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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.
Do You Have The Touch?
By Rita Polevoy
A few weeks ago, I went on a date with someone who was Shomer Negiah, meaning, someone who doesn’t engage in physical contact with members of the opposite sex. The expectation of no touching was there from the start of the date, but the thought of not being able to even hug him was a turn-off for me. The only positive aspect was at the ever-awkward date goodbye – I didn’t have to worry about whether he would go for a hug, a kiss, or more.
Physical boundaries can be useful at times. Hugging someone you haven’t seen in a long time is gratifying at first, but the sensation does not last forever. It makes me question the reasoning behind Shomer Negiah. Is the idea that touching a person of the opposite sex makes you want to have them sexually? Or does an observant man not want to shake my hand in fear that I am menstruating and am considered “dirty”? Is he afraid of what his wife would say if she saw us shaking hands? I have a hard time understanding the problem with basic physical contact. Some argue that a single touch from another human being can spark desire, emotion, and provocative thoughts, but even looking at another person can have these same effects. It would be ridiculous to suggest that we stop looking at each other too.
Orthodox rabbis and other observant folks who argue in favor of Shomer Negiah claim that it heightens the sexual experience once you finally engage in sexual activity with someone you love. They say that in the end, it isn’t all about sex anyways – it’s about love and closeness between two people. They also mention that divorce rates are much lower among those that follow the practice. I’m not trying to degrade the Orthodox community, I just want to point out that throughout the life of an average human being, most people have multiple sexual partners (A study conducted by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in 2007 showed that men average seven partners throughout their lifetime).
Many children are taught to hold off on any sort of sexual activity until marriage. Â However, I was taught that sexual desire, and eventually in later years, sexual activity, was acceptable. My parents still warned me about consequences of having too many partners and always encouraged me to use protection. Because of their understanding view, I found it easy to talk to them about “the birds and the bees,” and this led me to make thoughtful choices about who I slept with, and about how far along into a relationship I wanted to be before making such a personal commitment. Why did my parents raise me this way? They always said that good sexual chemistry is an important factor in a healthy relationship and that it’s dangerous and potentially disappointing to walk blindly into a commitment when you haven’t experienced the physical side of that person. Sex cannot make a relationship, but it can certainly help strengthen its bonds.
There are many different viewpoints on whether it is okay to share your body with a person who you are not bound to by a legal contract. Either way, we all have sex eventually. Here’s where some religiously-observant people argue that having sex before marriage defiles the true purpose of sex. However, sex is not written on paper and confined to the boundaries of a Ketubah. A signature will not bring the guarantee of sexual understanding, satisfaction, or if ever needed, escape from marital rape and sexual abuse. Having listened to arguments about what sex before marriage is or is not, it seems like some people have formed a preconception about what it is supposed to be. We are all, regardless of our level of religious observance, prone to extra-marital affairs or even some pre-marital experiences. Between two consenting adults, there is no person of authority present to say “no.” Sex is holy and great and wonderful and, pun intended, absolutely orgasmic.
Many secular people understand just as well as observant people that sex is something special.The magic of sex is that even after the first time it leaves one craving for more. There’s no doubt that the sanctity of sex can be compromised by multiple one-night-stands, random hookups, porn, rape, or abuse, but to reduce sex to a physical act performed by two people in a “holy way” is not fair to the act of sex or to the people performing it. I won’t deny that sex is probably really amazing when you and your partner are virgins and you’re touching and caressing each other for the first time – this is exciting, of course, but it is foul to say that people who have more than one partner throughout their lifetime (say two or three) find sex less exciting or thrilling. In fact, pre-marital sex can be a blessing, not only by bringing a person who is experienced in what they are doing (like being able to identify what their partner likes and needs) but it takes away the discomfort of feeling insecure about what one looks like naked and the excruciatingly painful moment of being penetrated for the first time and being confused about what is going on and how it is all supposed to work.
There is nothing in secular society that says that you absolutely must “test drive the car before you buy it;” people in this realm are treated the same as in observant realms – as individuals that are able to make their own decisions. I am of course in full support of anyone who chooses to abstain from sex or even from physical contact before marriage, but I am also in support of those who have experienced what it means to have sex with a person you love and respect and who feels the same about you.
