Introduction

Few social issues facing the Orthodox Jewish community are as emotionally charged as that of the place of homosexuals, especially the gnawing question of the place of homosexual couples and families in the synagogue and larger community.  Many rabbis are at a loss as to what to suggest to a gay Orthodox Jew who seeks guidance.

I once suggested the following thought experiment to a colleague: “If, for some reason, it became clear that the Torah forbade you to ever get married or to ever have any satisfying intimate relationship, what would you do?” My own reaction to this question is: although part of me hopes I would be able to follow the dictates of the Torah, I have strong doubts about the possibility of success, and I trust that my friends and colleagues would be supportive of me either way.

Not a Moral Issue

Unfortunately, much of the rhetoric traditionally surrounding homosexuality seems to derive from a confusion of categories. For the believing Orthodox Jew, homosexual congress is a religious offense, akin to eating shrimp or driving on the Sabbath. It is not a moral offense, akin to assaulting women or cheating in business. Much of the rhetoric around homosexuality seems to center on moral discourse, and I feel this is a serious mistake.

Although polemics surrounding homosexuality have taken various forms over the years, the driving force behind the current polemic is the changing view of homosexuality and its causes. In the past, the main claims against homosexuality were that the behavior was “deviant” and the act “unnatural.” The latter claim is inherently false, since the phenomenon in fact occurs in nature. The claim that the behavior is deviant is true in the sense that, statistically speaking, it deviates from the norm, but saying that someone has a minority sexual disposition is hardly in itself a moral critique.

Difference breeds fear, especially when that difference is hard to understand. It is difficult for many heterosexuals to imagine that it could be possible for a person to lack any attraction to members of the opposite sex. It is even more difficult for a heterosexual to picture being attracted to members of his or her own sex. This may be one reason why, for centuries, a contemptuous, even belligerent, attitude towards homosexuals was the norm.

An excellent, if sad, example of this is a letter by R. Moshe Feinstein written in 1976 (Iggrot Moshe OH 4:115), where he treats homosexual activity like any other choice. The letter is addressed to a young homosexual man asking R. Feinstein for some words of advice to help him control his urges. R. Feinstein endeavored to do so, informing him that there really is no such thing as homosexual desire. Nature dictates, R. Feinstein wrote, that people are attracted to members of the opposite sex and not to members of their own sex. Therefore, the only explanation for homosexual behavior was as an expression of rebellion against God. If one could only get one’s anger against God under control, one could live a “normal” heterosexual life.  Nowadays we understand that this is not an accurate portrayal of homosexual desire, but R. Feinstein’s views were typical of his day and he could hardly have thought differently.

The Declaration and the Statement

The difference between the nature of the discourse in the seventies and the contemporary discourse is clearly demonstrated in the recent Declaration drafted by the right and center-right Orthodox communities and signed by over 150 rabbis, lay leaders and mental health professionals from those communities (www.torahdec.org).

The declaration inspired mixed feelings in me. After reaffirming the forbidden nature of homosexual congress, the Declaration states unequivocally that homosexuality is a curable psychological – not genetic, not hormonal – disorder. It instructs the Orthodox community to treat homosexuals with kindness while guiding them towards reparative therapy.

Partly, I was relieved. The Declaration used phrases like “love, support and encouragement” as a description for how Orthodox people should feel about the homosexuals in their communities. That is a far cry from the bellicose homophobia that many have come to expect from fundamentalist religious groups.

On the other hand, I was also very disturbed. The Declaration advocates strongly for reparative or conversion therapy, a pseudoscientific and medically discredited practice that many professionals consider dangerous; the American Psychological Association goes so far as to say that any therapist who employs reparative therapy is in violation of the Hippocratic Oath.

The Declaration further argues that homosexuality must be both psychological and curable, since God could not be so cruel as to create people with homosexual urges and make it forbidden to act upon them – a theologically dubious argument to say the least. I would venture to say that anyone who is or who knows someone suffering from any of the countless debilitating life-long diseases would be taken aback by the claim that God would never create a person with a biological makeup that could ruin his or her life.

