I've reread all the blog posts on this blog, and I've found that the issues I dealt with three years ago are still the ones I'm dealing with today. I'm not in any better of a place, and I actually feel like we are slipping a bit more.
I read an old email from the kiruv rabbi I worked with, and it struck a chord. It's something I've been thinking about over the last few days. He said "being half religious...is no man's land," and he encouraged me to observe the full Shabbat and "the rest will fall in into place."
At first, I was annoyed by the comment. It will all just fall into place? How so? If we begin keeping Shabbat completely, will that bring us more friends, more community? That's exactly what we've lacked here in Atlanta.
If we move to a Shabbat observant community, how will be received? The few times we've tried interacting with the Shabbat observant community here in Atlanta, we haven't been received in the way we had hoped. I think people are confused by us or don't approve of us. In Denver, we were invited over to people's homes and we did the same, even among families who were Modern Orthodox.
Of course, it's different with a baby who goes to sleep too early to go out for Friday night, but what about Shabbat lunch? We've invited people over for Fridays, but haven't received the same invitations with open arms from others. I don't know if it's because we have a toddler or because people don't like us or because inviting people for Shabbat is not a thing here in Atlanta.
At the same time, I agree. Being "half-religious" is this weird in-between place. We fall in to the community of conservative Judaism mainly because of our identities, but realize that conservative Judaism is dying. There are few young families that actually keep Shabbat or kosher that are conservative. If you're out there, let me know! But it's hard as a queer couple who wants to/strives to keep mitzvot.
I told Emet I think we should keep more. We've been slacking. It's true. And yet, by keeping, we will be more isolated because we can't afford to live within walking distance to a shul.
Where do we belong? Is that what many Jews think? Or are we simply anomalies?
Showing posts with label frum. Show all posts
Showing posts with label frum. Show all posts
Friday, January 19, 2018
Wednesday, September 27, 2017
Thoughts on Being a Parent
So much has happened in the last year. I cannot get into everything. Shortly after my last post, I gave birth to a daughter, and it's just been a whirlwind year. My relationship with Emet has grown so much, and we have learned much about the world and each other.
I wrote a private journal entry last year about going to High Holiday services with a newborn. I couldn't stay in services for long because it was time for the baby to eat again. And I wasn't even able to go to shul on Yom Kippur because of a rough night and total exhaustion.
This year, I thought maybe it would be easier to go to services, but it was actually harder. I tried to read a bit to make up for not being able to be in services, but of course, the baby needs my constant attention while Emet works (for the synagogue).
Adina Kastner, in a recent article in Times of Israel, said, "Personally, I have never felt further from Hashem than I do right now. My break from davening and learning because of my busy life as a working mother has hurt my relationship with God...I want to find the strong closeness I had back in high school, when I punctually attended teen minyan every Shabbat. I can think of no better place to get reacquainted with the Almighty than at shul."
I completely agree and feel the exact same. When I was at Pardes, I was learning every day, connecting every day, davening almost every day, and participating in all the rituals I could. I felt incredibly close to HaShem. Since returning to the US over three years ago, I struggle to feel that same connection. Emet and I were part of a lively community in Denver, and we just haven't found the same ruach in services here as we had in Israel. It's hard to have Shabbat with a baby. We can't prepare ahead of time and then dinners are often quick so we can start her bedtime routine. We don't go to Kabbalat Shabbat services because she's down by 7. We sometimes go through the service on our own, but it just isn't the same.
I recently met with a StrengthsFinder coach, and one of the things we discussed was finding time to do something that engages my strengths. Learning is one of those. Since having a child, it's been hard to find time to engage in Judaism adequately. I am taking a step to carving out time to learn this year, and I hope I won't be disappointed.
We have talked about other ways that we could connect to HaShem and Judaism, too. We are planning to erect a sukkah with hopes of inviting people to join us for meals. I realized this year that we can't depend on others to jumpstart our connection. It is on us.
For any observant parents out there - how do you do it? How do observant families manage? How do you daven at all with a young child who requires constant attention? Babysitting is not always an option. Does the parent responsible for caring for the children even go to synagogue? How do you prepare for Shabbat and holidays? Please leave a comment below and tell me your secrets!
G'mar Chatimah Tovah. May you all have a sweet New Year.
I wrote a private journal entry last year about going to High Holiday services with a newborn. I couldn't stay in services for long because it was time for the baby to eat again. And I wasn't even able to go to shul on Yom Kippur because of a rough night and total exhaustion.
This year, I thought maybe it would be easier to go to services, but it was actually harder. I tried to read a bit to make up for not being able to be in services, but of course, the baby needs my constant attention while Emet works (for the synagogue).
Adina Kastner, in a recent article in Times of Israel, said, "Personally, I have never felt further from Hashem than I do right now. My break from davening and learning because of my busy life as a working mother has hurt my relationship with God...I want to find the strong closeness I had back in high school, when I punctually attended teen minyan every Shabbat. I can think of no better place to get reacquainted with the Almighty than at shul."
I completely agree and feel the exact same. When I was at Pardes, I was learning every day, connecting every day, davening almost every day, and participating in all the rituals I could. I felt incredibly close to HaShem. Since returning to the US over three years ago, I struggle to feel that same connection. Emet and I were part of a lively community in Denver, and we just haven't found the same ruach in services here as we had in Israel. It's hard to have Shabbat with a baby. We can't prepare ahead of time and then dinners are often quick so we can start her bedtime routine. We don't go to Kabbalat Shabbat services because she's down by 7. We sometimes go through the service on our own, but it just isn't the same.
I recently met with a StrengthsFinder coach, and one of the things we discussed was finding time to do something that engages my strengths. Learning is one of those. Since having a child, it's been hard to find time to engage in Judaism adequately. I am taking a step to carving out time to learn this year, and I hope I won't be disappointed.
We have talked about other ways that we could connect to HaShem and Judaism, too. We are planning to erect a sukkah with hopes of inviting people to join us for meals. I realized this year that we can't depend on others to jumpstart our connection. It is on us.
For any observant parents out there - how do you do it? How do observant families manage? How do you daven at all with a young child who requires constant attention? Babysitting is not always an option. Does the parent responsible for caring for the children even go to synagogue? How do you prepare for Shabbat and holidays? Please leave a comment below and tell me your secrets!
G'mar Chatimah Tovah. May you all have a sweet New Year.
Friday, March 6, 2015
Honor Your Father and Mother
Each morning, when I pray Shacharit (the morning service), there is a line at the very beginning that I ponder every single day.
I read this passage every day when I pray, and everyday I think about honoring my father and mother, but as a future parent, I also think about what our children will say. How will they view the line "honor your father and mother" when Emet and I aren't those roles, per se? Will they overlook it, as just another text that doesn't adequately reflect their experiences as Jews? Will they acknowledge its existence, but still say it because it's part of tradition? Will they insert their own words? We could so easily include "הורים," the word for parents, which doesn't indicate gender. Maybe that word wasn't in existence yet when the prayer was written - or in this case the Talmud, as this section comes from Shabbat 127a.
Recently, I finally got my hands on a copy of Keep Your Wives Away from Them: Orthodox Women, Unorthodox Desires, edited by Miryam Kabakov. One of the vignettes discusses lesbian visibility in Jewish texts. Like the absence of women's experiences in Jewish texts, queer women tend to be absent as well, because let's be honest, the ones writing the stories were men. They didn't always know what was going on in the women's spaces. Event so, queer women were there. They didn't have a label, like we utilize today, but with the inclusion of stories about "women rubbing against each other" by Maimonides, it can be assumed that women were loving other women.
I say this because I know that even though the text disregards my own family and doesn't see my family, we exist and we are working to show people that we exist. We may not be seen by everyone, but we know we are here, and we are doing our best to be visible and utilize tradition in a way that makes sense for us.
