Jews read sections of the Torah each week, and these sections, known as parshiyot, inspire endless examination year after year. Each week we will bring you regular essays examining these portions from a queer perspective, drawn from the Torah Queeries online collection, which was inspired by the book Torah Queeries: Weekly Commentaries on the Hebrew Bible. This week, Amos Lassen considers what Moses can teach us about LGBT pride.
The book of Deuteronomy focuses on the time just before the death of Moses. The Israelites are encamped on a plateau in Moab, poised to enter the land of Israel. Parashat Eikev, the third Torah portion in Deuteronomy, opens with Moses addressing the assembled Israelites. Eikev translates from Hebrew as “if” or “as a consequence of.” Yet, the literal translation of “eikev” is “heel” and comes from the same root as the name “Ya’akov” (Jacob), who was so named because he was holding onto the heel of his twin, Esau, when the two were born. We, therefore, can read Deuteronomy 7:12 as saying, “And it will come to pass on the heel of your hearkening to these rules. . .” Nothing in life occurs in a vacuum, nothing happens just by itself; everything happens “eikev” — on the heel of everything else. As we venture through life, we are always dependent on someone or something and as we strive to achieve our goals, we rely on each other and G-d.
This was the d’var Torah (discourse) I gave at the Jewish service on Friday night at the Philadelphia Trans-Health Conference, 14 June 2013. In it, I build on and try to give a preliminary answer to a question I started to explore some time ago, as one conference participant put it, “What does a gal do with her bar mitzvah tallit?”
The time was two o’clock in the morning, and I was about to complete the crafting project I’d been working on all evening. I sat on the couch with my scissors in one hand and the cloth in the other. All I finally had to do to finish the project was to cut four pieces of thread. A simple task, nothing to it. My hand holding the scissors hesitated slightly; my brain became uncertain. Suddenly I broke down crying uncontrollably, sobbing, unable to make the final cuts, unable to complete this project. Continue reading
Jews read sections of the Torah each week, and these sections, known as parshiyot, inspire endless examination year after year. Each week we will bring you regular essays examining these portions from a queer perspective, drawn from the Torah Queeries online collection, which was inspired by the book Torah Queeries: Weekly Commentaries on the Hebrew Bible. This week, Jay Michaelson imagines how LGBT people can fulfill the commandment to love God with all of our hearts, souls, and might.
A tension: We are commanded, in Parashat Vaetchanan, to love God with all our heart, soul, and might – v’ahavta et adonai elohecha b’chol levavcha, b’chol nafshecha, u’vchol me’odecha. But what about everyone else? Do we love our families and God “in different ways”? At different times? Do we love other people as God, in a pantheistic sense – as incarnations of the One? And if so, what of their particularity?
Love itself may be simple, but its articulation is not. Continue reading
What does it mean to be Jewish and queer? What about dating queer and Jewish? Does it make a difference?
I am Shaily Hakimian from Lincolnshire, Illinois studying elementary education at Indiana University. I have been working in the LGBT movement since I was 14 – so about 8 years. I grew up going to Solomon Schechter Day School where I received a Conservative Jewish education as a Sephardic Jew living in America. My dad is from Iran and my mom is from Morocco, though she spent part of her life in Israel. My mom has always had a strong connection to Judaism. Though we have slipped slightly in our observance of kashrut among other things, she still pushes me on a regular basis to marry Jewish. G-d forbid I don’t meet someone Jewish.
I always think of what it would be like bringing someone who was not Jewish to Israel to meet my family. What would my cousins think? In Israel, the chances of a Jewish person not marrying another Jew are slim. But in the U.S., the chances of that happening are far greater. Over the years I have tried to understand why my mom and other relatives always pushed this so hard on me. Why is it so important for me to date Jewish? Continue reading
When the U.S. Supreme Court announced it would decide on the legality of California’s Proposition 8 and the federal Defense of Marriage Act in June, I decided to take a look at a speech I gave about lesbian and gay families for my synagogue’s oratory contest in 2004. At the time, Multnomah County, Oregon (a mile from where I lived) had briefly legalized same-sex marriage, bringing LGBTQ rights to the local forefront for the first time I could remember; I, as a not-yet-aware-I-was-queer 13-year-old, wanted to share my thoughts from a Jewish perspective. My speech (which won second place in the middle school division!) was well-intentioned, but often misguided. Among other things, it:
- Called homosexuality a lifestyle
- Discussed the Torah’s call to kill men who have sex with men in a “well, we shouldn’t kill, but obviously it must be bad if the Torah said it was worthy of death” kind of tone
- Acknowledged that same-sex couples could make great parents and that adopting was a mitzvah
In the years between giving that speech in 2004 and now, I grew and changed: from a middle schooler to a grad student, from a Conservative Jew to a humanistic one, and from a closeted boy to a proud queer man. During many of those years, I struggled to understand and accept my sexual orientation. I recently reflected upon what I wish I had known before that struggle, when I gave my speech nine years ago: Continue reading
Jews read sections of the Torah each week, and these sections, known as parshiyot, inspire endless examination year after year. Each week we will bring you regular essays examining these portions from a queer perspective, drawn from the Torah Queeries online collection, which was inspired by the book Torah Queeries: Weekly Commentaries on the Hebrew Bible. This week, Marisa James sees common themes in the need for the ancient Israelites, and LGBT people throughout history, to keep moving forward.
