THE YOUNG STUDENT: PAINFUL LOSSES

This article originally appeared in Tri-Quarterly: Tri-Quarterly

I am twenty-three. I’m only out of college for a couple of years. I used to be frum (observant) but now I am off-the-derech (irreligious; literally, “off the road”). 

 In college, I was an observant Jew. I wanted to be part of Chabad, so right at the beginning of my college experience, I moved to a frum neighborhood and became integrated into the Chabad community. I boarded in a Chassidic rabbi’s home, and I worked for a frum family and for a Jewish educational organization. Basically, my life was the Chabad community. But then, over the past year, I became unhappy with how fake I had to be, to be a part of Chabad. It wasn’t just the queer thing—I’m gay, and that had to stay under wraps—but  also I was questioning how I wanted to relate to Judaism.

Accepting the fact of being gay has always been a challenge for me, but it’s even more so for me as a religious person. In college, I realized I probably wasn’t going to be straight, although I really hoped I could be bisexual and get married and go about having a normal Jewish life. But that didn’t happen.

In the last few months when I was staying in the basement of the rabbi’s house, I came to the decision that I didn’t want to be shomer shabbos [observant of the strict Sabbatical laws] anymore, but my roommate found out and called her rov [rabbi]. Her rov told her to tell my rebbetzin [rabbi’s wife], who called me. She was like, “Call me!” That’s never a good thing to hear from your rebbetzin!

She said she knew I wasn’t keeping shabbos, and she wanted to let me know what that would entail. She explained that it meant I couldn’t cook in anyone’s kitchen, and that consequence was the natural outcome of my decision to be less observant. She said people would not be able to trust me to keep their standard of kashrus [kosher]. I decided it would be simpler to keep things as they were. Even after I left the rabbi’s basement and moved to my next home, I kept everything [shomer shabbos] for the sake of the children I took care of. I didn’t want to have my relationship with them compromised in any way. I am their caregiver, and I feel I need to stay frum for them, because they have gone through a lot of trauma already.

Unfortunately, last week I had to go to another state to take care of my sister, but those kids all call me and I read them bedtime stories over the phone—kosher stories from kosher publishers. Hopefully, I will be back soon and be able to work with them again. I definitely want to keep a connection with them, because their mother passed away almost five years ago, and their father is very sick, too. Two of the kids have special needs, and there are a lot of challenges in their home. Mostly, though, there is the trauma of losing their mother.

I was originally hired because they needed a female presence in the house. It was funny to me that I, of all people, was that person. It was a natural thing for those five little kids to see me in the role of Mommy. It was really important work. I was terribly important in their lives, and so, after a while, I couldn’t come out to them, not as gay and not as not-so-frum anymore, either. It would change our interactions. It would be another huge loss for them, and I just can’t do it to them. It would be cruel.

They still don’t know I am queer. No one knows. I hope not, anyway. It would have a very negative impact on the way I am perceived and the way people decide to interact with me. Orthodox Jews view being gay as a challenge you are meant to overcome. That view is so pervasive. I haven’t seen any gay frum people interacting with regular frum people, but I do know it happens. Just not in front of me.

I’m horribly afraid of rejection. Those people in the community mean a lot to me. I would be devastated if I lost the love of my rebbetzin’s family, and I don’t care if they are homophobic. I know if they knew I was gay, they wouldn’t receive me the same way, but they are like parents to me! I don’t want to lose them. And I really love the children who lost their mother. I want to be a part of their lives, and I would really hate for that to be taken away from me or for me to be taken away from them. We have formed a really significant bond, and it would be horrible for all of us if that were severed.

Even if the families were accepting, and they didn’t give me the whole “Overcome this challenge” speech, they wouldn’t want me around their kids because, in their minds, being gay is contagious, and it sets a bad example for the kids. People have hidden beliefs when they are Chassidic. There’s a ton of esoteric concepts, and it wouldn’t just be as obvious as “Your actions are influencing my kids.” It would be “Your neshomah [soul] is influencing my family, your soul is flawed. You are full of klipah [spiritual impurity], and it would drag down my home.” I don’t want people to be disgusted by me like that. I don’t want to be different. I don’t want to be judged.

In the frum community there is always a lot of pressure to get married and have a large family. To me, it felt very bad. I was seeing someone, a woman, but I couldn’t bring my partner to a shabbos table and have the same happy and enthusiastic reception. If I had brought a gay girlfriend to my rebbetzin, if I had been out about it, she would probably have taken me aside and given me a big talk about halacha [Jewish law] and challenges, and my needing to make sane decisions about my future, and since she has daughters, she would have been freaked out that I’d stayed in the same bedroom as her girls. She would have been horrified.

It was weird having a girlfriend while I lived in the frum community. I was very closeted, but half an hour away, in [the local gay area], I was super out. I certainly wasn’t very smart about it. I had my girlfriend come over for visits as my “friend,” and then, one shabbos, when my roommate was out of town, it was different. I had her sleep over. After the meal, we were just out walking, but my girlfriend had a tiny pride button on her coat. I made her hide it. And then, after shabbos, we were hanging out late at night, when everyone was sleeping. We were just sitting in my car, and she leaned over and kissed me, and I had a fit! It was 3:00 a.m., but I was so afraid we would get caught. She laughed at me. Who would see? I was so paranoid, I started coming up with a list. “A jogger!” I said. “Someone who works in a bakery!” Who knows? That’s how it is when you could lose everything. I was very clear about it. I knew I could lose my job, my finances, my housing, my friends, my community, my adopted family. And I couldn’t afford to lose all that.

Anyway, when I had already been part of the Chabad community for a while, my rebbetzin sent me away to a religious seminary. The seminary rabbi gave an explanation for why people are gay. That was so uncomfortable! It was the worst explanation ever! He said, “If either the husband or the wife in a marriage is repulsed by their spouse, it can cause the child born from them to be gay.”” If the husband isn’t into his wife, then the son is going to be attracted to men. Wow! I kept on hearing these dumb explanations: “It’s a choice!”” “H-shem [G-d] doesn’t give you challenges you can’t handle.” I davened [prayed] so long and so hard to have this problem go away, but nothing changed. I couldn’t handle it, but I still had the challenge!

