Tag: rabbinic reflections

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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. 

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inclusivity LGBT Rabbinic Reflections

Rabbi Reuben Zellman’s Pride Month Reflections: Let Us Stand Up Now and Bear This Together

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.

Fifteen years ago, a couple of months before my ordination, I quietly walked into the carpeted back entrance of a hotel ballroom where I was due to lead a session at a professional conference. The speaker before me, a nationally known radio host, was telling a story he meant to be funny. After a few minutes the tale wound up to its punchline: the protagonist was androgynous! Their gender was totally unclear! They looked so weird that hilarity ensued! Apparently, the expected audience did not include the trans person now standing in the back entrance.

As the laughter floated by, I had three minutes to decide. I could turn around and leave, just disappear into the streets of the city and forfeit this piece of my future. Or I could take the podium and give everyone a piece of my mind: how many public events I had led while people pointed and laughed; how many times I was turned away from a job, an education, a public building; how many young transgender and intersex people I had already buried; how many more would die if society continued to treat us so cruelly.

I walked to the front and stepped up to the podium. And I slowly looked around at the couple of hundred assembled people, and waited a long, long moment. No one seemed to have noticed anything, cheerfully chatting and waving to each other. At first I thought someone would meet my eye, shake their head, let me know I was not entirely alone. Or perhaps afterwards, someone would acknowledge what we’d all just seen? Surely someone would want to affirm it together, just for a moment: this may be who we are, but it is not who we should be.

But there was nothing. Not in that ballroom, nor after that session, and not after that day was done, and not in the fifteen years since.

I don’t know what I should have done. What I did do, after a very long silence, is I adjusted my tallit and began the Maariv prayers for the 2010 Convention of the Central Conference of American Rabbis. V’hu rachum y’chapeir avon, “God is merciful to forgive our mistakes.” And I asked you to bless with me the One who should be blessed.

And then, finally, you did respond, in a roar of voices: Baruch Adonai hamvorach l’olam vaed.

Colleagues, there is no time left now to speak only the words we have already memorized. Our society is in danger; some of us are under grave threat. Will we be disturbed enough to risk words that don’t feel familiar, people who don’t feel familiar? Will we be moved enough to name what we see, even if we don’t yet know its full name? Let us stand up, friends, and bear this together—not when we are comfortable, but when we are needed, which is now.

Rabbi Reuben Zellman (he/they) is a member of the CCAR, an activist, educator, musician, and leader of the Welcome Home Project at Sha’ar Zahav in San Francisco. Watch his May 2025 Transgender Courage Shabbat drash at Sherith Israel in San Francisco.

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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

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Inclusion LGBT Rabbinic Reflections

In Every Generation, We Are Called: Rabbi Daniel Mikelberg Reflects on Pride Month and his Rabbinic Journey in the Reform Rabbinate

Pride month is upon us, but our spirits are not consistent with the typical celebratory tone associated with June. Yes, it is the ten-year anniversary of the Supreme Court ruling enshrining marriage equality in law in the United States, and July marks the 20th anniversary for the Canadians amongst us. But at present, members of the LGBTQ+ community feel under siege as federal and state leaders craft legislation targeting trans and nonbinary individuals as well as the broader LGBTQ+ community. Many of the important steps towards inclusion are now under threat. It is from this place of challenge that we have the opportunity to reflect on our journey as Reform Jews in embracing queer rights; we can use these formative memories to mobilize for the fights ahead. Just as we did during the Passover season, we look to the Talmudic words: “In each and every generation, a person is obligated to see oneself as if he/she/they left Egypt.” Today we hold close the legacy of the LGBTQ+ pioneers who marched before us and we accept the responsibility to continue to demand better.