Photo by stephend9, licensed under Creative Commons.
Read more articles from Issue 08: “The Sex Issue.”
The Foreskin, and the Man Behind It
By Sadie Caruth
This past summer, as the latest circumcision debate brought forth discussion, controversy, and judgment from all sides, I remained silent. Until a few years ago, circumcision was an everyday part of Jewish life that I had always taken for granted. Why on earth would I need to ever sit and ponder the pros and cons (health-wise or sexually) of foreskin? I suppose I was a little naive, but I always assumed that this act, with its roots steeped in biblical Jewish tradition, was so commonplace that running into an uncircumcised penis was about as likely as getting hit by lightning — certainly not unheard-of, but not something that happens every day. Perhaps it was this sort of naivete that contributed to my status as a late-bloomer.
It was the stuff of good chick flicks that my first real boyfriend, the person to whom I lost my virginity, was (and still is as far as I know) uncircumcised. Having had very few sexual experiences prior to my official “first time,” I didn’t have a whole lot to compare it to. Now that I have slept with other men, the distinction is pretty evident. My current preference for one or the other has absolutely nothing to do with the actual size and shape of the organ itself. I care much more about the background and upbringing of the man attached to it. What I came to learn through my first experience is that the foreskin (or lack thereof) may tell you more about the background and upbringing of the man attached to it than it will about how good he is in bed.
See, this first boyfriend, my first sexual partner, was a gentile (gasp!). He came from a part of the world where circumcision is strictly a Jewish tradition; if you are not Jewish, you are not circumcised. His foreskin was a sign of what he culturally was and was not, and he was not shy about telling me that none of his sons would ever be circumcised either. Period. Sure, we were 22 years old, and not anywhere near thinking about marriage or children, but I was shocked by his blatant disregard of my culture in favor of his own. What struck me was that we weren’t just having sex, we were in love too, and this was not the kind of quick judgment that I expected from someone who loved me.
As it turned out, our sex life did affect the rest of our relationship in ways that I never could have predicted. Was it his refusal to circumcise any of our potential male offspring that broke us? Certainly not — I like to consider myself nontraditional and open-minded. The foreskin issue was more of a symptom than a cause; what did eventually lead to our break-up were the negative associations he made with Judaism as a result of his upbringing.
What have I learned from all of this? When it comes to choosing sexual partners and boyfriends, what a guy brings to bed with him is not as important as why he brings it.
Photo by James Bowe, licensed under Creative Commons.
Read more articles from Issue 08: “The Sex Issue.”
From Jesus, With Love
By Nikki Wright
I came home on a warm summer night last August beaming from head to toe. I set my head down on a pillow and couldn’t get Chris’s face out of my mind. We just ended a pretty intense night together where we got really close physically (although no, we did not have sex). His mother, who I had met the previous weekend and bonded with immediately, had a minor stroke the night before. She was doing fine, and already recovering well in a hospital in southern New Jersey. Sadly, this was not the first time she had a stroke, due to her complications with diabetes. Chris’ parents told him to stay in New York City that night because his mother was doing just fine, and that he need not worry. Still, he was visibly upset when I saw him, heartbroken by her reoccurring health problems. All I wanted to do was be there for him.
We had been dating for only a few short weeks – but had been friends for several months since meeting on the tennis courts in Central Park that summer. We had undeniable chemistry and mutual attraction. There was just one little problem that I had been trying to overlook all summer – Chris was a born again Christian and I am Jewish. The more he opened up to me, the more it was evident that for Chris, serving Christ was his life’s mission. That little voice inside of me kept nudging me, telling me our relationship would never work out, that we had no real future together.
