Going Home

My wife and I recently went to my hometown to visit my aunt. This trip like all the others was a time traveling adventure in which I could show my 3-year-old daughter where I grew up and favorite haunts as a child. We had a great time up until my aunt took us to lunch, only then did it become awkward to the point of having to defend my religious and cultural choices.

To give all readers a background, I was born into a Southern Baptist family. My father was a Southern Baptist preacher, my brother was a missionary, my mother's family was very devout and when I couldn't find someone at home, I could usually find them at church. I was not however the only member of my family to leave the Southern Baptist Convention (SBC), in fact I was the third.

First there was my father, he left my mother when I was three to find himself, where he found himself was in the Unity Church a holistic approach to Christianity that many people think of as New Age. Then there was my brother who became a Seventh Day Adventist, after leaving the SBC he found himself in a stronger connection with his wife by joining her church and sharing the same doctrine. Finally I was mentally never really part of church life, my mother tried to engage me in youth groups and such but I never really belonged or had ownership in any part of the church. When I came out at bisexual, and then transgender the connections that my mother had tried to make for me in the church altogether vanished. In a way I was persona non grata, shunned by the place that had tried to be welcoming when I was perceived as normal.

My paternal grandmother who had been "half" ethnically Jewish (Ashkenazim), I didn't ever meet her but I did know about her families loss of Jewish identity in the Midwest. My father talked about it sometimes, mostly as a factoid over dinner with his acquaintances from Unity. Some would think that this would be the reason for my conversion but my hidden ancestry was only a small part of why I converted to Judaism. Another big part of my conversion was the fact that I have identified with otherness for as long as I can remember. One could say that I was no stranger to the sense of otherness. Growing up in a family with very strong religious convictions and a strong sense of what was acceptable and not, I struggled with internal pressure to conform to the hetero-normative ideal.

Here I am again feeling like a 15 year-old and my aunt has me on the ropes over all of the identity politics that come into play in my life again. The questions started out innocently enough directed at my wife, what are you doing with your life these days, how is your family, isn't your mother Christian, why is she Christian and your Jewish, the questions got deeper once they found out that Shelli had met me at my synagogue, yes you guessed it I converted totally on my own! Apparently my mother had neglected to tell my aunt that I was in the conversion process well before I even met my wife, that I had considered Orthodoxy a full three years before meeting my wife at my then Reform shul. This sort of hiding is what my mother does best, "If we don't talk about it, whatever it is doesn't exist."

At that point the conversation returns to me and she asks my why a good Christian kid from a good Christian family becomes a Jew. She started to blame herself for not being welcoming enough, and tried to proselytize me while my wife was taking my daughter for a walk. And when my wife came back she tried to witness to her as well. At which point my wonderful, amazing and altogether stunning wife said this, "It is my belief that there are many ways up the mountain, and yours is just one of them." This reminded me of why I love Shelli so much and this brilliant conversation stopper was perfect because my aunt nodded and we continued talking about everything but religion. This lesson in religious pluralism is one that my family of origin should take to heart. Just because I believe something that is in conflict with their belief system doesn't mean that all of us have to but heads over religion.

Over all it was a good trip, once my aunt backed off with the proselytizing, Sadie got to see her aunt and I asserted my identity once more. Yet I feel that I missed an opportunity to talk with my aunt on a more in depth level about my Jewish identity and how it is much more than religious, it is also cultural because I can look back through my ancestors and see the change from being religious Jews in Germany to ethnic Jews in the Midwest and finally to the pews of churches as congregationalists assimilating into the great American melting pot. I am not just a preachers kid who rebelled, I am a lost son of Israel returning home to the roots of my tree of life. Perhaps, this would have angered her, perhaps not. If my family of origin could only see what a life I have found within Jewish community, maybe they would stop the proselytizing nonsense and just accept that I am a Jewish man through and through.