The Declaration seems to be a reaction to the “Statement of Principles” (statementofprinciplesnya.blogspot.com) regarding homosexuality signed by 200 center and left-leaning Orthodox rabbis and community leaders the year before. Oddly enough, the left wing’s Statement of Principles, although considerably more sophisticated and nuanced than the recent Declaration, has much in common with it.

The Statement of Principles, like the Declaration, reaffirms the forbidden nature of homosexual congress. Unlike the Declaration, it allows that homosexuality is genetically and/or hormonally determined and admits that reparative therapy may be bogus and even harmful. The Statement, like the Declaration, urges the Orthodox community to treat homosexuals with love and respect. On the other hand, the Statement requires gay Orthodox Jews to be celibate. Although it urges understanding towards the non-celibate, the Statement suggests that if these homosexual Jews are open about their lifestyle – and the Statement affirms their right to be open about this – it would be the prerogative of an Orthodox synagogue or community not to accept them or give them any honors.

Although I appreciate the attempt by both groups to make homosexuals feel more welcome in our community and to tone down belligerent homophobia, both documents, in my view, fall short. Ever since I declined to sign the Statement – a document whose purpose I am strongly sympathetic with and which was crafted and signed by many close friends and mentors – I have given much thought to the Orthodox world’s relationship to homosexual Jews, sexually active and celibate alike, and what needs to be “stated” or “declared” about them.

The Need for Understanding and the Challenge of Empathy

For homosexual Jews wishing to live an Orthodox Jewish life and integrate into the Orthodox community, much empathy on the part of the heterosexual Orthodox community is required, especially from the rabbis. The signers of both the Declaration and the Statement are predominantly, perhaps entirely, heterosexuals. Many are married with families, as am I. Our families get together with other families for Shabbat meals and celebrate lifecycle events in the synagogue. Many of us receive communal approval for being married and for being good spouses. We have loving and fulfilling intimate relationships at home. Life is rather easy for us.

It is challenging for heterosexual Orthodox Jews to genuinely internalize the dissonance inherent in the psychological world of gay Orthodox Jews. Like all Orthodox Jews committed to a life of Torah and Jewish observance, Orthodox Jewish gay men and women want to participate fully in their communities. They want to come to synagogue and have Shabbat meals with their friends. And yet, the central text of their community – a text they love and venerate – forbids one of their most fundamental impulses, offering no viable alternative.

Asking the Impossible

In the documentary Trembling before God, R. Nathan Cardozo boldly states: “It is not possible for the Torah to come and ask a person to do something that he is not able to do. Theoretically speaking, it would be better for the homosexual to live a life of celibacy. I just would argue one thing – it’s completely impossible. It doesn’t work. The human force of sexuality is so big that it can’t be done.”

What we are asking of the homosexual Orthodox community is impossible. It is simply unrealistic to ask or expect normal adults to remain celibate and give up on the emotionally fulfilling and vital experience of intimate partnership that heterosexual men and women take for granted.

Oness Rahmana Patrei

My own approach to the matter is that the Orthodox community should adopt the stance of “oness rahmana patrei” – The Merciful One overlooks what is out of a person’s control. This was first suggested by R. Norman Lamm in the 1974 Encyclopedia Judaica Yearbook and I believe that this principle should serve as a basis for formulating an Open Orthodox response to the many challenges of accepting and integrating homosexuals into our community.

Brief Halakhic Analysis

The principle of oness rahmana patrei originates in a case where the deed in question was physically out of the person’s control. Nevertheless, the Talmud applies it to a case where a person worships idols to save his life (b. Avodah Zarah 54a). Many medieval commentaries ask why such a case should be considered oness, since a person can always accept death rather than violate Jewish law in this way. One answer to this question has been that a person who violates a Torah rule to save his or her life is emotionally compelled to do so and that this compulsion is a form of oness. I would argue that gay Orthodox Jews, earnestly seeking the same kind of emotionally satisfying intimate relationship taken for granted by heterosexual Jews, are similarly emotionally compelled.[1]

Oness rahmana patrei has been applied over the years to a number of different cases in halakha, from permission not to move to Israel out of fear that the trip would be dangerous (Noda bi-Yehuda Tanina, EH 102), to a woman refusing to be intimate with her husband because she finds him repulsive (Tosafot Rid, Ketubot 64; R. Avraham Isaac Kook in Ezrat Kohen 55). Two precedents in particular serve as important analogies.

