ESHEL RETREAT

 I am aware that this shul is my favourite shul in the whole world, much as I am aware that I am the most comfortable in my skin in this place, year after year.

The huge windows next to me look out over a frozen lake and up towards a mountain of fir trees. Snow falls in huge fat spiraling flakes, mesmerizing, exquisite. The singing swells, luscious, many harmonies rippling through the room. Snow light pours in through the windows above the aron kodesh.

Yes. I am at another Eshel at the Isabella Freedman Center, the fourth one I have attended. The people who fill this room are my friends and my extended family. Some wear zaidener bekishes and black hats. Some wear pressed jeans and designer shirts. Some have wigs and some have scarves and some do not cover their hair at all. But we are all family, whether we look the same or practice the same or speak the same or believe the same things or are the same age or come from the same parts of the world because, for once, we are in a room that is filled, exclusively, with Jews who are connected with Orthodoxy and identify as Lesbian or Gay or Bisexual or Transgender or Queer.

There’s nothing like it.

The sense of unity alone is something to live on for months.

The sense of delight and pleasure and exhilaration and discovery…

The sense of belonging…

There is a session on LGBT blogging and I sit next to the writers of Frum Gay Married and the Jewish Pink Elephant. We talk about why we write our blogs and what have been some of the outcomes. We cry. We laugh. We talk and talk and talk some more and at the end, there are questions and comments. Many of the people say thank you. Thank you for letting our voices be heard. Thank you for being there when I needed to know I wasn't the only person frum gay person in the world. Thank you for validating my experience. For reducing the loneliness.

This year, there are a larger number of Chassidic women, and for that, I am grateful. I am feeling like this blog is worth the effort and time it takes. I am feeling like slowly, slowly, people within Chassidic and yeshivish communities are finding Eshel and beginning to connect. Cousins discover each other. Neither knew the other was part of this community. 

Old friends from yeshiva see each other across the room, and their eyes widen. You too? 

A young couple sit in a hidden corner, holding hands, smiling shyly at one another. families carry their children through the admiring crowds of adopted aunties and uncles.

Eshel. Community for those who have none. Family for those who might have lost theirs. 

GITTEL'S DAUGHTER: The child of an Orthodox transwoman

 NB. The author of this interview is not related to the author of the previous post. It is purely coincidental that they are appearing around the same time.

M: My birth father is a lesbian. Her name is Gittel (names have been changed to protect the privacy of all of the individuals in this interview). I don’t see myself telling just anyone this story.  Usually people have a harder time hearing I am not religious than that my birth father is transgender. They’ve heard of Off-The-Derech but they haven’t heard of transgender. But I should start the story at the beginning.

I grew up Orthodox in a large city in the United States. I have an awesome family. I’m nineteen and the oldest of seven. Even though my step-dad is not my biological father, he feels like my father. My mom remarried when I was three years old and I had a very normal childhood. I didn’t think there was anything different about me. I went to religious school and youth group and I was very social.

 Growing up, we always referred to my birth father as “Daddy”. My brother and I never asked where Daddy was, but in 5^th grade, I wanted to send my daddy a letter. I showed my mother that I had a letter but my mother said she had to discuss it with a psychologist first. Afterwards, I never brought it up anymore. It wasn’t an issue. That year was hard for my parents. I used to yell at my dad, “You’re not my real dad.”

Later, in 10^th grade, I had an advisor, because I had a tough time in school. There were a lot of talks with my parents. My dad was really pushing me to go to classes, and at some point, the advisor said, “You don’t have to listen to him. He’s not your real father,” and I responded, “YES HE IS.”  He treats me like his daughter, no questions asked. I was three when my mother married him, and they had another five kids together. He treats me the same as the other kids.

When I was younger, and also when I was in high school, my mom always said my birth-father wasn’t ready to be a father. I honestly thought he was mentally ill. I thought he was locked up somewhere. So I didn’t think too much about him. When I was about fourteen, or maybe fifteen, I found pictures of my dad, because my mom had cut up pictures of me and him (baby pictures) and removed them from the album. I put these pictures in my purse and carried them around with me. I don’t know why. I wasn’t missing anything. I was always told that I looked like my daddy, so there was that. I would prefer not to look so similar. I would prefer that there wasn’t such an obvious relationship. It’s funny, because my brother was told that he looked a lot like my step-father. But he’s also Gittel’s son.

