
Letter to the Editor: In the Absence of Dan Lechaf Zchus
When I first heard that someone had written a response to my article, I was glad people were engaging with it and prepared myself to write a counter response after reviewing its arguments. Yet, my claims went wholly unaddressed.
I asserted that most students at YU — regardless of their social views — would never knowingly say or do something to hurt a peer. Nonetheless, there is a culture of permissibility whereby a vocal minority feels very comfortable being overtly bigoted at YU. To remedy this, I suggested patiently and kindly calling out harassment. The respondent paid lip service to the central claim, saying, “Obviously, nobody should be harassed,” before embarking on a vague, tenuously related rant where he justified such harassment, saying: “Instead of recognizing the incompatibility of certain values, those confused insist upon acceptance.” This is before contradicting himself, denying such harassment occurs: “The whole narrative of victimhood — the tale of individuals being targeted and exposed is not in touch with reality — it’s a false narrative.” Is the harassment I decried an integral element of YU’s values, or does it not exist? Both can’t be true. Seeing little point in addressing a self-contradicting argument and being more than a little busy with finals, I put my plans for a response on the back burner.
Yet, as I sat on my shabby gray couch, sheltering from the snow and catching up on Chitas this past Shabbos, it occurred to me that what the letter provides is an example of what is an all too common experience of queer Jews as well as for many who don’t fit the mold in the frum world. Regardless of what you actually say, do or believe, there are those who look past you, going to lengths to assume hidden motivations and malicious intent rather than engaging with you as a Jew, as a human. Put simply, a total absence of dan lechaf zchus (judging others favorably).
My asking in the politest of terms that students not harass their peers and gently speak up when harassment occurs — something spelled out explicitly in YU’s policies — was called “anti-Torah.” I and others were branded heretics with terms such as “Reform” and “revisionist” and stamped as one who believes “all is permissible.” The desire to provide a sense of community and well-being for queer Jews was labeled, in Evangelical language, an “unholy crusade” and “cruel”. The list goes on — not one sefer or halacha being cited. While it’s neatly packaged here in writing, this is a familiar experience for every queer Jew, and for many straight cisgender Jews as well.
What does this have to do with speaking respectfully? We’d need Moshiach to restore the Sanhedrin to find an answer.
By the respondent’s own admission, these conclusions draw not from what is written, nor any external source, but from his imagination: “The author cannot paint a different picture because the unsaid in his article is very apparent.” The one source he does quote in his tirade is YU’s Q&A, yet he ignores that document’s firm stance against discrimination expressed in the very same paragraph.
When discussing queerphobia at YU and in the Jewish world at large, this is what we mean: Animalistic aggression is based on ignorance, not reason, not knowledge and certainly not halacha. Halacha is not homophobic because it restricts specific homosexual acts — just as it’s not heterophobic for its numerous restrictions on specific heterosexual acts. It does not mandate but rather prohibits verbal abuse against others. Halacha is the unchanging will of the Living G-d Who alone truly exists. But what we’re all too often greeted with is arbitrary, ever-shifting outbursts that fail to engage with individual Yidden — who are kadosh, with halacha, or with Hashem, but merely reflect the speaker’s own anxieties and prejudices.
To the respondent, when you look upon your fellow Jews, do you see — in the words of the Tanya — the one soul we share, the singular essence conceived in divine thought prior to all creation? Or do you merely see a projection of those dark places in your mind that terrify you? In calling our yearning for respect, dignity and equality “alien” and “cruel,” what room do you leave for us in “this religiously driven environment” we all made a “personal choice” to attend? How can we live when any attempt at dignity is spat upon? How can we serve G-d with joy when your deafness and blindness would cast us into an empty, waterless pit of sorrow and humiliation?
Baruch Hashem, reality is not determined by mere individual phantasms but by divine speech which brings all things into being in every moment, as our master, the Baal Shem Tov, put so simply. In every moment, G-d wills that queer religious Jews exist, always have and forever shall. Being a Yid is not a choice, being queer is not a choice and being a queer Yid is not a choice. We form the minyanim where you daven; we engage our lifeforce — Torah — at the same yeshiva you do; we inherit the same suprarational love of G-d from Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov that you do. As we do these, the very same Shechina (Divine presence) that rests upon others rests upon us. We are not like you; we are you.
Hashem, my G-d and the G-d of my father z”l, conceived my Jewish soul prior to all worlds and in every moment creates me as queer Jew. It is incumbent upon me — and every Jew, regardless of sexuality or gender — to work towards serving Him with my entire heart, both of my souls and all my strength. This remains the case regardless of whether you’re willing to see and acknowledge us as your siblings. Here we stand, here we remain until the coming of Moshiach speedily in our days.
Photo Caption: Yeshiva University
Photo Credit: Yeshiva University / Flickr