Reading through the English translation in my Koren siddur, I was surprised to see that Koren translated אָב וָאֵם as parents, not father and mother. This gives me hope that perhaps we are more visible than I thought.
Shabbat Shalom!
אֵֽלּוּ דְבָרִים שֶׁאָדָם אוֹכֵל
:פֵּרוֹתֵיהֶם בָּעוֹלָם הַזֶּה וְהַקֶּֽרֶן קַיֶּֽמֶת לָעוֹלָם הַבָּא, וְאֵֽלּוּ הֵן
כִּבּוּד אָב וָאֵם, וּגְמִילוּת חֲסָדִים, וְהַשְׁכָּמַת בֵּית הַמִּדְרָשׁ
שַׁחֲרִית וְעַרְבִית, וְהַכְנָסַת אוֹרְחִים, וּבִקּוּר חוֹלִים, וְהַכְנָסַת
כַּלָּה, וּלְוָיַת הַמֵּת, וְעִיוּן תְּפִלָּה, וַהֲבָאַת שָׁלוֹם בֵּין אָדָם
לַחֲבֵרוֹ , וְתַלְמוּד תּוֹרָה כְּנֶֽגֶד כֻּלָּם
These are the things whose fruits we eat in this world
but whose full reward awaits us in the World to Come:
honoring your father and mother,
acts of kindness,
arriving early at the house of study morning and evening,
hospitality to strangers,
visiting the sick
helping the needy bride,
attending to the dead,
devotion in prayer,
and bringing peace between people -
but the study of Torah is equal to them all.
Recently, I finally got my hands on a copy of Keep Your Wives Away from Them: Orthodox Women, Unorthodox Desires, edited by Miryam Kabakov. One of the vignettes discusses lesbian visibility in Jewish texts. Like the absence of women's experiences in Jewish texts, queer women tend to be absent as well, because let's be honest, the ones writing the stories were men. They didn't always know what was going on in the women's spaces. Event so, queer women were there. They didn't have a label, like we utilize today, but with the inclusion of stories about "women rubbing against each other" by Maimonides, it can be assumed that women were loving other women.
I say this because I know that even though the text disregards my own family and doesn't see my family, we exist and we are working to show people that we exist. We may not be seen by everyone, but we know we are here, and we are doing our best to be visible and utilize tradition in a way that makes sense for us.
Reading through the English translation in my Koren siddur, I was surprised to see that Koren translated אָב וָאֵם as parents, not father and mother. This gives me hope that perhaps we are more visible than I thought.
Shabbat Shalom!
Thursday, February 12, 2015
Being Invisible
As a queer woman, I'm invisible.
As a Jew, I'm invisible.
As a queer Jew, I'm invisible.
I spent years trying to "look" queer.
I cut off all my hair.
I refused to wear skirts or dresses.
I didn't shave.
I didn't wear makeup.
I hung out with (mostly) only queer people.
I was a leader in the queer organization on campus.
I volunteered with queer organizations after college.
I spent years trying to "look" Jewish.
I went to synagogue.
I was involved with the Jewish young adults organization.
I wore a חי necklace.
I volunteered with Jewish organizations after college.
I lived in Israel.
I'm an active queer Jew.
I go to synagogue.
I go to the queer bar.
I am involved with a Jewish study group.
I go to Shabbat dinners.
I openly discuss my queerness with friends and family.
I cover my hair.
But none of this matters.
I'm still invisible.
At the Creating Change conference, I covered my hair, but the only way people could identify me as Jewish was when I was standing next to Emet, who wore a kippah and tzitzit. When I'm out in public, I'm only passing as not-queer unless someone asks about my relationship.
I felt frustration during the conference because while I might be seen as queer, I'm not seen as Jewish, and when I'm seen as Jewish, I'm not necessarily seen as queer. The intersections of my identity are not evident, and instead, I feel invisible. I'm not sure how to NOT be invisible because I'm being true to myself and my identity, but I was frustrated. I am frustrated.
