Necktie

The first time she tied a tie around my neck we were twelve. Well, maybe I was still eleven but she was twelve. She popped the collar on her dress shirt I was wearing, which was much too large for me, as she was already quite tall. She held the tie in both hands and swung it over my head as if it were a lasso, pulling me closer to her in the process. She tied a Windsor knot with a dimple, and slid it up to the collar. She pulled the collar down over the tie, which was red. Then she declared the knot perfect.

There are so many little vignettes like this one swirling around in my head right now. I am grateful that I still remember so many of these little scenes. However, sometimes I wish they would haunt me less.

It Gets Better!

There's an Israeli pop song called Yih'yeh Tov - it will get better. This song, a fervent hope for peace, has also served as one of my reminders that life will get better. I believe that society and my life are moving in a positive direction, although not always monotonically. (Sorry for my math-nerdiness.)

However, in the past week, I have been reminded of a slightly different message. In response to the continued (and perceived worsening) occurrences of queer and questioning teen suicide attempts and completions, Dan Savage launched the "It gets better project." This project is a youtube channel where anyone, celebrities like Ellen DeGeneres, people prominent in the queer community like Dan Savage, and anyone else with access to a webcam (most libraries have them if you don't) can record a message of how it got better for that person. IT DOES GET BETTER! If you don't believe me, watch some of the multitude of videos already posted to the site http://www.youtube.com/user/itgetsbetterproject. I especially recommend Kate Bornstein's video. Kate is the author of Hello, Cruel World: 101 Alternatives to Suicide For Teens, Freaks, and Other Outlaw.

Let me be clear: THE MESSAGE "IT GETS BETTER" IS NOT ENOUGH! It is true, but it is not enough. We cannot expect queer youth (or anyone, for that matter) to sit on their hands waiting for some magic day when their lives will improve. We need to be supportive of their struggles now, find and work on ways to alleviate their current suffering, not simply assure them that it will lessen over time. Our schools are not safe, let alone welcoming. In many places in this country, including in my home town, discrimination against LGBTQ persons is legal. Furthermore, in addition to working to ease the lives of queer youth, we need to persuade queer, questioning, and straight youth to get involved in improving their own lives. THE STRUGGLE FOR EQUALITY FOR LGBTQ PERSONS IN THIS COUNTRY IS ONGOING.

So many older queer activists have moved beyond activism for physical safety of queer persons into an effort to include legal recognition of same-sex marriage. Many of these activists live in large urban areas where progress is furthest in the struggle for queer existence. They see the effort for legal recognition of their relationships as the final frontier of the fight for gay rights [sic]. Legal recognition of same-sex marriage may be akin to putting a man on the moon, but in so many places in this country, and in the entire world, we have not even been able to start a space program. Why are so many prominent queer activists focused on securing legal recognition of marriage when many queer youth are afraid to go to their schools for fear of being attacked? THE STRUGGLE FOR EQUALITY FOR LGBTQ PERSONS IN THIS COUNTRY MUST FOCUS FIRST AND FOREMOST ON OUR RIGHT TO EXIST. This right - the right to live - a right so famously laid out by Thomas Jefferson in the Declaration of Independence, a right that our country's founders fought to secure, still eludes LGBTQ persons in this country. I invite, and I urge, everyone to help me secure that right, for you, for me, and for those younger than me including but not limited to those people who identify as or are perceived as members of the queer community.

Be a role model - help make it better.

A FINAL MESSAGE TO ANYONE WHO READS THIS (AND EVERYONE WHO DOESN'T: YOU HAVE A RIGHT TO LIVE! EXERCISE THAT RIGHT!

A link:

The Trevor Project http://www.thetrevorproject.org/

Missing my love

Today I missed my love especially. It has been twelve years since we made our relationship official (in writing - facebook didn't exist yet).

