Tag: LGBT

Categories
Inclusion LGBT

Jewish Blessings and Reflections for Pride Month

As we enter into Pride Month, the CCAR reaffirms our commitment to and celebration of our LGBTQ Reform rabbis, their families, and the members of our Jewish and secular queer communities in America, Canada, Israel, and globally. The CCAR continues our advocacy for the equal rights, full inclusion, and safety of the LGBTQ community. And we continue our commitment to inclusive liturgy so that everyone feels welcome in our houses of worship and sees themselves reflected in the image of God.

Here, we share a blessing by CCAR Board Member Rabbi Daniel Mikelberg, as well as a prayer by Rabbi Denise Eger, from her groundbreaking book, Mishkan Ga’avah Where Pride Dwells: A Celebration of LGBTQ Jewish Life and Ritual (CCAR Press 2020), and “We Have Always Been” by Rabbi Dave Yedid, a powerful reflection on queer Jewish identity, resilience, and the sacred act of claiming space within tradition and community.

What Does the New Month Hold?, by Rabbi Daniel Mikelberg

On the eve of Rosh Chodesh, we often look to 1 Samuel 20:18-42 and the story of the friendship shared between David and Jonathan. With Pride month upon us, we feel anxious and unsettled, unsure of what days ahead will bring. We can seek inspiration from this beautiful bond, a chosen family, companions who pledge to serve one another in dangerous days. 

Jonathan said to him, “Tomorrow will be the new moon…” (1 Samuel 20:18)

We tell ourselves these words each day like a mantra, weighted down by trauma, we try our best to look forward not back.

But do we believe the call, might tomorrow be different, a respite from the pain?

For we feel helpless, unable to chart a renewed path.

David and Jonathan remind us, that is not the case, darkness need not overwhelm.

As for the promise we made to each other, may the Eternal be [witness] between you and me together. (1 Samuel 20:23)

Allied as one: trusting, creative, and strong, we are bound by a brit of love, the spirit of the Divine accompanies our travels.

We pledge to open our hearts, to explore a new Promised Land, built on the trust between neighbors and friends. The light that we all carry within shines bright and beams as one. 

Go in peace! For we have sworn to each other in the name of the Eternal…” (1 Samuel 20:41)

Yes, tomorrow will be the new moon, and we are ready to embrace this new day.

—Rabbi Mikelberg serves Temple Israel of Ottawa in Ottawa, Canada. He shared his journey to the Reform rabbinate and the privilege he feels championing inclusion in the synagogue and community at large.

A Prayer for LGBTQ People, by Rabbi Denise Eger

Holy One who made us all, tonight we celebrate the LGBTQ com-munity. Quench our thirst for acceptance of self. Help us to feel Your Divine Presence when others question the righteousness of our lives. Let us come to know that all things are possible in our lives: love and hope, caring and friendship and family. May those of us who are deep within the closet find courage and comfort through You. Bless our community and its leaders. Grant us, O God, health and prosperity. Keep us strong as we pursue justice and civil rights. Ease the pain of those who are ill, and inspire each of us to perform acts of loving-kindness and tzedakah each and every day. Fountain of life, we praise You and thank You for creating us in Your image.

וְנֹאמַר: אָמֵן.
V’nomar: amein.
And let us say: Amen.

—Rabbi Denise Eger is an activist, speaker, author of Mishkan Ga’avah Where Pride Dwells, and former CCAR President. She has made extraordinary contributions to the Reform rabbinate and the Jewish and secular LGBTQ community.

We Have Always Been

I look back into history,
pouring over our texts, sacred and profane,
searching
for some kind of opening
where I can see myself, where I can see us.

I search
and find
rejection from our communities and leaders,
our existence hidden, shamed, criminalized, excommunicated,
jailed, killed.

I keep searching
and catch a glimpse
of our vitality, our desire, our love, our bliss, our rebellion,
our chosen family.

In these glimpses I see a sliver of light
pouring out of the opening.
I sprint toward it—our past, our present, our future—
and, with all my might, break the door off its hinges.

I pant, breathless, on the other side.
I want to scream, but instead, I whisper: “We are here. We are here.”

We have always been.

—Rabbi Dave Yedid is a contributor to Mishkan Ga’avah Where Pride Dwells and serves Base Denver.

Categories
inclusivity LGBT Rabbinic Reflections

Rabbi Robin Nafshi’s Pride Reflections: ‘They Got a Lesbian Rabbi After All’

In honor of Pride Month, the critical contribution of our LGBTQIA+ rabbinic and Jewish community, and the 35th anniversary of the CCAR Report on Homosexuality in the Rabbinate, the CCAR is honored to share the stories of the experiences of LGBTQIA+ Reform rabbis.

