You feel respect for what you are learning, and that is right. But respect is not only warmth. Inside true respect there are boundaries, and honoring them is the surer sign that your regard is real.
It is easy to love a tradition by reaching for it — by taking its words, its practices, its identity, and wrapping yourself in them because they move you. But love that ignores where a thing begins and ends is not yet love. It is wanting. The harder and truer respect knows what is not yet yours.
Respect that ignores the boundary is not respect. It is appetite wearing respect's clothes.
What the Boundary Asks
It asks, first, that you never claim a Jewish status you do not have. Drawn as you are, you are not Jewish by feeling, by study, or by longing — and to speak or act as if you were is not devotion but a quiet untruth. The path into the Jewish people is real and runs through real authority; it is not entered by self-declaration.
It asks, too, that you hold practice lightly while you learn — that you not perform observances as though they were already obligations you had taken on. What is required, what is forbidden, what is yours to do — these are not for a screen to tell you. They belong to the living conversation between a person and a qualified rabbi.
The Dignity of the Line
A boundary, gevul, is not an insult to your sincerity. It is what gives your sincerity somewhere firm to stand. The fence around a thing of value is itself a form of honor, and you honor the tradition most when you respect the lines it draws.
So learn freely, and love what you are learning — and let the boundary stand. When you are ready to ask what may cross from outside to inside, ask it of a living teacher, who alone can answer such a thing with the weight it deserves.