Alef: The NEXT Conversation
Changing the Face of Judaism/Judaism’s Changing Face
By Erika Davis
This post originally appeared on Erika’s Blog, Black, Gay, and Jewish: A Gay, Black Woman’s Discovery of Her Jewish Self.
A few conversion classes ago the rabbi asked how we thought we, a room full of Jews-to-be, would change Judaism. We all gave answers and today, for some reason, two weeks later I’m still thinking about it. As converts, we are changing Judaism and as a result the “face” of Judaism will be forever changed. Things that I like, foods that I like, music I enjoy will inevitably become Jewish Things, Jewish Food, Jewish Music.
As a black woman, that fact seems clearer, or more obvious, but is it? When I think of my born-Jewish friends I think they all are making changes to Judaism in their own way. One of my friends is in love with a Catholic man who loves being Catholic. Whenever I see him lately, it is at Shabbat service and he’s wearing a kippah, clapping, singing, chanting. He’s there because he loves her and if they get married they will change what Judaism means. Their children would be Jews because their mother is a Jew but they’d be living in a multi-faith family weaving different traditions into one another-forever changing the fabric of Judaism.
I have another friend who is a born Jew who’s a lesbian (truth be told, I’ve got a lot of lesbian Jewish friends) and we’re all changing the structure of the Jewish family. When two Jewish women make the decision to spend their lives together and create a family together that family will be Jewish-as both mothers are Jews-but that Jewish family is “different” than what the mind thinks of as a Jewish family. The family may be secular or observant but that lesbian (or gay) family changes the face of Judaism.
When Jews adopt children from China, Korea, or black boys and girls those children will be raised as Jews and hopefully they will raise their children as Jews and then the spectrum of color in the Jewish religion in the US would be as varied as the faces of Christians and Muslims.
I always struggle with the concept of the Jewish race because I’m a religious Jew. When emerge from the mikvah as a Jew and identify with all Jewish people my racial make up will still be black. I’m learning, as I visit synagogues and talk with other black Jews or Jews of Color, that in the US the picture that comes to mind when one says Jew is European. Even when one says Sephardic Jew, the image isn’t one of a black face, or even an Asian face when there are many black Jews and Asian Jews-born and converted.
Part of the reason I want to go to Israel so badly is to see what the faces of non-American Jews look like there. Even now, when I see an Orthodox Jew of color walking down the streets of Ditmas Park or Midwood I’m shocked, in awe, and I’ll totally admit I’m captivated. I actually tried to stop a woman on Coney Island Avenue late summer to chat her up. She thought I was crazy, of course, and brushed passed me and what could I have expected from her? For her to chat with a woman who was her same color but definitely not of the same faith. I was wearing pants and most definitely sporting a low-cut v-neck shirt, she was frum.
Before I made the formal commitment to going through a conversion I attended a few different synagogues in Manhattan. I was incredibly nervous. I was sure that I’d be the only person of color in the room. I was sure that everyone would turn around a look at me, as if a spot light had shone on me. I was sure that I’d be completely lost. When I walked into the first synagogue some people looked up, most did not and I was completely lost. Even now when I enter a new synagogue I get annoyed at the people who look at me, and do not talk to me. I want to say, “If you have a question, ask” Other times I think, why should they look and stare? I have walked into synagogues where no one seems to notice me and I get paranoid that they’re trying to avoid looking at me and become incensed that they aren’t seeing my blackness.
There was a time when, to be PC, people would say “I don’t see race, I see the person.” That sentiment irked me, and still does today, because I need you to see my race. I need you to see that I am a black woman and try to understand what that means. If you don’t see my race then you don’t see who I am as a person. As a Black Jew, I struggle with identifying as such. Yet, I am a black Jew and I need you to see that the two can be one. I may be a convert but my future children will be just a Jews who are black.
In the end all of us are changing Judaism’s face. We add to it and take away from it what we will, at the same time strengthening it and dare I say, sometimes weakening it? I like to think that I’m bringing to Judaism my years of Christianity, however faulty they were. I’m bringing my love of Southern cooking and what it means to bring in a New Year (with black eyes and collard greens) I’m bringing my love of singing, clapping, and praising God in a way that brings a “joyful noise”. I’m bringing my questions and doubt, most of all, just me.
This month in Sh’ma, there are great articles on the definitions of Jews along with a beautiful photo essay on what a Jew looks like. I love meeting Jews of Color and born Jews here and in my life. It’s a blessing and joy to know that there are so many of us, small threads, being woven into the larger fabric that is Judaism. I can only hope that our diversity, our ethnicity, and our non-Jewish paths can only enrich the Jewish experience now and in the future.