In the mid 2000s, I applied for a pulpit position in a very conservative part of the country. I had been ordained three years prior, and had not received a single full-time job offer. I pursued this position in part because my partner’s father was from the area and she had many, many wonderfully loving relatives living there.

I was met at the airport by the synagogue’s search chair. He told me that he was excited about my candidacy, as he really hoped the congregation would offer me a job and prove that they were not a bunch of rednecks. I knew my time with these folks was going to be challenging.

At the synagogue, the first person I met asked me if I talked about being gay in all of my sermons. I responded that I usually talked about the Torah portion, not my sexuality. Another person asked if in my previous jobs, I was allowed to work with children. I was so stunned, I just looked at the person with a blank stare.

When I finally got around to meeting with the committee, the questions were irrelevant and even offensive. I was grateful when someone asked me about my favorite professional basketball team, a sport I had not followed since the 1970s. “I was a fan of the New York Knicks when I was a teenager,” I said, not revealing that it was because my dad was a Knicks fan; “I’m sure I could become a fan of the local team if that’s important to the community.” I wondered what presumptions were going through their heads when they asked a lesbian rabbinical candidate about sports. Did straight women get those questions?

Needless to say, I was not offered the job. A wonderful colleague did, who, after a few years, came out of the closet and married her female partner. They got a lesbian rabbi after all.

Rabbi Robin Nafshi serves Temple Beth Jacob in Concord, New Hampshire. Her partner, Cantor Shira Nafshi, also serves Temple Beth Jacob.

Categories
inclusivity LGBT Rabbinic Reflections

Forcing the Door Open: Rabbi Don Goor’s Pride Month Rabbinic Reflections

In honor of Pride Month, the critical contribution of our LGBTQIA+ rabbinic and Jewish community, and the 35th anniversary of the CCAR Report on Homosexuality in the Rabbinate, the CCAR is honored to share the stories of the experiences of LGBTQIA+ Reform rabbis.

When I was ordained in 1987, all I could see in my future were closed doors. When I applied to Hebrew Union College–Jewish Institute of Religion, I hid the fact that I was gay, for fear of discovery which would bar any opportunity to be ordained, let alone find a position upon ordination.

When Evan and I first met, we hid our relationship. Instead of speaking at school, we left messages on each other’s voicemail, so that we could meet clandestinely, away from eyes that might lead to the door of ordination being shut in our faces.

I went into placement confident that only as a closeted “single” man could I find a synagogue position. When I did accept a job in the New York area, the senior rabbi asked if I was gay. With a quivering voice I answered, “Yes!” He then told me he couldn’t have me on his staff. The door slammed shut. In follow-up interviews, I was careful to avoid the question of sexual orientation. As an act of self-preservation, I was complicit in keeping that door tightly closed.

At Temple Judea in Tarzana, California, I spent many years as a rabbi, sharing a home with Evan—my “roommate!” We were careful to build an impermeable barrier between our professional and personal lives. When the senior rabbi position at Temple Judea became available, I knew it was up to me to open the door so I could serve with wholeness and integrity. I met with leaders of the congregation to share my story and come out to them. None of them were surprised. All were supportive. Doors began to open.

At the time it seemed that I was the first openly gay rabbi to be appointed senior rabbi at a mainstream congregation, a story interesting enough for The New York Times. While the synagogue celebrated, protestors attended my installation, and a famous radio personality spoke about me for an entire week as an abomination. I’m forever grateful to my teachers and mentors, Rabbi David Ellenson, z”l, and Rabbi Richard Levy, z”l, for supporting me publicly. Eventually, despite facing hurdles, I was welcomed for twenty-six years as rabbi, not as gay rabbi.

While the journey to full acceptance and welcome within the community wasn’t an easy one, I never imagined as a student at HUC-JIR, hidden deep within the closet, that my career would be so fulfilling and meaningful. I’m pleased and proud that over the years more and more doors swung open. The seminary that wouldn’t ordain me had I been out invited me to teach and mentor students. The world of synagogue life that was closed to me, in the end embraced me and Evan, and opened doors—and hearts—so that I could serve as their rabbi with complete openness and integrity. I feel privileged to have shared my professional journey with a loving partner, caring friends and family, and a supportive community.

Together we forced open the doors so that future generations of rabbis could walk through them with their heads held high.

Rabbi Donald Goor was ordained in 1987 at Hebrew Union College–Jewish Institute of Religion in New York. In 1996, Rabbi Goor was appointed the first out, gay rabbi to serve a mainstream congregation. Rabbi Goor served on the faculty of HUC-JIR in Los Angeles for many years and is rabbi emeritus at Temple Judea in Tarzana, CA. He made aliyah in 2013 and now serves as the rabbinic liaison at J2 Adventures—planning trips to Israel for rabbis and synagogues—and on the boards of the Israel Religious Action Center, Shutaf—a program for special needs kids—and the David Forman Foundation. Rabbi Goor is married to Cantor Evan Kent, his life partner of over thirty-seven years. 