And God said unto Moses: it is time for a travelogue, so that the Israelites may see where they have been, and what they have done, and that you have been a good and worthy tour guide to them. Remind them that there is no refund if they are not satisfied with their 40-year tour of the desert of Mitzraim [Egypt, or "the narrow places"], nor do they have the option to change the route of their tour. They must stay with the group, or else God and Moses are not responsible for what might happen if they piss off the locals, or eat their food without paying for it.
And God and Moses said unto the Israelites: Look forward! Get up! Keep moving! Continue reading
Living in Israel, for me, meant mastering the art of feigning ignorance. “Ani lo mevin, ani lo mevin. Rak midaber englit v sfardit,” I would often say. “I don’t understand, I don’t understand. I only speak English and Spanish.”
But I always knew exactly what the stranger in the kibbutz cafeteria or the shop-owner in the shuk or the security guard by the bathroom was saying as he chuckled to himself and asked, “Atah ben o bat?” with eyebrows raised. His Hebrew translates to, “Are you a boy or a girl?” but really what he’s getting at is, “Come on, really?” He’s reminding me that I am a puzzle to be figured out for his amusement, and that because I am a puzzle (read: not a human), it is A-OK to ask me rude questions.
Throughout my stay in Israel, strangers and friends alike would ask me this question in an array of rude ways. And though I often felt hurt and disappointed by the ease with which those around me seemed to prioritize a few laughs and quick satiation of their curiosities over my well-being, as I look back at my stint in Israel, it’s difficult for me to blame these perpetrators. As far as I, someone raised in America who lived in Israel for only six months and is and was far from culturally integrated into Israeli society, can tell, gender separation is the law of the land of Israel; it’s as Israeli as hummus or yelling. Continue reading
Tu B’Av is a little-known Jewish holiday, coming just six days after the mournful commemoration of tragedy during Tisha B’Av. In ancient times, Tu B’Av was a joyous matchmaking holiday for unmarried young women; in our day, it’s observed as a more general day of love. In the spirit of this holiday, we present you with snapshots of three well-known, real-life, queer and Jewish love stories.
Tony Kushner is a playwright and author, best known for his epic play Angels in America, while Mark Harris is an author and editor whose focus has been Hollywood and cinema. So it is perhaps not that surprising that the two reported that their first dates, way back in the late ‘90s, took place “in theaters of bookstores.” In 2003, this couple had the distinction of being the first same-sex commitment ceremony to be featured in an extended column in the Vows section of wedding announcements of The New York Times. (The very first same-sex couple to be featured in The New York Times wedding announcements was another Jewish couple, Steven Goldstein and his partner Daniel Gross, on Sunday, September 1, 2002. Their wedding website www.Celebrating10.com is still up and features the original announcement. Thanks Steve for sending us this!)
They sometimes speak or present together under the title “Too Tall Blondes,” and for Kate Bornstein, author, playwright, and gender theorist, and her partner Barbara Carrellas, author, sex educator, and university lecturer, it seems a fitting title. This couple resides in New York City (with a house full of pets), but between teaching, presenting workshops, writing, and appearing in online classes, their combined reach is huge. (You can read more about Kate, one of our LGBT Jewish Heroes, here!
A Jewish power couple if ever there were one: Rabbi Sharon Kleinbaum and Randi Weingarten, head of the American Federation of Teachers, have only been romantically linked since December 2012, but they’re already a familiar site together at public events throughout New York, as well as in the Jewish press. Rabbi Kleinbaum is the rabbi at Congregation Beth Simchat Torah, one of the oldest LGBT synagogues.
Jews read sections of the Torah each week, and these sections, known as parshiyot, inspire endless examination year after year. Each week we will bring you regular essays examining these portions from a queer perspective, drawn from the book Torah Queeries: Weekly Commentaries on the Hebrew Bible and the Torah Queeries online collection. This week, Rabbi Seth Goren examines what Jeremiah’s attempts at correcting Jerusalemites’ behavior can teach us about fighting ignorance, homophobia, and transphobia today.
Biblical prophets typically have a rough time. Elijah is effectively chased out of the Kingdom of Israel after being threatened with a death sentence. After attempting to avoid his mission, Jonah is swallowed by a large fish, regurgitated and forced to prophecy against Nineveh. Hulda foresees and forecasts the future destruction of Judah, while Moses’ regular encounters with rebellion and objections epitomize the challenges prophets face. Continue reading
I’m still reeling from yesterday’s amazing news.
And I’m so incredibly proud and inspired to see so many LGBTQ Jews and straight allies stand up to affirm the Supreme Court’s ruling on DOMA and Prop 8 in cities across the country like Washington DC, Denver, Miami, Cambridge, and San Francisco.
I don’t think Hollywood could have scripted a better ending to Pride Month.
But what happens when the excitement of DOMA and Pride end? Check out this one minute video to see our vision: