Seeking a Place in the Faith

Well past midnight, people were still talking. They’d been together for about four hours and by now had broken into small groups in heated conversation, not yet ready to leave behind a dilemma with no obvious resolution: Can you be gay and an Orthodox Jew?

More than 200 members of the Orthodox B’nai David-Judea Congregation gathered Saturday in a banquet hall at their Pico Boulevard synagogue for a special screening of “Trembling Before G-d,” a documentary about the struggle of gay and lesbian Orthodox Jews. The Bible calls the practice of homosexuality “an abomination,” and for most Orthodox Jews, that declaration is law. Orthodox homosexuals have long been told the only way to be true to their faith is to change, but this film provokes the question of how to treat someone who is both in the faith and out of the closet.

B’nai David-Judea is a modern Orthodox congregation, a place where the dress is contemporary, the dialogue rigorous and the questions often difficult. Rabbi Yosef Kanefsky, leader of the congregation, organized the evening “to begin a conversation,” he said before the event. “Part of our commitment to religious observance includes having a proper and appropriate religious interaction with everyone in our community. We should not think any less of the gays and lesbians in our congregation; we should not extend to them any less than we would extend to anyone else,” he said.

The documentary by Sandi Simcha DuBowski premiered last year at the Sundance Film Festival and has been shown at synagogues in other cities. B’nai David-Judea is the first Los Angeles Orthodox congregation to screen it, and for the occasion, Kanefsky invited three of the film’s subjects--30-year-old Malka and Leah, a lesbian couple from Miami--and 43-year-old David, who lives in L.A. All three used only their first names.

Malka and Leah met in high school, fell in love at camp and have stayed together for 13 years. In the film, Malka talks about how since she told her parents not long ago about her sexuality, they can barely speak to her. At B’nai David-Judea, Leah revealed that she came out to her mother only a week ago and that her mother told her she’d known, without knowing, for years. The two practice their faith together at home but have not found a congregation where they feel comfortable.

David realized he was gay in college and sought counsel from a rabbi who told him to get therapy to fix the problem. A decade later, he finally recognized that he couldn’t become heterosexual. His family, he said, has been supportive, but it pains him that they will not be able to dance at his wedding.

The evening was orchestrated to allow the congregation privacy. No visitors were allowed in as congregants watched the film, then discussed it for half an hour. In the lobby outside the hall, Malka, Leah and David seemed nervous. Malka said she’s talked often with audiences after screenings, but rarely to Orthodox Jews. At one synagogue screening, the audience was hostile. But when the hall’s doors opened, the three were welcomed with a round of hearty applause.

Though not all Jewish traditions reject homosexuality, the Orthodox community has based its condemnation on a literal interpretation of the Bible. Quoted on-screen with the opening credits of “Trembling Before G-d,” the teachings are not subtle: “A man who lies with a man as one lies with a woman, they have both done an abomination,” says the book of Leviticus. “They shall be put to death, their blood is on them.” Likewise, “for women to rub against each other in the position of sexual intercourse is forbidden,” says the Shulchan Aruch, a compendium of Jewish law dating from the 16th century. “It is fitting for the court to administer lashes for this transgression.”

Such punishments may no longer be administered, but the film shows that the pain of gays and lesbians, both young and old, has not abated. Many are rejected by their families as well as by their religious community. Some try to change--David spent a decade in therapy, to no avail. Some don’t go to such lengths, but all suffer the anguish of rejection. Many Orthodox gays and lesbians have committed suicide, the film points out. Many more have left the religious life.

Kanefsky said he wants his congregation to develop a policy toward homosexuals, a process that he said will take time and much discussion. “When it comes to matters of Jewish laws, I am the authority,” he said. “On policy issues, there is a democratic process.”

After the screening, Malka, Leah and David sat together at the front of the large hall and answered questions. Kanefsky moderated, gently prodding his audience. “We accept that it is not our purview to undo the Halakha [Jewish law],” he told the three, summarizing the group’s earlier private discussion. “For the most part--not everyone--people were extraordinarily touched by the personal pain.”

When asked why he doesn’t just pray in a non-Orthodox environment (Reform and some Conservative Jewish congregations have welcomed gays as members), he replied: “I grew up Orthodox, and I’m most comfortable in an Orthodox shul [synagogue], why can’t I daven [pray] where I want to daven?” he asked. “I’m just a regular Jewish guy that happens to be gay, and I’m probably not the only gay man in this room.

Leah added, “If I didn’t have Shabbos [the Sabbath], I would work seven days a week. It’s like taking away my breath; how could I live?”

There were no easy answers to such questions, only more questions. But, as Kanefsky explained, raising difficult questions is a part of the practice of the faith. “This is the most serious way of living Torah,” the rabbi said. “It is a much deeper orthodoxy when it is an orthodoxy that really engages.”

After a final word from Kanefsky, congregants continued their conversation in smaller groups.

“He’s a very courageous man,” Rae Drazin said of the rabbi. “This is something that most mainstream Orthodox would not be eager to do.”

Abigail Yasgur had seen the film twice before yet came again to see it to engage with her congregation. “It approached Orthodoxy with integrity,” she said. “There were differences between the members [of the congregation], including some homophobic reactions. But we have much to gain from being sensitive and embracing brothers and sisters who are gay. I think this film is telling Orthodox leadership that they need to be mindful of humanity when interpreting the Torah.”

A woman with two grown daughters who identified herself only as Lily said the film did little to change her views and only made her sad. “When you get old and you don’t have so much feeling for each other, what will you see in your life?” she said. “No children?”

A man who asked that his name not be used said the film gave him understanding. “The movie helped me distinguish between gay subcultures--if you stroll down Melrose, you’re exposed to a specific subculture, which is not what I would want in my shul,” he said. But he draws the line at gay marriage and open displays of affection. “Would it bother me if they walked in hand in hand?” he asked. “Yes.”

As the hour grew late, Kanefsky stood off to the side, surrounded by a dozen congregants. He described a point of consensus--that the law should not change, even as people become more open. “It was quite clear that the premise that the Halakha is what it is was soundly embraced,” he said. “That was not brought up for debate.” But, he said, he hopes “Trembling Before G-d” will continue to stimulate discussion in the Orthodox community. “I would love for Orthodox rabbis to come together” to discuss the issue of how to relate to homosexuals, he said. Ultimately, each congregation will have to decide what path to take, he said.

“In my gut, I have a deep feeling that the ultimate resolution will not be satisfactory to those in our congregation who are seeking complete equality,” he said. “But it will be a whole lot better than what happens in the absence of a policy.”

Kanefsky paused.

“I hope. I pray.”