Friends & Family Edited by Dan Woog ******** Every Day the Rabbi Helps Gays David Horowitz When it comes to condemning homosexuality, Reform Judaism is seldom mentioned in the same breath as Mormonism or the Christian Coalition. This most liberal (and popular) branch of American Judaism preaches acceptance and support of all people; there is no room at all for the “hate the sin, love the sinner” rhetoric found in some Christian churches, or for that matter among most Orthodox Jews. Nevertheless, for many Jewish people, homosexuality remains an abstract issue. They seldom ponder it in concrete, personal terms. Gay Jews live their lives as they please, form relationships, even join temples--but for the most part, they do all that away from the public eye. Like many religions, Judaism is family-oriented, and for much of history, Jewish gays have existed alongside their Protestant and Catholic counterparts: on the fringes. Rabbi David Horowitz’s lack of awareness of gay Jews was typical. The Miami native had been ordained in 1969, then served in several Midwestern cities before moving in 1983 to Temple Israel, the oldest (founded in 1885) and largest (650 families) congregation in Akron, Ohio. Until June 1990, he says, he did not know for certain that any member of his temple was gay. He had never even thought about gay children, siblings, or parents. Suddenly, the day before graduating from Ohio State University, his eldest child, Wendy, came out to Rabbi Horowitz and his wife, Toby. “It was absolutely a surprise,” the silver-haired, warmly smiling rabbi recalls. “When she told us there was something important we had to hear, we thought she was going to tell us she was marrying a guy we were not too thrilled with.” Not exactly. But Rabbi Horowitz overcame his initial shock, and with rabbinic dedication began learning as much as he could about homosexuality. Wendy provided her parents with many resources; her father found others on his own. He read books, watched videos, and talked and listened to colleagues, friends, and gay people. Within a few weeks he was attending PFLAG meetings. (His wife beat him there, he claims, only because he had a scheduling conflict the first time.) Within two or three weeks, coincidentally, the Central Conference of American Rabbis met in Seattle; on the agenda was a debate over the ordination of gay rabbis. “Even before Wendy came out I had planned to support it, but all of a sudden it became a very personal issue for me,” Rabbi Horowitz says. “There was no doubt it would pass, but I remember listening to the debate hoping no one would quote Leviticus 18:22. Sure enough, someone did.” That biblical passage contains, of course, the famous prohibition of homosexuality: “Man shall not lie with another man, for it is an abomination.” (Leviticus also prohibits cursing one’s parents, eating shellfish, and touching the skin of a dead pig. It says nothing at all about lesbians.) Rabbi Horowitz rose from his seat, noted another Levitical prohibition--adultery--and said, “You know what we usually do with adulterers? We make them members of our boards of trustees.” That line got plenty of laughs and lots of press. Suddenly, with two sentences, Rabbi Horowitz became a gay rights activist. His life moved in a new direction, but he recognized he was ill-prepared for his new role. He still felt extremely ignorant. As he and Toby talked, they realized they had to be out as the parents of a lesbian. Within a few months, Rabbi Horowitz recognized that also meant being open with his congregation. By that time Wendy was living with a woman in Dayton, and her father did not want that to remain secret. When he told the congregation, many things happened. All, Rabbi Horowitz stresses, were positive. “I went from knowing no one who was gay in my congregation to knowing over 200--that’s gay people or those who have gay siblings, children, or parents,” he says. “As soon as I came out, all kinds of people flooded out as well.” The exodus from the closet continues, nearly a decade later, at a rate the rabbi estimates at one a week. Some come out loudly, others in whispers. But they keep on coming. The week before he was interviewed for this book, Rabbi Horowitz attended a meeting with Akron school administrators to discuss gay youngsters’ needs for safe, secure learning environments. He mentioned knowing 200 gay people. After the meeting a woman followed him into the hall and whispered simply, “201.” As he continued to speak loudly and clearly about gay issues, the rabbi felt some backlash. He expected it and was ready. “People say ‘OK, I know this means a lot to you, but why do you have to make it the congregation’s issue?’ My answer is, there are three reasons: religious, political, and personal. First, homosexuality affects large numbers of people in Judaism overall, and this congregation specifically. Second, I see this as the civil rights issue of our time. I was active in the black civil rights movement in the 1960s; now I’m active in this one. And third, I would want my daughter’s rabbi to reach out to her in the same way I’m reaching out to someone else’s daughter.” The comments intensified in 1997. During High Holy Days services, which Temple Israel holds at the University of Akron Performing Arts Center, Rabbi Horowitz arranged for a “Love Makes a Family” exhibit to hang in the foyer. The photographs of gay and lesbian couples and children demonstrate powerfully that love--not sexuality--truly defines a family. The rabbi made clear that the exhibit was sponsored by the temple, not the college. Although only one congregant complained directly to him (and, he notes with satisfaction, several good discussions about it ensued), other members expressed their displeasure to the board. When the directors asked the rabbi why he had not warned them in advance about the exhibit, he replied, “Would I have to tell you I was bringing in an exhibit called ‘Love Makes a Heterosexual Family?’ ” Following his report on the exhibit, board members applauded. Rabbi Horowitz’s relations with his directors are generally good. In 1998 the board welcomed its first openly gay member. “We don’t have a lot of Jews in Akron to begin with, but we’ve added gay Jews to our congregation, and the board is grateful for the added income,” he laughs. Turning serious, he states that his gay activism has never been an issue for the directors. The rabbi’s efforts to make his congregation gay-friendly extend beyond his board and the photographic exhibit. He keeps 15 different gay-related pamphlets on his desk, hoping anyone who wants to talk about gay issues will feel comfortable. The idea came from a colleague, after Rabbi Horowitz asked how people might learn about his openness in discussing homosexuality. The man told him to get piles of books and pamphlets, then added gently, “You should read them too.” When the Akron Beacon-Journal ran a story on gay youth, a photo of Rabbi Horowitz’s literature-laden desk ran on the front page. The rabbi also performs same-sex weddings, including, in 1997, Cleveland’s first. He insists, however, that all gay or lesbian couples requesting a ceremony meet the same criteria he sets for interfaith straight marriages. “I tell everyone the same thing: At least one person must be a member of this congregation, and they must assure me that after they are married there will be only one religion--Judaism--in their home.” To do anything else, he says, would be to take gay relationships less seriously than straight ones. Temple Israel’s religious school includes programs on human sexuality. At Rabbi Horowitz’s insistence, youngsters are taught that some of them will grow up to be attracted to the same gender--and that’s fine. “So if I am accused of telling kids it’s OK to be gay, that’s right, I do,” the rabbi says. Beyond the temple walls, Rabbi Horowitz is very active in PFLAG. He serves as the Akron chapter’s vice president of programming and heads up its speakers’ bureau. He also sits on the national PFLAG board of directors and participates in religion workshops around the country. His wife, Toby, is copresident of the local chapter. Under the couple’s leadership, the average monthly attendance has quintupled to 70. In some parts of the country, PFLAG is viewed as a Christian organization. “Chapters have to meet somewhere, and in many places that means in understanding churches,” Rabbi Horowitz explains. “Some Catholic leaders in Cleveland thought PFLAG was Episcopalian, because that’s where that chapter meets. In Akron our chapter always meets at a Presbyterian church. But PFLAG tries to take an areligious position, and I can’t spend a lot of time worrying about what other people think.” Rabbi Horowitz’s speaking engagements carry him beyond PFLAG and into the business world. When the company Wendy worked for, NCR, was purchased by AT&T, she became active in AT&T LEAGUE (Lesbian And Gay United Employees), and recommended her father as a speaker. In May of 1991 he traveled to Washington, D.C., to conduct a workshop on family relationships. Of the 200 gay employees and allies attending