LGBTQI+

L

L – as in lesbian

And in Judaism?

Same-gender relationships are a complex subject in Judaism. Despite stereotypes, not all Orthodox Jewish communities reject homosexuality and homosexual people. In the United States, there is a rich subculture of queer (more on this adjective under Q) traditionalists, Orthodox queer people, Modern Orthodox queer rights activists, and queer Orthodox congregations. Nevertheless, the rough rule of thumb is that Reform Judaism is more open-minded than Orthodox Judaism, and lesbianness is considered less of a violation of Jewish law than gayness.

Still, the Tanakh (the Hebrew Bible) includes one of history’s most beautiful lesbian love stories, that of Ruth and Naomi. Although this text – including the declarations of love between the two women – is traditionally read as a symbol of solidarity among women, in the practice of re-reading or queer reading, it is seen as an example of lesbian representation in Jewish scripture.

G

G – as in gay

And in Judaism?

In many Orthodox communities, relationships and sex between men are considered to be a violation against the commandment to be fruitful and multiply. The story of Sodom is used as evidence that G-d is against relationships and especially sex between men. Yet upon reading the story, it is clear that the focus of divine retribution is not on sexuality, but on sexualized violence. The narrative does not portray any consensual relationship between two men that G-d would punish. Rather, this is an act of pure violence in which feverish Sodomites attempt to gain sexual access to three angels against their will. The result of this attempted assault is the downfall of two cities. Predominantly Reform, feminist, and queer interpretations therefore read the story of Sodom and Gomorrah as a clear condemnation of sexualized violence, not as a warning against homosexuality. From a queer reading, the story of David and Jonathan in the Book of Samuel attests to gay love in the Tanakh.

B

The B is a bit trickier: B for bi or bisexual

What might sound like slight nuanced differences in fact conceal political debates around the question of self-positioning and the dimensions between sexuality and desire, romance, relationships and physicality, passion, and lived realities.

And in Judaism?

Q

Q – for queer. This term, first coined in US English, has no easy German-language equivalent. Originally used as a slur, it was reclaimed by activists in the 1980s and 1990s as a self-designation. The concept eventually arrived in Germany, where there are very diverse substantive ideas about its meaning and definition. First, it was primarily used politically and in regard to various dimensions of discrimination. Today, the word “queer” is often used as a catch-all for people who diverge from society’s preconceptions about gender, desire, sexuality, and relationships.

And in Judaism?

If we trace queerness back to the political movement of calling existing structures into question and reevaluating systems in keeping with the times, queerness and Judaism are actually soul sisters. Questioning lies at the foundation of Jewish thinking, and these questions must be asked afresh over and over. This goes hand in hand with the knowledge that there are no clear answers, and certainly no simple ones. We reread the Torah every year from the start in the knowledge that what we read changes because we change: the context of our reading changes, and what we need to get out of the text changes. Judaism has a long tradition of transformations and changeability. Queerness places faith in changeability and is, itself, the transformation to structural change.

+/*

The plus sign or asterisk represents the idea that a list of lived realities always leaves out many unseen ones. It symbolizes the knowledge that the list is never complete and never a perfect fit: that gender and desire are too complex to be able to be summed up in a row of letters, and that it is in fact debatable whether gender and desire should share the same list at all.

And in Judaism?

Over the past few years, within Jewish communities in Germany, there has been a growing consciousness of the need to pay attention to the gaps. Since the 1980s, groups, activists, initiatives, and associations in Germany have been pointing out that Jewish places must also be places for Jewish LGBTQI+ people. Conversely, ample awareness-raising efforts have been made to ensure that LGBTQI+ communities can be homes for LGBTQI+ Jews. In fact, Judaism has a long tradition of creating space for people who otherwise go unheard. For this reason, in Jewish jurisprudence, a verdict is considered invalid if it is reached by consensus. This is because if everyone is unanimous with no contradictions, other perspectives must be missing. The judges sit in a circle, but for this very reason, that circle is never closed. Only if the permanent presence of vacancies is known and space is set aside for them can other people step in and hopefully fill those vacancies.

The symbol of the vacancy is not an admission of failure, but a space in which knowledge can grow and in which neglected considerations are invited into the canon. The circle broadens, but the gap is never closed because there is always a need to reserve space for the unknown, for the forgotten, for people still finding their voices, and for people who simply have not been listened to yet. The symbolic asterisk or plus sign in the historical practice. Theoretically speaking...

Debora Antmann is a columnist and political educator working at the intersection between Judaism, feminism, and queer studies. She has published about the history of the Jewish feminist movement in variety of media. By now, not only is she a member of the Jewish Museum Berlin’s Digital & Publishing team, but she can even be seen in the permanent exhibition on one of the 21 screens of the Mesubin installation.