Even so, I'm me, and I can do the best I can to figure out how to be both, even if no one else sees me. I see myself.
As a Jew, I'm invisible.
As a queer Jew, I'm invisible.
I spent years trying to "look" queer.
I cut off all my hair.
I refused to wear skirts or dresses.
I didn't shave.
I didn't wear makeup.
I hung out with (mostly) only queer people.
I was a leader in the queer organization on campus.
I volunteered with queer organizations after college.
I spent years trying to "look" Jewish.
I went to synagogue.
I was involved with the Jewish young adults organization.
I wore a חי necklace.
I volunteered with Jewish organizations after college.
I lived in Israel.
I'm an active queer Jew.
I go to synagogue.
I go to the queer bar.
I am involved with a Jewish study group.
I go to Shabbat dinners.
I openly discuss my queerness with friends and family.
I cover my hair.
But none of this matters.
I'm still invisible.
At the Creating Change conference, I covered my hair, but the only way people could identify me as Jewish was when I was standing next to Emet, who wore a kippah and tzitzit. When I'm out in public, I'm only passing as not-queer unless someone asks about my relationship.
I felt frustration during the conference because while I might be seen as queer, I'm not seen as Jewish, and when I'm seen as Jewish, I'm not necessarily seen as queer. The intersections of my identity are not evident, and instead, I feel invisible. I'm not sure how to NOT be invisible because I'm being true to myself and my identity, but I was frustrated. I am frustrated.
Even so, I'm me, and I can do the best I can to figure out how to be both, even if no one else sees me. I see myself.
Friday, December 26, 2014
My Head Covering Story
I think it's about time to have a post on head coverings. Now, almost 4 months (!) after the wedding, I've been covering my hair partially or fully every day since the wedding.
Before Emet and I got married, I knew I wanted to cover my head. I spent time reading Jewish texts on the topic to determine my reason for covering and how much I was going to cover.
Jewish law requires that married women cover their hair. The origin comes from the Sotah ritual, a ceremony described in the Torah that tests the fidelity of a woman accused of adultery. In the ritual, the priest covers the accused woman's hair as part of the humiliation that precedes the ceremony (Number 5:18). From this, the Talmud concludes that under normal circumstances, women were required to cover their hair (Ketubot 72a).
The Mishnah in Ketubot (7:6) says that a woman appearing in public with uncovered hair (and talking to a man who is not her husband) is grounds for divorce and indicates that this violation is Dat Yehudit, which means Jewish rule, as opposed to Dat Moshe, which is typically considered laws from Moses. This difference in categorization suggests that hair covering is not an absolute obligation originating from Moses at Sinai, but instead is a standard of modesty that was defined by the Jewish community. Hence, the Talmud presents a compromise between Dat Moshe and Dat Yehudit with the law stating: minimal hair covering is a biblical obligation, while further standards of how and when to cover one's hair are determined by the community. The Talmud elsewhere says that uncovered hair is considered sexually erotic and prohibits men from praying in sight of a woman's hair.
From here, community standards have decided what type of head covering and how much. For example, some women cover a smaller section of their head, while other women completely cover their hair.
When I was researching types of hair covering and what I would be comfortable with, I also was thinking about WHY I wanted to cover my hair.
My reasoning for covering my hair:
1. A change in status: Covering my hair indicates that I have a change in status. I'm not single anymore.
2. To remember that there is always someone above me: HaShem and Emet are both present in my life in different ways. I think about my head covering as a way to remind myself that I am blessed every day and to remember Emet's needs.
Since I recognized that covering is not a facet of modesty for me, I determined that I don't have to cover my hair fully if I don't want to. I go back and forth between my head coverings, depending on the weather and my preference for that day. Lately, I've only worn a warm hat, which I don't take off when I'm not at home. It took my some time to master how to tie the head scarfs in a way that I liked, but I've got the hang of it now.
