THE ROV'S LESBIAN DAUGHTER: Forbidden Love at the Bungalow Colony

I am a chassidish woman, in my thirties. I grew up in a very careful house, the kind where stockings are important, hairstyles are important. My father is a rov. I am married. I have a family of my own but sometimes, it feels like I have two families.

Before I was married, there was a girl I liked. She lived on the same street as me. We were best friends. I didn't like her.  I loved her. When I looked at her, it was if there was a silvery cloud around her. She shone in the face, like the biggest tzideikis. We were in the same class, all through school and she loved me too. She said she did and I know she did.

I didn't know that when I got married I wouldn't feel the same way for my husband.

Then, when this friend and I had both been married for quite a few years, we began going to the same bungalow, in the country. We had bungalows very close, one to the other, and we had pitzelach, the same.

In the summer, when our husbands were not with us, we sat on the screen porch and we sewed clothing, dresses, things for the children, and we moved the machines onto the same porch so we could work together and schmooze and watch the kids.

It started, we made lunch together for the kids, and then it just seemed easier to have the supper together too. It was like we were a family, her and me, even though her mother and some of her sisters were in that same bungalow.

The worst time is shabbos because that is when the hubbies come back and we have to be very careful then. It's not like she can come over and say we are sewing together! Usually, shabbos is my favorite time of the week, but not in the summer. Then it is the worst.

My little girl asked me when I was lighting candles, ""Mommy, did something bad happen to you?" I told her no, no, of course not, but you can't fool the children. She knew.

One day, my friend and I were talking about this other woman we both knew, someone who was maybe doing something she shouldn't with another man, not her husband. I said to my friend, "That's not my problem! I'm not interested in going off with another man. One man is more than enough for me." She looked at me so long and strong, but we didn't say anything, just looked.

The next day and for a few more days, we sewed and cooked and watched the kids just like before, but then, one day, as I was sewing, my friend came up behind me and she leaned down very close to me and asked, "What do you think of this s'choirah (fabric)?" She held it out to me and ran it across my palm, very slow and gentle, and I caught in my breath. I looked out of the window to make sure no one could see, because there were many women and children all over there, even her mother in that bungalow, but it was towards the middle of the day and no one was there because they were giving lunch.

Then, I looked to see what my children were doing, and they were busy in the next room with playdough.

"So what do you think?" she said again, and this time, she put her hand on the back of my neck and all the hairs there went up, and I felt myself blushing all over and very very hot.

She touched me on the shoulder of my chalat (house dress) and then she put her finger on my lip and I thought I was going to die from her touch, like my whole body suddenly jumped to life and then stopped. "You have beautiful lips," she said. "I can't stop looking at them." Her voice was scratching, like she was scared and I was scared too. But that's what she said!  I also couldn't stop looking at her lips. First her eyes, then her lips. I thought there was something wrong with me and then she said it's the same with her.

You know what happens to people like us if you get caught? If people saw us there in the bungalow, or if they thought something, they would talk about us, they would talk about our families, all on the sudden no one would let their children play with our children and when the husbands came up, they would hear about it and, to save face, they would have to throw us out, because otherwise they are as bad as we are. If it was her mother or her sisters who found us out, I don't know what would happen but it would be very hard.

I am not going to say it was all my friend, because it wasn't. I wanted her too. She's all I can think about sometimes. I make stupid excuses to leave the house to call her, when I should be at home. Sometimes, I can't believe my husband doesn't know something is going on, and sometimes, a lot of the time, I think he doesn't want to know. Once, I said to my friend, "Gevalt. You know we are going to burn in H-ll." And she said "I don't care."

But now I don't know where I am in life, what exactly I am. I don't know what I should do. It's not like my life with my husband is bad, like some ladies have. It's just that I miss my friend, the way we are when we are together is not the same when it is a man with a woman.

 In between, in the winter, it feels like a long time to wait to see her again and I get the depression in the winter from not seeing her and not having that. A woman understands a woman, can talk with her and touch her in the ways that feel the best. A woman feels peaceful and easy and comfortable in the house, not like a man who comes in and is full of expecting things to be done for him. Where's my laundry? Bring me coffee! We are going to my mother's house for shabbos and I don't care what you say!

