When I came out, I was told I’d always be welcome. That’s not quite right

My reaction to my son’s sixth-grade long-term project about his family tree was, at least at first, ambivalent. It wasn’t the assignment I had a problem with, but I generally don’t like getting involved in my kid’s homework, especially when it’s in Hebrew. After nearly eight years in Israel, my son still hasn’t mastered the language due to his dyslexia and difficulties with language processing. I assumed, like with most things in the Israeli elementary school system, that if we ignored it, it would go away.

A few months ago, we told our son’s school that without real support from the educators, this project wouldn’t get done. It would need scaffolding and modification. Not knowing how to say “scaffolding” in Hebrew, I pantomimed the childhood game of stacking hands, hoping they understood.

I was proven wrong when, in his most recent report card, his teacher wrote, “You are so sweet. Don’t forget to do your ‘Roots’ project,” as if we’d never discussed it. Playing dumb and being passive-aggressive in one sentence was an impressive feat.

So, with the help of a wonderful tutor, we are tackling the project ourselves. The process might be imperfect, but in Israeli schools, the product is the only real goal.

The first task: draw the family tree, at least back to the great-grandparents. Easy enough – my name, Lauren’s name, my father’s, her mother’s (birth and step). But then we hit a snag. Naming Lauren’s father, who passed away over 25 years ago, wasn’t hard. But what about my mother? She’s alive, but I haven’t seen her since 1995, and my son has never met her. He doesn’t know the full story, but he knows enough that I can add her name without too many questions. The next task was to describe the conditions in which my parents grew up, their relationship with their parents, and their family customs.

These questions paralyzed me. It didn’t feel right to simply use my family’s motto, “You don’t have a problem; Auschwitz is a problem.” Things didn’t get easier with the next questions posed to my son: Describe your parents’ wedding, when they got married, and the fun times they had. Sure, Lauren and I have wonderful memories, but answering these questions with any authenticity means riding a hundred elephants through the room. After 20 years of marriage, I came out of the closet, turning everything upside down and revealing the painful reality that the lives we built together, while not shameful, were not grounded in truth. Now, how is a dyslexic sixth grader supposed to turn that into a Hebrew haiku?

The real issue isn’t the project itself but what it represents, especially in Orthodox communities. The reality is that some of us just don’t fit the box, even as we spend inordinate energy trying to stay inside it. We are rarely seen, even when we ask to be. On some level, this is what makes Yeshiva University’s decision to recognize an LGBTQ student club so significant. It’s progress – not earth-shattering, but progress nonetheless; a step toward acknowledging a population and giving them a place to be seen in a world where they often build boundaries of invisibility just to survive.

When sharing the news of YU’s decision, I wrote on social media that if YU can figure it out, it stands to reason that Modern Orthodox schools and camps can too. Then, to push my point further, I added: The next question isn’t just how safe the space is for the kids, but also how open it is to Orthodox LGBTQ staff who want to teach and be seen as equals within the community.

My feedback on this matter isn’t theoretical; I’ve been a Modern Orthodox educational leader for over 20 years and worked in a Modern Orthodox summer camp for more than 30. In each institution, I found a home, not just for myself, but for my family. Whatever I contributed, I received back in spades. These institutions instilled within me a values system, leadership skills, and, most importantly, a sense of belonging.

I had left day schools and made aliyah before coming out, so I never needed to test the theory that a gay Orthodox man couldn’t run a Modern Orthodox yeshiva. The question was moot. Despite my sense that I can easily find the answer, I don’t dig. Instead, I allow my contributions to speak for themselves.

I was naïvely surprised when camp turned out to be much trickier, even though I no longer held a high-profile role there. Once I came out, I was told I would always be welcome. This was reassuring, a gesture that camp wouldn’t turn its back on me. But what I didn’t understand at the time, and what I know now, is that this acceptance came with a tacit agreement of silence. When I wrote my first coming-out blog in May 2022, Broken Roads: Leadership, Authenticity, and Sexuality, it was warmly received. I tried to highlight the realities of navigating a new path that intertwined my past and future. The writing was purely personal. I didn’t speak about any Modern Orthodox institutions. Yet, I received feedback from camp that the article was distracting, and publishing it so close to summer stirred up unnecessary challenges. I was asked, though not told, not to write about sexuality during the months leading up to and during the summer.

I was hurt by the request. Having written the piece after a year of being out of the closet, I was proud of using my voice. But back then, I wasn’t confident enough to rock the boat more than I already had, so I acquiesced. As I evolved, however, it became clear that I, as I am now – not as I once was – would no longer have a place.

Silence comes with a heavy price; many of us choose to pay it to belong. We don’t ask our schools to create projects acknowledging that we aren’t all alike, and we certainly don’t want to make too much noise in our institutions, lest we be actively or passively shown the door. I’m not particularly proud of YU for making the change, but I am in awe of the people who fought for it. Using your voice also comes with a heavy price, so their bravery is inspiring. Allow me to lend mine to the cause. You are not invisible. None of us is.