Nine months ago, after Oct. 7, many people in my life started being more intentional about showing up as Jewish in public spaces. People I have known for years, who have rarely or never worn Judaica, began wearing yarmulkes and other visible symbols to express their Jewish identity; there has even been a run on Star of David paraphernalia.
For many Jews, this is the first time they are consistently conscious of how they appear to those around them. Many are making the very vulnerable and intentional choice to wear a visible symbol or star to say, “this is who I am, and I am proud to be this person.”
I deeply understand feeling a need to make a proactive choice about how I show up in my community and in the world. As a queer woman who grew up closeted and Orthodox, I know what it’s like to pretend to be someone I am not. I know what it’s like to shift the language I use or the clothes I wear to suit the people around me or to disguise my true self.
I also know what it’s like to make the choice to be who you are out loud, even when it feels dangerous. I know how hard it can be to take a risk and express yourself as part of a group of people that others might not like — to constantly walk into a room and feel like you are a human representation of the unpopular opinion. I know what it’s like to be vulnerable to allow others to be who they are — to be vulnerable themselves.
Wearing a Star of David necklace or a yarmulke today feels exactly the same to me as hanging a rainbow flag or sporting a Pride pin. Both are acts of resilience and expressions of identity in the face of adversity. They send a clear message: We are stronger than you think and we are not going anywhere.
Though the Pride movement and Judaism have a long, interwoven history, antisemitism is no stranger to Pride. In recent years, there have been some Pride organizers that banned Jewish Pride flags in their marches. Unfortunately, however, this year feels different. It is different. For so many queer, Jewish teens today, the discrimination is coming from every direction.
Regardless of any political position or belief, everyone deserves a place where they can be their full self — that’s why I do the work that I do as the executive director of JQY, which runs the first and only LGBTQ Jewish drop-in center in the country.
We are committed to carving out space for queer identities within Jewish communities and Jewish identities within queer communities — ensuring that the youth we work with know their emotional and physical health and safety are prioritized, cared for, and protected. We work to ensure that they have a place to be themselves, where their self-image can be strengthened and they can build collective self-esteem after experiencing societal pressures and discrimination in the world.
Pride is about being your whole self, unapologetically. The expectation to check parts of oneself at the door is exhausting, isolating, and disheartening. As queer people — and Jewish people — know, Pride means collective self-esteem, no matter who you are. It’s never been more important to acknowledge that Pride isn’t just about rainbows and sparkles. It’s about building a community where we can be our fullest selves — and feel great about it.
The New York Jewish queer community is marching today, committing to showing up as our whole selves. My self-worth is not just about me as an individual, but it is tied to the groups of people that I am part of.
This month — and year-round — I urge those who would prefer we not show up at Pride as Jewish — and who prefer we not show up as queer in Jewish spaces — to consider what’s lost when queer Jewish youth learn (once again) that they will not be accepted because of who they are.
It is my hope that a renewed sense of Pride can help us all heal. To both my Jewish and queer communities; I hope that this experience leads us to build a stronger community that doesn’t ask our youth to check a part of themselves at the door.
I hope we can build collective understanding: Wearing a Star of David necklace is not all that different from wearing a Pride pin. It’s about proudly taking up space, celebrating diversity, and not having to ask permission to be who you are.
Fried is executive director of JQY, which runs the first and only LGBTQ Jewish drop-in center in the country.