I’m totally open to other religions – I believe religions are, for the most part, a vehicle for people to be connected to the universe in a deeper, more spiritual way – but becoming a born again Christian had zero appeal for me. Then again, who was I to judge Chris in his spiritual journey? He confided in me that before he found Christ, he was doing a lot of drugs in college and was incredibly depressed. If being a born again Christian brought him joy, made him feel like his life had a purpose, and got him off drugs, then I was all for it. Still, I wondered if he was just jumping from one extreme to another – if the void that was left by his drug use was now filled with serving Christ. Chris displayed his desire for me typically in small ways – hugging, kissing, holding my hand. Still, I could see he was conflicted – he seemed very hesitant and guilty every time he kissed me. And yet despite all of this, I was not ready to let Chris go.
The morning following our intense date, I awoke to a two-page ranting email from Chris. As I absorbed his words, it finally dawned on me that Chris was proselytizing to me.
His email read:
“I know this is probably really hard for you to understand, but as I have tried to share with you before, my heart has been changed and transformed by the power of Jesus. I know this sounds alien to you. I have so longed to be a shining light of love in your life! I have wanted in every way to be a blessing, to please you and love you. But I am conflicted and know in my heart for sure that there is only one who can truly do this, and his name is Jesus! I really don’t have an agenda but to love you as Christ does. Unfortunately I have fallen quite short of that calling and need to recognize that the best thing right now is for us to be friends. I hope that in the midst of this trial you and I will come to trust more in the One who is absolutely sovereign and who ordains all things according to His wise purposes. There are no accidents here. You know this, Nikki!”
Chris’ critical words on what he thought of our “transgressions” burned in my head. “We had NOT even had SEX,” I yelled at my laptop. I guess a part of me believed that once Chris fell in love with me, he would give up his zealous Christian ways. In Judaism, sex is regarded as a “divine gift” from God, not solely for the purpose of procreation, but for the purpose of companionship and pleasure. Judaism does not believe that sexuality is evil, but rather a strong and chronic urge similar to hunger or thirst, that is apparent in healthy human beings. In traditional Judaism, sex is permissible only within the context of a marriage. But I’m not the most traditional girl, and neither are most of my Jewish friends.
I heard on NPR that a majority of evangelical or born-again Christians believe that sexual activity outside of marriage is likely to have harmful psychological and physical effects. Moreover, many evangelical Christians have a conflicted relationship with sex even once they are married, believing that it’s a sinful act unless used to propagate. Hear me out: I was NOT with Chris only to have sex. However, I am not a virgin and when I am in a committed relationship with a guy, I want to enjoy a sex life with him.
Besides, I take being Jewish seriously. I love the Jewish holidays with all the great food and familiar traditions. I loved my Bat Mitzvah. I love celebrating Shabbat whenever I can. I love hearing Hebrew at delis in New York City and deconstructing it. Ultimately, as much as I was falling for Chris, I knew I had to stay true to myself. And so, as painful as it was, I wrote an email back and said goodbye.
Photo by kyz, licensed under Creative Commons.
The Best Relationship
by Briana Goldman
Valentine’s Day has never been so exciting! I am in the best relationship. My drinks are bought, my doors are opened, and I always have company on a Friday night. I never feel jealous or insecure and I definitely am not worried about being cheated on. My relationship is ideal and I wish everyone could have what I have. The silly thing is, everyone can. It’s not difficult and you don’t have to go to a bar to find that special someone.
All you have to do is stop reading this, get up, walk over to the closest mirror, and take a deep look. Now smile and wave. My relationship is with myself. I have never felt more loved. I am a practicing “self-lover.” I love myself when I make a hearty breakfast, buy myself flowers, and cuddle up on the couch with a glass of wine. I love myself when I give myself a spa day, when I have a long luxurious brunch, or when I go dancing. I constantly think of me. I think of me at the gym, in line at the grocery store, when I see a funny postcard or hear a good joke.
It’s bashert! Bashert is a Yiddish word which means destiny. The Torah states that we should love our neighbors as we love ourselves. Since the word “neighbor” is often translated to mean “spouse” or “significant other,” I have firmly decided that before I love another, I am going to follow the latter part of this commandment to the best of my abilities. I recommend you do the same. It feels amazing to love so freely and unabashedly while carrying out G-d’s work at the same time.
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