This past Friday night, our synagogue held a Pride Shabbat. I had the opportunity to share some personal reflections with the congregation. I am proud of these remarks, so I wanted to share them with you on this blog. My editor was thrilled, since she already edited the document and thus got today off. Happy Pride!

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Shabbat Shalom and thank you for coming tonight. As I thought about what I wanted to share in my brief thoughts, a story came to mind. In the early 2010’s, I went on my first and only business trip to Abu Dhabi. Since “it doesn’t happen unless you post on social media,” I posted a check-in at the restaurant we went to on that first night. I paused over the caption and then wrote, “HOW did I get HERE? The UAE is not exactly a top destination for a gay, Jewish, woman.” It hit me, then, that there is an interesting parallel between being Jewish and being gay. I make a conscious choice whether or not to “come out” to people, both as a Jew and as a lesbian. Some may guess at either or both, but it is my choice as to whether or not I confirm their suspicion. And while that choice gives me agency, it means that every day for my whole life I am very conscious of my difference from the majority, both as a Jew and as a lesbian. I have to make that “coming out” choice constantly. Honestly, it’s exhausting.

In many—if not most—cases, I say nothing because those parts of my identity are not something every single person needs to know. The problem with that silence is that if people don’t know that I am Jewish or gay, they may end up saying some things that are hurtful. The flip side to THAT possibility is that if someone chooses to be kind and inclusive, it has an enormous impact. Let me give you an example. In the 1990’s, the company I worked at participated in a program called Safe Space. It was pretty simple. If you felt supportive of the gay community, you picked up a little one inch square magnet with a pink triangle inside a green circle and put it up on your office door jamb. I would guess that most people put them up and never thought about it again. But I saw EVERY ONE. In fact, I would choose my route through the maze of offices so that I’d pass more doors with Safe Space magnets. It meant little to those who put them up; but that little act of kindness was everything to me.

And that is what I want to both remind you of tonight and thank you for. Trish and I have the benefit of experience and time to have become very comfortable in our identity as a lesbian couple, so when we first started coming to services here, we were very open about our relationship. And I can tell you that, to a person, we’ve been accepted with open hearts. Or if anyone has had a problem with our identity, they’ve had the good sense to keep it to themselves! In fact, when Trish and I met with Rabbi Adam before becoming members, one of our questions for him involved the role of gay members in the synagogue. He looked at us like we had three heads and said something to the effect of “I don’t know how many gay members we have, but I know we have at least a few and there are certainly no limitations on their role in the synagogue.” I asked only because I’ve learned that full inclusion is not a given.

I won’t burden you with stories of when inclusion was NOT the norm. But I will tell you another story that exemplifies how unquestioned acceptance—even when the “acceptor” doesn’t really know that’s what they are expressing—can change the life of the “acceptee.” I went through a very difficult breakup in my early 30’s. I went home to Atlanta for a family visit and my Mom and I went out for a “Mother/Daughter” day. We went to a movie and then out to lunch afterwards. During lunch, we deconstructed the relationship and how I was handling everything. After a while, my Mom—who is more of a pragmatist than a source of deep emotional support—sighed heavily and said, “Maybe next time, dear, you’ll find a nice Jewish girl.” She didn’t say, “Maybe you should give up on this gay thing and find a nice Jewish boy.” She fully accepted me as a lesbian and focused more on finding someone who shared my values and beliefs—a nice Jewish girl. Mom does not remember this conversation. She was just speaking her mind. But it demonstrated to me that she saw the whole “me” and the gay part was just who I was. More importantly, it didn’t matter to her and THAT meant everything to me.

So, my appeal to you tonight is to remember the impact of those small moments of acceptance and inclusion. Much as we are commanded to “be kind to the stranger because you were once a stranger in the land of Egypt,” remember the unintended impacts of your words on people of all types—both negative AND positive. Your acceptance of Trish and me here has had a tremendous impact on us and inspired us to pay it forward. Small kindnesses go a long way.

And, Mom, you were right. I DID find a nice Jewish girl. And I think this time, it’s going to last. Shabbat Shalom.