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For those who attended TBD’s Pride Shabbat Service on June 13, you were treated to an exceptional D’var Torah by one of our congregants, Lori Sudderth.  For those who were not there, here is an opportunity to read her words.  As Pride Month comes to an end, may we be blessed with a renewed sense of confidence in who we are, and a commitment to celebrating difference and diversity in the months and years to come.

Shabbat Shalom,

STRUGGLE, LIGHT AND LOVE

In preparation for my daughter’s Bat Mitzvah tomorrow morning, I have tried to demonstrate to her that different people read the same text, but they may come up with a different interpretation or emphasis. It occurred to me that this is relevant to Pride Shabbat, because

members of the LGBTQ+ community, like myself, often do no see ourselves in the text, and some of the interpretations of the text have not been in our favor.

I came out in my early 20s, and I would say it was a spiritual decision. When I had formally announced to someone that I was a lesbian, it felt like my soul expanded and relaxed.  I soon found a lesbian community that nurtured my spiritual side by the way they lived their lives. I was coached for Pride parades to face hatred with love.  I witnessed people handling the pain of rejection with humor, hugs and forgiveness. I had a friend my age who had come out at age 12, and her parents had her committed to mental hospital until she agreed to say she was heterosexual. She had forgiven them, and at 21, she was the most centered, easy-going person I knew. I was so humbled by her disposition that I asked her, “how do you do that?” She wrote down her philosophy for me, a paragraph that basically said, “Everyone does the best they can, so let it go.” As a lesbian, it was a normal part of my life to witness people who were courageous in the face of death threats, loving even though they were surrounded by hatred, true to themselves even if it meant losing a job or never going home again. This was part of the foundation of my spiritual life.

As my spiritual journey continued to intertwine with my lesbian identity, I decided to walk a spiritual path to explore where I am in the universe. It never occurred to me that as a lesbian I was associated with evil, as two of my friends told me after I came out. I just thought they were wrong. When I got my first job, a woman I had known for over two years (we had lunch together, laughed together…) suddenly turned on me one day. There was a homophobic email going around the campus, so I asked if she knew anything about it. She started yelling at me, and while I don’t remember the specifics of her rage, I do remember her saying: “The only reason I work with you is because I have to.” Then she sprinkled Jesus into her commentary. So, I know that people can handpick the verse to back up whatever prejudice they have. And I can understand why some of my friends from the LGBTQ+ community would walk away from traditional religions and create their own spiritual communities.

But as someone committed to a spiritual path, to learning whatever I could, I did not want to close myself off from anything. At the time that I came out, however, almost every major religious tradition excluded people like me, unless they agreed to hide their identity. Many of us made that compromise in different settings. I felt that I would have to find my way to God on my own.

Don’t get me wrong. I have encountered unconditional support from friends and family and complete strangers, and sometimes the support was from surprising corners — a roommate who was the daughter of a Baptist minister for example.  She and her family were always supportive and welcoming; in graduate school, I had a good friend, a heterosexual man, the son of a Methodist minister—we were officemates, and we got along very well. I was one of the only people invited to his wedding.  And then there was the conservative rabbi who shared his evolution from limited to unconditional support of the LGBTQ+ community at a conference I attended.

The challenge, of course, is that you never know, and as a young women trying to navigate my spiritual path, I felt alone. To a certain extent, of course, everyone is on their own, private, spiritual path, but for LGBTQ+ people, that path includes purposefully placed landmines: conversion therapy, sodomy laws, public discussion that religious freedom gives you the right to discriminate, as long as the discrimination is against the LGBTQ+ community. Some of these landmines you can see and avoid, and some, like those infiltrating friendship, are harder to dodge.

But as Rabbi Jonathan Sacks said, “It is when we feel most alone that we discover that we are not alone, ‘for You are with me.’” I believe that, so I look for representations of people like me in our texts. Certainly, I can feel Ruth’s devotion to Naomi in words often quoted in lesbian weddings, including my own.

Traditionally, one of the reasons the Torah is lifted at services is so that everyone can see the words; it is an act of inclusivity. At our upcoming simcha, a treasured family member will lift the Torah for us so that we can see the patterns created by the text and the blank spaces… the bigger picture. For me, that moment is representative of the spiritual journey of so many of us who have not seen ourselves in it. Instead, we look to the blank spaces, what is between the lines, the shadows in the frame, the spaces in between.

Sh’ma Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai Echad! Baruch shem k’vod malchuto l’olam va-ed. And my favorite translation:

Listen! Those of you who wrestle with God: There is a loving presence that is and always will be; and that loving presence connects everything as one.

I hear no exceptions there. And so, I find myself in the embrace of a warm, welcoming Jewish community, which allows me the freedom to continue my spiritual journey as I am.  Pride Shabbat is a time to honor all of our journeys, but particularly the spiritual journeys of people who existed in the shadows, and whose strength, courage and integrity become clear in the light of unconditional love.