Also, in the seminary, trans people and sexuality in general were always made fun of and looked down on. They were discussed as disgusting things to be shunned. One person asked, “Which side of the mechitza does a trans woman sit on?” and Rabbi B [an internationally known rabbi] said, “That’s like a person who wants to be an elephant.” He turned it into a joke. It was so upsetting. Anyone who happened to be part of the queer spectrum would have been pushed far away from Yiddishkeit by Rabbi B’s response.

Even then, I knew Jewish trans people. All queer people have so many struggles, and trying to fit into the frum community is difficult for them, but it’s infinitely more challenging for trans people. As a result of the seminary rabbi, I became alienated and distanced. I felt like I wasn’t going to fit into the Chabad community, no matter how I behaved, or that there was something fundamentally wrong with me. Eventually, I felt suicidal and ended up in hospital for a while, trying to work through my feelings about queerness and Judaism. The rabbi in whose house I lived at that time wasn’t too excited about my being sick, and his family barely spoke to me after that. It was part of the reason I had to move out of that house. And afterward, I was different, not as involved in Chabad life, but still connected.

So many people in [the local gay area] have had bad experiences with religion and want nothing to do with it. So, in that area, I can’t be out about being Orthodox! I don’t fit in anywhere. All I want is to fit in and be normal . . . frum and gay. And not stigmatized. I still don’t know how to reconcile these two parts of myself. Before I had to leave to take care of my sister, I hung out with people who used to be frum. We got together on Friday night. We made kiddush, we made a seuda [meal] on shabbos day, but we went out on dates right afterward.

Even now that I don’t eat kosher, I’m completely unwilling to eat treif [nonkosher] meat. I don’t keep shabbos, but I wouldn’t ever light after licht bentshen [the time to light candles on Friday evening]. I still daven shacharis and mincha [pray the morning and afternoon services, about an hour’s worth of prayer] every day. My partner is upset at how religious I am, and at me being shomer shabbos. It feels like I can never satisfy both parts of myself.

My partner and some of my non-frum friends ask me why I don’t just do all the mitzvos, or do none and trick the people I work for. I couldn’t do that. My rebbetzin is very honest herself. Most frum Jews are very careful about that, but she is special. She asks me to be honest about my level of observance, to understand what I could lose by not being frum. She innocently trusts me to say the truth about whether or not I am shomer shabbos. I can’t betray that trust. Now that I am living with my sister, my rebbetzin calls me up and asks me to keep shabbos and go to shul [synagogue].

I wish I could come out to her, but once, my roommate was at a shabbos meal with me, at my rebbetzin’s house. One of her little girls was playing with my roommate’s ring. The girl took it off my roommate’s finger and then put it back on again and said, “Harei at mekudeshes li [“Behold! You are consecrated to me,” the traditional words at a Jewish wedding ceremony]. We are married now!” My rebbetzin laughed and then frowned and said, “How would that even work with two girls? It’s impossible!” My rebbetzin made being a lesbian into a joke! It’s crazy, because she knows women who are lesbians, even women who are lesbians in the frum community. She had a very close friend who turned out to be a frum lesbian.

I know two lesbians in the local Chassidic community. One of them is the head of an organization for gay frum Jews. When I didn’t know anyone frum and gay, I somehow found the book Keep Your Wives Away from Them. I looked at all the contributors’ info, and then I searched the names until I found a phone number for one of them. I called her up, and she was really understanding. I was in seminary at the time, so we met clandestinely. I met her wife, too, and we had a whole conversation about being queer and frum. She gave me the contact information for a frum lesbian in my community. It was all word of mouth.

When I went to the frum lesbian’s house for a shabbos meal, it was the most authentic meal I’d ever been to. It was beautiful! Then, when I returned to my rebbetzin’s house, I realized how closed down I had to be in her house, and how much I didn’t want to be like that. My rebbetzin’s home is open and inviting, as long as you fit their picture.

In my experience, there has only been one rabbi who was compassionate to my whole situation. Because of his accepting attitude, I came out to him. I wanted to ask him what I should do. I told him I struggled with attractions that are inappropriate, and he said, “To women?” He said it’s not the most important thing to get married and have a family. He said there are other things you can do as a Jewish woman. He also referenced a gay man who got married and had a kid. He didn’t freak out at me, but he still had this idea that if I really wanted to, I could change. He was a baal teshuva [returnee to Judaism], and he was supposedly a hippie before he became frum, so that might have affected his worldview.

Maybe hippies really have it right. I’m a big fan of Ve’ahavta lerei’echa kamoicha [Love your neighbor as yourself]. There aren’t any strings attached to that. There’s no “so long as your fellow Jew is . . . ” It’s not, Love these Jews but not those Jews. That’s the whole point. My rebbetzin really stressed the idea of the community waiting for everybody to be back from the Bais Hamikdash [Temple] before davening for rain. We wait for everyone, and everyone is important, no matter who they are or what their level of observance is, no matter what their challenges are. That was inclusive instead of exclusive. I want the community to be like that. You can’t be afraid of other people, and exclude them, and have this negative view, and really be holy. 

NB. These photos are only used for illustrative (or humourous) purposes and do not represent the people described in this article.

THE GOOD RAV: A Chassidic Talmud Chacham and Rabbi speaks:

                                                   Generic photo of a rabbi. NOT the speaker

This is a transcription from a speech given by a chassidic rabbi, a paskening rov, who does not identify as gay but who has been very supportive of LGBT people. This was not a private answer, but something that was said in front of an extremely large audience. Any mistakes are mine and not the rabbi's. 

I’d like to start with my personal journey regarding Judaism and homosexuality. It goes back over twelve years. It was late Thursday night. I came back after a long meeting and my wife said to me “Why are you crying?” I told her I’m sad for a young Jewish man, an Orthodox young man in his mid-thirties, who’d been to yeshiva for a number of years. He had come around after making an appointment and cancelling it, and then making another appointment and cancelling that one too, and then again, until he actually took courage to come around. 

He presented me with three questions:

1) I have never been attracted to women. I have always been attracted to men. I know there is a commandment in the Torah to be fruitful and multiply. Pru urvu. I have to have children. Is it indeed incumbent on me to get married and have children?