This past March, a key component of the CCAR Convention was the program marking the 35th anniversary of the CCAR Report on Homosexuality in the Rabbinate. CCAR President Rabbi David Lyon used the opportunity to offer words of t’shuvah to our LGBTQ+ friends who suffered in their rabbinate due to the obstacles and biases that they encountered. Of note, this was one of Rabbi Lyon’s first acts as president, and it was approached with great care and sensitivity. We then had the opportunity to witness stories from our LGBTQ+ rabbinic peers that were collected in advance. They each spoke to the raw and challenging encounters of the past three generations of queer rabbis. The CCAR conference attendees heard the pain of senior leadership telling gay and lesbian colleagues they had no place in the rabbinate. We heard of the rabbinic placement searches gone wrong as hurtful comments were directed at queer candidates. We were awed by the strength of friends and colleagues who hid their identities, fearful that they would be discovered and have their careers destroyed.

In the coming weeks a selection of these memories will be published here on CCAR’s RavBlog so that we can spread these important words farther and remember these stories so as to continue to improve our efforts towards inclusion moving forward.

On a personal note, I remember my early rabbinic days. In my naiveté, I thought I would be the only queer student in 2003—I found a community of queer rabbinic candidates in my class and in the rabbinate as a whole. It was during these years that I learned of the important work of the vatikim and vatikot who fought bravely for the diversity of the Reform rabbinate. I feel privileged to now be in a place to continue to champion inclusion in the synagogue and community at large—we have work to do to ensure that our trans and nonbinary peers are accepted and honored.

On a positive note, in recent days I have learned from my newer rabbinic colleagues about Hebrew language innovations that ensure that all queer identities can be authentic within our holy language.

We cannot let our fear and sadness overwhelm us. We can use this month in this precarious time as an opportunity to honor our stories, to make our voices heard in the present, and to embark on a better tomorrow. Let us remember that in every generation, each of us is called to listen, to bear witness, and to trailblaze.

Find out more about Reform Judaism’s Pride Month celebration, and get more Jewish LGBTQIA+ study resources here.

Rabbi Daniel Mikelberg is the senior rabbi of Temple Israel Ottawa and serves on the CCAR Board.

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Rabbinic Reflections

Rabbi Fred Guttman on the Blessing of an Influential and Inspirational Rabbi

Recently, we have begun an effort to really downsize our “stuff.” In this context, I was going through a file that belonged to my mother, of blessed memory. Looking in the file, I found my tenth grade confirmation speech from 1968. Reading it, I was struck by just how much I owed “My Rabbi.”

Let me explain.

I really cannot say that I liked going to religious school all that much. As a matter of fact, I frequently got in trouble!

There was one thing that I really did enjoy and that was singing in the junior choir.

By the time I was in the eighth grade, I was already playing piano in a garage band. I wasn’t great, but I was good enough.

One day, the director of our junior choir was late arriving. So, I told people to take out a sheet that had on it the words of “Adon Olam.”  I then told them that they should sing with me. I started to play the “House of Rising Sun” by the Animals. Before long, I had the entire choir gloriously singing “Adon Olam” to the melody of “House of the Rising Sun.”

After a while, the choir director came in and was very much distressed. He asked me whether or not I knew what this song was really about.

I answered that I did not but that I liked the music. He then said “You need to go talk to the rabbi.”

I walked into “My Rabbi”’s office and told him what had occurred. He smiled, and we sat down at the table. He pulled out a Jewish text; I do not remember what it was. We studied for a little bit, and then I was sent back.

Before I left, he told me that he thought what I did was rather creative and said, “You just might grow up to be a Jewish educator.” Frankly, at that time, this was the farthest thing from my mind.

Two years later during the confirmation class, I came to “My Rabbi” and told him I had a very interesting idea for confirmation. The idea was that during the ceremony, the class would all sing “Turn, Turn, Turn” by the Byrds. I do not think that I knew at that time that the song was actually written by Pete Seeger.

His reaction really surprised me. He told me that he thought it was a great idea. I volunteered to accompany the class on piano. Then, however, he told me that the lyrics were not written by Pete Seeger, but traditionally were written thousands of years ago by King Solomon. The lyrics were to be found in a biblical book called Ecclesiastes.

