In Queer Judaism: LGBT Activism and the Remaking of Jewish Orthodoxy in Israel, sociologist Orit Avishai examines more than fifteen years of LGBT Orthodox Jews’ community building and religious activism in Israel. She makes three interlinked arguments: First, she argues that Orthodox LGBT Israelis’ insistence that they exist—as both Orthodox and LGBT—has challenged definitions of what it means to be Orthodox. Second, Avishai argues that its activists’ moderate goals and homonormativity have led to their relative success in winning the support of (some) Orthodox allies. Third, she argues that religion, while often portrayed as an obstacle for LGBT people, actually supports Orthodox LGBT people in creating “livable lives.”
In the book’s introduction, Avishai describes the polarization among Israel’s Orthodox Jews on LGBT issues, with Orthodox liberals accepting LGBT people “as a challenge that Orthodoxy must solve” (3) on one side and reactionaries denying this reality on the other, leaving Orthodox LGBT folks caught in the middle. But theirs is largely a success story: over fifteen years, a new generation of Orthodox LGBT folks have come out of the closet, gained the support of some Orthodox leaders, and created masterful public narratives and images that defy conservatives’ claims that one cannot be LGBT and Orthodox. In telling these stories, Avishai highlights the resilience and changing dynamics within the Orthodox LGBT community in Israel.
The rest of the book analyzes how “unlivable” Orthodox LGBT folks’ lives were before this period and how they achieved these successes. In doing so, Avishai departs from a focus on “identity conflict” between religiosity and sexual diversity—a popular framework in sociology—and instead examines diverse individual stories of self-acceptance and their claims to be authentically Orthodox. The word “queer” in the book’s title belies that the author’s research participants are far more (homo)normative than queer. While she draws on queer theory, especially in the concepts of “livable lives” and “queer worldmaking,” Avishai focuses more on religious activism than queerness. As she demonstrates, the Orthodox LGBT folks who participated in her research were concerned with presenting themselves as Orthodox, which meant avoiding talk about sexuality or politics and instead presenting themselves as family- friendly.
Many of the themes of Ashivai’s book will be familiar to scholars of other queer religious movements and LGBTQ-inclusive communities: crises of faith, the search for others “like me,” the use of the internet to find community (eventually leading to in-person meetings), the grappling with and reinterpretation of religious texts, issues of authenticity and authority, and debates about the role of Pride events in representing sexuality vs. “feel-good family stories” about LGBT couples with children (86). But one of the key elements of success for Orthodox LGBT folks, which differs significantly from many other LGBT religious movements—especially queer-inclusive Muslim groups, the subject of my research—has been their ability to convince (some) straight religious leaders to come out in public support. This aspect sets their journey apart and highlights their unique path towards acceptance within the Orthodox community.
In telling the diverse stories of LGBT Orthodox Israelis, Ashivai draws more on interviews than participant observation. However, the few places where she includes ethnographically rich descriptions are evocative and captivating. For example, in chapter 1, she describes attending Tel Aviv’s Proud Minyan, an inclusive prayer space, in 2016, setting the scene with a thick description of the attendees, their clothing, interactions, and her frantic attempt to take notes in the bathroom since writing was forbidden during Yom Kippur. These vivid descriptions provide readers with a deeper understanding of the settings and experiences of the Orthodox LGBT community, adding a valuable layer of context to her research.
A thread throughout the book is Ashivai’s subtle critique of pinkwashing and her participants’ unspoken nationalism and apparent lack of concern for the plight of Palestinians. Although she never answers the question directly, in different ways, Ashivai repeatedly and rhetorically asks, “Is it even possible to speak of tolerance and inclusion in this irredeemably illiberal setting?” (192). The question itself implies an argument that Ashivai strategically avoids making explicitly. It would spark intriguing discussions in a classroom setting, as it prompts critical reflection on the complexities of pursuing tolerance and inclusion within a broader sociopolitical context.
Avishai's work offers a nuanced perspective on the intersection of Orthodox identity and LGBT experiences, challenging traditional sociological frameworks and shedding light on the complex interplay between Orthodoxy and LGBT identity in Israel. Queer Judaism will make a welcome addition to courses on Judaism, LGBTQ issues in religious communities, and lived religion, providing valuable insights into the evolving dynamics of these intersecting domains. I will also recommend it to the queer-inclusive religious groups with which I’m involved as we grapple with similar questions of activism, inclusion, normativity, and orthodoxy.
Katrina Daly Thompson is Evjue-Bascom Professor in the Humanities at the University of Wisconsin-Madison.
Katrina Thompson
Date Of Review:
September 26, 2023