I reveled in thinking about how stupid I was then, and how I haven't changed all that much since then in certain ways. I replayed my awkwardness over and over in my head. And I replayed our first kiss that ended the awkwardness, at least temporarily, over as well, trying to remember all the details about it that I could, and I surprised myself by how vivid my memory of that scene is. Maybe Ginkgo Girl can profit from making a teeny-bopper movie of my life after all.

I fast-forwarded to many of my favorite times with my love, trying today to focus only on our good times. I remembered countless nights of falling asleep listening to her voice and the feeling of waking up comfortable and secure in her arms. I remembered many instances of my own ineptness and her extraordinary ability to tease without malice. I remembered reading her poems by Rilke and noting which ones she liked to hear. I remembered the conscious effort I made to touch her shoulders rather than her face once she became uncomfortable with her stubble. I remembered sneaking into town in order to be ourselves.

I felt guilty that I was angry with her for so long. I was mad at myself for destroying so much both deliberately and inadvertently. I read the notes I had collected to send to her but never got the chance, and found a curious line: "May sounds nice, but it would have to be late May, after [my brother's] birthday. Don't worry, I won't make you wear that fake green dress I would buy you if I had a million dollars." I racked my brain to remember what the line referred to, but could only come up with one conjecture - we were planning a fantasy wedding.

Joe Donnelly's Latest Stunt

Joe Donnelly's latest tv ad has garnered national attention. In the ad, Congressman Donnelly (my representative) distances himself from the "Washington leadership" and puts forth an extremely strict and xenophobic position on immigration. Donnelly is a conservative democrat, both fiscally and socially. I am not surprised that his views on immigration are draconian, simplistic, and against the best interests of many residents (immigrants and native US citizens) of his district. I am however puzzled at his apparent need to distance himself from the democratic party even further.

Congressman Donnelly is facing a challenge from the very conservative State Representative Jackie Walorski. Thus, I do not understand the making of this ad from either a philosophical or a political perspective. Philosophically, Congressman Donnelly is already far to the right of both the left-wing and the moderate contingent of the Democratic party. Politically, he will not gain many votes by emphasizing issues on which he agrees with the most conservative Republicans because conservative Republicans in the district will vote for Representative Walorski anyway. A better political strategy for Congressman Donnelly would be to emphasize issues where he disagrees with Walorski in order to mobilize voters in the Democratic base. Voters who can't see the difference between Donnelly and Walorski will be far less likely to go to the polls. Donnelly should not be so complacent as to take the voting block of left-leaning Democrats for granted.

My thoughts on the recent developments in the ADL

I have disagreed with the ADL, and particularly Abe Foxman, on many issues over the years. Most of these issues have been issues on which Foxman and/or the ADL seek out prejudice and defamation in instances where I feel none exists. In general, Foxman and the ADL are that most sensitive spot on the body of the Jewish people that acts up with the same ferocity for the slightest provocation or lack thereof as it does when beaten with a two-by-four.

Although I have felt that the ADL should calm down on numerous occasions, and remember them being on the useless side of things a lot, I cannot remember thinking that the ADL and Foxman were just plain wrong about something as much as I think that they are on the issue of the mosque and Islamic center which is being built near Ground Zero in NYC. I understand suggesting a voluntary relocation of the center based on controversy avoidance, but assuming that Muslims seeking a place to pray and a multifaith community center are defaming the families of 9/11 victims, many of whom support the center, reaks of Islamaphobia. While I used to regard the ADL as the harmless knight that no one needed around anymore, it seems as though Foxman has turned it into an anti-Muslim political machine.

I personally am embarrassed by the stand that the ADL has taken on this issue. That said, the ADL does not speak for all Jews, and certainly does not speak for me on this issue. I hope that the ADL reconsiders its position, but I fear that that is not likely. I urge people who support (legally, ideologically, or on both fronts) the construction of the center to speak out, and was impressed with the remarks of Mayor Bloomberg. Furthermore, I fear that the ADL will lose any credibility it still has as a watchdog for hatred, as it seems to be engaged in the behavior of hate.