Some women cover their hair all the time, including in their home. I tend to uncover my head in my own home, but if we have lots of guests over, I will cover because it doesn't feel right otherwise.
I had never considered how it might make me feel to cover my head. I sometimes have dreams about leaving the house without my head covered and it feels so wrong!
I'm glad I decided to cover my hair. It helps me to connect to the past, and it keeps me grounded. I'm sure in the future, I'll change the way I cover my hair, either less or more depending on the time of year and how I'm feeling, and it feels right to me. Shabbat shalom!
Before Emet and I got married, I knew I wanted to cover my head. I spent time reading Jewish texts on the topic to determine my reason for covering and how much I was going to cover.
Jewish law requires that married women cover their hair. The origin comes from the Sotah ritual, a ceremony described in the Torah that tests the fidelity of a woman accused of adultery. In the ritual, the priest covers the accused woman's hair as part of the humiliation that precedes the ceremony (Number 5:18). From this, the Talmud concludes that under normal circumstances, women were required to cover their hair (Ketubot 72a).
The Mishnah in Ketubot (7:6) says that a woman appearing in public with uncovered hair (and talking to a man who is not her husband) is grounds for divorce and indicates that this violation is Dat Yehudit, which means Jewish rule, as opposed to Dat Moshe, which is typically considered laws from Moses. This difference in categorization suggests that hair covering is not an absolute obligation originating from Moses at Sinai, but instead is a standard of modesty that was defined by the Jewish community. Hence, the Talmud presents a compromise between Dat Moshe and Dat Yehudit with the law stating: minimal hair covering is a biblical obligation, while further standards of how and when to cover one's hair are determined by the community. The Talmud elsewhere says that uncovered hair is considered sexually erotic and prohibits men from praying in sight of a woman's hair.
From here, community standards have decided what type of head covering and how much. For example, some women cover a smaller section of their head, while other women completely cover their hair.
When I was researching types of hair covering and what I would be comfortable with, I also was thinking about WHY I wanted to cover my hair.
My reasoning for covering my hair:
1. A change in status: Covering my hair indicates that I have a change in status. I'm not single anymore.
2. To remember that there is always someone above me: HaShem and Emet are both present in my life in different ways. I think about my head covering as a way to remind myself that I am blessed every day and to remember Emet's needs.
Since I recognized that covering is not a facet of modesty for me, I determined that I don't have to cover my hair fully if I don't want to. I go back and forth between my head coverings, depending on the weather and my preference for that day. Lately, I've only worn a warm hat, which I don't take off when I'm not at home. It took my some time to master how to tie the head scarfs in a way that I liked, but I've got the hang of it now.
Some women cover their hair all the time, including in their home. I tend to uncover my head in my own home, but if we have lots of guests over, I will cover because it doesn't feel right otherwise.
I had never considered how it might make me feel to cover my head. I sometimes have dreams about leaving the house without my head covered and it feels so wrong!
I'm glad I decided to cover my hair. It helps me to connect to the past, and it keeps me grounded. I'm sure in the future, I'll change the way I cover my hair, either less or more depending on the time of year and how I'm feeling, and it feels right to me. Shabbat shalom!
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
Mikvah
I went to the mikvah for the first time yesterday. I was nervous because I didn't know what to expect, even though our kallah teacher told us about it and friends have explained. It's not the same until you do it yourself.
I drove up and rang the doorbell. This mikvah was in an old building, and they are trying to raise funds to renovate. Though this is an inclusive mikvah, meaning any woman can go, regardless of if she is Orthodox or not, the attendant who answered the door was clearly Orthodox. She was the only person at the mikvah at that time. No one else was there. The usual time to immerse is after nightfall, but special immersions, like a kallah (bride), can happen during the day.