2) To the extent that I am a homosexual in orientation, meaning that I am only attracted to men and not to women, how would you behave towards me if I came to your shul? Would you allow me to daven before the amud? Would you allow me to get an aliyah? Would you allow me to be part of the community? What would happen if you knew I wasn’t just a homosexual in orientation but I was actually active, and engaged in a relationship with another man? Would that make a difference to you?

3) If it’s true that the Torah in the Book of Leviticus makes it clear, unequivocal, that it’s forbidden to engage in male homosexual liaison, I have to ask the question; G-d made me this way or He allowed me to develop like this, nature, nurture, but at the end of the day, I never chose it. From a very young age, this is what I recall. This is who I am. But G-d says, “Don’t engage in male-to-male intercourse”, so that means that I am obliged and presumed to remain celibate for my whole life. I won’t ask you why would G-d should do such a thing, to allow a [gay] person to develop through nature, nurture, providence, biology - and at the same time, constrain him in such a way as to give him a commandment that means that he has to remain lonely, to live a loveless life, craving for closeness, intimacy, physical intimacy included in sexuality, nevertheless deprived, frustrated, living a life of misery.

[The young man] posed those three questions that night and I hope to answer those three questions here now…

With regard to marriage, I said to him what I thought then was the obvious answer. I still think it is and I am surprised that there are others who disagree. If anyone, man or woman, draws another person into a marital relationship knowing that the other person is heterosexual, if a gay person draws another person into a relationship knowing that the other person craves a normal marriage and they are gay and they don’t inform their spouse of their orientation, this is an ethical crime of the highest order. 

Even if they do achieve what might be called informed consent, such a marriage is, “generally speaking” (there are always exceptions to every rule) an unconceived marriage for a number of obvious reasons. Even though, halachically, a man is obliged to get married and have children, there are circumstances when a person is not emotionally or physically equipped to have children. If a person is not attracted to women, then this would mean he would be exempt from fulfilling the positive commandment “Be fruitful and multiply.”  Halachically, I explained that there is a category *, there is only a certain extent that a person must push themselves or expend his resources in order to fulfill any given commandment, including this primary commandment of getting married. If a person’s psychological infrastructure was such that it didn’t attract him to women, he is not obliged to steel himself and live in a marital relationship in order to have children.

Subsequently, even recently, I have realized how important it is that this message gets across. Firstly, because I myself have seen many cases where people have been encouraged by spiritual leaders, psychological counselors, lay leaders, to get married and very often these [gay] people have gotten married with the best intentions and subsequently, they’ve suffered the consequences. They, their spouses, their children. In the aftermath of an acrimonious divorce, things become extremely messy, extremely painful for them.

The other reason is, because only recently in a kiruv journal that’s published in Flatbush, it was suggested that people who go through therapy, even though they are going to have relapses, even though it’s almost inevitable that there will be relapses into homosexual conduct, should get married. I find this to be mind-boggling! I feel it is important that people should be aware that getting married is not just a privilege, it’s a responsibility and a duty, and if a [gay] person doesn’t have the ability to remain committed and is unlikely to be able to suppress his inclination in all ways and at all times, then it’s better that he doesn’t get married. On the contrary, to give up the dream of marriage and having children and bringing grandchildren to ones own parents is an extremely difficult thing, and those people who do that, knowing that they are not able to honour the marital vows, are in actuality doing an act of altruism, in depriving themselves of blessings that they themselves may crave, the blessings of family life and children.

With regard to the second question, I said to him, paraphrasing what my friend Rabbi M said, the Torah prohibition is not about orientation, it’s about actions. Clearly, whatever a person is, no matter what his orientation is, he should be welcome in shul. He should be a full-fledged member of the synagogue, and there should not be ostracizing and then, he’d never be disenfranchised. We should accept any member, man or woman, regardless of their orientation. 

There are, however, two types of communities. There are those communities that only allow people who observe the entire Torah to be part of their community. If you do even one sin, then you are out. Clearly, such a community would not allow an active homosexual Jew to be a part of their community. But the vast majority of Jewish communities today do allow all sorts of people, many of whom don’t keep a whole host of laws, to be part of the shul membership. And it must be added, people who are dishonest in business are allowed to be members of those shuls. Dishonesty in business is an infringement of a law against ones fellow man, an interpersonal crime, whereas homosexual relations are actually only a crime between man and G-d. There is no human victim here. It’s not in an exploitative context. 

Rambam, Maimonides, writes in a number of places, in his magnum opus, the Mishneh Torah, that forbidden sexual relationships come under the category of Bein Adam Lemakom, between man and  G-d. Therefore, in a community that makes room for people who don’t fully observe the shabbos or the rules of niddah, Taharas Hamishpacha, family purity and so on, there is no reason they should not  allow even practicing homosexuals to be part of their community, provided they [the homosexuals] are respectful to the ethos of the synagogue. But that’s true with regard to ALL people. We allow heterosexuals to be part of our community, sometimes we have shabbatonim for young boys and girls on Friday night, we don’t check up on them when they go home, and provided they are respectful to the shul,  they behave in accordance with the ethos of the shul, then of course they can be fully participant in the shul.

I believe that most people are not compelled to do things all of the time. There may be exceptions to the rule. In terms of assessing the severity or the lack of severity of a particular crime, you have to take into consideration the context. Today, even if people know something is forbidden, and they know that’s what the Torah says and that’s what the rabbi preaches from the pulpit. Even if they know that’s what they are supposed to do, they were raised in a society that disregarded these prohibitions. Generally speaking, they are classified in halachic literature as a tinok shenisba, a child taken into captivity. 

As condescending as the term may sound, Maimonides, in his Laws of Rebels, Hilchot Mamrim, chapter 3, section 3, used this term to describe second generation Karaites, who although they knew all their Jewish obligations and were quite familiar with the rabbinical tradition, and knew what they were supposed to do, nevertheless, since they were brought up in a society that disregards these rules and did not consider them to be binding , they weren’t held responsible to the same degree type as someone who had received an education right from a young age in keeping the laws of the oral rabbinic tradition. The same thing applies here. In western society where many people are brought up under the influence of the  Zeitgeist, according to which the sexual morality of the day doesn’t necessarily honour the Torah’s view, such people, where the cap fits, can also be deserving of the title tinok shenisba.