The first is the fact that many halakhic authorities treat suicide as an act of oness, committed under duress and consequently out of the person’s control (see, for example Arukh ha-Shulhan YD 345:5; Kol Bo al Aveilut pp. 318-321). This sensitive halakhic approach allows the family to mourn the loss of their relative without having to sully his or her memory.

More analogous to the situation of the homosexual is the case recorded in the Talmud (b. Gittin 38a) of a woman who was a partial slave, forbidden to marry either another slave or a free man. Without a religiously acceptable outlet, the woman became exceedingly promiscuous with the local men, and the rabbis forced her master to free her fully so that she could marry. In discussing this case, R. Meshulam Roth (Qol Mevasser 1:25) observes that the woman’s hopeless situation was emotionally intolerable to her, and that her behavior in this case should be considered one of oness. If anything, the situation of Orthodox homosexual Jews who wish to follow halakha is even more intolerable. If they keep this halakha, they have no hope for a loving intimate partnership, ever.

A Different Kind of Oness

One of the chief arguments put forth against the oness approach, since R. Lamm first suggested it forty years ago, has been that most cases of oness are cases of an action taken under duress at a specific point in time. This would not apply to homosexuals who, like heterosexuals, can certainly control their urges at any given moment, and should be expected to do so. Nevertheless, I believe this is a false comparison.

Urges are controlled by the calming factor of knowing there is an alternative outlet. Unlike heterosexuals, gay Orthodox Jews have no halakhically acceptable outlet for the vital human need for intimate partnership, and never will. This is the key difference between this case of oness and most other cases. One cannot view celibacy as moment by moment abstinence. The oness derives from the cumulative weight of the totality of the moments of a person’s life, an absolutely crushing weight in this case.

Psychologically, gay Orthodox Jews are faced with one of two options: either be sexually active and fragment this transgression from their conscious minds, or be celibate and live with the knowledge that they will never experience a real intimate relationship. I firmly believe that the latter is not really a livable option for most adults, but a debilitating and life-crushing prospect. Advocating for it is an exercise in futility.

In reality, gay Orthodox Jews who are advised or pressured to be celibate either ignore the advice, hide in the “closet,” or leave Orthodoxy altogether. Worse, if the guilt or dissonance is too great, they may turn to drugs, extreme promiscuity or even suicide. This is not at all what we want to accomplish. I believe we must come to terms with the fact that, in the long run, Orthodox homosexual Jews really have no choice but to allow themselves to fulfill the intense desire for emotional and physical intimacy in the only way open to them.

Caveat

To be sure, calling something oness does not make the action halakhically permitted; it is not. Moreover, adopting the oness principle does not mean that halakha recognizes same sex qiddushin (Jewish marriage) – it does not. Finally, the concept of oness does not cover people with a more fluid sexuality; those who are capable of forming a satisfying intimate bond with members of the opposite sex and choose to do so with a member of their own sex cannot reasonably be called “compelled.”

However, the concept of oness does apply to that percentage of the population for whom homosexual love is the only expression of emotional intimacy and sexuality available. Consequently, it is my firm belief that the Orthodox community should accept the fact that there will be non-celibate homosexuals in our midst and we should welcome them.

Sociology and Policy Considerations

I would further suggest, if only for considerations of social policy and community health, that we encourage exclusivity and the forming of a loving and lasting relationship-bond as the optimal lifestyle for gay Orthodox Jews who feel they are oness and cannot be celibate (and this is the vast majority). This type of relationship is the closest in character to the choice made by married heterosexual couples in our community. Gay Orthodox couples should not be penalized for forming a committed relationship; certainly their children, natural or adopted, must not be. It is the obligation of the synagogue to think creatively and open-mindedly about how to accommodate these families, especially when it comes to celebrating the children’s semahot.

Certainly, if any homosexual Jewish man or woman feels that he or she wishes to follow the halakha and be celibate and looks to the rabbi for encouragement, the rabbi should give this person all the encouragement he or she needs. However, no Orthodox rabbi should feel duty-bound to urge homosexual Jews to be celibate. This is not a practical option for most people, and advocating this will only cause that person intense pain and guilt.

