‘I’m gay and I’m Jewish – Please tell me you care’ OPINION BENJAMIN ELLIS
Three British LGBT Jews reflect on the Pulse massacre
We’re surrounded by bad news. Sometimes it’s hard to know how to respond to an outrage — especially one that happens far away to people we don’t know. But when it’s your own people, it hits you in the guts and fills you with fear, sadness and nausea. As a gay Jew, I felt this way when Jews were shot in Paris, and when LGBT people were shot in Orlando. I felt rage and hurt to hear these described as “attacks on humanity” or on “our values”, without acknowledging that people like me, because they are like me, lie dead in pools of blood.
An uncomfortable thing happened to me the evening after the massacre. I was sharing a Yomtov meal with people who had heard the news. Somehow, we never discussed the shootings. Why our shared silence? Was I uncertain of discussing my feelings of connection with those LGBT victims? Was I anxious about owning my identity as a gay man? How did this happen among people I love? Had we learned the habits of generations of Jews who kept silent about suffering?
As Jews, we have all the tools needed to imagine life as another minority. Our folk memory is filled with persecution and hatred. We know all about disguising our identity in public, and the terror of being found out.
Last month, I was on the March of the Living. Walking through the camps, as a gay Jew descended from survivors, I thought of the Jews and the LGBT people the Nazis destroyed. The atmosphere at the March — the defiance in the face of persecution, the new hope in the face of old despair — reminded me of a Pride march. So it was a double privilege to walk to Birkenau with another gay Jew, wearing a kippah and bearing the LGBT rainbow flag.
I think about my dad, telling me that before the Six-Day War, no one (in Leeds, anyway) wore a kippah in the street. Then there was a moment of pride, and the kippot came out. There are still places in Europe where people are advised not to wear a kippah. There are large parts of London where I would feel unsafe hold- ing another man’s hand — never mind sharing a kiss — or openly wearing a Pride T-shirt.
Almost every Jew I know has thought about their Emergency Plan: a passport and some vague ideas of where they might go if they had to. Life is hard for Jews in France and thousands have moved to Israel and London. Where can LGBT people go? Where would I go if things once again became tough for us in this country? Where can I be sure I would be safe?
The smallest things meant so much to me this week. People who picked up the phone, sent me a text, gave me a hug. People who shared their grief and showed solidarity: “I saw the news, and I wanted you to know I cared.” As Jews, we can find this empathy. So please, wish me a happy (and safe) Pride this month. If bad stuff is happening to LGBT people, let me know you care.
I cried when I heard that during the Yizkor (memorial) prayers last Sunday, the rabbi at a major London Orthodox synagogue prayed publicly for those LGBT people murdered in Orlando.
Keshet UK — the LGBT education and advocacy charity — was established to work towards a future where no one has to choose between their Jewish and LGBT identity. The Jewish world now needs to show solidarity with LGBT people. What better way than tackling our own community’s homophobia?
Why did we not discuss the Pulse attack?
Dr Benjamin Ellis is Co-Director of Keshet UK