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Trembling Before G-d
May. 13th, 2002 01:06 amTonight I went to see a movie called Trembling Before G-d with Lara and Steve. It was a documentary about various people who are struggling with being both Hasidic or Orthodox Jews and also homosexuals. It was about the need to hide or fear being ostracized. It was a movie that made me think.
I take an awful lot for granted sometimes. I live in comfort and stability within my spiritual community and my faith, and I don't usually think about it. As a Unitarian Universalist, being queer is never an issue. Heck, neither is anything else, really. That's one of the perks! But then I got to thinking about how for orthodox and hasidic jews, religious services are only a small piece of the picture. There is an entire community, an entire lifestyle, and an entire support system that is in danger of being pulled out from under someone for admitting and/or acting on queerness.
I think of the man who snapped a rubber band on his wrist to try to condition away same-sex desires. I think of the woman with the husband, the woman who asked for a platonic relationship and was denied it. I think of the woman who cries because her father, the rabbi, calls her only because he feels it is his duty to do so. I think of the young man sent to Israel because "there are not gay people there." I think of the respected rabbi who says that he will hold the hand of his struggling gay Jewish brothers, "but only figuratively."
There was a shot of a woman standing outside of a fence. Inside the fence was a small carnival or street festival, and lots of families were playing within. Children were riding amusement rides and playing Whack-a-Mole, people had cotton candy, everyone was having a good time. She was standing outside the fence. She didn't belong. She was afraid to step inside. I felt so strongly for her.
I have lost nothing - not my family, not my friends, not my support system, not my faith, not my Higher Power, not my community, not my job - nothing. I have a comfort and a stability in my life that some of these people will never know. These people, they struggle with heartache every day, struggle with why G-d would give them a soul that was tainted, that they should bear a constant struggle. I realize that persevering through struggle is synonymous with Judaism in some ways, but why would G-d give this struggle to only some people? It's almost like it is equated with a disability or a terminal illness. (G-d gave mother cancer, father heart disease, brother scoliosis, and sister lesbianism?)
To hear the woman's father halfhearted wish her a "good shabbos," to hear the older man's father give excuses why he's too busy to see his son after 20 years - that was difficult. But to see that woman, and that man, in the arms of their partners, having their struggles understood and supported, well, that just gives me hope.
Summary: Trembling Before G-d - Sobering. I am very fortunate indeed.
I take an awful lot for granted sometimes. I live in comfort and stability within my spiritual community and my faith, and I don't usually think about it. As a Unitarian Universalist, being queer is never an issue. Heck, neither is anything else, really. That's one of the perks! But then I got to thinking about how for orthodox and hasidic jews, religious services are only a small piece of the picture. There is an entire community, an entire lifestyle, and an entire support system that is in danger of being pulled out from under someone for admitting and/or acting on queerness.
I think of the man who snapped a rubber band on his wrist to try to condition away same-sex desires. I think of the woman with the husband, the woman who asked for a platonic relationship and was denied it. I think of the woman who cries because her father, the rabbi, calls her only because he feels it is his duty to do so. I think of the young man sent to Israel because "there are not gay people there." I think of the respected rabbi who says that he will hold the hand of his struggling gay Jewish brothers, "but only figuratively."
There was a shot of a woman standing outside of a fence. Inside the fence was a small carnival or street festival, and lots of families were playing within. Children were riding amusement rides and playing Whack-a-Mole, people had cotton candy, everyone was having a good time. She was standing outside the fence. She didn't belong. She was afraid to step inside. I felt so strongly for her.
I have lost nothing - not my family, not my friends, not my support system, not my faith, not my Higher Power, not my community, not my job - nothing. I have a comfort and a stability in my life that some of these people will never know. These people, they struggle with heartache every day, struggle with why G-d would give them a soul that was tainted, that they should bear a constant struggle. I realize that persevering through struggle is synonymous with Judaism in some ways, but why would G-d give this struggle to only some people? It's almost like it is equated with a disability or a terminal illness. (G-d gave mother cancer, father heart disease, brother scoliosis, and sister lesbianism?)
To hear the woman's father halfhearted wish her a "good shabbos," to hear the older man's father give excuses why he's too busy to see his son after 20 years - that was difficult. But to see that woman, and that man, in the arms of their partners, having their struggles understood and supported, well, that just gives me hope.
Summary: Trembling Before G-d - Sobering. I am very fortunate indeed.