She led me into a bathroom with a tub, toilet, and vanity. The floor was uneven and had cracks in it. You had to watch where you stepped, so that you didn't trip. It didn't have that nice, clean, well-kept feel I had expected, but it was definitely clean. In the bathroom, there were Q-tips, cotton balls, mouthwash, floss, toothpaste, shampoo, and body wash. She said I could shower, but since I had just done that at home, I took a few minutes to look around and used the mouthwash. I had prepared at home so that I was comfortable in my own space.
Then I called her, and we walked into the next room which had the mikvah in it. She checked the bottom of my feet for hair. I was nervous. I was going to have to be naked in front of her, and I was wondering if I'd do it right. I was also thinking about cleanliness. But soon, I just took off the robe and went down the stairs.
My first dunk wasn't enough so I had to do again. She said, some women will jump a little so that they will go completely under the water. So I jumped a little for my next dunk. It was kosher. She handed me the prayer card to say the blessing and a washcloth to put on my head. Then I dunked twice more.
I walked back up the stairs and put the robe back on. She started giving me blessings of good health and happy marriage, etc. We walked back into the bathroom, and she quickly left me to clean up. I debated taking a shower there, but I decided against it. I would take another when I got back home that night. When I walked out to pay, she gave me a little certificate for my first time and some moisturizer.
I had to immerse our new pots and pans, so I asked her where that mikvah is. She walked and told me to drive around to the other side of the building. When we went outside, there was lots of thunder and ominous clouds. I thanked her and she scurried off.
Of course, it started storming. Rain, lightning, thunder, and then hail. It lasted for 20 minutes while I sat in the car. I didn't think there was symbolism in that. It's Denver. It storms. Finally after a while, I was able to get back out and immerse the pots and pans.
One thing that was really great about the experience was that the attendant didn't ask me about my husband! Usually, in more religious situations, I have to nod my head or change my pronouns to pretend that my spouse is male, but she was really respectful. She didn't ask about a husband, and she gave me lots of brachot (blessings). I mentioned I was nervous, and she was nice. She didn't even ask questions about the wedding anything about my spouse, and that contributed to me feeling comfortable. Perhaps it is because the mikvah is supposedly for the individual woman, not her spouse (depends on who you talk to), so the focus is on her.
I was proud of the many mitzvoth I did, but I feel like there could be something more meaningful about the mikvah. Maybe it would be more meaningful in nature for me, but it didn't feel very symbolic or spiritual. I still want to introduce a meaningful ritual, so I'll be continuing my research and try to come up with something.
I drove up and rang the doorbell. This mikvah was in an old building, and they are trying to raise funds to renovate. Though this is an inclusive mikvah, meaning any woman can go, regardless of if she is Orthodox or not, the attendant who answered the door was clearly Orthodox. She was the only person at the mikvah at that time. No one else was there. The usual time to immerse is after nightfall, but special immersions, like a kallah (bride), can happen during the day.
She led me into a bathroom with a tub, toilet, and vanity. The floor was uneven and had cracks in it. You had to watch where you stepped, so that you didn't trip. It didn't have that nice, clean, well-kept feel I had expected, but it was definitely clean. In the bathroom, there were Q-tips, cotton balls, mouthwash, floss, toothpaste, shampoo, and body wash. She said I could shower, but since I had just done that at home, I took a few minutes to look around and used the mouthwash. I had prepared at home so that I was comfortable in my own space.
Then I called her, and we walked into the next room which had the mikvah in it. She checked the bottom of my feet for hair. I was nervous. I was going to have to be naked in front of her, and I was wondering if I'd do it right. I was also thinking about cleanliness. But soon, I just took off the robe and went down the stairs.
 |
| A mikvah (not the one I used). |
My first dunk wasn't enough so I had to do again. She said, some women will jump a little so that they will go completely under the water. So I jumped a little for my next dunk. It was kosher. She handed me the prayer card to say the blessing and a washcloth to put on my head. Then I dunked twice more.
