Emet's Perspective on the Wedding

I had a very different wedding experience than Jess did. I’m assuming that in part this is because we’re different people, but I also think that being apart for 7 days ended up meaning that we experienced things differently as well.

7 days apart was hard. It felt tortuous not to be able to see Jess for that period of time. It’s such a vulnerable period of time and you’re not able to connect with the person that you rely on the most during that period of time of intense excitement and anticipation. Not only was that difficult but the fact that we had so much coordination to avoid each other during events before the wedding was not optimal and it just came with the territory. I’m not saying that it wasn’t worth it - there was definitely a heightened emotional experience that came with it, and it was nice to be able to experience that. But I do wish every moment of everything that came before we would have be able to experience together as a shared memory- and I was definitely sad when there were times that I missed out on seeing Jess’s family or having her family and my family be together when there was so little time during the weekend.

The first part of the wedding experience that ended up varying greatly was the mikveh. We went to different mikvehs. At the one that I went to, I had a very long conversation with the attendant and a bride’s mother beforehand, so when the attendant presumed that I was a bio male, it felt very strange to get into a conversation about my gender identity. Her presumption was not anything out of the ordinary, but knowing that I had to strip down, I was wondering if it was going to be awkward. Of course, in this situation at least, the attendant did not see me naked or check to make sure that my dunks were kosher.

I was probably in the mikveh for an hour and a half doing meditations. This was very tiring for me. While this is what a lot of people want, it was not right for me. I was exhausted and over heated from being in the warm water. The place I went to was a legitimate spa, in addition to a kosher mikveh. For me, I felt that I needed to create my own spiritual experience and not have one created for me. I wanted it to be mine, and not what someone else's version of spirituality was. I would have much preferred to stick with something more traditional, but that’s something that I will know for the future.

The wedding itself seems like it happened so quickly. Almost everyday since I have returned I wonder that it actually happened. I felt like I needed a whole week after to keep celebrating because it all went too fast. I kept willing the seconds to stop, to pause, to not move forward. But they did of course keep moving, that was all part of it.

It was weird, in some ways it didn’t even feel like a wedding was about to happen. I was mostly alone or with my Mom the weekend before. I guess you somehow picture there will be a million people around you all of the time kind of like in My Big Fat Greek Wedding and everything is crazy getting ready and pictures taken right before. But I drove down myself to the hotel to get there earlier than the rest of my family, and then hung out with friends. I kept thinking that the moment would never arrive for me to get ready, and then all of a sudden it was past the time, and I madly ran into the shower and hastily threw some clothes on. My friend Milo snapped a few shots as I was getting ready and then it was time to hurry and get going. 

Getting ready

I jumped in my father-in-law’s van at the hotel and was dropped off at the synagogue. As smoothly as our wedding day went, there are always still some kinks to work out. I felt glad that I got there to be able to clarify things or help get them to where they needed to be. I was warned that at a wedding, nothing ever goes perfectly and something unexpected always happens (and no one ever really notices or finds out), but to be honest, that was not really the case with ours. Yes, were there little things. For example if we had practiced the wedding 10 times before, it would have gone more smoothly. But overall I have no complaints. It’s the nature of being a part of something with a lot of people that are all trying to accomplish many tasks.

So, then all of a sudden, I was there at the synagogue waiting for Jess, and I was so nervous. She touched my shoulder and as I turned to look at her, I just lost it emotionally. I had missed her so much and here she was, my beautiful bride, the same person she always was, but transformed into a Queen for the day.

Then everything was in fast forward - we talked to people during cocktail hour (missing many of the delicious appetizers!) and each gave our dvar torah, our moms broke a plate during the vort, and then we were off to get married. We signed the ketubah and we did the bedeken.

The moment that she walked down the aisle with her parents was so real, so emotional, it was the culmination of everything that we had been waiting for, had worked for, had planned for, and I felt so joyous and emotional all at the same time.

Once the ceremony ended we were off to yichud for a much needed moment to catch a bite to eat and reflect on the day so far. And it’s almost completely unbelievable. You don’t really even believe it. And when we got introduced and did our first dance, that was the part I was most worried about screwing up, and I thought I would be so concentrated, I would forget to smile, but it all went perfectly and I couldn’t help but smile the whole time (the practicing had paid off). 

Finally when we did the hora and were lifted up on our chairs it was like the peak of the evening, and kind of like a metaphor for life, sometimes you’re a little up and sometimes you’re a little down, but my goodness I know that being together with Jess on this life we’ve started is always going to be one hell of a ride.