If I say nothing else but this, dayeinu. When G-d judges people, he does not judge them according to the objective category of the crime. He judges them according to their subjective circumstances.  Now, any heterosexual, myself included, who thinks about their own challenges, knows that he often slips and falls, even when he could have done better. Think about the plight of homosexuals, such as the young man I was speaking to on that night, who was constrained in a homosexual orientation such that he was not able to have any other outlet. How many of us would actually be ready to commit ourselves to a life of celibacy and avoid all transgressions at all times? I think if we look at ourselves honestly in the mirror and if we put our hands on our hearts, we will acknowledge that this would be a very difficult achievement. 

Therefore, understanding the circumstances and the context in which a homosexual finds himself is most important. If G-d judges people according to their circumstances, we too, should do so as well. While that does not mean in any way shape or form that we want to rewrite the halacha, the law, the Torah states explicitly that which it states, nevertheless, it does make a huge difference in the way we approach an individual who is confronted with a special set of challenges, circumstances which are most difficult.

I finally come to the last question I was confronted with that night:

Lamah asah H-shem kacha? Why did G-d make me this way? This question has been so powerful that some rabbis have felt compelled to assume that there must be some magical cure, or way of transforming homosexuals, making them into heterosexuals. Recently, some rabbis issued a Torah Declaration that said that reorientation must be possible for all people because G-d, who is merciful, would not create people to have them locked in an unfulfilling life, lonely and loveless, and that the only way they could get out of this [isolation] would be through a prohibition.

This argument, in my opinion, is theologically flawed, because we find that G-d actually has put lots of people in these circumstances.  We can find many people who, whether by providence or from biology, are in circumstances where the only way to escape misery would be through violating halacha. There are people who, because of physiological, biological, emotional or even halachic conditions, can’t get married, and such people have to live a celibate life. And the only way they are able to find intimacy and physical love would be if they were to violate the halacha.

There have been, in the past, many people who were constrained and unable to have children because of premature ovulation, and the laws of niddah affected their ability to have the blessing of children. That’s an example of people committed to keep the halacha who have even suffering childlessness their whole lives, in order not to transgress the halacha. There are people in around the world who have to give up a lot, to live in destitution, even die of poverty, in order not to break shabbos. The idea that despite the nisyonos that G-d gives people, we can somehow straightjacket G-d and insist, and say G-d would never do that, is not correct and not reflective of reality. Therefore I don’t think that is a statement that can be supported. I don’t accept that as the answer to the theological question [of why did G-d make me like thus].

How then do I deal with the theological question? The answer is very simple. I don’t. I don’t have an answer. The question is an important question but it doesn’t have anything to do with homosexuality or heterosexuality or anything to do with sexuality. It has to do with all of these and many more. It has to do with the general question in theology of why do great people suffer from infertility? Why can’t great people find love and spouses? Why do great people suffer from many tragedies, and great, small, or medium-sized difficulties in their lives? We have no ability to answer that.  Therefore, it’s important to place this question in the right context. It’s not unique to the sexual portion of Leviticus. It is something about the human condition and the way G-d created us.

In my own meetings with homosexuals, I have four goals that I do believe can be achieved, I strive to achieve them and to a large extent, I have achieved them:

1.     Someone who is homosexual should not lose his life from depression, from feelings of impotence, through drugs, through ephemeral relationships and promiscuity.

2.     Someone who is homosexual should not lose their family, through them alienating their parents and siblings, or through their parents or siblings alienating them.

3.      Homosexuals should not lose their rabbis, their communities, their place in their shul, either through their shul alienating them or them alienating their shul, or through identifying themselves completely by their orientation and going off somewhere else.

4.     Homosexuals should not lose their G-d, They shouldn’t feel that just because they have such a tremendous challenge and just because they haven’t always been able to meet the requirements of this challenge according to the Torah, therefore, it’s all or nothing. Strangely, no heterosexuals seem to feel that their failings make them that way [excluded from the frum community]. For some reason, this is a mistake that’s happened; that people feel it’s either all or nothing. We have to somehow make sure that people should recognize that G-d loves all Jewish people, and the Jewish community should make room in their home for every Jew. 

      As I said before, we should do everything in our power so that homosexual Jews should not lose their lives, not lose their families, not lose their communities and not lose their G-d.

 

ORTHODOX LGBT FAQs

Orthodox LGBT FAQs (courtesy of JQY)

Common Orthodox questions, criticisms, and concerns vs. Supportive Orthodox Rabbinic Responses
Over the years, JQY has spoken at various panels and has had many private conversations with Orthodox Rabbis. We have compiled this fact sheet as a resource to describe the common questions, criticisms, and concerns that our members have heard from friends, family and community members, and that they have struggled with internally. We have paired each question with responses we have received from supportive Orthodox rabbis.

If you have any questions about any items on this fact sheet, or if you would like request a JQY panel where we can discuss these questions in greater depth, pleasecontact us.