 Not long after I opened my first Facebook account when I was sixteen, I got a message from someone saying, “I know your birth father. I know he hurts.” A whole lot of stuff, giving me information that I clearly didn’t want to know! I showed it to my mom, and I asked her if I should read it or delete it, and she said she would prefer that I delete it. I messaged this lady saying please don’t message me again. But then she messaged me again with even more details that I didn’t read.  Who does that to a sixteen year old? It’s not something you message someone about on Facebook! I thought, for a little bit, that maybe it was my birth father, using a fake account, trying to get to me.  Then I figured out it wasn’t.

Just before I turned seventeen, when I had gone out with my friends, my parents called and said they wanted to talk with me. I was freaking out. I thought I did something wrong!  Then, when I came home, they told me that my grandfather wants to fly me to the Belgium to spend a month with him. I said, “You scared me! I thought something serious happened! You called me to come home!?” But then they told me they wanted to tell me why my original parents got divorced.

 My parents were worried that when I traveled to Belgium, my birth father would find out that I was in Europe and try to contact me and they wanted to be the ones who told me the story. Until then, all my life, my mom always told my brother and me that the reason she got divorced was because my birth father wasn’t fit or ready to be a father.

That night, when she started talking, first she brought up an article about Joy Ladin, an Orthodox transgender woman, that we’d read a year or so earlier. I don’t remember exactly what my mom said when she began to tell me about my birth father, though I know she never said anything negative to me. That was difficult, too! My mom hates keeping secrets. We are extremely open and talk about everything so I am sure it was even harder. Afterwards, my parents told me that if I had any questions I could ask, but I didn’t have any. My mom wanted to know how I felt. How should I feel? She just told me that my birth father is now a transgender woman and a lesbian!

 When they told my younger brother [who is the son of my birth father], the only thing he wanted to know was “What happened to the tallis and tefillin?” I love him.

Hearing this story resolved some mysteries for me. When I was about twelve years old, I guess, I found an old cassette tape that my mom had recorded ten years earlier, to send to a friend. On it, she mentioned that she had seen my birth father walking around London with lipstick and she thought she might have to get a divorce. When I heard that, I thought my birth father must be a gay man, so I never talked about finding the tape or hearing what it said with anyone. And then, when my mother told me about Gittel, my birth-father, it clicked in my mind.

 That night when I learned about Gittel, I needed to get out of the house, to talk and share with my friends. My mom told me not to tell my younger siblings. She told me I could talk about it with a friend, so I went out in my friend’s car, running errands. It was already night, and I told her, “My birth father, he’s a woman.” She said, “You don’t tell me that when I’m driving, M! What’s wrong with you?!” 

In general, things don’t bother me. Things flow over me. It took me a long time to tell most of my friends. I had thoughts about what it meant about me, about the way they would view me, but part of my reluctance was sheltering them, for sure. One of my closest friends still doesn’t know because I know she wouldn’t be able to deal with it.

Apparently, there had been a court order that Gittel couldn’t contact me until I was eighteen. My mom didn’t think the court order was a good choice. But for me, I do feel like it was the right choice. Where I grew up, the schools I went to, the friends I had…my life would have been very different if I had known about my birth father being a transgender woman. If I knew when I was younger, I would have dealt with it, but I feel it was very healthy finding out when I was older and had an open mind. As a younger person, I went to a very religious school and I am sure a transgender parent wouldn’t have been accepted.

When I turned eighteen, Gittel [not her actual name] messaged me on Facebook. When she messaged me first, she had opened up a fake Facebook account in her previous name that was obviously not real because it had no pictures or messages or friends or anything. I think after that first contact, she just friended me with her real Facebook, but there was no conversation. No chat. Still, that was the beginning. Just after that, Gittel and Zahava (her partner) invited me to their son’s bar mitzvah on Facebook, though the event was a year away. I didn’t think I would go, but I was trying to figure out if I wanted to go or not. If it’s something I would be interested in being at. So I didn’t respond right away. I just left it.