Conclusion

In short, there should be no social penalty in the Orthodox world for being a non-celibate homosexual Jew. Homosexual congress is not a moral violation; it is purely a violation of a religious prohibition, one that is the inevitable consequence of the person’s psychological and even biological makeup. If God overlooks the inevitable, so should we.

Rabbi Zev Farber, AITZIM,

Atlanta, GA

.

Esther tried for many years to figure out what her observant Jewish life would look like.  She knew two things for sure, she was gay and she was Orthodox.  The question for her and for many Orthodox Jews who are only attracted emotionally and sexually to people of the same gender is: How should I live my life?   Should I be celibate?   Should I live with a roommate of the same gender and raise children but not tell the world in any official way that we are as loving, supportive and as one person as much as any married heterosexual couple?  Should I have a partner and be open about it and raise an Orthodox family and risk being ostracized?  The easy fixes like not being gay or not being religiously observant are usually not options for people who really are gay and who really are observant Jews.

I always knew the time would come when Esther would realize that she would not really be able to live alone her whole life.  A woman of community and family, steeped in the beauty of Jewish family values, of Shabbat (Sabbath) tables filled with rejoicing, singing, and words of torah study, and of community.   A woman who knows what the important values are and is not moved by the narishkiet (Yiddish for nonsense) that larger American society and its superficial media driven values constantly churns out to us.   Esther is a woman steeped in Orthodox Jewish family values and Torah through and through.

The time that I knew would come, has come.  She met someone she loves, someone she can create a loving, religious Jewish family with which will embody the very best of Orthodox values.   Is creating a Jewish home with another woman and raising Jewish children the best thing for Esther’s Jewish life?   I believe it is.

Esther wants to take the values that Judaism teaches about relationships, as embodied in its writings about Jewish family and weddings and in the Jewish wedding ceremony itself, and utilize them in a ceremony that will deepen and solidify the relationship with her same gender spouse that will serve as the foundation for their “bayit neeman biyisrael,” their house of faith among the Jewish people.  Instead of slinkingly living with a “roommate” she wants to publicly solidify this relationship and foundation for her new family in front of friends and community in order to encourage its longevity and strength.

The halachot (Jewish laws) of Jewish marriage pertain only to a Jewish man and a Jewish woman who are permitted to each other.  True, it is not forbidden in Judaism to ceremoniously read sections of the book of Ruth about relationships, or the Song of Songs, or to make a blessing on a cup of wine, or to offer a prayer on behalf of a bride and a bride.  On the other hand all of the paradigms of marriage in the Torah are only between men and women.

Is it the time to say our focus on drawing lines and holding ground against gays, their relationships and their marriages is wasted energy?  To say as Rabbi Shmuly Boteach recently has that we should stop focusing on gay marriage and worry about the 50% of heterosexual marriages that fail?  To acknowledge that marriage does not have to prompt a community analysis of what happens in people’s bedrooms but can just see what happens in their dining rooms and living rooms such as loving children and teaching them Judaism in a house of Jewish celebration and faith among our people?

Maybe this is the moment to stand up and say it is better for gay orthodox Jews (at least those who can not be celibate and still keep the rest of the Torah with joy) to be in monogamous relationships which are the most observant ones they can be?  To say why  assume every relationship is only judged based upon what we think might be going on in the couple’s bed room and not on the building of a traditional Jewish home?   That when it comes to heterosexual couples who may be violating things in their bedroom that are forbidden by the Torah we turn a blind eye but when it comes to gay couples whose bedroom violations may be much less, perhaps only rabbinic, that suddenly we are up in arms?

If I believe the best thing for Esther is to “marry” a woman and raise a Jewish family and I do not help facilitate that because I fear the reverberations in the Orthodox community am I a hypocrite?   On the other hand I am a Jew committed to Jewish law and tradition and same gender marriage has never been part of that, indeed has been seen as outside of it.

So what is a rabbi to do?

 I know this may sound a bit radical, but it really isn’t.