Photo by Zeevveez, licensed under Creative Commons.
Why Gay Pride Matters to Alef
By Richard Skeen
Alef editorial meetings are usually lively and opinionated (would you expect anything different?), but in a recent meeting where we decided to extend our Gay Pride issue an extra week, the difference in our views struck me as a story within a story. The debate was around how much of our audience – young Jewish adults – cared enough about Gay Pride stories to sustain another week. While traffic and participation suggested the theme resonated with many, some from our team argued that Gay Jewish identity was no different than any other Jewish identity, and shouldn’t get an extra week. How central, in the context of Jewish identity, is Gay Pride?
Today is the Gay Pride parade in lower Manhattan, my old neighborhood. While dropping kids off at Summer camp precludes me from actively participating, this day always brings me back to fond memories of my first New York home. I lived just off Gay Street (named after the Captain, not the identity, but still…), two blocks from the Stonewall Tavern (the birthplace of the American Gay rights movement – think Paul Revere, but riding in leather chaps) in the heart of Greenwich Village. My neighborhood, like the fashion magazine world I worked in, was bursting with LGBT folks drawn to the lack of prejudice and the vibrant scene of the Village. And while I was a floundering heterosexual, I was a huge beneficiary of living amongst my Gay neighbors: from top flight gyms and restaurants to colorful and clever stoops and doorways, the wide array of boutique shops to a happy-vibe on the sidewalks, the huge Gay presence created a kind of utopia and richer life for all of us.
While the various Jewish denominations take different views on same-sex marriage and the kind of love permissible under Halacha (Jewish law), our people have a better track record than most when it comes to Gay rights. Certainly among young Jewish adults, full acceptance of, and support for gay rights is common. Israel’s gay-rights record is well ahead of the curve, and Tel Aviv is among the top Gay vacation spots in the world. But is that good enough?
In a recent essay about the importance of including the LGBT community completely into the Jewish community, philanthropist Lynn Schusterman argues that despite much progress, we are still behind where we should be in providing an inclusive environment for all Jews: “In an era when all Jews are Jews by choice, our community and, in turn, our nation benefits from every source of Jewish vitality and strength, including the creativity and vibrancy of LGBT Jews.”
Though still new, Alef has explored many kinds of Jewish identity, and the issues confronted with being Jewish in a world that is pluralistic and complicated. We have learned a lot, been inspired and come to realize the huge value in the vast diversity of the contemporary Jewish experience. We recognize that many issues are nuanced and complex, but we are sure that the Jewish community is richer for having participation from the LGBT community, and hope that all of Kol Yisrael will work to grow that participation. We think this is important, and we hope you do too.
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Photo by sgt fun, licensed under Creative Commons.
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Read more posts from the Gay Pride issue.
Gay Travel Hot Spot
By Josh Furman
Israel has become known as a gay travel hot spot in the last few years, but it has been a personal gay destination for me since I was 15 years old. Although tourism companies have only recently started offering “gay themed” tours of Israel, there has been something very gay about the holy land for me for quite some time now.
I first went to Israel with a youth group. At this point in my life, I was pretty clueless when it came to sex. I never went to Jewish summer camp, and didn’t have years of experience of Jewish hook-ups like many of my peers did.
It was in Israel that I got my first crush, and while it wasn’t on another man, it was probably the gayest crush I have ever had. I was infatuated with the madricha (guide) on another bus, and I finally built up the courage to show her I was interested. Thinking that the best way to impress her would be to match my clothes to her red hair, I chose just the right outfit – an orange hat, orange shirt, and shorts with orange accents.
It gets worse. During the next stage of the courting I gave her a stuffed hippo. Looking back, this might have been the first sign that I would never be a ladies’ man, because you just don’t give a girl an animal known for being overweight.
This won’t be a shock to anyone, but she wasn’t my bashert. She wasn’t impressed by my orange ensemble or strange gifts, and our relationship quickly fizzled. I’d like to think that she saved the hippo and looked at it fondly, but I would be surprised if it made it past a trip to Goodwill. We saw each other a couple other times on the trip, but I quickly became shy and avoided actual communication. It was awkward. Although my ability to garner paper plates and construction paper into elaborate Shabbat decorations might have impressed some, I quickly took the hint that she wasn’t the type to look for such skills in a mate.