Gvanim Tikkun

Yesterday afternoon an amazing thing happened at my shul. Four people changed the minds of twelve high ranking Israeli Defense Force (IDF) officers. For six years, the Jewish Community Federation (JCF) has run a program in Israel called "Gvanim”, which loosely translates as "rainbow." The program brings together leaders from different walks of Israeli life for a year-long program of study and dialogue about Jewish identity and pluralism. One of the Gvanim members, a retired IDF general, developed an Action Project called Gvanim IDF with a goal of exposing high ranking Army officers to the multiple expressions of Judaism within Israeli society and the Diaspora.

My fellow panelists James M., Lisa F., and Rebecca W. were witness to real life Tikkun (Repair). It all began with our personal stories about the intersection of our Jewish identities and our LGBTQ natures. Rebecca talked about growing up a lesbian in Berkeley with a strong sense of Jewishness, James talked about being gay in Austria and growing up in a dati community that was very oppressive, and Lisa talked about being queer in her pluralistic Midwestern family. My story was simple, I was a trans man (Female-to-Male Transsexual ) and was married with a two and a half year old daughter. I made a conscious decision to out myself on another level, as a Jew by Choice. This did not go over well, in my opinion, judging from the reaction from one particular Lieutenant Colonel who questioned my existence on the panel, "Why didn't you just find another faith, one that would want you, and be easier, because Judaism rejects you." he said this as if he was talking directly to me. Yet, some of the other people on the panel fielded this question thinking that it had been directed at them.

Answers were as eloquent as could be with a simple, "Because I am Jewish," was the common thread to the answers. But when my turn was up again, I directed my answer to the Lt. Col. saying the same thing, "Because I am Jewish," and talked about my conversion in as much detail as I could. I talked about my troubles trying to fit myself into Halakha, struggling with G-d, looking to the Torah for answers, and finding myself in the beginning with Avram and Sarai, Lech L'cha (Go Forth!) and his answer Hineni (Here I Am). In the Torah, everyone is themselves, the men and women who we count as ancestors were flawed human beings, just like us. Continually missing the mark and wrestling with G-d. These is no other religious tradition that captures who I am like Judaism does.

After his question was answered, he went on to ask why we didn't just have a social group where we did text study, instead of a synagogue. To which Rebecca answered, "Because it is a synagogue, not a social club." I kept thinking about how much on the defensive we all were on the bimah that afternoon, and then it happened. People from the group started thanking us for showing them that you could be both LGBT and religiously Jewish. I started feeling really good about being so out there, and talking about my journey to and through Judaism.

The next Lt. Col to talk was someone who hadn't spoken yet, he was the quiet one who was watching it all, and coming to his own informed conclusion. He started off slowly, and as he spoke the room became very still and quiet. He then talked about his uncle who had transitioned from Male-to-Female (MTF) over ten years ago. He said that some of the family had been accepting, but not him, he was against his uncle's decision from the start. Eventually he cut his uncle out of his life, and never thought about him. He said that he had heard that his uncle had gotten married to a man and moved away. He was also using "He" to talk about his MTF family member until the very end. Everyone was leaning in, and I don't remember hearing anything other than his voice. He looked at me and said, "You have changed my mind, and I will call her and try to reconnect." He then walked up to the bimah and handed Lisa a picture of the group of officers as a gift to the synagogue, and a remembrance of the wonderful thing that happened a few moments ago.

The entire panel was alight, because something wonderful had happened, out of the twelve uniformed men and women in front of us, we had changed the heart and mind of one man. Personal stories can change hearts and minds, they can move mountains, and create safe space where there was none. I am in awe of the Lt. Col. looking deep inside, and finding the courage to say that he was wrong to push his family member away because she was different. And I am touched and honored that I was a catalyst, an agent of change for this one man.

After the panel we rose to more than polite claps, it was a really wonderful ovation from a group of people that we somehow connected with on an intimate level. My daughter ran to me, and I picked her up from the floor and introduced her to the Lt. Col. who had just made such a powerful statement, we chatted and I wished him well. I also looked at pictures of children that the other IDF officers had in their bags. It was as if we were all old friends, reconnecting...