Shout: The Pride Parade and the Quest for Identity

I'm pretty liberal on any given day and I live in New York City, so I've seen a lot in my life. I've been to the Village Halloween Parade, I have gay friends (Jewish and non-), and I used to take an aerobics class taught by a man who wore four-inch gold eyelashes, a blonde wig, and four-inch platform combat boots during class. But I admit it, watching someone in drag in the middle of Jerusalem's Independence Park ask if there were any "straightim" or "homoim" or "lezbiot" there, and asking us to cheer for ourselves at the appropriate moment, was a bit surreal.

Part of it was shock because as obsessed as I am with Hebrew, there's a whole contemporary vocabulary that I'm missing, including any words to support lifestyles that are out of the traditional, yeshiva-taught context. (You may even argue that the above terms are, in fact, not Hebrew at all.) But part of it was the fact that I was "gaycrashing" (thanks, Urban Dictionary, for naming it), and felt like a stranger in a strange land: I went to support my friends who were going, to support the right to assemble that I've imported from America into the Jewish state, to--in some small way--perhaps protest the rabbinic stronghold on what should and shouldn't happen in Jerusalem, and in tribute to the diversity of this year's ROI Summit and in personal (unannounced) tribute to a friend of mine who recently came out to family members. But I wasn't sure I really belonged there.

While there, I saw signs urging us to stop labeling people, and urging us to embrace acceptance, and was particularly interested--as I have been since seeing the remarkable "Trembling Before G-d"--in the groups of gay women and men who still want to remain religious, to stay within a world that views them as an abomination.

Despite my initial bit of discomfort with the drag queen's questions, it did spark a thought process for me that had very little to do with sexual identity, per se. When the announcer called out "straightim," I should have shouted loud, "yes, I'm straight and I'm here for my gay friends!" But I didn't--partly because I felt a little self-conscious just being there--feeling like, on some level, I had no right to stand there. But mostly I stayed quiet about my sexual identity because I liked being part of a crowd united in purpose, without stratification according to orientation or any other parameter.

I have these earrings, dangling stars of David, that I rarely wear in New York. They're not subtle. And although I'm not ashamed of being Jewish, and don't fear anti-Semitism much in New York City, they're a little much. Do I want my earrings to announce me ("Incoming Jewess!!") before I have the chance to do anything else? But I wear them here in Israel. They're still not subtle, but here they proclaim something that everyone already knows or assumes.

I'm not fooling anyone. Anyone who reads anything I write knows I'm Jewish. But which part of my identity was I so proud of that I would be willing to shout it in a park in front of people? Jewish? Woman? Writer? Blogger? Doda? Involved in this level of self-analysis and identity dissection, I just didn't know.

Which parts of your life are so personal that you'd refrain from proclaiming one way or another, not out of shame, but out of a commitment to your own privacy, and a desire to not be defined by one single quality in a complicated human life? And can the desire to self-proclaim only emerge from a history of repression and secrecy?

As usual, more questions than answers. Maybe that's what I get for being in Jerusalem, a city of Jews answering questions with other questions.

Comments

[Your Fellow American]

Esther take a time out and celebrate our country's birthday, yeah that's the ticket!