Cantor's Blog

A very special thank you to Congregation Beth Yeshurun for annually hosting Pride Shabbat services and dinner. For years now, Beth Yeshurun has opened its doors, kicking off Pride weekend with a Jewish celebration of inclusion. A personal thanks to my friends –Rabbi Strauss, Rabbi Morgen, Rabbi Fort, Cantor Goldman, and Executive Director Andy Berger, for providing me the opportunity to speak in this truly holy place.

In this week’s parasha, from the book of Numbers, we read of a rebellion against the status quo. Korach, Datan, and Aviram rebel against the authority of Moses and Aaron, a rebellion quickly crushed – as the Torah informs us that the ground opened and swallowed all the rebels. Shortly thereafter, we also learn that “Uvnei Korach Lo Meitu” – that the sons of Korach did not die. Some rabbinic texts suggest that, at the last minute, these sons repented and were subsequently saved. Others, more midrashically, interpret that what survived, the b’nei Korach, was Korach’s spirit of rebelliousness and protest. This second perspective enables us to declare that there are significant moments which demand that we, in partnership with God, raise our voices in protest, demanding that we shout from the rooftops, demanding a directional change, an insistence on moving forward.

Growing up gay in my generation was incredibly difficult. Watching TV, reading newspapers, religious teachings, high school culture and even snide comments made at home often made it clear that a significant part of who we were “was bad” and something to be hidden away from sight. The possibility and the hope of experiencing love was taboo, something to which we perceived early on, we should never aspire. For some, common teen activities, such as listening to popular music, with its repeated theme of love, served as sources of despair. Campfires and the accompanying songs, a source of warm memories for so many, often resulted in depression for LGBT youth, for they highlighted, in a romantic setting, the need to remain hidden.

Nor did there exist a safe-haven to which one could retreat. The abused Jew, the abused African American or Latino, all go home to the safety of a family of like individuals – a world of commonality and support in the face of the adversity of diversity. Not so, the gay youngster. He, or she, often remained, in many ways, truly alone –in society, among peers, and even at home amidst family.

In subsequent years, many in my generation lived every day at work with the fear that today would be the last day if “they found out.” Living in this way can be described as a black hole into which all of life’s experiences are drawn, each moment darkened by the lens of one’s hidden love and sexuality.

Life today is different for the LGBT community. It is easy to address and announce one’s sexuality. Or so goes the frequently false narrative. While there are clearly many ways in which concerns have eased and life, on the surface, has seemed relatively comfortable, the supporting evidence is not as clear as we would all like to believe. A recent survey, conducted by the Trevor Project in 2022, indicated that 41% of LGBT youth seriously considered suicide in the previous year.

Today, we are further confronted by state or local laws banning teaching in schools about gender identity, exacerbating often already fragile self-images. Florida’s “Don’t Say Gay” Law, under the guise of protecting a parent’s right to educate their children as they see fit, extended just a month ago through eighth grade, conveys the message that LGBT children should neither be seen nor heard. The Texas State Senate has gone a step further, passing a bill banning discussion of sexual orientation or gender identity through 12th grade. While in Florida the law ostensibly intends to protect the parents’ rights, ironically in Texas, laws are being considered to punish parents who express their rights by supporting their trans-children.

So, who is really being protected here? And far more importantly, at what cost to a demographic of youth already struggling with an unchosen identity of despised “other?” In a world in which loneliness has become an epidemic, Kal Vachomer, how much more so for those who cannot “be - or even speak of - who they really are” with their friends, with their parents and siblings, or with their communities.

The Trevor Project study revealed a series of other very concerning findings:

1. 56% of LGBTQ+ young people who, in the previous year, wanted mental health care reported they were not able to get it.
2. Fewer than 40% of LGBT young people found their home to be affirming of their identity. A majority of LGBT young people reported that, in the previous year, they had been verbally harassed at school and 25% of this population reported that they have been physically threatened or harmed in the past year.  

And the physical threat is escalating. A little over two weeks ago, Target announced, out of fear for its employees, that it would remove pride-related items from its shelves, in response to threats of physical violence issued by white-supremacist groups. The National Human Rights Campaign, just last week, declared a national state of emergency for LGBT people. Following an unprecedented wave of hate legislation in 2023 (417 bills in the first quarter of the year) and the promise of hate as a flashpoint for the 2024 election, violence continues to escalate, forcing families to uproot and flee their homes in search of safe living.        

There are liminal moments at which a Korach-like rebellion becomes a clarion call. There are times that Korach’s rebellious spirit must lead us to fight, to demand a safe, welcoming pathway forward.  As Jews, we learned in the last century, we cannot sit quietly, we cannot be silenced, we cannot be led to an emotional, or even physical, slaughterhouse.

At a Jewish wedding, we break a glass at the conclusion of the chupah ceremony. There are numerous reasons provided for this easily recognized Jewish tradition. I’d like to cite two tonight. First, at the moment of our greatest joy, we pause and identify with Jewish history, we commemorate the suffering of our ancestors over the centuries, and we contextualize our private great joy within our people’s history. Secondly, the broken glass symbolizes that we continue to live in a broken, unredeemed society and that the couple, and the family they will build, have a responsibility to play a role in the attempt at creating wholeness. Both of these midrashim should vociferously echo for us tonight, should underscore our great celebration of Pride.

We are, indeed, here tonight to celebrate Pride – being proud of our identities and how far the efforts of the last 60+ years have brought us. Celebrate – yes – with full hearts of joy and pride! Celebrate – yes – all the achievements and the distance from medieval values traversed over the last half-century! Celebrate – yes – that we are gathered here in an enlightened Jewish institution among a myriad of enlightened Jewish institutions who recognize that we are NOT asking for special privileges – simply to live life like all others – not to be strangers in a strange land but simply a part of the fabric of a holy nation, Jewish and American!

But in our moment of great joy, remember….remember the broken glass, remember the great sufferings of generations past who have paved the way for the possibility of joining together as Jews for Shabbat services and Shabbat dinner here tonight. And remember that our world remains very broken and unredeemed, remember that we have yet to enter the promised land, and that we have the responsibility, to be part of the striving for wholeness.

Let us fully embrace both joy and responsibility. Kol Sasson V’Kol Simcha Yishama. May it be God’s will that we will yet be able to enter the promised land with song and with celebration. Kein Y’hi Ratzon. Shabbat Shalom.