Some background. For the most part we learn Halacha from codes that were written in Eastern Europe in the 19^th Century. Examples are: the Hayyei Adam, Kitzur Shluchan Aruch and Aruch Hashulchan. Add to that the Mishna Berura which is technically not a code but rather a commentary on the Shulchan Aruch and we have an impressive list of halachik source that still guide us to this day.

Most of these codes and commentaries relied on the written word of rabbis who came before them and did not fully consider the social, geographic and political reality of the times. The mishna berura is an excellent example of such a work.

The exception to this rule is the Aruch Hashulchan. According to Dr. Simcha Fishbane, author of The Boldness of An Halakhist, An Analysis of the writings of Rabbi Yechiel Mechel Halevi Epstein, The Arukh Hashuhan, Rabbi Epstein did consider the “social, economic and political reality of the Jews of his period and geographical location, the latter part of the 19^th century in eastern Europe. Rabbi Epstein preferred considering his reality rather than basing his rulings solely upon the writings of earlier authoritative rabbinical authorities.”  Many point to the fact that Rabbi Epstein was a communal rabbi who was confronted with the reality of life as the reason why he took such an approach. No doubt Rabbi Epstein only employed classic tools of psak, but overarching consideration was given to the realities of the times.

Now to the substance of the matter.

Rabbi Epstein did just what I suggested at the outset. He wrote a new code of Jewish law when the times called for it. Here are two examples that make my point.

The first example is from the custom of having another seder participant wash one‘s hands at the Pesach seder.

“The head of the household should not pour for himself, but rather another should pour, for this is an expression of freedom. We are not scrupulous about this fir it appears as a great deception for a husband to order his wife to pour the water over her husband’s hands, for the husband is not favored over her” (Orach Chaim 473:6). In this case  Rabbi Epstein recognizes the contemporary status of women and rules accordingly.

The second example relates to the statement of the Shulchan Aruch that one is permitted to borrow someone else’s Tallit without permission since it is assumed that one would want someone else to be able to perform a Mitzvah with their belongings.

After quoting the Shulchan Aruch, Rabbi Epstein notes that:  ”we have seen that many are very particular on this matter, especially when the Tallit is new and there are some who will not tolerate another wearing their garments because of perspiration and concerns for cleanliness. Therefore it seems to me that we must reconsider this ruling. (Orach Chaim 14:11). Rabbi Epstein realized that personal hygiene practices had changed and that the new reality meant that the halacha had to be adjusted as well.

Perhaps this new code of Jewish Law will reflect social changes such as the reality that that men now are full participants in domestic life and that women a more involved in public communal life. This new code of Jewish law will address kol isha (prohibition of hearing a woman sing) in light of modern realities and new sensibilities. Perhaps this new code of Jewish law, like Rambam’s code will deal with duties of the heart and address matters like Divine Providence – especially in our post Holocaust era and approaches to Tanach Study in light of the developments of new approaches in this area and the many legitimate questions on the Bible text raised by scholars. Perhaps this new code of Jewish law will systematically tackles issue of including the non-observant in our communities and the reality of gay and lesbian Jews who wish to be part of the orthodox community. The section on Tisha B’av would include a discussion on Yom Hashoa and whether or not the Holocaust requires a separate memorial day or it can be folded into the 9^th of Av and the right after the Laws of Chanukah there will be a section dealing with Yom Ha’atzmaut and Yom Yerushalayim. This new code would also examine the 9Av liturgy in light on the fact that Jerusalem is no longer “laid waste…and desolate without inhabitants” as the text of the nachem prayer states.

To be sure, individual responsa deal with these realities, but to date there is no systematic code of Jewish law written, as Rav Epstein’s Aruch Hashulchan was, with contemporary times in mind. Some scholars have suggested that Rabbi Chaim David Halevi’s Mekor Chaim was an attempt at such a project. Despite this possibility, the work does not enjoy widespread popularity.

Some like things as they are. For many, no code brings us back to the era of Torah She B’al Peh (oral law) when our license of interpretation was greater. After al, the existing codes do not fully deal with so many modern realities, we are free to develop the halacha. On the other hand, a code written with the Modern Orthodox Jew and community in mind would do a great deal in terms of building confidence in Modern Orthodoxy and offering guidance and direction for Jews who wish to be both modern and orthodox.

