I’m a proud gay Jew who was rejected by the LGBT+ community - The Jewish Chronicle

In my late teens I became more religious. I started to keep kosher, I went to shul and I studied at a yeshivah in Jerusalem in between my semesters at a British university. Deep down, I think I knew I was gay but because the thought terrified me so much I told myself if I became an observant Jew and married a woman, my problem, as I saw it, would be magically solved.

In the event, that did not happen, I am happy to say. Instead, I came out and renounced my religious identity to make room for the new real me.

Until then, my activism had been a mix of political and Jewish causes. In my early teens I had set up a recycling scheme at my local youth centre, organised charity events at shul and given a school assembly on the genocide in Darfur. I even arranged a coach from Manchester, where I am from, to London so my friends could join me in protesting against the massacres in Sudan. But once I came out, I ploughed my energy into gay causes.

My main areas of activism were banning conversion therapy, allowing gay men to donate blood and supporting LGBT+ people from religious backgrounds. I went on countless marches and even appeared on national news brandishing an especially colourful banner outside Downing Street. I joined a support group for LGBT+ people from different religious backgrounds and heard some harrowing stories. And I wrote and produced a short film about two young Jewish men in a secret relationship that was based on my own experiences and which explored the complexities of balancing both my sexual identity with my religious one.

It seemed the safe space of the LGBT+group was safe for everyone except openly Jewish me

But as the years crept by, I began to find Jewish spaces that were welcoming of LGBT+ people. The film I had made was shown at the UK Jewish Film Festival and screened at the JW3 Jewish cultural centre in London. Feeling glad and thankful, I began to slowly return to Judaism and the Jewish community while remaining a fierce advocate for gay causes. During lockdown, I volunteered with KeshetUK, the community’s LGBT+ education charity and with others shared my coming-out story on Zoom. Hundreds of Jews dialled in to listen to listen to their queer brothers and sisters. After years of grappling with who I was, I felt able to fully reconcile my Jewish and gay selves. I felt whole, and it was beautiful.

Then October 7 happened.

My short film was due to be played at a non-Jewish LGBT+ support group at the end of October. I hoped my friends (none of them Jewish) – some of whom had been kicked out of their homes and prevented from seeing their children because of their sexuality – were going to watch it and find some solace in it.

And then I got a message from the group’s organiser saying it wasn’t a good idea to screen it because he didn’t want me to be subject to unfair comments or questions about Israel’s war on Hamas in Gaza. A film about two religious gay men struggling with their sexuality, a film that does not mention Israel, which does not even mention Judaism explicitly, was deemed unsuitable in case people in the non-Jewish LGBT+ community could not stop themselves from attacking me after October 7. It seemed the so-called safe space of the group was safe for everyone apart from openly Jewish me.

Then, one by one, my gay friends began to abandon me. Gay friends who I’d met at the LGBT+ support group, at Pride and at protests, people I had brought along to Jewish events, who I had given a place to stay at hard times. I told them I needed support and understanding and none was forthcoming.

I told them I needed support and understanding and none was forthcoming

This time, my choice was very simple. My gay network had gone, but my Jewish one had not.

Look, I love being gay and still support the causes I did when I first came out. I continue to stand with the LGBT+ community as they fight for their rights but I now do this from the back rows. Now the bulk of my political energy is spent protecting the Jewish community.

I’ve been on protests against antisemitism waving my rainbow Israeli flag and I took part in a video series for Campaign Against Antisemitism in which I talked about being a proud gay Jew. This summer I am going to Israel with Birthright, which is hosting a trip exclusively for LGBT+ Jews, led by LGBT+ Israeli tour guides and which will focus on Israel’s queer history. Do I have to point out the significance of an LGBT+ trip to a country in the Middle East? Not to JC readers, I know.

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