Common Questions, Criticisms, and Concerns Supportive Rabbinic Responses Hashem does not give us anything we can not overcome. Doesn't this mean that homosexuality can be overcome? Many challenges in life are not changeable. We do not tell deaf people that they can “overcome” their deafness and hear. We learn to live our best lives with life's realities. Everyone has their nisayon (test) in life, some of which are very difficult, isn't being gay or lesbian just a nisayon for a person to overcome? A person's nisayon (test) is to make the most of their lives and be the best Jew they can be. We don't say the nisayon of a deaf person is to hear the shofar, it is to find his unique relationship to the commandment. A nisayon is intended to bring a person closer to G-d, it is not intended to make a person live in misery. Since homosexuality is called a toevah (abomination), doesn't it mean that it is an ethical evil that goes against Jewish hashkofa (thought) and must never seem normal? We do not know taamei hamitzvot (the reasons for commandments), eating shrimp and wearing shatnez (cloth containing wool and linen) are also called a toevah (abomination), if a person struggles with a sin between him/her and G-d that does not make him/her an evil person. Isn't being “out” worse than merely sinning because the person is advertises the sin publicly, which is itself yehareg va'alyaver (death is preferable to the transgression)? Being “out” actually says nothing about whether one sins, or is public about sinning. Out LGBT Orthodox Jews can still be tzniut (modest), and not discuss specific sexual behaviors publicly. One should not make assumptions about someone else's private life or their sexual behaviors just because the person is 'out'. Straight people don't go around telling people that they are straight, why do gay people feel the need to do so? Just as straight people would correct you if you assumed he or she were gay, gay people do not need to lie or pretend to be heterosexual when they are not. Every wedding, anniversary, and shidduch (arranged marriage) is a proclamation of one's heterosexuality. We do not ask an agunah (a woman who can not remarry due to not receiving a 'get') to say that she is no longer attracted to men, even though acting on this attraction would be a sin. Doesn't pride or celebration of one's sexuality go against the Jewish tradition of tzniut (modesty)? It is important to combat the internalized shame that many LGBT people experience with self-esteem i.e. pride. Furthermore, the strength and bravery it takes to come out, overcome obstacles, and persevere is what is celebrated, not any specific sexual behavior. We actually do not know whether homosexuality is genetic or environmental. Doesn't this mean that a person can and should change? Whether someone is 'born gay' or becomes gay due to environmental factors does not imply that being gay is somehow a choice or changeable. Many things that are caused by the environment are in fact unchangeable. If we are openly affirming or accepting of gays, won't this be encouraging homosexuality and lead those who are on the fence to become gay? Speaking out against homosexuality does not prevent anyone from being gay; it just increases the shame and internal suffering that LGBT people experience in the Orthodox community. Sensitivity and being welcoming is the torah way, and can be life-saving for individuals suffering in silence. We can love the sinner, but we are supposed to hate the sin, so how can we be supportive of gay Jewish organizations and homosexuality? Identifying as gay does not imply anything about whether or not a person is “sinning” by engaging in specific prohibited behaviors. Hating the sin should not mean denying a person the resources that they desperately need. Sexuality may be fluid for some, so shouldn't everyone at least make an attempt in 'reparative therapy' if it helps some individuals? Helping some does not justify hurting others. Many individuals have reported being harmed by these types of therapies, which are often conducted by unlicensed individuals who face no repercussions for irresponsible and potentially damaging interventions. How can we say “it gets better” to a life that halachicaly (from a Jewish legal standpoint) can have no sexual outlet? We don't say to agunot (women who can not remarry due to not receiving a 'get') that “it can never get better”, or that there is no value or place for them in Jewish life just because we can not legitimize any of their romantic behavior. Why should LGBT Orthodox Jews be treated any different from those who desire other sexual sins like adultery? If we are to use adultery as an analogy, it would be similar to the case of an agunah (a woman who can not remarry due to not receiving a 'get'), who through no fault of her own may not have any halachicaly (from a Jewish legal standpoint) permitted sexual behavior or marriage. Isn't homosexuality yehareg v'al yaavor (death is preferable to transgression), putting it in a different category than other sins, similar to murder? If we are to use murder as an analogy, it would be similar to the case of brain death and organ donation, where, although it is technically yehareg v'al yaavor (death is preferable to transgression), where sensitivity, ambiguity, and compassion are all imparted on those making decisions, even when they may be against rabbinic advice. While desire may not be a choice, behavior is always a choice. Shouldn't we therefore judge those who we know engage in sexual behavior as sinners? In cases of Jewish suicide, halachic burial (burial according to Jewish law) is almost never observed because we assume that the behavior is engaged in when a person is in an altered mental state. Individuals who have Aspergers, ADD, or other different issues are often exempt from general orthodox expectations. We can not truly judge a person until we are in their shoes. Shouldn't we avoid legitimizing or celebrating relationships that involve sin? Rabbis often counsel and celebrate couples who may not be following taharat hamishpocha (family purity laws) they still celebrate their relationships, and expect that the community not make any assumptions about possible sinful activity. Kedushin (Jewish marriage) can only be between a man and a woman. How can we ever legitimize marriage between two people of the same sex as halachic marriage (Jewish legal marriage)? Refusing to go to attend a loved one's life events or not permitting someone's partner to attend a simcha (celebratory event) can damage relationships and create alienation and negative feelings toward Judaism. Attendance is a sign of love and support, and can help a person maintain their connection with Orthodoxy. It is not the same as legitimizing. A parent can celebrate a loved one being happy and not being alone without legitimizing the halachic nature (Jewish legal status) of his or her relationship.

THE GAY BAAL TESHUVA

 We are interviewing B, a distinguished therapist and a frum gay man. Though frum earlier in his life, he went through a period of estrangement from religion and is now making his way back.

Can you tell me your favourite memory from when you were a kid?

B: Oh my god, this could take a year to think of. Do you have any chocolate? Let me think. (Long silence)  I don’t know how old I was, seven or eight, my parents took me out to a fancy restaurant for my birthday with a band and the waiter wore a tuxedo and at one point, the waiter went by the table and mumbled something and my dad just nodded and the next thing I knew the band started playing happy birthday and the waiter brought a cake with a lit sparkler and set it down in front of me and I said “FOR MEEEEE???” I never thought that would happen for me. I was in a  restaurant with adults, no other kids there, and the band had played music…I didn’t think I was very important, I guess, and this was a disproof of that belief about myself.

You’ve told me about wanting to be in yeshivah, tell me about your yeshiva experience?

B: Everyone in my family used to think I wanted to become a rabbi because I attended yeshiva, but I never really wanted to be a rabbi in shul. It didn’t seem like fun.

The first night I was in yeshiva I sat on the floor of a coat room next to the Bais Medrash, and I was writing in my journal, I wrote “I think this is as close to living in a monastery as I’m ever going to get.” And then I got a lot of sh*t from the bochurim (young men) because I was sitting on the floor and that’s only something that an avel (mourner) should do. There were no chairs. I just wanted to sit on the floor. It was comfortable for me to sit there, by myself, which is why I sat there with my journal, until I was surrounded by people telling me I was doing the wrong thing.

One of the main features of my experience in Yeshiva was being told how I was doing things wrong.

I had long hair. I always wore jeans and a flannel shirt, never put on a black hat, refused to cut my hair. Those were the most obvious things. I don’t think anyone ever said anything to me about not davening from the chassidish siddur, but I didn’t. I used my own. Actually, it was a chassidish siddur, just not Chabad.