Every summer, when I go to the bungalow, I wait on shpilkes for that first knock, when she comes to my screen door, and there she is, still standing there, smiling her smile, the way she does, and with her face all shining, the way it always does. That's what I live for.

FEARLESS QUEER CHASSIDIC GIRL

This evening we are privileged to be speaking with a young person from a chassidic community, "Nicki". Please remember, as you read, that names and identifying details have been changed to protect the identities, and that none of the photographs are of the actual people. Nicki wrote most of this article, although parts of it were responses (in writing) to questions posed by the interviewer.

Hello ladies and gentleman! My name is Nicki and I am an unapologetic pansexual non-binary person.  I never thought that I am part of the LGBT community but I was anyway. I didn't know what all the terms for people like me are, but I am as curious as can be, so I searched till I knew all the terms for what I am. Nobody guessed that I am part of the LGBT community. I am very good at hiding feelings and if there was any inkling to someone that I might be, they didn't say anything. It's a taboo subject here.

My story begins twenty years ago, when I came out the womb wanting to kick some ass. I was raised in a Chassidic house and environment in Brooklyn N.Y but never conformed. My parents had a problem with that but their love for their daughter was on overdrive (thank g-d).

When I was in middle school, I was bullied a lot and I was physically and emotionally abused by a teacher. My parents didn't know about it cause I didn't want to hurt them. But all of the sudden, I went from being a star student to almost not passing. My parents knew something was amiss so they took me out of that school and changed me to another.

I would like to think that this story is a blessing in disguise because if not for that, I would never be so popular and I would never have met my first love. I would never be so strong for other battles that came and will come my way. Forgiving my bullies and my tormentor was the best thing ever. I got rid of the package that was keeping me back. Don't misquote me: I am very against bullying, but if you are bullied, know that there is always a new day.

In high school I saw many hypocritical things which made me denounce Chassidism, but my faith and love of Hashem is still going strong. At that same time I became romantically involved with another student letting me to this funny interesting story.

As adults, we think children know nothing about life but their truthfulness and innocence pick up the slightest deception. A few years ago, I was at my girlfriend’s house and her niece - a fourth grader was there too. We weren’t yet out, so we couldn’t cuddle or kiss in front her, but we schmoozed, sang and flirted a little. While I was there, my girlfriend’s niece asked us with curiosity, “What is the relationship between you both?” We paused, looking at each other. “We are best friends,” I answered.  With confusion in her eyes and voice she asked, “Are you sure that’s the only relation?” We didn’t answer that, but I found it very amusing!

I long since parted with my first love and what looking for in partner is social smarts, confidence, self respect, integrity, forgiving, not being afraid to say that he/she is sorry. Being scholastically smart is a plus.

A year ago,  I came out to my parents and they went crazy, telling me that I shouldn’t talk like that because it’s a “poeridig crazy thing”. They told me that I don’t feel these things and if I do I won’t feel it when I get married. I felt like a piece of garbage, which led me to have a notorious affair with razors and forks, cutting myself, but then catching myself in the middle, ( logic always kicking in telling me that tomorrow is another day).  I am planning to come out to them cause I want they should hear and listen to me.

I admire lots of people. I know it's old school but I admire Larry Kramer for taking a stand against AIDS  and preaching for safe sex. Even though he had right wing political enemies and enemies from the LGBT community who thought he wants to undermine them but he didn't care. He didn't back down and he was fearless. At the end, he became a winner. Never give up on yourself or what you stand for.

This past Chanukah we had an event and one of my sisters came up to me and started telling me a story about a lady hitting on her. She used terms like “faggot” and “homo”. I was mad and told that i am not interested in hearing the rest of the story cause I will not tolerate the usage of hate words. She ran to my father saying that I am sticking up for these people. They both ganged up at me, screaming. Now I was fuming so I ran to my room to chill.   

After the party, my other sister asked what the whole fight was all about and I told her the story. She asked why I care so much, so I came out to her. She hugged me, and told me that she still loves me. When I told her that mom doesn't know about me (being queer) or about Eshel, she volunteered telling my parents about me. I told her it’s a bad idea and I will tell them when I am ready. She asked me this question, wanting to show her support. That was a great moment. Ten points sis!