“My Rabbi” then said to me that he liked my idea so much that every confirmation speech would take one line from the passage and discuss it. My line was “A time to plant.” I had no memory of this until I found my confirmation speech in my mother’s papers.

I went to college at Vanderbilt because I wanted to continue to play in the garage band. While there, I started taking courses in the religion department and the divinity school.

In my sophomore year, I came to “My Rabbi” with the idea that I would like to go on the year-abroad program at Hebrew University in Jerusalem. However, I told him that my father had recently closed his business and that without a significant scholarship, I could not afford to go.

He told me not to worry and harnessed the resources of others in the community, including the local Jewish Federation. As a result, I was able to go to Hebrew University for my junior year.

That year turned out to be one of the best years of my life. I fell in love with a beautiful girl who today is a beautiful woman. I have been with her now for fifty-two years. We have three children and five grandchildren.

How different my life could have been had I not gone that year or had I not been able to afford to go that year. All of this happened thanks to “My Rabbi.”

When I returned, I told “My Rabbi” that but I was thinking about applying to HUC-JIR. He told me at the time that it was interesting because there was an official from HUC who was going to be visiting Nashville and that I should meet him. I was more than open to this.

I sat down for an hour with this official who was also a rabbi. We had what I thought was a nice conversation. I found out later that he told “My Rabbi” that he did not think that I would be suitable for the rabbinate.

Nevertheless, “My Rabbi” encouraged me to apply, which I did, and in 1979, I was ordained in the New York school. Five days later, my wife and I moved to Israel, and we stayed there for eleven years. While in Israel, I had the privilege of working for Rabbis Hank Skirball, David Forman, and Morrie Kippur. These men, like “My Rabbi,” had a profound influence upon my life.

I have now been retired for three-and-a-half years. I have had an amazing career. I have been involved in a lot of pro-Israel work and in various social justice activities.

By the way, I think it was the example of “My Rabbi” that encouraged me to become active in the North Carolina social justice movement known as “Moral Monday.” Other issues that I dealt with in North Carolina involved voting rights and LGBTQ issues. I really do feel that it was “My Rabbi” who served an example for these activities.

I think that we all should be as blessed as I was to have had such an influential rabbi in our lives.

Many years later, I showed my mother a rubbing of a tombstone from the 1880s from the Warsaw Jewish cemetery. The stone depicted broken Shabbat candles. My mom told me that that would be what she wanted on her tombstone.

“My Rabbi” died in 2014. His widow was friendly with my mom. My mom suggested that there be a carving like the ones from Warsaw on his tombstone and she asked me what it should be. I answered that it should be “books” because he was such a learned man.

Mom died in 2020 just before the epidemic.

If one goes to the Temple cemetery in Nashville, one will find two tombstones with designs on them, designs that go back to the 1880s in the Warsaw Jewish cemetery. The two tombstones are my mom’s and “My Rabbi’s.”

So, who is this person? Who was “My Rabbi”?

His name was Rabbi Randall Falk. I owe so much to him!

I share this story partially in tribute to Randy Falk, but more than that, I share it as an example of the enormous role that we rabbis have to play in educating young people and encouraging them to consider the rabbinate.

While I was not the first student of Randy Falk’s to become a rabbi, I was the first person to be ordained from Temple Ohabai Shalom in Nashville, Tennessee.

I do not know if I have been successful in being a rabbinic role model for younger people. I do know that I tried my best, and hope that along the way, I have influenced my students to become good Jews and purveyors of the Jewish tradition.

Thanks to “My Rabbi,” Rabbi Randall Falk.

Y’hi Zichro Baruch!

Rabbi Fred Guttman served Temple Emanuel of Greensboro, North Carolina for 26 years. He is now the Rabbi Emeritus of the congregation.