 Then, a few months before the bar mitzvah, they contacted me again, asking if I wanted to come to the simcha (happy event), so all of a sudden it was real. They offered to fly me in to Belgium! I thought a lot about it, for such a long time, discussing it with my mom and my friends, and then I decided that it’s important for me to go and get to know them and decide if I want a relationship with them or not.  And I decided to come to Europe, but it was clear to me that if I was coming to the Europe, I would have to go see my grandfather, because he wasn’t doing so well at that point. And also, I didn’t want to spend too much time with my birth-father’s family. I wanted it to be short. I wanted it to be manageable. I had a lot of people telling me, you can come stay with me, take all these telephone numbers, find somewhere else. People were surprised that I would stay at their house. Zahava (Gittel’s partner) actually offered for me to stay elsewhere but it seemed silly to me.

When I was planning the trip, everyone asked me, “What does your mom think?” But she didn’t speak. At some point, I confronted my mother and she told me, “I have two worries. 1. You might become not religious. 2. That you might stay there and not come home.” That was never in my plans. I know myself. I knew I wouldn’t stay in Europe. I don't even speak French! My mom still has very positive feelings towards Gittel’s family. She had a relationship with them. My mom tried never to say anything negative to me about Gittel or about them. My mom is awesome. She’s really cool.

I can’t put my finger on what ended up turning me off to religion. I never really connected with it.  Then, about a year and a half ago, I came to terms with not being religious. It is still very difficult for my mom though, since she doesn’t like the influence I have on my siblings. We fought. But at one point, she asked me if I no longer keep shabbos and kosher, and I said I don’t. Then the fights calmed down, after it was all out there. It’s good to get everything out in the open and not keep secrets.

Anyway, since I had been friends with Gittel on Facebook for almost a year, I knew what to expect when I finally met her. It was a good ease into it. I had no expectations for anything so I wasn’t surprised. I think I try to avoid expectations, I don’t know if it comes from a healthy place or not. I know Gittel was very surprised to see me in pants, not because she told me. She’s frum and the pants bothered her.

She says a lot. She says she feels like I was raised well. And that I lucked out not to grow up with her. I know that she tried to follow us as much as possible online to find out about us. But there aren’t any pictures of me or my brother around the house. I was always told that it’s painful for her not to be part of my life and that she would like to have a relationship with me and my brother. I was in touch with Gittel’s cousins, and her family used to tell me that “my father” loves me, or that “there’s someone out there that’s in pain and would like to have more of a relationship with you.” But the fact is, there aren’t any pictures of us in Gittel’s house. We aren’t Zahavah’s kids. I wish (there is a long pause while M cries) she kept one picture of us from when we were little kids on her desk, something.

Gittel doesn’t exactly feel like a parent to me. But if people ask me about “my mother”, I don’t correct them. I’m nineteen, though, and I don’t feel like I need a new parent. I already have two parents. Gittel is a relative of mine who I know cares about me. I do care about her too, but I don’t have words to describe what kind of relation she is to me.

I think that the frum community, where they live, people mostly accept them. I don’t see how they could live in New York or Israel or in some of the other really frum places. I wish it were different. Here, where they live, there is more acceptance than in other places. The hardest thing for me is actually that Gittel and Zahava and their children are frum, more so than any other thing. I don’t know why.

I’ve said this and I believe it: Gittel made a choice that affected her relationship with us [her children], but I’m happy about the choice she made. It’s better than growing up with a miserable father. It enabled me to have a normal childhood. I did luck out.

I wouldn’t change my life. I am happy with who I am and what I am, even though there is this corner of my life that doesn’t fit into my world. If I could erase this part of my life, I would. Not Gittel but the challenge of her. But really, I am at peace with everything I have gone through in my life.

Now, I relate to Gittel as Gittel. I have a mother and a father and a Gittel. To someone who doesn’t know, I refer to her as my biological father or my birth father. But I, myself, I don’t know how to refer to her. She’s just Gittel to me.

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.

 

THE MORAH: Lesbian Chassidic Girls' School Teacher

I am in my late 40's. I am no longer a part of the chassidish community I grew up in, though I was a respected morah in the girls' high school until fairly recently. I am still chassidish, just a different kind of chassidish. I lost my job when I came out as a lesbian. Actually, that's not quite true. What happened was not that I lost my job. I wasn't rehired for the position I'd held for more than twenty years. No one said anything to me. But when it was time to hear about the new school year, there was a big fat silence.