First Instinct

It still surprises me that after all this time, my first instinct when something extremely exciting or traumatic happens is to call my love. I found a job posting this morning and dialed the number to the ranch and hung up after one ring when I realized that not only is she not at the ranch, but no one is, as her parents are at the hospital - her dad has been admitted and her brother went to live with her aunt for a while.

I've had very limited contact with her mom and her brother lately and her father is in very poor condition after falling off the tractor due to heart problems. I hadn't realized how much I still cared for her parents until her little brother sent me a scared email about their dad. I mean, when people blame you for the death of their child, even if that blame is entirely misplaced, it's hard not to be angry, but they are still family, and I guess always will be.

Update

Strange times have been had. I have inflammation of my ribcage, which Ginkgo Girl, as H will heretoforth be known in this blog, (yes, I did write this sentence that way to get to use the word heretoforth), thinks she caused by sleeping on my chest. I highly doubt this.

Getting through the middle of July was particularly hard this year.

My love's father is recovering from serious injury.

A friend from NUJLS came to visit. We had lots of fun and took advantage of his chemistry knowledge.

Minute by Minute

Minute by minute I'm trying to slog through the day. I've even done a few productive things today and managed to eat a little. I'm trying to remember the good things. There were so many good things.

July 12

Ten years ago, I was happy. I was just another happy camper (literally) at OSRUI having a good time in Chalutzim and putting finishing touches on Yom Horim. I spent menuchah and a little time after lights out writing letters to my girlfriend. I guess it's funny that I don't particularly remember July, 12, 2000 as I had no reason to when it happened. Why should a random Wednesday at camp stick out particularly more than any other day, especially when I didn't know that I would want to remember that day.

In fact, the only thing I know to have happened on that day happened 500 miles away from Oconomowoc. And I didn't know until three days later.

Today, on the other hand, I'm a wreck.

Nomenclature dilemma

I was going to refer to H as LBG on my blog. LBG, standing for little blonde girl, a term by which she self identifies, would read too much like LBJ, not particularly one of her favorite former presidents. So, I'm trying to think of other options, because initials are silly.

In any event, I met her parents and her sister this weekend, which went rather better than when she met my parents. I think my brother would like her though, not that my parents don't, but they have a funny way of showing it. Not that I really care what my brother thinks.

Also, I confirmed I lost something of importance from my love today. I lost it a while ago but was living under the delusion that I would find it somewhere in my mess. I can no longer live under that illusion. I realize that stuff is stuff, and that memories are more important than stuff, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't like to hold on to what little stuff I have from her.

So... I'm in love.

I met H for the first time in December, at Hillel of all places. I figured she was too awesome to be single and put her in the no box at that point and didn't really get to know her well initially. She was, at that point, dating someone. Shortly after that, the two of them broke up.

Fast forward to February: my prayer group at Hillel put together a megilah reading and party for Purim. We had a lot of fun, and that was even before we started playing Apples to Apples. We played around 60 cards of Apples to Apples that night, and there were five of us playing, but there was only one person who really had my attention that evening. Together, H and I collected 42 cards, tied at 21 at the end of the game. I offered to walk her home and she consented to my offer. We had a wonderful conversation, albeit a strange one for a first talk. At this point I found out she was single. She closed the door and went up to her apartment, which she calls a flat. I turned to walk home and called a friend to gush about this woman, who I knew almost nothing about at that point other than we shared a sense of humor. Actually, we share a brain, but I did not know that yet.

I started fabricating excuses to hang out with H. She consented to many of my offers to hang out, and we talked about anything and everything. Eventually, I asked her on a date, to which she agreed. She canceled the date a little later, realizing she still had feelings for her ex, with whom she is now back together.

Interestingly enough, I got closer to her after that. She and I would call each other when we needed someone to vent to. She's amazing. I feel so comfortable around her. She understands me and I told her I love her even though she's dating someone else. She's promised to think about things.