Oh, as I look back on it now, I realize that I get down on myself so much, the last thing I needed was to have other people in my environment telling me I am doing things all wrong. It’s kind of like, if you’ve already eaten a big meal and then someone insists that you eat something else, you wind up with a stomach ache.

Did you know you were gay in yeshivah?

B: I knew I was attracted to other guys. The word “gay” didn’t happen in my life for a long time. Thankfully, there was nobody in the yeshiva who I had a crush on. That would have made life even more painful and conflicted than it already was. But I often went on mivtzoim to Rutgers University, and I once stopped somebody there who was adorable and some weeks later, erev shabbos, there he was in Morristown!  He came to stay for shabbos. I was both astonished as well as overwhelmed with excitement. Obviously, other bochurim had continued "working on him" on subsequent Fridays after I made the initial connection, some weeks prior. I think that was near the end of my time in yeshiva and I didn’t have much time with him but I started teaching him to read Aleph Bais, and I was sharing with him how important it was to me that I was getting to teach him to read hebrew, because everything he would learn after that would be based on his ability to read Hebrew…it would be the ground of everything that he would learn for the rest of his life and I was honoured to be able to provide that for him. Actually, for me, I think it was like getting to spend the rest of our lives together, and actually, to some extenet, that is the case.

That shabbos, we took a walk together, and I so badly wanted to confess my strong feelings for him. But I didn’t. If I would have stayed in yeshiva and he was there too, I would have been much more tortured than I already was. I still have an inkling that he felt similarly towards me. We had a very special connection. But who knows?

Thursday nights were a wonderful time there.  Everyone used to stay up later than usual because every once in a while, the Rosh Yeshiva would come into the Beis Medresh, sit down in one of the classrooms which would immediately fill with bochrim.  He would teach a maamer, translating from the Yiddish.  And it was late, you know.  So people started getting sleepy and leaving one by one.  Once he was convinced that no one else was going to leave, he nodded to this one guy, sort of the shamesh, who left and then came back with a gallon of Shmirnoff Vodka!  The farbrengen was about to begin.  L’chayims were poured for each of us around the table.   The Rabbi lifted his cup and said “L’chayim!” and so did everyone else.  Then they tilted their shots back and drank. Everyone but me. I mean, there was no tonic, no 7-up; just straight vodka.  I couldn’t drink that stuff.  Then the Rosh Yeshiva looked directly at me and said: “Dov!  L’chayim!!”  I drank.

After the l’chayim, we sang a niggun.  Over and over we’d repeat the wordless tune.  Then the Rabbi spoke, but now, not from a book, but from his heart.  And after a while, we’d make another l’chayim and sing another niggun.  And the whole cycle would repeat, who knows how many times.  I definitely felt as if we were approaching the Throne of H-shem.  That was one of the most important experiences I had there.  I remember one night – we had some wild nights! - he lined all of us up and took ahold of each of us by the beard and kissed us each on the lips.  There was nothing sexual about this.  It was an act of brotherly love between Jews.  It was beautiful. 

The two most meaningful things I learned in Yeshiva were the niggunim and to make l’chayim. Which isn’t to say I didn’t appreciate the learning, ah, the other learning that is.  But those two skills, if you will, have given me so much, which I still appreciate to this day, almost 40 years later.  (Yikes!) 

I remember I must have been there a while, one Thursday night, I asked the Rosh Yeshiva for some time, and when I went into the office, I asked him, “What about masturbation?” and he asked me what I meant, and I said, “Is it okay to do it?” and he was like no, it’s an aveirah (sin). I think he told me, It’s like taking G-d’s head and putting it into the toilet bowl. I was shocked at the idea of not masturbating. I said to him, I feel like you are telling me to say goodbye to my best friend. But wanting to be a good Jew, and do what G-d wants, I decided to give up my best friend. And here’s what I learned: I learned that it gets easier the longer it goes. 

I also learned to appreciate the laws of tznius (modesty), which had seemed so outdated and so anachronistic, in our modern culture. This is what became clear to me, I remember being in Manhattan with my family one evening, walking down Fifth Avenue, and there was a huge Calvin Klein billboard, an underwear ad. Part of me wanted to fly up into the ad, I was so taken with the model's beauty. As a result of my quickly building excitement, I also realized that in order to contain myself, I had to avert my gaze. And then it became so clear to me, the laws of negiah and dressing modestly…if someone has committed to keeping their sexuality contained, rather than allowing it to explode outward, it becomes too difficult when you are surrounded with stimulating images. This didn’t have to do with homosexuality, per se, but with sexuality in general. It was more an appreciation for what is sometimes considered an “outdated” set of laws…It’s not so outdated, if you start thinking about it.

                                 I only dress with sleeves this short when I'm at home.

Keeping shabbos changes your whole week. You have to plan. Guarding your zera (seed) takes planning too. Everything changes with each obligation that you take on. Each thing is important. Each thing has value. All sorts of halochos, mishnayos, even a whole tractate of mishna goes right out of the window, if we say “That’s not relevant anymore.” I don't want to do that.

Tell me about your learning schedule:

B: I studied longer and harder in yeshiva than I did  in college and grad school put together. It eclipsed everything. When I went to the bathroom, I would take my human physiology text book so that I wouldn’t waste my time.

Nowadays, I study Tanya before I daven in the morning, I don’t do the portion you are supposed to do, but I read and understand whatever I can each day. At night, I study the daily portion of Chumash, but after going through it for some years, I found that i kept stumbling over the same words. So, a few years ago, I started making flash cards with the words that were difficult for me and the phrase in the posuk where the word was contained and identifying info, with a couple of different translations on the other side of the index card, before reading th day's parsha, I run through the flashcards first.  Only then do I go through the portion, which becomes much easier once i know what all the words mean.And then I try to understand the Rashi as well. My goal is to be able to look at any part of chumash and know what all the words mean. It’s just so basic. There’s so much to know, Tanach and Mishna and Gemarrah. At least before I die, I should know the words of Chumash! It’s just a tiny bit of all we have to learn as Jews., but shouldn’t I be able to be comfortable with any piece of Chumash? 

