Friday, March 4, 2016

Sinai

I will not hide myself from you
And I will not be silent
My lips may drip with honey
And I will probably never be a man's ayshet chayil
But hineni
I am here
Standing before G-d as a Jew
Born of a Jewish mother
My connection to a community
That believe in matrilineal descent
And the Torah's truths
And the Talmud's laws
Is undeniable
As a woman
I am given three beautiful mitzvot
When Friday morning arrives
I knead sweetness into the dough
I weave and braid Shabbat into my week as I wind down
And sometimes, my joy for Shabbos glows brighter
Than the flames themselves
The blessings roll off my tongue
Like the oil
From the flames of the menorah that once glowed in our holiest sites
I bring Shabbos in
Eyes closed
Heart open
And I can feel the warmth of HaShem's light
Until darkness is poured over me
In the form of niddah
And the knowledge that
So many people who share my history
Will not accept my marriage as pure
Who am I, HaShem?
To say that I know more than those who dedicate their lives to study?
But who are they?
To tell me that I am improperly dedicating my life to you?
You are present in my lungs with each breath
On my lips with each kiss
I was made
B'tselem Elo-im
You breathed life into my nostrils
And with that breath you blessed me
With longings that rabbis can't explain
HaShem, I am bleeding to follow your words wholly
And this niddah is not caused by my own body
But by the Amalekites wounding me
Disguised by tznius and black hats
As if they lay tefillin to "Love the Lord thy G-d"
But not the Jew standing next to them
Their love for community
Is blinded by blatant hatred of Your own creation
And I know that you free the shackled
But it's your own people putting each other in chains
And claiming that the only way out is to deny myself
When we stood before you at Sinai
We were too afraid to hear your words
But now, your tzadikim have booming voices of their own
And I am once again afraid
So I stand before you again
Wanting to follow your laws again, wholeheartedly
I've tried to lift these mountains that your followers have set
But they're much too heavy for me alone
Hineni
Waiting to follow your laws
With this mountain on my shoulders

Monday, January 18, 2016

Eshel Reflection

As I'm trying to piece together my weekend I am overwhelmed with feelings. Happiness and comfort, as this weekend I have explored pieces of myself openly and loudly without judgement. The joy of being able to hear other people's stories. The amazement of the people I have met and the way that the community became so incredibly cohesive. Wonderment at the strength of some of the people who were at the shabbaton, especially in secret. I have laughed alongside people who were excommunicated from their families and communities. I have been nearly been brought to tears because of stories that people were able to tell each other in the space we created. I feel immense success just from being a community member at the event. I also felt sadness. Among all of the happiness and joy there was immense sadness. People coming from families or circumstances that keep them in the closet. Knowing that people were able to come out and show their true selves for a weekend only to see them take off their nail polish and slam the closet door back behind themselves in order to return to their lives.
One of my goals this weekend was to better understand trans struggles. I attended a trans experience group and was able to hear stories of their navigating jewish (and regular) life, both as closeted individuals who don't know how much longer they'll fit in due to multiple circumstances (that I'm not going into for the sake of confidentiality) and as out individuals who don't have a place to fit in because of communal standards or the fear of being found out.
This was also the first time I have been completely comfortable with a mehitza. The mehitza for kabbalat shabbat (Friday evening services) had a sides for male identifying people, female identifying people, and another section for people who don't fit into the gender binary. As a cis person and a lover of chassidut and halacha, I love and am very comfortable with the concept and physical mehitza. As a member of the queer community and a Trans ally, I feel this overarching guilt knowing that some people don't feel like they have a place for prayer. Being on the same side of the mehitza as trans women was incredibly uplifting for me, and it alleviated the overarching sense of guilt I feel on the women’s side of the mehitza.
After checking in, we had services for Kabbalat Shabbat. Everyone, in all three sections of the mehitza was involved in a beautiful prayer session. I was taken back by how Jewish I felt. Like many others, I wasn’t sure what to expect of a queer Orthodox service. I think that most people who see depictions of queer life see half naked men and over sexualized women. This service was like any other Orthodox service. In this, it brought me back to my experiences in USY when I was in high school. Other events this weekend included discussion groups, limudim, and shabbas meals. I was able to listen to other peoples experiences, from a range of different backgrounds. There were people who had been married with kids an never heard of anything queer. There were queer people who fell in love with Judaism. There were stories of coming out as queer to orthodox families, coming out as observant to secular families. These stories ranged from incredibly uplifting to astonishingly heartbreaking. In listening to these stories, I found myself to be a part of a larger community. We shared in pain and positivity. Regardless of the love found or lost in the homes of these people, we had created a sort of unconditional loving family within those 48 hours.
The study groups were like any other study groups. The average groups (well as average as a group of Jews learning together can be), showed that regardless of gender and sexuality, we study and pray within the same confines of the halacha as the communities most of us will be returning to after the convention.
As a 21 year old who wants a Jewish family, seeing couples bring their children to the event was reassuring. The kids were healthy and happy (arguably happier than most other children I see). They were being raised religiously. Also, Eshel members repeatedly put me in charge of their children. During lunch, a father looked at his children, looked at me, and told them that I would make sure that they got lunch. I returned a thumbs up. After years of hearing that parent’s don’t want me talking about my relationship or holding hands with my girlfriend in front of their kids. Once a rabbi compared pedophilia to homosexuality. These sorts of comments can collectively hurt queer communities. Seeing parents raise children, and being asked to feed and baby sit them, was really refreshing and reassuring to me that people trust me with their children. Also I love babies so that was a plus.
Seeing people balance their religion sexuality in a place where they could do so without judgement was one of the most important parts of the convention for me. When signing up, I expected to meet a lot of people and learn from collective experiences. The convention provided me with so much more. There was a comfort that I saw in people that I haven’t ever seen. The ways that these important parts of our lives could come together shamelessly was completely transformative. My heart was soaring. Being around a community with that much sorous (grief) yet produced so much positivity was uplifting in a way that let me take the feelings home.
As I wind down from the convention and miss the friends I have made, I’m overwhelmed. I have realized that I was able to take a piece of Eshel home with me in a way that I thought would dissipate after having left the community once the convention ended. We departed after a group hug, and I can still feel the warmth. Knowing these people exist has become a sort of strength for me to go into my communities and use the scope of knowledge I gained from this multifaceted group in order to better advocate for queer rights. I have a better understanding and ability to advocate for trans individuals (which was a goal I had before going to Eshel). I have a better understanding of myself.
Back to grief. While I am out in almost all aspects of my life, it is scary for me to know that there were people who were able to hear people use the correct pronouns for the first time. There are people who were able to say that they are gay out loud for the first time since their last Eshel convention. There are people who cannot express themselves outside of these events whether their struggles are not being able to wear pants because of tsnius or not being able to come out of the closet in fear of losing their jobs and families. It saddens me that people who were able to show themselves and express themselves have to tuck this huge piece of themselves back into their pocket not to be thought of outside of private meetings and Facebook groups.

I had a goal of talking to everyone at the convention this weekend. I think that I did talk to almost everyone. There is a chassidic belief that we each have a flame, and the beauty of this is that one can share the flame without losing any of their own. Eshel allowed people to burn bright. Every person I spoke to enlightened me in some way. Every single person already had a spark, and every single person had something in them that just glowed the minute others were willing to listen.