Categories
inclusivity LGBT Rabbinic Reflections

Y’all Means All: Being Queer in Texas: Rabbi Annie Villarreal-Belford’s Pride Month Reflection

In honor of Pride Month, the critical contribution of our LGBTQIA+ rabbinic and Jewish community, and the 35th anniversary of the CCAR Report on Homosexuality in the Rabbinate, the CCAR is honored to share the stories of the experiences of LGBTQIA+ Reform rabbis.

In the next room, I can hear my wife Joy, who works for Keshet as the Southwest Education and Training Manager, planning Pride events from the small Texas towns of Round Rock to Richardson, and the larger towns of San Antonio and Houston. Outside, we have a rainbow flag that says “Y’all Means All,” a counterpoint to my neighbors’ signs that say things like “Pray for America” and “Pray for Trump.” Marjory, my next door neighbor, waves to me, and we chat as we grab our mail. My kids bound into the house with backpacks and paper flying, having emptied their lockers for the end of school. It is June, the month of Pride, and we live in the decidedly unwelcoming state of Texas.

I say it is decidedly unwelcome, and in many ways that is an understatement. This legislative session, a record number of anti-LGBTQ+ bills were introduced, and two bills targeting transgender Texans are making their way through the legislature.[1] In our last legislative session, dozens of anti-LGBTQIA+ bills were pursued and many were passed—including bans on puberty blockers and hormone therapy for children.[2] When these bans passed, a friend whose daughter is transgender moved out of state to ensure ongoing and appropriate medical care. I know another person who makes a monthly drive to a more open state with her trans daughter, where they lie to the doctor and say they are residents to ensure ongoing hormonal treatment. These choices—the regular pain inflicted on members of Texas’s queer and trans community—are heartbreaking and unjust. In truth, if I think too much about these forced choices, I am overwhelmed with pain, sadness, and an ongoing feeling of disbelief that these kinds of actions are not only the law of my home state but are spreading to more states. How can we sanction hate this way?

And yet… and yet. Cameron Samuels, a young person from the congregation I served in west Houston, has started an organization called SEAT, which advocates for students to have a seat at the table in educational policymaking. Their motto is “Nothing about us, without us.” The origins of SEAT lie in the choice of Katy Independent School District (ISD) to remove books about queer folks from their school libraries and to block access to life-saving websites like It Gets Better and The Trevor Project. Cameron started speaking out at Katy School Board meetings against this policy and began collecting and delivering queer-themed books to classmates who desperately needed them. Cameron and other young people all over the state are doing incredible and life-changing work like this.

In the last month, both Katy ISD and the nearby Fort Bend ISD both had major shifts on their school boards, ousting anti-LGBTQ+ and pro-book-banning members in favor of more moderate and open candidates who have affirmed their desire to create safe, inclusive schools in their districts.[3] The Houston suburb of Deer Park—where my wife grew up­—just hired a new superintendent who happens to be a lesbian. She faced a local pastor’s anti-gay smear campaign, and was hired anyway.[4] (In fact, Houston was the first major city in the entire country to be led by a mayor who is lesbian—Anisse Parker![5])

My wife has a collection of Pride tee shirts, and whenever she wears the one that says “Protect Trans Kids,” she is approached by people who say, “I love your shirt.” It surprises me every time.

Indeed, Pride will be celebrated all over Texas—not only in the perennially weird Austin and other major cities like Houston and Dallas, but in small suburbs and rural towns like Denton (where my eldest attends college), Round Rock, Marble Falls, and Rowlett.[6] There may be only one rainbow flag waving on our street, but during Pride rainbow flags will wave throughout Texas—sometimes even at city halls.

In other words, there is reason to hope and believe that being queer and trans in Texas will become easier.

I was born in Texas, but to tell you the truth, I left Texas at eighteen and never wanted to return. I did not apply to a single in-state college. But we all know the saying—humans plan, God laughs. When the 2008 recession hit, I had two children younger than two and needed a new job, so I looked at places closer to home where it would be easier for family to offer their support. At the time, I was married to a man (whom I affectionately call my “wasband”), and we found a lovely community in the suburbs of Houston that was a phenomenal fit. So we returned to Texas, much to my ongoing chagrin. Despite this, my family is deeply happy here. My kids—one in a Texas state university, one in high school, and one in middle school—are thriving. My in-laws live nearby, and my wife has deep roots in Houston’s queer community. My father moved to Houston to be closer to us. Our lives are not perfect, but they are good. I recognize that we are privileged and do not face the hardship my friends with trans kids face, or that my best friend who is trans faces whenever she visits family in Texas. But despite my constant chafing against, despair about, and anger toward the Texas legislature, Texas has again become home.

