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Lesbian copes With faith

by Suzi

When J. and I became a couple in
1979, 1 (who had been straight until
then) was more concerned about her
being the wrong religion than I was
about her being the wrong sex. T0 Inc.
it was her not being Jewish that meant
we couldn't get married and have the
family I'd imagined. She was exactly
what I wanted in a partner, but for
that. My expectations for grownup
happiness depended more on having an
enlightened-but- traditional Jewish
wedding with lots of Jewish dancing
and joy, and a chance later to raise
Jewishly well-educated and happy
children, than they did on having a
husband.

For some reason, lesbianism never
felt to me like even a minor
transgression. But intermarriage -- that
was the ultimate Jewish sin. I felt bad.

Lesbians and gay men sometimes
find it hard to acknowledge the extra
stress that intermarriage can bring --
just because we have enough problems.
It's hard enough to relate to the rest of
the world as a lesbian. And it’s hard to
stay connected to traditional religion if
you're a feminist, let alone a lesbian
feminist. (Judaism is like other
male-dominated religions in this respect
-- but not worse, as I've heard said by
people ignorant of Jewish history.)

Adding a non-Jewish partner to an
at best tenuously affiliated or observant

Leather group meets
by Bob Mundstock ‘

Sixteen gay men gathered in
Montpelier on February 15th to talk
about leather and "S & M: what it is,
what it is not." Discussion ranged from
questions from those who were curious
but inexperienced to an expression of
concern about how the S & M
community is perecievd in both the gay
and straight communities.

The sixteen men at the meeting
were from across the state and included
three guests from New York and
Massachusetts.

Organizers credited the “Out in the
Mountains” community events calendar
with being a major help in publicizing
the event and helping to produce the
large turnout.

Future gatherings, with both social
events and discussions, are planned.
./anyone interested in further
information can contact the group at
Box 74l, Montpelier, VT 05602.

Want to reach a statewide audience
of thousands of lesbians and gay men?
AdvI::'i:i:e in "Out in the Mountains."
deadlines, write to "Out in the

Mountains," Box 438, Hinesburg, VT
05461

lesbian or gay Jew is sometimes the
last straw. We already fight enough. It
becomes easier to forget the whole
thing, to ignore culture, history, or
what may be particularly Jewish needs.
It becomes hard to admit there may be
real differences between Jews and
gentiles -- strengthening and enriching,
and sometimes painful differences. But
ignoring our Jewishness is as sad and
unnecessary as ignoring our gayness.

In J.‘s and my early days, I once
talked to talked to a lesbian rabbi
friend about my disappointment in the
way my Jewish-wedding-and-family
dreams turned out. Trying to comfort
me, she said that she would marry us.
Really? I asked. imagining for a second
the clapping and dancing, the exuberant
singing at our wedding. She said, "Of
course, if J. converts.“ My heart sank. I
knew J. wouldn't consider it. She
doesn't like religion in general, having
grown up Presbyterian in Texas. And
more importantly, she's happy with who
she is. My friend was offering to marry
two women. She didn't understand that
this wasn't the problem.

So, I struggled. I didn't want J. to
feel bad for lacking something I
happened to want, when she was
perfectly fine and whole. But of course
she did, whenever I mentioned my
sadness. Who wouldn't? I knew I had to

get over it.
Meanwhile, J. was most supportive
of my Judaism -- from the beginning.

She joined my observance when she
could. When we decided to live
together, she agreed that we would
keep our house kosher. She knew what
the rules were by then -- at least as I
interpret them. And she understood that
we wouldn't shop together or do the
laundry or any other work on Saturday,
the Jewish sabbath. We wanted it to be
a special day for the two of us. We
disagreed at times on what constituted
work, and we still do, at times. (In
Jewish terms, work is not simply
activity you don't like; it's anything
involved with the "work" of creating. J.
is an artist for whom creating is not
work.)

When Christmas came around that
year, I said I didn't want to have a
tree. J. said she knew plenty of Jews
who had pine trees -- Christmas trees
or Hanukkah bushes -- but she didn't
really care, because we weren't going to
be home anyway. In those days, we
went to our respective families‘ houses
in Texas.

By the time we were spending
Christmas together at our house several
years later, I didn't feel the same way.
In fact, just as she's sometimes the one
who remembers we need wine for
Friday night kiddush (though she
doesn't drink), I became the one who
wanted a tree -- for both our sakes. I
liked it because it was green and
smelled good and the lights were pretty,

and she liked it because it symbolized
the family love and childhood
excitement that for her are the essence
of Christmas.

A couple of things had happened: I
now knew the extent of J.‘s respect for
my Jewishness and my needs, and I
had come to value her family traditions
(which are more pagan than Christian:
an enormous, red stocking full of
presents -- and a tree -- at Christmas,
big family dinners at Easter, mushy
cards the rest of the year). I could
enjoy them -- at least in private --
without losing myself.

In some ways we have arrived at a
typical mixed marriage between Jew
and gentile. In December we light
Hanukkah candles, give a few
Hanukkah presents, decorate a pine tree
with lights and handmade ornaments
and a Kiss—me-I'm-Jewish button on the
top, cat latkes, and, on the 25th, open
more presents. When Easter and
Passover fall close together, we have
dyed eggs at our seder table.

The difference is, of course, that
we're both women. So it's a little more
complicated.

I wish that choosing to go to
services on Saturday morning didn't
mean I had to leave J. But I know
that even if she were Jewish, she
wouldn't go to synagogue, because she's
not religious. (I don't consider myself
religious either, but I like to go to
synagogue occasionally, for the
gathering of the community.
Unfortunately, the traditional
community is full of homophobia. But I
must note that the one rabbi in
Burlington with whom I've spoken
openly, at the Reform temple, has
welcomed me and J., warmly.)

Sometimes I wish J. knew more
Jewish songs. But being Jewish is no
guarantee of knowing Jewish songs.
Besides, what kind of songs? Israeli,
Yiddish, Hassidic, Sephardic? There are
so many ways to be Jewish. Anyway, J.
knows the Shabbat and holiday
blessings, and she's learned songs from
me. She's also taught me some -- like a
silly kids’ song about fruit that we've
incorporated into our Tu b‘Shcvat seder
(the New Year for Trees). And I know
her songs because as a Jew you can
hardly help but pick them up from
mainstream culture.

There are times when I feel
particularly torn, and go through
dramatic agonies of indecision -- when
I have to choose between leaving J. to
go to a gathering of Jewish women, for
example, and staying home. Sometimes I
go, sometimes I stay. That choice will
always be hard, because usually I
prefer her company. But sometimes I
long for the particular comfort of a
roomful of Jews.

It makes sense that I feel the pull
of both. Being with J. and being
Jewish are my two greatest joys.