This is really not a radical idea at all. Rabbi Epstein successfully completed his project of an updated code of Jewish Law when his Aruch Hashulchan was published between 1873 and 1903.*

 It is time for another go of it. Any takers…?

(Subsequently a newly discovered section of Yoreh Deah and the Aruch Hashulchan He’ated (dealing with issues relevant to the newly built Temple) were published.

I will explore this classic question of Taamey Hamitzvot (whether there are reasons for mitzvoth) and I then hope to link the answer to Rick’s comment on my post from last week regarding gay Jews.  His question was, once we see people in homosexual relationships with more love and less rejection don’t we run the risk of accepting other forbidden relationships such as incest?

Summary: This is a long post so let me summarize first.  Having a Kiddush to celebrate the commitment of two homosexuals to raising a family together (which is not forbidden)  would not lead us to having a Kiddush for a brother and sister raising a family together as partners because homosexuality is not immoral in our society and incest is.  The torah forbids both but that says nothing about morality, only about halacha.  Both sexual acts are forbidden, neither Kiddush is, but we should not celebrate an incestual union since it is morally depraved and will affect other’s moral compass, whereas a homosexual union, while forbidden, does not effect our moral compass and our ability to imitate God which is only based on mitzvoth which have as their reasons mercy, compassion and morality.

Post: Rick’s is a classic argument against tolerating homosexuality.  From a secular point of view people can make distinctions between one kind of relationship and another (many states permit homosexual weddings but not the other kinds Rick mentioned) but from a religious point of view it is more difficult.  If the Torah is our measure of what is moral and what is forbidden then aren’t all forbidden relationships equally immoral?  If we see in a less harsh light something the Torah forbids then why not permit everything the Torah forbids?   What will stop us from having a Kiddush for an incestual couple if we have one for a homosexual one?  It’s a good question that deserves a serious answer.

The Mishnah (Megilah 25a) states: “One who is leading the prayer service and prays, “Even unto a mother bird does your mercy extend”…we quiet him.””  The Talmud records two opinions as to why this is so (each is an opinion of a different Rabbi named Yosi); either, (1) because we will create jealousy among the creatures (since God is singling out the bird for special treatment), or (2) because this prayer leader is depicting the Torah’s commandments as motivated by mercy and they are nothing more than decrees of the King (with no moral motivation such as mercy behind them).  This Gemara is presenting both sides of the argument -the opinion that mitzvot have no reasons (even those miztvot which seem to reflect moral intentions) and the opinion which holds that the purpose of all Mitzvot are to teach us to be just, merciful and moral.

With regard to this question of the meaning or lack thereof behind the mitzvoth, Maimonides in his book of Jewish law (Mishnah Torah), seems to contradict his opinion in his book of Philosophy (Guide for the Perplexed).  In the Mishna Torah he writes (Laws of Prayer 9:7) that the mitzvoth in general and the mitzvah of sending away the mother bird before takimg her eggs in particular, are decrees and not motivated by mercy, yet in the Guide (III:48)  he writes that this mitzvah and all mitzvoth have rational reasons.  Indeed Maimonides writes that the reasons for all mitzvoth are either to cultivate greater character in us or to correct our ways of thinking.

On this Shabbat, the Shabbat of chukim (laws that do not have reasons) how are we to reconcile this contradiction in Maimonides and indeed this divergence of thought throughout Jewish history?  Do we perform Mitzvot because they are moral and will cultivate greater character and rachamim, mercy, or because they are, plan and simple, just the decree of the King and nothing more?

It is important to note that according to the Talmud we are commanded to imitate certain characteristics and certain acts of the Divine.  The Gemara takes the verse in Deuteronomy which commands us to “walk in God’s ways,” as a commandment to imitate God’s characteristics of mercy and graciousness, “mah hu rachum, af ata rachum.”  This is done, the Talmud says in another place, by imitating four things that God does in the torah: clothing the naked (Adam and Eve), visiting the sick (Abraham), comforting the mourner (Isaac) and burying the dead (Moses).

