If you told me ten years ago that I would eventually be someone who opposed, resisted, and staged a life in absolute conflict to every one of those three aspects of identity - heterosexual, woman, and "Christian,"- I might have believed you. Because even then, I knew I was different. I knew there wasn't something quite "normal" about me, not compared to other children in my synagogue, or those I went to school with. I never felt wrong, just different. That is something I've been trying to explain for a very long time.
I struggle a lot with my identity; that is to say, sometimes it's hard to be seen as inherently "wrong," because of who I love or how I dress. I don't struggle with it in the sense that I doubt it, because I don't; I know every aspect of myself to be absolutely, divinely true.
I've been an "out" lesbian for a long time; as long as I can remember. I never was actively closeted, but if it didn't come up in conversation, I didn't force the issue. People found out sooner or later, and once I left high school, it wasn't a big deal. I've had my share of homophobic attitudes and harassment, but I've never felt the need to conceal that part of myself.
Recently, I've started identifying as "genderqueer." Gender-fluid, however you call it - something not quite male or female, but rather neither or in between the two. While this has presented its own set of difficulties to me, and I'm still learning how to navigate a gendered world while trying to remain ungendered - at least in my own head - this coming out has been relatively easy as well.
The tricky part is, oddly, coming out as a Reform Jew. On one hand, the Reform movement of Judaism is large enough that I have never felt homeless within it. With congregations like Sha'ar Zahav, organizations like Keshet, there's virtually no room for exclusion of LGBTQ Jews. On the other hand, coming into such an inclusive, progressive movement, from such an exclusive, traditionalist one - my past comes with a kind of stigma attached. Most secular or cultural Jews, or any Jew, really - they tend to view Messianic Jews as something a little less than. They're viewed as Christian traitors by most Jews, and most Christians see them as something not quite Christian, because oh my, they're Jews. It's a weird border world to be trapped in. So when I attend a Reform synagogue for the first time, or begin interacting with Reform Jews more than ever before, the first question I usually get, and the most daunting one to answer, is "what kind of Jew are you?" (Or something to that effect.) Reform Jews don't have a problem with my sexuality, or my gender identity; and once they adapt to my previous Jewish home, they don't have a problem with that, either. They're extremely warm and welcoming. But coming out as a Reform Jew to my Messianic ex-home is an entirely different story. While they take huge issue with my sexuality and gender identity, they're very good at keeping quiet about it. Maybe they don't want to "encourage" me by acknowledging it - I don't know. But the second I bring up attending a Reform service and how cool it was to hear the matriarchs' names mentioned in the blessings, I am met with snorts of derision and contention. The moment I mention how excited I am about an inclusive prayerbook and a worldwide conference of LGBTQ Jews, those Jews around me who embrace Jesus as the Messiah shut down. They embrace all forms of Judaism but refuse to acknowledge any other as the correct one. They beg for the salvation of their Jewish brothers and sisters, praying they find the "truth" of Jesus as the Messiah, cry for my return to the fold.
So that's my issue with Messianic Judaism. The implication that I am, and should be, a sheep. This is the same source of conflict I find myself having with most religious practices, actually. The idea that I am in need of guidance and am inherently some sort of hoofed prey animal. Everything I have been through demands that I become the exact opposite - that I find a way to become a leader to not only myself, but those around me. As someone marginalized by this society we live in, it is my responsibility, and yours, to create a space for change and variation and diversity. It's my way to fulfill tikkun olam (a Hebrew phrase that essentially means "the repairing of the world"). If I find my power and strength in being something and someone that is so different, then so be it. At least there is still a safe space for that difference to exist and to grow, without having to give up my heritage or my traditions.
As a Reform Jew, I can still embrace Jewish traditions and simultaneously maintain feminist politics and ideology. I can still exist in a thoroughly patriarchal institution as a queer-identified member, and it only gives me an opportunity to create change from the inside - something not many get the chance to do. It means I don't have to give up the rituals that give my life meaning - not my Hebrew blessings over my food, the study of the Torah, or my meditations and Goddess worship. I can create a safe space between the two and each side is contented with that negotiation.
I am safe to present as either male or female, queer or not, Jewish or Gentile, or whatever else I feel at that moment because I am learning to successfully navigate multiple and conflicting worlds.
So while coming out as a Reform Jew is definitely one of the harder things I have had to do, coming out as a queer Reform Jew has made it infinitely easier.
This was extremely tangential and all over the board, but I've been working on collecting thoughts for a more important, even lengthier one later on this week. Thanks for hanging out.
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