Exciting Day

I woke up at 2:15PM - perhaps that's why I'm having so much trouble going to sleep. The last 24 hours have been quite exciting as well. About midnight Friday into Saturday, I had a seizure. It was the first seizure I had had in over 5 years. I was in bed next to the woman I'm in love with, who I'm not dating, and she dragged me to the hospital, understandably.

I got discharged from the hospital at around 6 in the morning. We went back to her place, which is closer to the ER and finally went to sleep. After waking up in the afternoon, I decided to back out on a commitment I had made for dinnertime because I felt so awful and so drugged from everything they gave me at the ER.

However, H had another idea, which was to go to the Taste of Chicago, where Band from TV was playing. Band from TV includes Hugh Laurie and Jesse Spencer, and H and I had a ball. In return, after the Taste closed for the night I dragged her to one of my favorite spots in Chicago. From the Quincy loop stop, there is an amazing view of the Sears Tower [sic], and tonight was the perfect sort of clear to show her.

Thoughts on Mechitzot

This year's fourth year graduates of the College at the University of Chicago were first years when I was a fourth year in college. Although I know some people who began college after my fourth year, this year's class is the last class I can say I'm familiar with. Particularly this class is the last one that I helped organize with as a student. As such, I was invited to share a last Shabbat at Hillel with one of them this past weekend. Walking out of Hillel on Saturday afternoon to go home and take a Shabbat nap (something which did not actually happen), one of my acquaintances at Hillel asked me which side of the mechitzah I would sit on if I were to attend services at Yavneh (the Orthodox minyan which meets at Hillel). I told her this is why I haven't been to Yavneh services in so long, which actually might have avoided her real question. So, in this entry I will try to explain my current thoughts on mechitzot and mechitzah minyanim.

I recognize that not all my readers, if I even have any, may be familiar with the idea of a mechitzah. A mechitzah, from the same Hebrew root as chetzi, or half, is a divider common in traditionally observant Jewish worship spaces which separates men from women during prayer. In most prayer groups that use a mechitzah, women are excluded from leading large portions of the service. Thus, the mechitzah serves to separate the uninitiated members (the women) from those initiated. Male children are allowed to sit on either side, being regarded as not-yet-initiated as opposed to uninitiated.

Ideologically and religiously I am personally opposed to such a separation. My religious beliefs necessitate an strict egalitarianism, and ideologically I am opposed to roles in the community that depend on sex or gender. Thus, my personal practice does not include worshiping in spaces with a mechitzah. I find it antithetical to my beliefs.

That said, and I might get kicked out of various progressive camps for saying this, I recognize that some people have a desire and even a religious need for single-sex and/or single-gender spaces. I recognize that having a men's side and a women's side can have a spiritual as well as a social function. However, even if women were separated but not restricted from leadership roles or counting in the quorum as they are at Yavneh, I would be bothered by the mechitzah's presence on an ideological and religious level. The existence of the mechitzah implies a binary between men and women which I do not believe exists.

Furthermore, I have a practical problem with mechitzot. I am a transmasculine thing who has large breasts and does not bind, but wears men's clothing. I read as neither man nor woman or maybe both. I would feel exceedingly uncomfortable on either side of a mechitzah. Furthermore, I feel it is disrespectful for me to sit on the women's side of a mechitzah as I do not identify as a woman. And I would probably be asked to leave most men's sides even if I decided that's where I wanted to sit.

My point is, if offered a choice of which side to sit on, I would prefer neither. I would prefer to pray without a mechitzah, as one community rather than two or even two parts of the community. This is my problem with the idea of tri-chitzah minyanim as well. Why divide the community of prayer?