The Talmud does not pick other things God does for us to imitate and thus be like God.  For instance, making war or wearing tifilin (the midrash).  Why not?   Why don’t all mitzvoth help us to follow God’s midot (characteristics), namely mercy and graciousness?  Why only these 4 mitzvot?

I think the answer to the above contradiction in the Rambam (Maimonides) and to understanding this age old argument as to whether mitzvoth are an expression of morality or not lies in the 6^th chapter of Maimonides’s introduction to Pirkey Avot (the Shmoneh Pirakim, The Eight Chapters).  There the Rambam is bothered by a conflict between the secular (Greek) philosophers and the Talmud.  According to the Talmud if one passes by a restaurant and smells milk and meat cooking together one should not say, “I hate milk and meat cooked together,” but rather should say, “I would like to eat it , yet what can I do my Father in heaven has forbidden it from me.”  This seems opposed to what  Aristotle writes that one should cultivate their moral sensitivities to reach a level where one is repulsed by evil and drawn to the good; it seems the Talmud would be in disagreement with Aristotle feeling one should desire that which is forbidden and then resist it.  (I guess the Rambam was Morethodox since he takes secular philosophy so seriously, but that is for another post).

The Rambam’s answer is a profound one, and I think important for understanding mitzvoth in general and especially those mitzvoth which conflict with our moral sensibilities.  The Rambam says that the Talmud and Aristotle are actually in agreement.   If one finds killing and stealing repugnant, as well as other mitzvoth that come from our moral sense, then both Aristotle and the Talmud would agree that person has cultivated a more refined moral self.  In this realm it is better to say “I do not want to,” than to say “I want but God has forbidden it.”  When it comes to not eating non-kosher food however there is no such moral sensibility to be cultivated.  Eating kosher as well as all other ritual mitzvot have nothing to do with morality.  They are, in the words of the Talmud, only a decree of the king, nothing more, certainly not a violation of a moral principal or for purposes of cultivating character sensibilities.   It is meaningless to say one has reached a level of greater moral refinement, or for that matter according to the Rambam greater spiritual sensitivity, when one is repulsed by meat and milk cooked together.  There is no greater meaning in mitzvoth than being solely the decree of the King unless those mitzvoth are clearly in the realm of morality, rationally understood mitzvoth which have mercy or compassion as their basis.   Hence the Gemara’s statement is not in conflict with Aristotle.

In answer to Rick’s question on my post from last week about welcoming gay Jews, I would argue that many of the Torah’s sexual commandments are in the Rambam’s category of milk and meat, having nothing to do with morality, but rather the “decree of the King.”   Therefore just because the Torah forbids both homosexual sexual acts and incestual sexual acts does not mean that they are morally equivalent   (though the acts may be halachically equivalent). The Torah forbids intercourse with one’s aunt and permits it with one’s uncle.  We must conduct ourselves in accordance with this because it is commanded by our holy torah, but this does not mean that one is moral and one immoral.  We do not need to conclude that one who marries their uncle is a moral person and one who marries their aunt an immoral person.  We can only say that one act is sinful, and the other not.  The same is true of homosexuality.  We can say it is forbidden but I don’t think we can say it is in same moral realm as incest.  When presented with a person who commits crimes that are morally based, such as killing, stealing or oppressing others, we can conclude that they are lacking moral refinement and we should beware of the effect they may have upon others.

We need not worry that welcoming homosexual Jews into our community means we have no moral compass and tomorrow we will welcome adults who commit sexual acts with children (which is not actually one of the sexual sins in the torah) or brothers and sisters who want to marry.  Those are morally repugnant to us if we are morally refined people.  The torah wants us to have a moral compass, this is the function of being merciful and gracious, the two midot we are supposed to imitate about god.   Is it moral to welcome people into shul who are gay?  That is a moral question, outside the purview of halacha.   Should we welcome people who are mean?   Who steal?  Who cheat on their taxes?  Who would like to murder?  No.  Those are people with less refined moral sensitivities and we should be wary of it rubbing off on us.   People who don’t keep kosher?   People who eat milk and meat together?  They are not immoral; sinful yes, but not immoral.