Years later, I was back in Israel, this time with a solid awareness that I was gay. Fortunately for Jewish continuity, I have always been attracted to dark curly hair and brown eyes – stereotypically Jewish looking guys. Israel became a candy shop, and I’ll admit that I had my fair share of olive-skinned encounters, and if it wasn’t for the whole fact that I was gay, I would definitely have helped to increase the population of Israel. Outside of my first crush on the madricha, Israel has been a place where I have experienced the multiple facets and challenges of being a gay man. In the U.S. I am limited in the number of eligible gay Jews who I encounter, but in Israel I have been able to tackle my opinions on love and what I value in a relationship.
Objectively speaking, Israel is one of the world’s most progressive countries in terms of legal rights granted towards the GLBT community. But by no means is Israel a perfect society, and I will be the first to admit that parts of Israeli society are run according to Jewish laws that sometimes come into conflict with homosexuality. But Israel has also been a place that has helped me embrace both my Judaism and my homosexuality. My experiences with Judaism and homosexuality in Israel have been diverse: I volunteered with the GLBT community at Jerusalem Open House and dressed in drag (my first and only experience doing so) while acting out the Book of Ruth at Pardes in Jerusalem.
I hope Israel will continue to be a formative place in shaping my identity, because when I’m there, I’m both proudly gay and proudly Jewish. It’s fitting that God used the rainbow as a symbol of a covenant with the Jewish people in the Torah, and that the rainbow is also used as a symbol for the GLBT community. In some ways, going to Israel is my own personal version of the rainbow covenant.
Photo by victoriapeckham, licensed under Creative Commons.
Why I Support Gay Rights
By Danielle Selber
In my sophomore year of college, I had two awards stuck to my dorm room cork board: One was from Chabad, thanking me for my dedication to Jewish student life on campus. The other was from QUAD (Queers United Against Discrimination), crowning me “Best Fag Hag.”
In Judaism, we use the verb “keep” to explain many of our religious practices. Someone “keeps Shabbat,” “keeps kosher,” or “keeps Passover.” Well, I keep all those things, and one more: I keep trying to explain to people how it is possible to keep all those things, and still support gay rights.
In the Torah, Leviticus 18:22 is pretty explicit: “A man shall not lie with a man; to do so is an abomination.” Just for good measure, the Torah reaffirms its point a few lines later in Leviticus 20:13: “And if a man lie with mankind, as with womankind, both of them have committed abomination: they shall surely be put to death; their blood shall be upon them.”
I would never call myself “religious,” but I do believe the content of the Torah is true and written by G-d. These lines of Leviticus aren’t like some other Torah verses that we can debate the semantics of or interpret in multiple ways. It’s all there, in plain, simple Hebrew: homosexual relations are forbidden and, in ancient times, punishable by death. How, then, do I relegate what I know in my heart to be true with what is written in the document I hold as sacred?
If I could sit down for a cup of coffee with G-d, this is the only question I would ask him. I would ask him to please explain to me how the G-d I know – one who is full of compassion, mercy, fair judgment, and divine, abundant loving-kindness – could set aside a whole slew of people for something he himself gave them.
And that’s another point of contention – while some believe that being gay is a choice, I believe it is a G-d-given, inherent, and genetic quality, and the same holds true for transgendered, transsexual, asexual, and bisexual individuals. Those who come out do so at a huge personal sacrifice and at the expense of their relationships and livelihood. No person would chose to live a life full of stigma and social disgrace. A child like Thomasina who felt like he was the wrong gender his entire life and now lives happily as a 9-year-old girl has not been influenced by the media or society. She feels something in her bones that is true and genuine, and I believe she is right.
And then, there is gay marriage. I am for gay marriage because I believe that gay couples should have the same access to rights as I will when I get married – joint wills, tax breaks, hospital visits, and equal responsibility for shared children. Imposing on the religious beliefs of those who do not support gay marriage would be as bad as imposing on the rights of gays to marry, so I’m not asking for Judaism to change its laws or to allow gay marriage. Marriage can be a secular right, with the papers being signed at city hall. The conventional notion that gay marriage will corrupt the “sacred institute of marriage” in our society is laughable. Fifty percent of marriages end in divorce and our celebrity culture has corrupted marriage to an unrecognizable point. Marriage is a legal construct, first and foremost, and everyone should have equal access to those rights.
A Reconstructionist rabbi once told me he “believes that the Torah is written by G-d but has the fingerprints of man all over it.” In my dream world, the lines condemning homosexuality were added by man and not placed in the Torah by G-d. But in my heart, I know this is probably not true. I don’t have an answer to my own questions. My hope and belief is that when my children are my age, the idea of discriminating against a person because of their sexuality will sound as absurd to them as racism does to me. I believe gay rights are the civil rights of my generation, and just as I hope I would have marched with Dr. King, I have commit to marching alongside gay rights activists. The Torah defines my values, yet gay rights are a value I hold true. So, G-d, whenever you’re free, I’d love to have that cup of coffee.