I think all the time about permanently putting Texas in my rearview mirror, but part of me suspects I am here for good. And that means I will work to make life good for all people who live in Texas—especially my queer and trans friends, neighbors, and community members. From this Texan’s heart to yours, Happy Pride! And remember—Y’all means ALL!

_____

Rabbi Annie Villarreal-Belford’s rabbinic journey has taken her from Pennsylvania to India, Virginia, and Missouri, before she made her home in Houston, Texas. She served as the rabbi of Temple Sinai in West Houston for thirteen years and was proud to be the first full-time solo female rabbi in the city. Today, she serves as the editor at CCAR Press. Rabbi Annie holds a BA in Creative Writing, rabbinic ordination from Hebrew Union College–Jewish Institute of Religion (NY, 2004), and a doctorate in psychology with an emphasis on Victor Frankl’s logotherapy. When she’s not immersed in text or community, she can be found art journaling, reading, or exploring national and state parks. She treasures time with her wife and their three wonderful children.

[1] Equality Texas notes record number of anti-LGBTQ bills introduced in 2025 Legislature – Dallas Voice

[2] Texas bills affecting LGBTQ people: Here’s what you need to know | The Texas Tribune

[3] Katy ISD community wants book bans, transgender policies repealed; Fort Bend ISD trustee election won by candidates who opposed controversial book and gender policies – Houston Public Media

[4] Tiffany Regan named new superintendent in Deer Park ISD

[5] Annise Parker

[6] Texas town still celebrating Pride ‘against the odds’ after losing city support – lonestarlive.com

Categories
Inclusion LGBT Social Justice

A Jewish Approach to Transgender Awareness Week

After services one Friday night, I was approached by a woman and child I had not seen before. The woman knew I was a rabbinical student, and said she had an important question to ask me. Then, slowly, trying to find the right words, she said, “Let’s say there was someone who was born female but realized they were male—a female to male transgender person. Would that person be able to have a bar mitzvah? Is that something Judaism would allow?”

What providence that I of all people would be asked this question!

I heard myself blurt out, “You don’t know? I’m trans!”

Shocked, the woman took a second to process my words. Then, she grinned and grabbed her son’s shoulders with excitement. “Look,” she exclaimed to him, “the rabbi is just like you!”

When joining a new community, I often hear that they’ve never had a trans employee, or even a trans member. I always respond, “That you know of.” Sometimes I’m in a position where I’m out and open about being trans, where I’m visible as a trans person, where everyone is aware that they’re talking to someone who is trans. Other times, I’m just another person in the room and people may not know I’m trans.

Even though I was “out” to this community, the news had not spread to everyone. While I had talked about acceptance and inclusion of trans people previously, I hadn’t mentioned it in that Shabbat service. The synagogue didn’t have any flags or stickers that indicated trans inclusion. Therefore, this woman had no way of knowing that the community was inclusive. Similarly, none of the other community members had any way of knowing that the little boy starting religious school was transgender.

As members of a community, we make certain vows to support and care for one another. But how can we care for our community if we’re not aware of who is in it? Many people think that “trans inclusion” is not relevant to their community. Yet in reality, there are trans people everywhere, in the smallest of communities, in the most remote of locations. There are trans people who are already members of our communities who may feel uncomfortable or unsafe celebrating that aspect of themselves in a Jewish setting. And there are trans people who wish to join our communities but may be afraid that they will not be welcomed or embraced for who they are.

Transgender Awareness Week (November 13–19) was created to celebrate trans people, honor our identities, and educate others about our needs and struggles. Observing Transgender Awareness Week with trans-specific programming is a wonderful way to signal to trans people that your community is open and welcoming. It is also an opportunity to educate non-trans individuals on how best to respect and support trans people in your community and beyond.

At the end of Transgender Awareness Week is Transgender Day of Remembrance (November 20). This is the trans community’s memorial day to recognize the countless lives lost to transphobic violence around the world. This year, Trans Day of Remembrance falls on a Saturday. Many synagogues across the country will be observing a special Trans Day of Remembrance Shabbat. Consider bringing this to your Jewish community this year.  

As Jews, we believe that all people are made in the image of God, and each of us is holy and sacred. As Reform Jews, we believe that caring for the most marginalized members of our communities is tikkun olam, repairing the world. By spreading awareness of transgender issues and by uplifting transgender experiences, we are doing our part in healing the brokenness of our world caused by hatred and bigotry.