     All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy though...
I don’t think that my tehillim saying is part of my learning, but I recite them. When I was a young kid in Hebrew school, one of the teachers told a story about a blacksmith who, while he worked, he recited tehillim all day, and when he died, the melachim were all excited that this man was entering heaven, and that made an impression on me, because even though I didn’t start saying tehillim until relatively recently, I guess I want to be important in heaven. That sounds ridiculous. I’m going to change that. How self righteous can you get?!

Are there any mitzvahs that are extra important for you?

B: I wouldn’t buy a condo until I found one that had a spot for my sukkah. I was tired of sneaking into the sukkahs at shuls and relying on friends. I wanted to be able to eat all of my meals in a sukkah.

A long time ago, way before I went to yeshiva,  I found a booklet on mezuzah, which then became a very important mitzvah for me. I wanted kosher mezuzos on all the doorways. It meant that this is a Jewish household. Not a token Jewish household, not a mezuzah case without a parchement, but a kosher mezuzah on each doorway, infusing my entire home.

Kiddush levana. Giving maaser. Davening shacharis. I despise getting up in the morning. So to have enough time, especially as I add to my davening, I have to get up earlier. Now I say  an abbreviated psukei d’zimrah but maybe one day...

Keeping kosher has been hard for me, I stopped eating milk and meat in junior high even though I loved cheeseburgers, and stopped eating shrimp, which was my number one favourite food. When I moved into my condo, my first home, I decided this is MY place, it has to be 100% kosher. And it was hard to give up some of my family’s old utensils that had meaning for me, but they couldn’t be koshered and I had to let them go. Having separate sinks and counters and pots and pans and dishes, and having mezuzahs is a way for me to maintain that my home is a kosher Jewish home.

One Elul,  3 or 4 years ago, I decided, that for the duration of the month, I wouldn’t eat any treif meat (since at the time, I had been allowing myself a burger or steak every once in a while when I ate out) , and once Yom Kippur and Sukkos came and went, I was like, “So now do I start eating treif again?! So without  intending to do so, I gave up eating treif. It’s frustrating sometimes,  because going out to nice (unkosher) restaurants is one of my favourite things to do in life, I just have to remind myself that refraining from eating (mamash) treif is my way of being a Jew in the world. It’s not only about doing things; it’s about not doing things too.

That’s where I am holding now. I’m afraid if I do more, I will just scrap the whole thing. It’s like someone who asks for money, and then they ask for more, I say, no that’s all I have, that’s all for now. So too with this, that’s all for now: I don’t want to overburden myself so I'm going slowly.

Which parts of you make you feel like less of a Jew?

B: Being gay. Since pru urvu (To be fruitful and multiply) is a mitzvah, the first mitzvah, in Parshas Breishis, it feels like something very essential, almost primitive, that’s a mitzvah that I am not able to be mekayam at this point. I remember being in junior high and having fantasies of a home with a wife and children and a shabbos tish (Sabbath table). Part of me still hasn’t fully accepted that that isn’t the route that I took. I guess I am still deceiving myself, even though I am turning 60.

Being at Eshel events, has made it clear to me that the two groups of people I feel most uncomfortable around are frum Jews and gay men, especially attractive gay men. Oh my gorsh, what a statement! I want so badly to be part of both worlds and no matter what success I may meet with, I still experience myself to be on the outside.

Not having children makes me feel extremely disenfranchised from the Jewish nation. I’m not going to say, even though I’m almost 60. A day doesn’t go by without me thinking about the prospect of having children. For one reason, my grandfather, my dad’s dad, was a cohein, and he had a son and a daughter. My dad told me that I was a cohen and I asked him how he knew, and he said because  Grandpa told him he was.  And I asked, “but how did Grandpa know?” And he said “Cuz his father told him.”  And I went “Ohhhhh!” My parents had one girl and two boys, and although my sister’s son is a rabbi, he of course isn’t a cohen. My brother married a non-Jew, so that’s the end of that! So if I don’t have a son,  this line of the Cohuna which I am on, ends here. That kills me.

And aside from that,  part of the reason why children are important to me is because, unlike in Christianity or Buddhism, I think that being Jewish is really about being part of a people and there’s  this long line that goes back to Avrohom and Sarah. And the thought that it’s come all this way, maybe for thousands of generations, and it’s going to stop with me, tears me apart. I want to be part of the people, I want to be part of moving us forward into the future and it doesn’t feel right that I am childless.

Could you talk about attempts to make a family?

I’ve had the good fortune to be invited into the bosom of a very warm and delicious family which has completely changed my experience of life. I now have children in my life, who sometimes get excited when I come in, and even when they don’t, at least their dog gets excited! Always knowing I have a place for shabbos and yontiff is an amazing comfort. It’s a nechoma (comfort) for me.

I’ve never given up my fantasy of a four flat, with one floor for me and my partner, another floor for my wife and her partner, and a floor where we raise our children and then the first floor, which would be business offices where I would run my business, but I’ve done nothing to actualise this fantasy that I’ve had for over 20 years. My last therapist pointed out over and over how I repeatedly confuse tofel/iker (the main thing versus the unimportant), by getting so focused on details that I would totally miss the actual point of the whole thing. 

What I’m going to say is funny but actually tragic. Years ago, there were t-shirts of a woman aghast and the caption was “Oh My God! I forgot to have children!” I’ve been so busy, first coming out, which I did in my late 20's and 30's, and then establishing myself professionally, which also happened late as a result of not trusting my competence. So here I am now, realising that it’s pretty late in the game. 

When I left yeshiva, I remember dropping Jewish practices: my tzitzis, shabbos, kashrus, my kippah. I remember when my kippah came off, I stopped making brochos because my head wasn’t covered, But I knew I still wanted to make brochos, so I started again. This time even when my head was uncovered.  Realizing I didn’t have to stop making brochos before eating and drinking just cuz I wasn’t wearing a kippa was a welcome revelation.  Actually, to me it seems like a proper use of iker and tofel.  I’m not saying it’s not important to cover one’s head. But since I am not ready to wear a kippah in public, why deprive myself of the pleasure I get from acknowledging Hashem’s goodness in providing for my needs?  Surely that is more important than is a mere head-covering!