Danielle Selber is a fellow with Birthright Israel NEXT in Philadelphia and loves every minute of it. She especially enjoys creating volunteering projects, cooking endless Shabbat dinners and spending time at our summer shorehouse.
Photo by CarbonNYC, licensed under Creative Commons.
Read more posts from the Gay Pride issue.
Transgender and Jewish
By Taan Shapiro
What does it mean to be Jewish and queer?
Jewish and transgender?
For some,
Judaism is a place of rejection, heartache and pain
How do I reconcile myself as a Jew when I’m an abomination in the Torah?
For some,
Judaism is a place of comfort, community and home
Others feel
The queer community rejects them
You can’t be religious if queer
That’s not how it works
Others feel
The queer community embraces them as Jews
So, then
How did I come to a place of peace within?
The journey began as a child
Raised as a secular, Passover and Hannukah Jew
Judaism meant Seder, tradition, menorah, candles, matzo, presents, family and community
Although, Brother chose to have a bar mitzvah
I did not.
In high school
My best friend dragged me into a conservative Jewish youth group
It was there
Through my peers
That I learned rituals and practices
About Shabbat, eating and just being Jewish
I carried this identity with me.
As I left high school
The dawning of my queer identity began
At the time, I saw being Jewish and queer as separate
In college in Michigan
I attended weekly Shabbat services
Feeling queer in a Jewish space
Then transferred schools
And still at Friday night Shabbat services
An active member of Hillel
I attended a retreat
‘Combating Anti-Semitism’
I came out as queer
Experiencing much homophobia
In a space meant for safety
There was hate
Reading Michigan’s LGBT (lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender) magazine: ‘Between the Lines’
Was an article written about Lillian Faderman’s memoir, Naked in the Promised Land
With an excerpt about her Jewish queer identity
Quickly buying the book
And devouring it
Her memoir was poignant and honest
I fell in love with her writing, story and message
I had to meet her
After writing for and being accepted to receive a grant
Lillian came to speak
It was in these few days
We talked over meals
Me and her
I realized and solidified
I can be a whole person
Jewish and queer
And now I am coming into an even more complete identity
A year ago
On Memorial Day
I went with my friend and her six-year-old son to the beach
Son could not call me by my longtime childhood nickname
Like everyone else in my life
Perhaps he didn’t remember
I think, like others later told me
My nickname no longer fit me
It was in these moments
In this day that I realized,
I can change my name
I can be freer in an androgynous name
And why did this matter?
As a person, emerging into an identity
Other than female
I wanted a name that represented me
After that Memorial Day, I left those thoughts until the summertime
As I came back to these questions
Who am I?
What is my gender?
The conversation about my name resurfaced
I needed to figure out who is this person
If not female
That which I’ve been my whole life
And not feeling totally comfortable.
Landing in one female-to-male or female –to-other transgender community after another
No mater where I lived
Finding peace, love and kindness
A community where I felt I could be me
As I looked at this pattern
As I looked into myself
As I had many gender conversations
Answering questions to myself and others
Out of this introspection and exchange
I grew more solid and desired to be me
And what did this mean?
It meant presenting physically as a more androgynous person
It meant wearing gender neutral clothes
It meant binding my chest
It meant shopping in the men’s and boy’s department
It meant cutting my hair short
It meant changing my name
And then why did I change my appearance?
Me on the inside flows to the outside
I dress as I have felt for a long time
And now I can express this
So, to be true to me and my core
I dress as I do
And
I changed my name
With help, and many Internet searches
Finding an Australian baby name site
Was Taan
In Hebrew meaning
‘The answer,’ usually the answer to the parents
But I choose my name,
Who is it I answer to?
And what am I answering?
And then there’s pronouns
Growing and changing since the summer
Awareness that female no longer is me
And so I tried male pronouns
Although
That is not me either
No pronouns please, just my name
So, is it clean?
Is it easy to say?
I’m a person who identifies as both genders
In the middle
Male and female and all in-between
Expressing myself in ways that externally confuse those around me
If I have to define myself
I’m a genderqueer person
Who likes to be referred to without pronouns
And, I came to feel a part of community
My Jewish, queer community
When Lillian Faderman shared an entrance and unconditional acceptance
And, I’m a person still on a journey
Of self discovery
I don’t want to be boxed in
I don’t want to be labeled
I just want to ebb and flow through this universe.
Photo by Brett L., licensed under Creative Commons.
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