So Rick fear not, there is no danger that in welcoming gays into our shuls, which is not halachically forbidden, (and I think is an act of rachum and chanun and therefore indeed a moral act) that we should fear a Kiddush on behalf of an incestual couple (which would not be moral).  Is gay male sex an issur diorite (forbidden by the torah?), yes.  Is it immoral in our society?  Not today.   Is sex between a 30 year old man and a 10 year old girl asur (forbidden)?  No.  Is it immoral?  Of course.   I’m not saying who we should give aliot to, I am just saying that homosexuality (and marying your aunt for that matter)  is not morally equivalent to other forbidden relationships.

Last week I wrote of welcoming intermarried families and this week I would like to address how we see another population of Jews that often feels unwelcomed -Jewish people who are not physically attracted to people of the opposite gender, but only to the same gender, and how we as communities observant of halacha can welcome them and to what extent.

Various studies estimate that anywhere from 4%-20% of the American population is homosexual.  It would be dangerous for us to believe that Orthodox Jews are an exception.  That the torah forbids men from having sexual relations with each other is testament that in the Torah’s preview such a desire does exist.

My community encompasses several gay members, some are open about it and some are not, some have partners or are married and others are not, some live a celibate life alone (or have tried to) and others do not.   Just as there isn’t one type of heterosexual person so too there is not homogeneity among homosexuals.  Ultimately people are individuals (an entire universe of their own, as the Mishna in Sanhedrin says), and must be attended to as such.

What should an orthodox Rabbi do when a congregant comes out to him?  What should an Orthodox community’s attitude be toward their gay brethren?   Should we reject them?  Accept them?  Tell them they can never live a life with a family and have children?  Find them a proper partner?

I would argue that while Orthodox rabbis and communities can’t celebrate same gender weddings, at the same time we do not have to concern ourselves with what happens in everyone’s bedrooms.  For instance, some upstanding Orthodox rabbis perform weddings for people they know are not going to go to the mikvah regularly (though we hope they will one day).  Halachikally in fact, it may be worse for a man to have intercourse with a woman who has not gone to the mikvah after menstruating, than it is for a lesbian couple to be intimate and possibly even for a gay male couple to be intimate (in some ways).

Perhaps we should take at face value that people are living together and raising Jewish families together. Though I am not suggesting celebrating or performing same gender weddings, perhaps we can celebrate the fact that two people commit to living with each other forever, raising Jewish observant children together, keeping Shabbos as a family, keeping kosher, singing nigunim and learning Torah.

I am not suggesting we change the Torah or Jewish law, rather I am pointing out ways we can view things in order to better welcome the entire Jewish people into communities that study and observe the Torah.

We may fear that by being welcoming to gay Jews and families with same gender parents we are implicitly offering legitimacy to things the torah forbids.  But aren’t we just as scared of condemning people to a lonely life that they cannot lead?  I am not saying no one can be celibate; certainly there are people who can do it.  There are people who will commit their lives to serving the community, to a relationship only with God and with friends with no intimacy and no eizer kinegdo (helpmate).  But this is not everyone and I’m not sure it’s the best path for most.  How many joyous mitzvot that are most fully observed as a family must we sacrifice for this one issur (forbidden thing), which may be in many instances a rabbinic one?

I’m not saying we should be cavalier. I am not saying all of a sudden we should have  engagement parties for gay couples, but what if we had a cake at kiddush one Shabbat (albeit a big cake or one with small writing) that said “Mazal Tov on your commitment to each other forever to raise a Jewish family!”?

I remember I was once at a meeting of rabbis where one Rabbi argued that we should protest the Jewish newspapers for including ads announcing gay marriages.  He said if we did not our children would think it was ok to become gay.  I have no doubt this Rabbi had never know a gay Orthodox Jew well.  If he had he would know that often gay Orthodox Jews want nothing more than to be straight, it is not a choice most make.

I will finish with the wise words an observant gay Jew once said to me:  We must be clear that there is a difference between halacha (Jewish law) and homophobia.  When our personal fears and prejudices hide under the banner of halacha, when we use the Torah as a spade to dig with in service of our own predilections, egos and anxieties, we not only do a disservice to the Jewish people but to the Torah itself.