Later on, I missed so much of what I’d given up and started to add them back into my life. I had let enough things go that I didn’t feel like I was a worthy member of an Orthodox shul. At the same time, I had little interest in more modern shuls. They didn’t feel authentically Jewish to me, they feel chopped up and disjointed. Orthodox shuls feel more whole to me. Maybe  I am very wrong but I imagine there is more likelihood that some people in frum shuls are actually trying to communicate with Hakadosh Boruch Hu. I’m thinking of Rabbi W [the shliach tzibbur in a large local chassidic shul] right now. But I could be very wrong about that generalization.

I don’t always get the warmest feeling from people at the chassidic shul, and since I’ve told some of the people there that I am gay. I imagine that everyone knows now and isn’t thrilled with my presence. However I also know that I tend to make up stories that leave me feeling isolated and marginalised – which goes back to the two groups of people I am most uncomfortable with! So that outsider feeling I experience in that shule may be all in my head.  I have a long history of believing I am inadequate and feeling quite ashamed of myself.

What’s the hardest thing about being frum and gay?

B: The only kehillah that I am part of, where I feel loved and respected, is not Torah observant. When I find a place that is Torah observant and I feel drawn to it, I am aware of how alien I experience myself to be, as I imagine myself to be not loved or respected. So then I have to chose: Will I daven in a way that is meaningful to me, but where I don’t think there is a place for me, or with a group of people who care about me deeply, as well as caring about being Jews, but insist on doing the Jewishness in their own ways, not in the ways of halachah?

The hardest thing is having my feet in two different camps. Having my feet in two camps isn’t restricted only to being frum and gay…in the days when I was going to gay bars to meet men, I quickly learned when asked what I do, to stop saying I am a psychotherapist, because when I said that, the person I had been speaking with got the impression that I was trying to read their mind, and then I’d be suddenly be alone, so I started said I was a waiter. That worked better. Even in the world of therapy, I find myself divided, because the kind of therapy that I practise, Gestalt, is not au courant especially here where I live, so when I am talking to a group of therapists, my vocabulary and outlook are hard for the others to understand, and I get the impression that what I say doesn’t make sense to the professional audience I am speaking to.

I just want to connect!

On Rosh Hashana, you went to a chassidish shul and the aliyos were auctioned off, and the man sitting next to you gave you the first aliyah of the year. How can you consider yourself “alien, unloved and respected”?

I take responsibility for some of my paranoia, but this man who is so kind to me, to offer me this honour two years in a row, this year, he added, when I thanked him, “You deserve it”…I imagine he doesn’t feel like he fits into the shul so well either. This is a very quiet man, who seems to keep to himself.  While others might be conversing, his nose is in his siddur. The  only time that he raises his voice is during the shnudering. (auction of aliyos). When he told the gabbai (shul sexton) that he was giving me the aliyah he had purchased, I had the impression that the gabbai exhaled and rolled his eyes. But I could have been wrong about that.

A lot of my experience in that shul is good, which is why I go there as often as I do, which admittedly, isn’t often..  I always make it a point to be there on Rosh Hashanna, solely because of the way tikias hashofar are carried out.      way the khal (community) recites kapital M’Z (Psalm 47) out loud seven times before the tekios, everyone says it, everyone! And then the rov starts min hameitzar (Out of the Depths prayer before shofar blowing), every word, he’s saying it from so deep inside himself and he makes the brochos so slowly and carefully, even though during the actual blowing of the tekios, the rabbi seems a bit unskilled, so sometimes it’s frustrating, waiting three four five minutes until he squeaks out a tekiah, but really it doesn’t matter. The whole reason I go to this shul is to be there for tekios shofar. There is clearly so much kavana and attention being brought to this momentous moment; for me it exudes kedusha.  Speaking of which, saying kedusha in that shule is also a high point for me, as it’s screamed out, sung out, clapped to.  It would be danced to, if we were allowed to move our feet! 

 

Are you ever confronted by your fear of frum Jews? 

Constantly. I just had an insight. Every time I say “frum Jews”, I really mean confronting a fear of my own “inadequacy”.

How is the frum world changing?

My friend, now, finally gets invitations to chassunos that are addressed to her and her girlfriend, from the baal tefillah of the Chassidic shul. Five years ago, she would get the invitation, but not her girlfriend, which was very hirtful for them. It seems to me that that's a huge deal. A lesbian couple is receiving an invitation to a chassidic chasuna. Amazing!

I’ve met a man at Eshel who told me that he got smicha (rabbinical ordination) at 770 (Chabad) and when I said “You live in Crown Heights?” he said that there are a lot of gay men who live in Crown Heights. Some are out and some are not.

In one month I am offering a two day conference on working with shame for therapists. It’s kind of like a big coming out party for me. The reason why I have chosen to do a conference on shame is because I am aware of its profound influence on my life. I am aware that many of my answers all boil down to a sense of shame about myself.

The direction that shame takes us is deeper inside ourselves and away from the world which creates a sense of isolation and estrangement. Coming out is davka (exactly) the antidote to shame. Moving outward is the only way that we can ever connect with other people. It’s the only hope we have for finding the sense of connection and community which is what all people long for. 

As I say in the conference, at bottom we are all dogs! A dog wants nothing more than to be with others, a dog is happy just sitting at the feet of its master or friend. A dog alone is unhappy. That aloneness is what I feel both when I imagine I’m not welcome in a frum minyan, as well as when I’m davening with friends I love, but whose davening practices leave me a bit empty. I did notice this past Yom Kippur, in my own chavura, when I was the shliach tzibur for Kol Nidrei, that I put myself out more freely than I ever have in the past and I noticed the response was more lively, more enthusiastic than I’d ever experienced in the past.  I believe the more I put myself out there in an authentic way, the more I am  available to be met.

If you could ask the frum world for one thing?

Don’t be so afraid. I’m talking both to myself and to the frum world. To the frum world I'd like to say,When you roll your eyes and judge people with your opinions and your words, you make them “other”. It’s about fear. You are afraid of what will happen if you allow yourselves to be open to difference. The Jewish world is soooo frightened of difference. I think our brutal history makes it understandable, but it’s a harsh way to live and it creates a harsh environment for all of us. I would ask you, for my sake, as well as for your own, to try and be less scared. Or to put it in a positive direction, to open up, to love.