I don’t know about the future cause I am living in the present.

I take to heart William Shakespeare words “To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as night as day, thou canst not then be false to any man”.

Thanks for listening! Bye!

SATMAR LESBIAN LOVE STORY

I’m twenty-six, married and I have one child. My parents got married when they were just seventeen and nineteen, and I'm the youngest of seven. I grew up in a Satmar family. My mother went to Satmar schools, but my father wasn’t the type who went to the tish every Friday night. His family davened in a little shtibel. We didn’t grow up with the Rebbe on our lips or in our head. 

                                            What about on your arms? (chas vesholom!)

My first year in a new high school, there was a choir, and one of the teachers in the school told my classmate who was heading the choir, give her a solo. It was weird! This teacher had a hunch I could sing. That teacher became the first love of my life.

[R] is crazy talented, she wrote beautifully and she was always involved in everything. She was a big macher. She wore the levush, two braids hanging down to there, grey tights, not the normal beige Palm ones.

She was very different than me. Her father wore the shiny bekeshe during the week. My father wore maybe a vest. Her father wore the biber hat, and my father wore the standard Satmar hat. We ended up becoming “more than friends”…(sighs)…though it started out very slowly and unconsciously.

One evening in early Fall, I came up to [R]'s house unannounced, and we were talking a bit. I felt drawn to her, there was something pulling me to her, but I don’t know what it was. I could tell her anything and she would understand. I never had that with anyone. MY family made fun of closeness, by saying things like: ”Are you getting chummy chummy with her? Why are you running after her?" It was looked down on to be such close friends. We talked into the night. And sometimes we would just sit and be quiet on the phone. And there were even times when there was so much going on inside me and she was just there, even though I couldn’t speak.

Sometime after that day, I got a note from [R] telling me to meet her in the basement of the school. We used to correspond through notes and letters, and since she was faculty, there was nothing weird about her instructing the office staff to give me a note. In the end, she was standing in a classroom. I walked in. She told me to shut the door and she shut the light. She was asking me to come to her, and I was dead afraid. I was terrified. I didn’t know about what. My heart was hammering and my body was shaking and I cried. I can’t! I can't! She said not to worry. That was the first time we touched. She hugged me. 

Growing up, I experienced very little touch in my life. No hugging. No kissing. A kind of default setting. I'd made a conscious decision when I was about ten that no one should touch me. I would sit at the edge of the bench, so no one could sit next to me, and I stopped getting or giving hugs and kisses to anyone. Anyway, one night, [R] and I had a sleep-over, which I think is an unusual thing. So we were having a sleep over in her place, we were both in bed and drowsing off. I was in the bed right next to hers, and the air changed. I wasn’t facing her, but my body tensed like I knew something was about to happen, but when it happens, you have the biggest shock of your life. She laid her hand on my wrist. Just that. But my world exploded. The hotness, the goosebumps, the shivers, my heart stopped. Nothing more. I was sixteen, she was eighteen maybe. It was an unexplainable thing. The chemistry between us…I didn’t have to work hard for it. it was just there. I didn’t have to do anything. I could just be me. It felt so fresh and safe. It was as if I was held all the time.

Soon after, the torment and the guilt and the confusion set in. I was always the one scratching my head and worrying, what are we doing? Is this normal. We always hid it. There was a secrecy. An added sense of shame and fear. It felt like love to me, but what did I know?

After a certain time, my father and my cousins said, "You’re going to vomit from her, one day." They said that because we were always together. They thought I was in love with her. It was true, but I also knew that it was illicit, and could never be owned up to. And I never wanted to get sick and tired of her.

[R] got married first and I was more baffled than ever. I don’t understand? How could she be with him AND me? Maybe she didn’t love me anymore. Was she with me from pity? I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. But she said it’s different…I hung out at their house all the time. I was there before the marriage, during and afterwards, shopping, talking. 

    The overly friendly friend at the wedding
Even after we were both married, people would ask us if we were sisters, though she wore the shpitzel and I wore a blond sheitel. Our handwriting was indistinguishable. Our singing was exactly the same. I couldn’t hear any difference between us.