Change Your Name, Change Your Destiny

A Post by Emet

Changing my name wasn’t such a big deal.

One of the first things I did in Israel was to change my name.

No one really knew me by my previous name. As they say in the States, if you start living by a name, then basically that is considered to be a name change. Of course if you want all the potential “rights” that come with changing your name, such as having your IDs and credit cards match what you say your name is, then you have to go through official channels. In Israel, from the beginning, my name was already what it was, so when people don’t know you by anything else, and there’s no one there to contradict that or call you anything else, it sticks. For the record, the process of changing your name in Israel is REALLY easy. You just go down to the proper government office, fill out an application, wait for your number to be called, and the clerk stamps a few things, types a few things, and then you’re good to go. No problems.

In the United States it’s not so easy to change your name.

Why? It seems as though they are worried about fraud. So, you have to start out first by going to your local superior courthouse. You have to fill out many forms in a very particular way with a certain amount of copies. Then you have to pay a lot of money. If you’re low or no income, then you can apply to have the court feeds waived, but that doesn’t exempt you from the completely strange and antiquated system of publishing your old name and requested new name along with your court-date in a local paper for a month. Yes, that’s right, you actually need to appear in front of a judge to explain yourself. You’re completely stuck with whatever fees you have to pay to this random paper to do something that no one pays attention to. Jess and I hunted for a local paper, calling a few to find out who had the cheapest rates, and it was still over $100 in fees! Does anyone even read these random, small circulation print papers anymore? I have to say it was pretty bizarre. Then, the paper provides you with a certified affidavit that they published an announcement of a change in name for a month in their little podunk paper that you have to bring to the courthouse.

Finally my court-date arrived. I had all the paperwork and had made up my mind there was no reason to be nervous, even though I had to go in front of a judge. Even when you’re innocent of anything, somehow having to stand in front of that guy makes you feel guilty. Jess and I hoped somehow they would call up the day before and say, “Aw, don’t worry, everything seems good with you. No need to come in. We’ll just stamp the papers for you.” But no such luck.

So we arrived to the courthouse early. We sat outside the courtroom until the bailiff let us in. I was thinking it was going to be some kind of small private event, but nooooo. As we waited, more and more lawyers kept buzzing around the hallway. I prayed that they would go elsewhere, but that didn’t happen. They were all waiting to get into the same courtroom as me. I thought, “What the hell! I reserved the damn thing for my trial at 8:30. What are these fools thinking they get to do? They’re going to try to cut me in line!” I was hoping the judge would be a meanie and put the kibosh on that. There was another observant Jew there, also changing his name and probably thinking along similar lines as us. As we sat there, the lawyers got weirder and creepier. One man-lawyer started cajoling a lady-lawyer about making some sort of settlement. You couldn’t help but feel bad for her the way he was pressuring her. It was so awkward. We were right there so you couldn’t help but listen. In the meantime, there was like this little club starting where they all seemed to know each other and were patting each other on the back and talking about their weekends and children. Finally, the bailiff lets us in to the courtroom and I’m thinking, “I hope the judge makes these shmucks wait around.” But, there was all this procedural stuff first. The judge seemed very nice although I didn’t really like all the lawyers listening. When the judge called my case number, I had to approach the podium where the lawyers had addresses the judge.He said that everything was in order. I might have said Sir one time instead of your honor, but then stamp stamp stamp and he sent me on my way!

All in all, it really wasn’t too bad of an experience. I think I thought it would be much worse than it was. But then I thought it was going to be even less of a big deal than it was, and I started to feel like it was.

I didn’t alter my birth name lightly. I felt the loss of my old name (even though hard as they try, well some of them try anyway, it’s hard for them to get it right). I grieved it, although part of it will always be a piece of me. There’s no denying or changing that, and I’m completely ok with it.

Why did I change my name?

I knew that when I was going to Israel not only did I want a fresh start, but I wanted to have a Hebrew name, one where I could be easily absorbed into Israeli culture. I knew that wasn’t possible with some English name. I spent months looking for something that would fit. I wanted something that would keep the same initials. I wanted something simple that would fit me. I wanted something meaningful. I also thought it would be nice if it was gender neutral (before realizing that nothing in Hebrew is gender neutral) or a unisex name, which it seemed like there were plenty of those in Hebrew. I didn’t find anything as many websites and baby naming books that I looked at. Finally I just started searching in Google Translate for values that I felt were important for me. Being “true” is one of them. That’s when I found Emet, or for those Ashkenazi Jews out there, Emes. But at the time, I didn’t know anything about Ashkenazi accents, and I didn’t know that words ending in Taf are feminine. I just knew that I liked the name in English. It could be unisex, or even more masculine, and it had a meaning I identified with. I didn’t know at that time that changing your name or adding a name had such significant in Jewish culture.