Here are some ways to observe Trans Awareness Week:

Some suggestions for a Trans Day of Remembrance Shabbat:

A Transgender Day of Remembrance Yizkor (Prayer of Remembrance): For Those Who Died Sanctifying Their Names

God full of compassion, remember those whose souls were taken in transphobic violence. Those souls reflected the tremendous, multitudinous splendor of Your creations; they illustrated Your vastness through their ever-expanding variations of being b’tzelem Elohim, of being made in Your image. Source of mercy, provide them the true shelter and peace that they deserved in this world.

Those deaths were caused by hatred in our society. It is upon us to repair this brokenness in our world. May we have the strength to sanction justice, speedily and in our days.

For those who died by murder, we remember them. For those who died by suicide, we remember them. We remember their names, for those names will forever be a blessing.

Nurturing One, comfort all who are mourning. Grant them healing in their hardship.

.וְנֹאמַר: אָמֵן

V’nomar: amein.

And let us say: Amen.

– by Ariel Tovlev, 2019, published in Mishkan Ga’avah: Where Pride Dwells

Ariel Tovlev (he/they) is the rabbinic intern at CCAR Press. He is a fourth-year rabbinical student at Hebrew Union College–Jewish Institute of Religion in New York and a graduate of the Rhea Hirsch School of Education in Los Angeles. His writing appears in Mishkan Ga’avah: Where Pride Dwells: A Celebration of LGBTQ Jewish Life and Ritual (CCAR Press, 2020), and he was a featured speaker at the CCAR event Leaving the Narrow Space: Embracing and Elevating Jewish Transgender and Non-binary Experiences.

Categories
Books Inclusion LGBT

‘Mishkan Ga’avah: Where Pride Dwells’: A Project of Hope

Mishkan Ga’avah: Where Pride Dwells, edited by Rabbi Denise L. Eger, was published by CCAR Press in the spring of 2020. In this post, Rabbi Eger shares how the book came to be.

Some rabbis collect their sermons and publish them. They are pearls of wisdom for the ages.

I may yet do that at some point.

But more urgently, I saw the need to center the voices of the LGBTQ+ community. Throughout my years of service as a rabbi, I had to create ceremonies and prayers for my community when there were no resources. I was ordained in the late 1980s in the midst of the AIDS crisis, at a time when our beloved HUC-JIR still wouldn’t ordain openly LGBTQ+ people as rabbis or cantors. We lived in fear and in the closet. Maybe that is hard to believe now for our many openly LGBTQ+ rabbis and seminarians, but it wasn’t that long ago when we gathered secretly at CCAR Conventions late at night in someone’s room to connect with other queer colleagues.

Over the years, I wrote prayers for Pride Month and National Coming Out Day. I would write invocations and blessings for interfaith gatherings affirming the worth and dignity

of LGBTQ+ people, their families, and people with HIV. I had to invent, create, and imagine an authentic queer Jewish life when there was little liturgy available.

Religion is so often used to shame and hurt LGBTQ+ people. Too much violence and hatred are directed at the LGBTQ+ community in the name of religion. I purposefully write from a different perspective.

I tried to create prayers in a genuine Jewish voice that uplifted, instilling hope and healing. I tried to combat homophobia through prayers and reflections that reinforced the theology that all are created b’tzelem Elohim, in God’s image. I tried to convey what today we call audacious hospitality, writing naming ceremonies for those transitioning gender, wedding ceremonies before we had any templates, and rituals for coming out. I wrote my first ceremony to celebrate someone coming out as gay in 1986! It was centered around an aliyah to the Torah, as a riff on benching Gomel and a Mi Shebeirach for well-being.

But luckily, over these same three-plus decades, LGBTQ+ Jewish life has grown and blossomed. We have seen tectonic shifts in not just welcoming LGBTQ+ and non-binary Jews home, but embracing queer life and queer Jewish voices.

Often when Gay Pride Month would roll around, many of you, my colleagues, would call or email me to ask for materials for Pride Shabbat. I shared whatever I had created that year. Clearly there was a need for a collection of resources to help communities live out our commitment to be welcoming and embracing places of LGBTQ+ folx. Not one for sitting around, after my time in leadership of the Conference, I knew it was the right moment to collect not only some of own writings, but to invite others to share their poetry, prayer, and passion—centering the voices and experiences of our queer Jewish community.

Mishkan Ga’avah: Where Pride Dwells was born out of this effort.

Mishkan Ga’avah represents some of the collected wisdom, voices, and experiences of Jewish LGBTQ+ people. It is a spiritual resource for both the individual and the community. I hope it inspires others to write creative liturgy and prayers using their own voices. And I hope it will offer comfort, solace, inspiration, and hope to LGBTQ+ people everywhere—a beautiful strand of pearls for all of our Jewish community to wear.