I walked back up the stairs and put the robe back on. She started giving me blessings of good health and happy marriage, etc. We walked back into the bathroom, and she quickly left me to clean up. I debated taking a shower there, but I decided against it. I would take another when I got back home that night. When I walked out to pay, she gave me a little certificate for my first time and some moisturizer.
I had to immerse our new pots and pans, so I asked her where that mikvah is. She walked and told me to drive around to the other side of the building. When we went outside, there was lots of thunder and ominous clouds. I thanked her and she scurried off.
Of course, it started storming. Rain, lightning, thunder, and then hail. It lasted for 20 minutes while I sat in the car. I didn't think there was symbolism in that. It's Denver. It storms. Finally after a while, I was able to get back out and immerse the pots and pans.
One thing that was really great about the experience was that the attendant didn't ask me about my husband! Usually, in more religious situations, I have to nod my head or change my pronouns to pretend that my spouse is male, but she was really respectful. She didn't ask about a husband, and she gave me lots of brachot (blessings). I mentioned I was nervous, and she was nice. She didn't even ask questions about the wedding anything about my spouse, and that contributed to me feeling comfortable. Perhaps it is because the mikvah is supposedly for the individual woman, not her spouse (depends on who you talk to), so the focus is on her.
I was proud of the many mitzvoth I did, but I feel like there could be something more meaningful about the mikvah. Maybe it would be more meaningful in nature for me, but it didn't feel very symbolic or spiritual. I still want to introduce a meaningful ritual, so I'll be continuing my research and try to come up with something.
Either way, even if I don't go back monthly, I'm glad I did it.
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
The Intersection of Being Queer and Frum
I've been thinking a lot about being religious and queer. I feel strongly connected to religious Judaism and my identity as a queer woman. Those identities go hand in hand, and I cannot separate one from the other. At the same time, it is something that I know the religious community does not necessarily acknowledge.
The more I hear about other queer Jews, the more aware I am about how lucky both Emet and I are to have incredibly supportive families - both of our queerness and now our religious practice. I started following a blog called Frum Gay Girl, which lists anonymous interviews with individuals who are queer and religious. Many seem to stay in their communities, though some have left. It has been a fascinating window for me into the ultra-religious community.
Both Emet and I have begun to feel tired of not being about to be ourselves in Jewish circles. Yes, we are observant. Yes, we are queer. It tends to be that in observant circles, we aren't accepted because of our queerness, and in politically progressive circles, our observance is confusing and misunderstood. We are striving to find a community that will accept us exactly how we are.
I just corresponded with a woman writing an article for the Atlanta Jewish Times about queer observant Jews. This is something I've been thinking about for a while. How many more of us are there? Have we been accepted? What motivates us to maintain our identities?
Obviously, I can answer these questions for myself, but I think that everyone is a little different. I've been thinking about it a lot. If you are religious and queer, feel free to leave a comment or email me. I'm interested in hearing your story.
The more I hear about other queer Jews, the more aware I am about how lucky both Emet and I are to have incredibly supportive families - both of our queerness and now our religious practice. I started following a blog called Frum Gay Girl, which lists anonymous interviews with individuals who are queer and religious. Many seem to stay in their communities, though some have left. It has been a fascinating window for me into the ultra-religious community.
Both Emet and I have begun to feel tired of not being about to be ourselves in Jewish circles. Yes, we are observant. Yes, we are queer. It tends to be that in observant circles, we aren't accepted because of our queerness, and in politically progressive circles, our observance is confusing and misunderstood. We are striving to find a community that will accept us exactly how we are.
I just corresponded with a woman writing an article for the Atlanta Jewish Times about queer observant Jews. This is something I've been thinking about for a while. How many more of us are there? Have we been accepted? What motivates us to maintain our identities?
Obviously, I can answer these questions for myself, but I think that everyone is a little different. I've been thinking about it a lot. If you are religious and queer, feel free to leave a comment or email me. I'm interested in hearing your story.
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