When I arrived in Israel, the reactions to my name were very strong. It’s not a word people use for a name. But I also didn’t know the religious significance of the name at the time either. I struggled with people’s reactions. Instead of integrating me into society, I was sticking out like a sore thumb. I thought about changing it again. But for whatever reason, Baruch Hashem, I was there, and I chose what I chose knowing what little I knew then. So I think it had a reason, and I chose to leave it that way. How could I ever change it when I hear my bashert say my name? Baruch Hashem, it’s a very strong and powerful name.

May I do my best to live up to it.

Split Down the Mechitza

A post by Emet

How many times have I been asked "ben o bat?" (boy or girl) in Israel? How many times have I been stopped trying to enter the women’s side of the Kotel?

Maybe I should explain first off that I’m genderqueer. I have a female body, but don’t identify with femininity at all. The definition, according to Wikipedia:

        • having an overlap of, or blurred lines between, gender identity and sexual and romantic orientation.
        • two or more genders (bigender, trigender, pangender);
        • without a gender (nongendered, genderless, agender; neutrois);
        • moving between genders or with a fluctuating gender identity (genderfluid);
        • third gender or other-gendered; includes those who do not place a name to their gender;

A few weeks ago I went to Yedidya, a Modern Orthodox synagogue near our apartment in Jerusalem. I sat on the women’s side of the mehitza. A woman approached me. She asked me why I wasn’t wearing a kippah. I was a little surprised, but once I explained that I was female bodied, she agreed that the kippah wasn’t necessary.

A few nights ago I went to Shira Chadasha, another Modern Orthodox, though more egalitarian, synagogue where a woman leads Kabbalat Shabbat but a man leads Maariv and a minyan is comprised of no less than ten men AND ten women. I sat on the women’s side of the mehitza. A woman went up to the women I was with and asked if I was a man, and therefore on the wrong side. Once they explained that I was female bodied, it was no problem for me to stay where I was.

I don’t hold anything against the women that were policing their side of the mehitza. It’s their job, number one. Isn’t that what Judaism is about, after all? Making sure that everyone knows what side of the mehitza they belong? Vaginas belong on one side, penises, the other.

I, for one, am really thinking of starting to advocate for the brit mila mehitza. I want every man to lower their drawers and PROVE that they’re really part of the covenant before they can enter the mens side.

By the way, I’ve been on the men’s side of the mehitza. I’ll note that no one came up to me to check my brit mila situation. Even so, I couldn’t relax, couldn’t enjoy it, just couldn’t shake the fact that I felt that I was using privilege, privilege that the women that were sitting in the back of the shul, behind me, with voices so soft that i couldn’t even hear them, that had no view of the pulpit, were unable to have. And might never know, how awesome it is to have a view, how powerful it is to be surrounded by men with strong loud passionate voices singing love songs to Hashem.

So why not daven masorti, or reform? That would take care of the situation.

I LIKE davening split mehitza minyan. It’s not without its problems, but it feels like home. I like feeling surrounded by my sisters and their beautiful voices.

Many people would say to me, well you made your choice, don’t complain about it, your gender is confusing, weird, unclear, ambiguous, etc. Number one, I’m not complaining. Indeed I have made a choice. I could absolutely wear a skirt. Just like any frum man could wear one. He makes a choice also to wear pants, or a striemel, or a kippah. The reason I CHOOSE not to wear a skirt is because for me, dressing like a traditional frum woman would be as uncomfortable as say, a fish riding a bicycle. Think of the frumest rabbi you know and imagine someone not allowing him to wear tzitzit. It’s a choice, sure, lots of hilonim (non-religious people) don’t wear tzitzit. But really, it's not a choice. Some people will say, that’s not a great comparison, these are Torah given mitzvoth. But that rabbi would feel naked without wearing his tzitzit. It would feel wrong and uncomfortable for him. It's the same for me. I would feel wrong and uncomfortable in a skirt or dress. That is simply not a choice that I can make for myself.

Very few people can understand what it's like to not truly fit on either side of the mehitza. Not to fit into a frum community. Not to fit into societal gender norms. That’s my life every day. Step onto the other side of the mehitza from the one that you’re used to davening on, just for one minute, and step into my world.