Fighting

Ten years ago we fought. Ten years ago we fought an epic battle of words. It lasted many hours. I even insulted her because I knew it would hurt. She did the same. She wanted me not to go to camp. I'd be far away, out of touch. (She was the only successful pen-pal I have ever had, and the only person I habitually wrote from camp.) I wanted her to understand that going to camp did not mean I cared any less about her. I wouldn't be able to see her more if I didn't go, and it sure beat my parents' house for the summer. Plus, that was my Chalutzim year and it was only 7 weeks long, so maybe I could visit for longer at the end of the summer. She wanted me to understand that she would be lonelier without me on the other end of the telephone. But instead of speaking in civilized voices, we yelled angrily. When she hung up the phone, she said, "I love you. I love you more than anything, but, honestly, I kind of hate you right now." That conversation is one of ours I remember most.

A First

I broke down night before last. I cried. I cried because I had a woman in my arms. I cried because I wanted to kiss her and could not, because I am a gentleman. I excused myself from the room and found myself in a conversation with my beloved about what had just happened. I didn't realize it then, but this woman is the first of my interests I have told my love about.

Elohai N'shamah

Looking through my old poetry, I found this gem, a meditation on Elohai N'shamah:

God, is my soul pure?

Is it true, what I've been told?

Did You take the time to create it,

to shape it, to breathe it into me?

Is it a gift or a burden?

Is it on loan?

(I can't pay the interest.)

God, is my soul pure?

Parents and trees

Being at my parent's house is weird and horrible. I get frustrated with the way my parents treat me, which is some mixture of a free-thinking adult and a three-year-old. I got so frustrated tonight that I yelled at them. However, I can't really say I regret doing it. I hope that doesn't make me a horrible person.

This past fall, my parents had to take out two trees from our back yard. One was over 75 feet tall. It was a beautiful two-trunk cottonwood, which had served as plentiful shade (and also first base in our childhood whiffle ball games). The other was a modest white pine. The yard looks completely different (and also largely empty) despite the two remaining trees. It's weird to adjust to, but the weirdest thing is that in order to take the cottonwood out, a crane had to be brought into our neighbors' yard. So they have a different tree in their front yard now, making their house not look at all like the memories I have of it. There is no more tulip poplar there, now there is a small maple.

Love

When I was a freshman in high school, I went to some sort of workshop at a NFTY event run by Rabbi Arnold Jacob Wolf, z"l. I don't remember what this particular workshop involved, but I remember Rabbi Wolf coming up with a definition of love. He said that love is an entirely selfless thing, not a give-and-take situation. At the time, though I was in love, I did not believe him. When my love died, I understood what he meant. I would have given anything for her.

My saddest day

I hadn't thought about my experiences on July 15, 2000, in a direct way in a long time. My conversation last night caused me to remember what happened. I was at Chalutzim at OSRUI that year, and I received a letter. At first I thought it was from my beloved, but it was from her parents. I remember the stamp held an image of the American flag. I remember reading how sorry they were that this was the only way to reach me, the only way to tell me, and that "their son" had committed suicide. They had found my love on July 12, dressed in a suit and tie, on the floor. It was too late. They knew that we had been close and considered me like family.

There was no way not to believe them. But I also could not deal with it properly. I wanted to run away from the news. I felt that if I could just get far enough away from that piece of paper doom it would go away. I ran from Chalutzim to Tiferet to search one of my former counselors (I did not feel I could trust the Chalutzim madrichim). I found one of my all-time favorite counselors who asked me what was wrong.

I remember saying, "She's dead. She's dead." I was sobbing by that point.

"I'm sorry. Who was she?"

"My life," I said. I'm not sure if I had ever put it in those terms before, and I'm not sure if he understood what I meant. He helped me calm down a little, and I think I told him then that she was "a good friend" of mine and a little bit more about her.

He helped me calm down, but by the end of the conversation, I was angry at her, and remained so for a long time. How could she have done this to me? (Clearly, she had never really loved me.)

I guess this was the start of my grieving process for her.

Uncovering My Head

I have stopped always covering my head. Almost ten years ago, in August of 2000, I started covering my head all the time in hopes of doing something active to make myself more mindful. I did this because I felt guilty. There must have been something I did or something I could have done that I didn't do to prevent my love's suicide. Recognizing that I am not at fault for her death was an important step.