—
Rabbi Denise L. Eger is the editor of Mishkan Ga’avah: Where Pride Dwells: A Celebration of LGBTQ Life and Ritual (CCAR Press, 2020) and a past President of the Central Conference of American Rabbis. She is the Senior Rabbi of Congregation Kol Ami in West Hollywood, CA.

Categories
Inclusion LGBT Social Justice

Transgender Day of Remembrance: An Opportunity for Safety and Visibility

Besides coronavirus, there is another epidemic raging in our communities: the ongoing scourge of violence targeting transgender people, particularly trans women of color. Transgender, non-binary, and gender non-conforming people [ɪ] are more likely to be denied equal access to jobs, housing, and medical care, and they are frequent targets of violence—including murder. Trans, non-binary, and gender non-conforming folx are afraid to go to the police for help; when they do seek out legal remedies or safe harbor, they often are further harassed by law enforcement, facing violence at the hands of the very people charged with protecting them.

According to the National Center for Transgender Equality (NCTE), “In just seven months, the number of transgender people suspected of being murdered in 2020 has surpassed the total for all of 2019.” Black and Latinx transgender women have been particularly targeted. NCTE’s US Transgender Survey, which included more than 28,000 participants, found that nearly half (47 percent) of all Black respondents and 30 percent of all Latinx respondents reported being denied equal treatment, experiencing verbal harassment, or being physically attacked in the previous year due to their transgender identity. 

The Family Research Project has shown that nearly three out of four trans and gender-expansive youth have heard family members say negative remarks about LGBTQ people, and over half of transgender and gender-expansive youth have been openly mocked by their families for their identity.

These harrowing statistics don’t have to be the norm. There is an urgent need for education and awareness-raising about transgender issues, both in our Jewish communities and in the cities and towns in which we live. As rabbis, we can make our synagogues places of safe harbor and support for transgender and gender non-conforming people, whether they are Jewish or not! Just as we build coalitions with interfaith partners, our congregations can build important bridges, becoming advocates for our Jewish transgender and non-binary members while providing connection, safety, and partnership for the larger transgender and non-binary community. One way we might do so is by reaching out to local LGBTQ organizations to sponsor and host ceremonies for Transgender Day of Remembrance.

Every year, November 20 is designated as Transgender Day of Remembrance (TDOR). The week prior is known as Transgender Awareness Week, with the goal of increasing visibility of transgender people and addressing the painful issues their community faces. TDOR was started in 1999 by transgender advocate Gwendolyn Ann Smith as a vigil to honor the memory of Rita Hester, a transgender woman who was murdered the previous year. The vigil commemorated all of the transgender people lost to violence since Hester’s death, beginning an important annual tradition.

This year, TDOR is on a Friday. Perhaps at your Shabbat evening service, you will invite a transgender activist to speak and educate your community. Perhaps during the Kaddish, you will read aloud the names of transgender victims of murder from this past year. Or in the week before TDOR, perhaps you will schedule a program to help raise visibility and acceptance of transgender, non-binary, and gender non-conforming people.

In my book, Mishkan Ga’avah: Where Pride Dwells, published this year by CCAR Press, there are several powerful prayers and readings for TDOR. Here’s one to consider using:

A Prayer for Transgender Day of Remembrance

Rabbi: We praise You, Holy One, for the gift of life, precious, stubborn, fragile and beautiful; we are grateful for the time we have to live upon the earth, to love, to grow, to be.

Congregation: We give thanks for the will to live and for our capacity to live fully all of the days that we are given;

Rabbi: And for those who have been taken by the devastation of violence used against them. We remember them and claim the opportunity to build lives of wholeness in their honor.

Congregation: We give you thanks for the partners, friends, allies and families who have been steadfast in their love; for the people who have devoted their life’s work to the prevention of violence, support and making transitioning from one gender to another possible with passion and commitment,

Rabbi: For the diligent science, brilliant ideas, and insights that have led to new life-giving procedures, for those in leadership who have acted to provide health care for people who are in transition.

Congregation: We give thanks for those whose prejudice and judgment have yielded to understanding, for those who have overcome fear, indifference, or burnout to embrace a life of caring compassion.

Rabbi: We praise You, Eternal One, for those who have loved enough that their hearts have broken, who cherish the memories of those we have lost, and for those who console the grieving.

Congregation: God, grant us the love, courage, tenacity, and will to continue to make a difference in a world even with the violence aimed towards our community;

Rabbi: Inspire us to challenge and stand strong against the forces that allow needless harm and violence to continue—prejudice, unjust laws, repression, stigma, and fear.

