All is Created for His Glory
I want to have five kids, I just can’t imagine myself making them.” This is what, in my adolescent innocence, I told my 16- year-old classmates, and they laughed. It was then that I understood that something that was clear and obvious to them was not at all clear to me. I could not explain to myself or to them what I had meant, and they could not explain why they had laughed.
I was born to an Orthodox Zionist family. When I was five years old, my parents joined the Masorti congregation Hod V’hadar in Kfar Saba, and that has been the home of my faith ever since. I attended a Tali school where pluralism was more than just a slogan. My education in the Masorti movement’s philosophy and programs, in the youth group Noam, and in the synagogue taught me that truth was in my grasp. The Masorti worldview, which sees each person as the entire universe, is the one in which I was raised, and it stays with me wherever I go.
When I was 23 I realized I was a lesbian, though I could not understand how that was even possible. The Torah talks about man and woman, obviously that is the model that God had in mind. A close friend with whom I shared this information said I should not kid myself. There was no way I could be religious and lesbian and expect God to be accepting and understanding. I figured she was right. I was rebelling against God. If these two things could not coexist, the solution was inevitable: I must stop being religious. God knows exactly what my intentions are. God knows exactly how I feel and I cannot fake it. I am a lesbian.
It was Shabbat. The portion of the week was Vayera. The Torah scroll was returned to the ark and I, tears rolling down my face, knew that never again would I stand and read words from the Torah to the congregation. Never again would I feel God’s compassionate hand on my shoulder in times of joy or sorrow. My soul would no longer yearn for God day and night. Starting now, I would be on my own. My soul cried out the way Isaac did as he followed his father to Mount Moriah: “‘Behold the fire and the wood; but where is the lamb for a burnt offering?” Behold my faith in You, God; is that the lamb for the burnt offering? Will I no longer be able to find comfort in the shadow of Your wings? Why? Why have You created me this way? How can I breathe without You?
I stopped doing mitzvot, but I never, not even for one second, felt that I was alone. God was still with me wherever I went. Three months later, with great joy and endless light, I returned to keep the commandments of my God. I was created religious and I was created lesbian, and only He could change that.
A year later I discovered Bat-Kol, an organization of religious lesbians. Most of its members are Orthodox Zionists and some are ultra-Orthodox (haredi). Some are single, some live with a woman, some are married to a man, and some divorced. The vast majority would have chosen not to be lesbian, if only they had the choice. Whenever a woman in the group tells me about the tribulations she has endured or continues to endure because of her sexual orientation, I thank God for giving me my wonderful family and the Masorti community, which make my life as a religious lesbian possible.
Anti-fundamentalism – every member of a Noam youth group is familiar with that concept. In the last few years I have been forced to respond to the commandment inherent in this word. It is clear to me that my God-given uniqueness necessitates that I take action, that I perfect the universe through tikkun olam. The Torah does not forbid homosexuality, only one specific act. Lesbians, gay men, bisexuals and transsexuals are not invalidated as human beings, and there is no demand that they stop observing mitzvot, God forbid.
A year and a half ago, a group of us religious homosexuals established an organization aimed at promoting tolerance in religious society by providing workshops to teachers and other professionals who work with young Reform, Masorti, and Orthodox Jews in Israel. Our workshops are meant to create a meeting point between us and the religious world we call home. We envision a religious community in which there is also room for those with LGBT identity. We care very much about the Jewish community and we are motivated by the desire to be equals in it. There are many young people going through the same process that we have gone through. They are dealing with the same feelings, emotions, fears, and wonders. This is not an easy thing to cope with, and anyone going through it needs support and understanding. It is sometimes a matter of life and death. We hope to provide religious teachers and counselors with tools for understanding the complexity of the issues with which they (and we) are faced, and to open a dialogue on this sensitive matter.
Noam (Masorti youth) and Marom (the Masorti movement’s organization for students and young adults) welcomed our workshops with open hearts. We are providing activities for counselors and university students throughout Israel. Masorti values, which are manifest in the programs for people of all ages, tend to surprise the Orthodox members of the organization. Yet it is clear that for those of us who grew up in a society in which people do not judge one another, in which human dignity and religious liberty are a guiding light, name calling does not happen, and you will hear no words of disgust or exclusion.
The decisions of the Committee on Jewish Law and Standards, the rabbinical school at the Jewish Theological Seminary, and the Ziegler School of Rabbinic Studies have opened many doors. But there is one place within the Conservative movement, one room in my very own home, where I have not felt wanted and where the doors are closed to me. I can only hope that one day the Schechter Institute in Israel will open its doors. Many of my friends have been ordained by the Schechter Institute. Had I not studied medicine, I, too, would have wanted to find myself there, enhancing my Jewish studies in order to teach and be taught, to observe and to do. Being lesbian or gay does not break any mitzvah. Moreover, since the Schechter Institute does not demand proof for kiyum taryag mitzvot (observance of all 613 mitzvot) from any of its participants, I do not think I should be treated differently. Excluding me from the Conservative public domain contradicts the fact that I was created in God’s own image.
I hope that when God sends me my wife, I will be able to marry her in the synagogue in which I have prayed since I was five. I hope that when I have children, God willing, they will be able to choose to attend Schechter without anyone disputing the fact that they too were created by God for His glory.
(Translated from the Hebrew)
Nofrat Frenkel, a fourth-year medical student at Ben-Gurion University of the Negev, is a member at Hod V’hadar Congregation in Kfar Saba, Israel, where she regularly reads Torah and leads services.
