, and my dad is a Baptist, but both of them have respect for Judaism,” he said. “They saw me as a fully committed gangster and criminal, and now they see me living this wholesome life. They’re super appreciative of Judaism and supportive of me.”

Now, Pryce is a father of four and lives in Los Angeles with Ariella, in an Orthodox Jewish community. He earned his doctorate and is a clinical social worker at Chabad Treatment Center. He has a large following on his Instagram, where he shares videos about his life and combatting antisemitism, and he posted up multiple photos and videos of his powerful post-Oct. 7 trip to Israel.

He also posts about his personal life, letting his followers know about what’s going on with his family. Recently, he celebrated his son Yochanan’s upsherin, the haircut boys get when they turn three, along with tzitzit, a kippah, and a prayer book. This milestone was a miracle: When Yochanan was four months old, he was close to death and rushed to the hospital.

“My wife and I agonized as doctors struggled to figure out how to treat him,” said Pryce.

But with the help of their fellow Jews, they and their beautiful son pulled through.

“It was my Jewish community, family, and friends, and Chai Lifeline that enabled my wife and me to weather the storm,” said Pryce. “After five months, my son was released from the hospital and now he has completely recovered.”

Looking back on his life, Pryce can see that he is blessed. And if he could tell anything to his younger self, it would be this: “You’re facing challenges and tough situations and making poor choices. How do you want the next chapters to unfold? You need to create a story that matters. You do matter, and you only have one life to live.”

 

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With every moment, Pryce is using his platform to be a proudly visible Jew, and constantly working on his mission in life: to cultivate a strong relationship with God.

“I want to continue to grow my connection to God,” he said. “The more I draw closer to Him, the clearer everything becomes.”

 

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