Congregation: Into Your care, we trust and lift up the hundreds of souls who have been tortured and murdered.

Rabbi: We lift up to You our dreams of a world where all are cared for,

Congregation: Our dreams of wholeness,

Rabbi: Our dreams of a world where all are accepted and respected,

Congregation: A dream we know You share.

[ɪ] The Human Rights Campaign has a useful glossary for anyone unfamiliar with these terms.

Rabbi Denise L. Eger is the editor of Mishkan Ga’avah: Where Pride Dwells: A Celebration of LGBTQ Life and Ritual (CCAR Press, 2020) and a past President of the Central Conference of American Rabbis. She is the Senior Rabbi of Congregation Kol Ami in West Hollywood, CA.

Categories
LGBT News Social Justice

The Supreme Court Today Accepted the CCAR’s Position: Title VII Bans LGBTQ Workplace Discrimination

Just less than a year ago, the CCAR joined with other faith groups in submitting an amicus curiae brief to the Supreme Court in the case of Bostock v. Clayton County.  At the time, I shared a message about what that brief said.

Today, the Court decided the case.  By a 6-3 vote, it held that Title VII of the Civil Rights Act bans workplace discrimination against LGBTQ individuals.  People who assume that the Court always votes on strict ideological lines will probably be surprised by this outcome and by the fact that Justice Neil Gorsuch, regarded by many as a safe conservative, authored the majority opinion.

One reason we keep producing amicus briefs is that neither this nor any other court can be so easily catalogued.  While judges have ideological tendencies, most of them do attempt to apply the law.  This decision used some very traditional legal reasoning to determine that the Civil Rights Act means what it says: treating a man differently from a woman, or vice versa, violates the law.  If a woman who is attracted to man cannot be fired for that reason, neither can a man who is attracted to men.  End of story.

Our brief dealt with whether there might be occasions where someone might not have to obey this law for religious reasons.  We said any such occasions were few and far between, and certainly didn’t come up here. The Court agreed with our second point.  If and when that question is legitimately presented in the future, we will again be prepared to share our views.

In the meantime, our most basic position was affirmed: federal law protects LGBTQ individuals from discrimination.  For today, that is reason enough to rejoice. 

Categories
Books gender equality LGBT Social Justice

On the Shoulders of Revolutionaries: Queering Jewish Texts and Reform Ritual

As a child, I could see myself becoming a rabbi. And now, as a queer rabbinic student, I can envision myself echoing the call of women rabbis who demanded to see themselves in tradition.

Queer readings of Jewish texts are liberating – they explode traditional categories of classification and rigid ways of thinking.  Rather than pushing readers toward clear cut understandings of biblical figures, aggadic material, and Jewish law, queer analyses of texts open up and shed light on multiple truths and ways of being in relationship to Jewish ritual and values. I believe that one feature of any sacred text is its ability to capture and say something about the human condition. Understanding a text through a queer lens has the power to not only locate universal human truths, but also to amplify these sacred elements, allowing us to see themes and characters as constantly changing. In opening texts to new meanings, we as people then have the permission and power to understand ourselves as constantly changing, traversing borders, and breaking down barriers. Queer theory also pushes us to challenge the binary nature of labels like, “sacred and profane,” acknowledging that the line between such categories is constantly shifting and permeable. When the boundary between sacred and profane is understood in this way, the brokenness and injustices of our world can become sites of sacred work, partnership, and healing.

While there are many scholars, clergy people, and Jewish organizations engaged in the project of queering Jewish space and text, I would argue that the power and full force of this work has not yet been incorporated into many Reform congregations. How would a “queering” of Jewish space look in mainstream Reform Judaism? Perhaps it would challenge our, often, hierarchical leadership structures, open up the possibility for new rituals in our congregational life, or push us to embrace and name every aspect of the human experience, like anxiety, joy, anger, and frustration in our worship. What would it mean for our congregations if gender was experienced not as a set of defined behaviors, but a fluid and ever changing category? Would there still be a brotherhood poker night? Or a sisterhood fashion show? When we free ourselves and our children from expectations of behavior based on constructed categories like gender, we open ourselves up to new understandings of proximity, social change, and justice – we understand that boundaries and borders set between people only grow wider and stronger when we refuse to cross them.

A few weeks ago, I had the privilege of celebrating the release of The Sacred Calling: Four Decades of Women in the Rabbinate at HUC-JIR in New York City. As part of this celebration, Rabbi David Adelson, Dean of the New York campus, moderated a panel discussion between three women whose rabbinates represent the influence of women on the American Jewish landscape. Addressing the packed chapel, Rabbis Sally J. Priesand, Rebecca Einstein Schorr, and Leah Berkowitz spoke about their experiences confronting and breaking open barriers as female clergy members. The powerful testimony of each rabbi made clear both the tremendous strides the reform movement has taken toward gender equality since Sally Priesand’s ordination in 1972, and the groundbreaking work female rabbis continue to do in teaching us new ways of being in the world.