I waited and waited, even past the beginning of the school year, because that was my income and I couldn't believe they wouldn't rehire me without at least saying something. When I didn't hear anything by the beginning of Tishrei [first month after school starts], I went in to see the principal, but she tried to avoid talking with me. Then, when she saw that I wasn't going to leave, she slipped out a side door and wouldn't talk with me later on the phone.

This was someone who had been my very good friend. I looked up to her like I looked up to no other Rebbetzin. I decided to try to speak with her again on a different day, so I came in unannounced and surprised her. 

She was not pleased. She folded her arms and pulled away from me. "I love you," she said. "We have been friends for many years. But I can't lie. I hate what you are doing to yourself. You can't deny that the Oibershter (G-d) would be very disappointed in you. Your soul is higher than this! The Rebbe would be very disappointed in you too. How can you allow yourself to behave in this way? You, who were a role model for the entire school in tznius and aidelkeit [modesty and refinement]!"

I felt tears coming into my eyes. I didn't want to cry in front of her. I wanted to be strong. I had been strong in the face of the many friends, family members and neighbours who had said hurtful things to me or even refused to have any contact with me after I came out, but in front of this one person, someone who had helped me through every crisis with my ex-husband, I couldn't be strong. I began to sob.

"I'm not going to deny it," I said. "I'm a frimmer yid (religious Jew) and I know that what I am doing isn't what G-d wants from me. But I also know that I am never going to get married to a man again. I also know I need companionship, friendship, help in my house with my kids, support and love. Will you condemn me to living my whole life alone?"

"You could have a girlfriend," said my principal. "But you could only be friends. Even if you lived in the same house. You couldn't ever be physical with her. That would be okay in the eyes of the Oibershter, even if other people in the community would look at you strangely and not allow their children to come to your house. And, even with that compromise, I could never have you teach in my school." I believe she thought she was making room for me, being accepting in her own way, but instead, it drove a stake through me. 

"Could you live like that?" I asked her, and she admitted that such a life would be a terrible nisoyon for her. "But my issues are not your issues," she said. "You have to battle this nisoyon [spiritual test of being gay] day and night, wth tooth and claw. Who knows - maybe this is why your soul is here on this earth? To have such a harsh nisoyon must mean that you have a very lofty soul."

I stared at her. I didn't know what to say. I felt completely crushed. To her, my life was not human and painful and challenging, but just some object lesson out of a story book, cut and dried, an easy thing to dissect, completely lacking real emotions and real human connections. "It's not a nisoyon for me," I replied. "My life is much better since I admitted that I am a lesbian. And I don't believe that H-shem created me the way I am and then cursed me to live alone. I don't understand what it all means. I do not deny the Torah, but neither do I know what everything means. I don't know why bad things happen to good people. I don't know why H-shem made me gay and also said that acting on my gay impulses is bad. I dont understand ANY of this."

"You made a choice. A choice which goes against all that Torah wants from us," she said. "Now you are stuck with it. You'll see. In time you'll have to come back, begging, because being gay isn't the life for you. You'll be empty. A shell." She turned away from me and didn't turn back. I got up slowly. I felt as if I had been run over with a steam roller.

"I did not make a choice," I said. "This life, this self, was given to me."

I cried the whole way home. Tears were streaming down my face. I was afraid that all the people walking past would see, so I pulled up the (never before worn) hood of my coat, to cover my face. It was hard for me to get a breath, and then, it started raining. I've always thought that H-shem was crying with me, that even if the principal couldn't feel how painful this all was for me, He could.

When I came home, my children asked me what was wrong. I didn't know what to tell them. We needed the money I make from teaching, since my ex-husband does not support us at all. Inside, I was frantic, while outside, I had to stay calm, not to upset the kinderlach (children). "Something upsetting happened, but we will be alright," I said. "Der Oiberhster vet unz helfn" [G-d will help us]. My children gathered around me and hugged me and patted my face. "We love you, Mommy," they said. We lit the fire and sat down with hot cocoa and snuggled, reading books. My oldest daughter made cookies and served them to all of us. "Here Mommy," she said, serving me first. "Life is still sweet, no matter what happened."

Later, my girlfriend came over to see how I was, and she also comforted me. And later still, several friends from the small circle of frum gay people I knew came over and reminded me, again, that I had support, and that many people loved me and that even if my home community denied me, I still had another community to fall back on and that they would be there for me, however many times I needed them.

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.