The first time I met my husband, we talked for three hours, but I had no feelings afterwards. I was neutral. And then the second time, a week or so later, I was feeling, “This is stupid…what’s the point?"  I didn’t think I had the option of saying NO. I met this boy. It was okay. Now you get married. My mom asked if he was a nice person, but so what? What makes a person say yes to getting married? What is in it for them? Why should I say yes? But because I didn’t say NO, we got married.

The disconnect became even stronger after the tannaim. I didn’t want to look for an apartment, and I refused to think about what would happen after. I was busy making memories with my girlfriend. The day of the wedding was a horrible one for me, but  G-d made me look beautiful for the wedding. I was so terrified that I would hate my own wedding day.

Before heading out to the wedding hall, when we were still at home, my father began blessing me, and while he was doing that, I began to cry hysterically. To my shock and fear, my parents did too. My father said not to worry, that it would be good. But it wasn't.  It wasn’t okay. It never was. It was horrible.

After the chuppah, when we went into the yichud room, he kissed me on the lips, I was thrown back in a bad way. A lady came back to do my sheitel and my face, and she said don’t worry, it gets better. And then there was the mitzvah tanz…whoever invented that must have been very mean! I was literally freaking out. I sat awkwardly the entire time…it was one of the worst moments of my life. 

The day after the wedding I was so sick, I couldn’t look my husband in the eye. I couldn’t sit next to him. All I wanted to do was run away. It was terrible. And there was no one I could talk to. [R] didn’t understand why I felt that way. She was happily married. I didn’t know what was wrong. And my husband was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. He didn’t know what to do with me. He didn’t know what to say. 

My mother kept on asking me what is wrong and I told her I don’t know. I couldn’t tell her that I don’t feel like when I am with my girlfriend. She asked me if he hates me, if he hits me. I didn’t have words for it. And then I got pregnant, and when I found out, I was crying so hard, I knew it was over. There was no way of getting out of it. This was it.

Around the same time, I told my husband I can’t go to the mikva. He was hysterical.  If I hadn’t taken a  stand then, I'd have six kids by now.

Everyone blamed the rocky start of my marriage on my tight relationship with [R], and then my father called her up ranting, and she called me up and cried and said she can’t be friends with me anymore.

I wanted to protect her, so we ended up breaking up. I was so torn, that my family wanted to wreck the one thing in my life that was good and that I had going for me.

I still have a lot of feelings for her, even after the upheaval, the wreckage we went through. I still sometimes think and wish that maybe things could turn out differently. I wanted us both to be married, raise our kids together, go shopping, plan dinners for our husbands and scheme about Purim costumes.

But that didn't happen. What happened instead was that I got married and instead of being beautiful, it was awful. I was thrown head first into freezing cold water and the shock was too great. Worst of all, I had no one to talk to about it.

Growing up, we could never talk about sexuality or "private stuff" or anything like that. I couldn’t talk about or hear any intimate words like sex, mikva, or period without cringing in embarrassment. My husband put a lot of pressure on me to go to the mikva. He said, "I won’t go to work if you don’t go to the mikva."

My husband doesn’t want to divorce me. I don’t know why. But maybe there’d be no one here to do his meals, his laundry, and his place in the community would be shattered. He still believes we can work on it and it will get better. He refuses to see the differences between the two of us. He won’t make any compromises.

I used to think I'm not gay. I can't be gay, because I'm FRUM! And if you're frum, it's either or. But I've since learned lots of things about the frum queer community (smiles).

I think that the biggest issue in the frum community is that children do not feel safe to ask questions and to talk about things and the reason is because we don’t encourage it. We aren’t comfy with broaching certain topics and because we project such discomfort, the children imbibe that and they don’t ask. Unanswered questions let a child’s mind go in strange directions. Why does a kid have to guess his way along when his mommy is having a baby or something like that? Kids aren’t dumb. They see. They understand. They are smart! They are unbiased and truthful and they take things for what they are. We give them no credit and we squish their growth by not allowing them to talk about whatever they need to ask. Why are you afraid of their questions?