As a female, third-year rabbinic student at HUC-JIR, I am a direct beneficiary of this work. Listening to these women share pieces of their respective rabbinic journeys, I could not help but feel tremendous gratitude for my ability to walk along their well-trodden paths. Growing up, watching Rabbi Leah Cohen, the rabbi of my home congregation, in action every Shabbat, it was never hard for me to imagine myself on the bimah or to see myself entering the rabbinate. When I applied to HUC-JIR, I didn’t see my application as an act of daring or courage, but rather the fulfillment of my childhood dream. But there is more to this story. Women rabbis have not just opened the door for young girls to see themselves in positions of Jewish leadership; they have also fundamentally infused the role and identity of the rabbi with endless possibility. As a child, I could see myself becoming a rabbi. And now, as a queer rabbinic student, I can envision myself echoing the call of women rabbis who demanded to see themselves in tradition. In creating and opening up new models of religious leadership, women rabbis have sewn the seeds for other forms of non-traditional engagement with Jewish texts and ritual, the harvest of which is in full-bloom.

Like Moses, Miriam, Jacob, the levitical priest, Judah the Prince, and countless other figures and innovators of our tradition – we have the power to cross boundaries, re-imagine ourselves, and to demand relevance and blessing from our tradition – to queer notions of identity and meaning in this world.

—

Hilly Haber is a third-year rabbinical student at HUC-JIR in NYC. Originally from New York, Hilly has a Masters of Theological Study from Harvard Divinity School and has worked in temples from Boston to Boulder.  Hilly is a rabbinic intern at the Central Conference of American Rabbis.

 

 

 

 

Categories
LGBT Social Justice

LGBT Pride Month: In The Wilderness We All Count

My high school years were spent in the desert of Southern California, but to me it felt more like a wilderness, vast and empty. During the summer it was so quiet that many shops and restaurants would close from Memorial Day until Labor Day.

But my mother had a different view. She knew that each person counts, especially in a wilderness, and so she would “collect strays,” people who didn’t quite fit in, who felt like they didn’t count.

Among the “strays” was Don. Don was tall, good looking and really funny. And he was a a 30 something gay man struggling against the challenges of not having family support, His joy and humor made an impression on me, a 14 year old kid, still in the closet.

My mom regularly brought in people who were on the outside; people whose family or community didn’t or wouldn’t support them. As a high school student in the 1970’s I saw how difficult life was for, people like Don, like me The discrimination of lesbians and gays, deprived them of even the most basic rights. So many battles for things we take for granted today, were yet to be fought. To be openly gay or lesbian came with so many risks, personally and professionally, against which there were no legal protections. To be accepted for who you were, to be in a safe place was a treasured gift. For Don and the others my mother welcomed at her work and into our lives, our home was an oasis. By modeling inclusion and hospitality, especially for these young men, I learned a lesson in acceptance and the value of each individual person.

Many decades have passed I am now at the opposite end of the continent, I live in Maine. Maine too is a wilderness for many people, after all it is a state reputedly with more moose than people. Here in this beautiful, sparsely populated place there are those who know the value of every person, every marriage, and every community. And they are willing to stand up and fight for the rights of others.

The best example of this valuing was demonstrated in the work done in 2011-12 to bring marriage equality to Maine. The marriage equality campaign understood the best way to educate our neighbors on the value of equality was to treat everyone as if they mattered. This meant walking door to door and meeting face to face. The goal was to meet and to educate, to share and to listen. The message of the campaign was about the value of marriage and marriage equality. Every marriage should count; every family be valued.

Today in Maine the conversation has shifted to ensuring the rights of transgender people. However, the message is the same, we all count, we all deserve to be safe in our communities, our state, and our country. There have been successes and yet there is much work to do.

Nearly every year, the LGBT pride month coincides with the reading of the Book of Numbers/B’midbar. The Book begins not only with the Israelites wandering in the wilderness traveling toward the Promised Land but also with a census of those on the trip. The dual titling of this book of the Torah teaches us an important lesson: In the Wilderness/B’midbar — Everyone Counts. Each one of us matters as we make our way to our common future. In fact that is is the only way we can reach the “promised land”. We are still wandering, though we are closer, and by joining in with your voice, you can help take us a step closer. Until every person matters we will always be wandering in a wilderness.

—
Rabbi Darah R. Lerner serves Congregation Beth El in Bangor, Maine