the LEAGUE conference, 160 showed up for his seminar; the other 40 were spread among three concurrent workshops dealing with corporate issues. “They came not because of me--my daughter was the only one who knew who I was--but because while they’d already made their peace with corporate America, they had not made peace with their families, and those were the people who mattered most,” he explains. “I was completely taken aback. So many people were afraid; lots of them were not even out to the ones they loved and who loved them. That’s when I realized that that was where the work really needed to be done: family to family.” Rabbi Horowitz now leads annual workshops for AT&T and Lucent, its corporate spin-off. How does all this gay activity fit in with his role as a religious leader? Very easily, the rabbi insists. “Reform Judaism has been exemplary,” he says. “On every resolution concerning gay issues since 1977, my religion has been more and more accepting. That makes my life easier. I don’t have to buck my religion; in fact, I have its support.” He cannot, however, deny the existence of Leviticus--the Old Testament thunderbolt calling homosexuality an abomination. “From a religious point of view that is the only thing I have to deal with, but it’s a big one,” he admits. “No matter how much I dislike it, I have to acknowledge that is what the text says. But as a rabbi I also have to bring my own knowledge and intellect to that text, as I do to all text. For example, the Bible assumes that the sun revolves around a flat earth. We know that is not true. Well, we also know that homosexuality is, for a large number of people, a fact of life. People used to think that homosexuality was a rebellious, idolatrous rejection of God. I believe that God should be a part of everyone’s life, gay or straight. Our job as Jews is to see that and to see gay Jews as part of our religious tradition.” He knows not everyone sees things that way. If they did, there would be no need for special outreach congregations for gay Jews. At the same time, he looks forward to the day when the need for a gay congregation disappears. The rabbi links his gay activism with his activism on behalf of African-Americans in the 1960s and his protests against the Vietnam War a decade later. “It’s a tradition of Judaism that all people have equal opportunities and equal justice,” he explains. “I take literally the idea that we are all created by God.” As a clergyman he participates in many interfaith activities. He welcomes opportunities to discuss with ministers and their boards the “open and affirming” church movement. (Judaism does not have a similar phrase, he notes--“it’s just part of who we are.”) He is proud that one friend, a hospital chaplain, has placed a SAFE SPACE sticker on his door. Rabbi Horowitz revels in the new relationships he has forged through his activism in both the gay and interfaith movements. He counts among his good friends Mel White, a gay minister and former ghostwriter for Jerry Falwell, Pat Robertson, and Billy Graham, who came out of the closet to write the groundbreaking book Stranger at the Gate: To Be Gay and Christian in America. “I consider myself very lucky. Without the accident of who Wendy is, I never would have had the opportunity to cross paths with men and women like that.” An incident involving a young Jewish man best epitomizes Rabbi Horowitz’s connection with the gay world. In 1993 he and Toby attended the March on Washington. A million others were there, and the parade was so long that PFLAG, the contingent the Horowitzes marched with, finished long before Wendy’s group, AT&T LEAGUE, even began. So the rabbi and his wife set off from the Mall back down the parade route, searching for their daughter. Along the way he was stopped by the sister of a colleague, herself a rabbinical student, who embraced him. She had not been out to Rabbi Horowitz, so he was pleased she felt open enough to hail him. A few minutes later, still seeking Wendy, he passed a contingent from Miami University of Ohio. One of the students screamed “Rabbi!” then raced from the group and hugged him. Turning to his friends, the young man said, “This is my rabbi.” Nothing, Rabbi Horowitz says, has ever made him more proud. PFLAG can be reached at 1101 14th Street NW, Suite 1030, Washington, D.C. 20005, telephone (202) 638-4200, fax (202) 638-0243, Web site www.pflag.org. Friends & Family: True Stories of Gay America's Straight Allies 1555834914

©1999 Alyson Publications
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