In the meantime, I have been accustomed to wearing a hat or kippah all the time. However, if I am serious in my approach to Judaism, I have to be just as willing to reexamine and abandon practices that are not adequately meaningful or that I am doing for the wrong reasons as I am quick to adopt new and meaningful practices for the right reasons.

Thus, the headcoverings are coming off, at least most of the time. I still feel naked without one, but I am hoping that will pass.

The Power of a Few Good Tears

I awoke today with the sense of an innocent fourteen-year-old. I felt my love's arms wrapped around me. The chords of our song were in my head and I could smell the aftereffects of an August rainstorm.

When I came to my twenty-four-year-old senses, I cried and now I feel oddly peaceful.

An Old Orange Stegosaurus

Today, in my grief, I picked up the old orange stegosaurus eraser that my beloved had given me as a gift in elementary school. It's one of those erasers from those quarter eraser machines every elementary school seemed to have in the early '90s. When I picked it up, I had a flashback to when she gave it to me. I saw her, felt her press it into my open palm, saying "I know you like dinosaurs." I decided to carry it with me today because of that.

Amazing Experience

Sometimes, when you need to do amazing things you get to. Sometimes, when you need to do amazing things you get to, even if you haven't planned on it and even if the person who suggests doing them doesn't know you need to do amazing things. Yesterday, I went to the drum circle event at Rockefeller Chapel as a part of UofC's C.R.A.S.H week. It was certainly a fun experience. Since the drum circle happened right before the weekly carillon concert, we were able to carry our drums up the 271 stairs to the top balcony of the chapel (and also to the carillon room - I got to play notes on the carillon). Having the extraordinary experience of the view from the top of Rockefeller was definitely worth the climb (and the descent). Also, it was an experience I definitely needed to have yesterday, at least in retrospect.

The Unexpected

Memory, sadness, and anger have a tendency to creep up on me unexpectedly. Yesterday, I was asked an innocent question about my familiarity with a certain geographic area, which I answered very succinctly as to avoid any sort of break down. Which was successful for a while, until I got an email at an old account from my love's little brother. I haven't heard from anyone in her family for several years. Much later in the day I could not sleep I was so saddened.

Yizkor

So I ran late to 7th-and-last day of Pesach services at my synagogue on Monday. I am glad I made it. It was not the first time I had said Yizkor for my love, but it was the first time I felt no need to hide any part of my identity or hers in order to do so. I even refrained from breaking down during services, though I did cry when I returned to the relative safety of my apartment. Of all the occasions for Yizkor, Pesach tends to be the hardest for me. Perhaps because saying Yizkor for my love reminds me even more than does the Seder that redemption is not complete.

Next Year May We All Be Free

On Pesach (Passover), Jews are commanded to tell the story of the Exodus. This telling has (at least) three major functions. First, it is a remembrance: we remember the Exodus as it happened to our ancestors (mythologically if not historically), as we read, "My father was a fugitive Aramean." Second, we place ourselves into the Exodus from Egypt, as it is said: In every generation, each [Jewish] person must see hirself as though ze came out from Egypt. And third, Pesach is a recognition that slavery exists in our own time and a petition based on our hope that one day, everyone will be redeemed.

This passage from past to present to future (or possibly combination of the three) is part of what makes the Seder such a compelling family occasion. The juxtaposition of reclining during the meal with the eating of matzah, the bread of affliction, shows the mix of our joy in redemption and our remembrance of slavery and the Exodus.

Next year may we all be free!

Shabbat Zachor

Most Jews celebrating Shabbat Zachor this week are remembering to wipe out Amalek from their memories. I, however, am dealing with a different relationship with memory this Shabbat. I am trying to remember so many things, but many of them seem out of reach.

This Shabbat marks ten years to the day from the last time I saw my love face to face. I remember the qualities of our interactions better than the specifics now. I miss her.