A fond farewell to the Obama years

I'm celebrating the last few hours of the presidency of a man I helped to elect. There will be those who say he ran on a platform of change but did not make any. Do not believe them.

Against an incredible and quite racist backlash, President Obama pushed through ambitious legislation which left us, on balance, a more perfect Union than we were when we started. More Americans have access to more opportunities than ever before and more access to redress of grievances should they be mistreated. He worked to minimize the effects of the Great Recession. He diversified both the executive and judicial branches, including at the highest levels of government, and he diversified the types of art that are officially nationally appreciated. He recommitted America to nuclear non-proliferation and arms reduction. And he did it all while being an involved father to his children, a loving spouse to his wife Michelle, and a dutiful brother to his siblings.

There are, of course, both areas in which I wholeheartedly disagree with his approach and think we regressed and areas in which I am disappointed with his lack of action or the meager progress he made. Still, I am proud to have worked for him, proud to call him my president, and proud to begin listing him as one of my former presidents beginning later today.

The first First Lady I remember well is Hillary Clinton. Although my parents had to explain to me how new and unusual it was to have a working woman be the First Lady, her brilliance and commitment to the public good inspired my young feminist self. Watching Michelle Obama for (more than) these past eight years has been an absolute joy. Hillary, part of my mother's generation, fought and fights the kind of feminist battle Michelle benefited from - that we all benefited from. And Michelle daily moves us closer to global safety, independence, equality for women and girls. She is a true leader and I look forward to seeing what she will be up to next.

Working for OFA changed my life. For me, it was not an expression of youthful idealism. There were other candidates in '08 whose political views more closely conformed to mine than did Obama's. I viewed him then, as I do now, as a pragmatist. I did hope that he could create a more transparent (and therefore trustworthy) government, and his failure to do so (and in fact his moves toward more secrecy) remains my biggest disappointment of the last eight years. But even eight years ago I wasn't holding my breath on that one.

But working for OFA changed my life. It allowed me to re-encounter my hometown as an adult, exploring amazing places I never previously thought worth my attention. It introduced me to friends I would never have otherwise met and bonded us with a core of experiences that I treasure. I gained my Obama family. I learned so much, not only about public policy and how to campaign, not only many of the technical skills I have since put to use professionally, but even about people. And how what makes each of us tick individually somehow combines into the representative democratic experiment we call America.

The current political climate - that seems the euphemism of choice - creates a temptation to fall into the trap of declaring our 45th president not to be mine. This was also a popular expression of discontent in the George W. Bush years, and I did not then fall into that trap, even though the case for delegitimization was compelling. Because I can claim a president to be the leader of my country without agreeing with that person's views or decisions. Because for now, I live in a place where that remains not only possible, but enshrined as my right. And if I claim to have no ties to the leader of my country, I cannot see myself to be in any way responsible for the actions America takes under that leader. But though I may not personally approve of or consent to actions our next president will take, I assent to our system of government and affirm my role within it not only on election day. I cannot pretend I can absolve myself of the consequences of Trump's leadership. My responsibility to stop his agenda didn't end when the electors cast their ballots for him. Today it will truly start in earnest.

There are those who see the diversity of opinions and approaches on the left as a detriment to the goal of stopping America from adopting Trump's agenda. They claim we must be unified but they mean we must be uniform. When we disallow dissent we become no longer radical but reactionary. Still, we must organize across our differences of opinion, approach, and priorities if we are restrain our next leader. This does not mean we need to relinquish our own convictions.

I am very grateful to have benefited from the Obama years and to have been able to do my part to make them happen. I pray that we experience a seamless, peaceful transition of power. And that we can again.

In defense of the "stay safe" message...

My alma mater received a credible threat of gun violence for today.  The FBI notified the school that an anonymous shooter threatened a specific campus location at a specific campus time.  In response, the University of Chicago cancelled all services deemed non-essential.  Why they closed student health services as non-essential is a subject for a different post.  The U of C has increased security, including the oh-so-helpful police with visible weapons, and has advised students to stay off and away from campus or stay indoors if they must be on campus because they live there.

Given the situation, many good wishes are being sent to U of Cers and Hyde Parkers, including messages like "thinking of you," "praying for you," "sending love your way," and, of course, the requisite "stay safe."  Amidst the inundation of these posts, some U of Cers are decrying the futility (and therefore perceived insensitivity) of such offerings and directives.

There are legitimate critiques to these mostly formulaic offerings, of course.  Saying "thinking of you" isn't doing anything but communicating worry.  Praying or sending love or good vibes is possibly effective, at least at transforming worry into compassion, but can come off as trite or even offensive.  And the stay safe directive can make it seem like you are responsible for avoiding violence in an uncontrollable situation.  But while possibly not ideal, all these responses communicate that there are people who aren't colocated with you who care.  They say, ultimately, I care whether you live today.  I want you to live today. And I do.  And whether you are a friend I hold dearly, another student trapped in your own home by a terror threat, or the person who thinks bringing a gun to campus will solve your problems, I care whether you live today.  But saying it that way is likely to provoke of intensify your fear of death, which is the last thing I want to do right now.

This is not to argue that if you are afraid then the terrorists win.  Someone threatened to kill you, and fear is a valid and reasonable emotion to experience in a situation like this.  But fear causes the brain to increase irrational responses as well.  It can produce panic and/or a fight-or-flight response.  So while it is ok to be afraid, listening to and acting on your fear could put you in an unnecessarily difficult situation, which I don't want to make for you.

So be annoyed, if you must.  Or exit your social media universe and take today to catch up on your reading, checking updates once in a while, to avoid the trite concern of your powerless friends, acquaintances, and lovers.  But direct your annoyance properly, at the person whose threat caused the situation you're in, and at the systems which led to gun violence seeming like the best solution to end or express their pain.

Here's why I like "stay safe" for these situations.  In all likelihood, you are currently safe.  The word "stay" implies that; it serves as a reminder that in all this chaos, you can start by taking a deep breath and reminding yourself that as of now you are safe.  If you aren't, get help and call 911 if warranted.  There are actions you can take that would decrease your safety such as being on campus where there are armed Chicago police (never mind the internet-based threat), and you don't need to take them.  This is not a day to organize a protest of U of C closing.  People with guns might use them and the number of them on campus has increased because of the threat.  Take affirmative steps for self-care to avoid crossing border from fear to debilitating anxiety.  And distract yourself from your powerlessness over things you cannot control.  Because today, I want you to live.  The world needs you, my favorite thinkers, jokers, rabble-rousers, and curmudgeons.  Learn something new today (crescat scientia, vita excolatur).  And stay safe.

Beyond Mathematical Discovery: What Having a Woman Fields Medalist Really Means

There is no Nobel Prize in Mathematics.  And while the Norwegian government has managed to fund a separate prize called the Abel Prize with a similar monetary award and the Israeli government issues a coveted Wolf Prize in the discipline, no mathematical prize means more in mathematics or outside it than the Fields Medal.  The monetary value is only $15,000 Canadian, but the prestige is priceless. This year, for the first time, the Fields Medal, which can be awarded to as many as four people every four years, was awarded to a woman, Maryam Mirzakhani, and awarded to a mathematician from the global south, Artur Avila.  The press is making a big deal of the woman thing and not a big deal about the global south thing, which should not surprise anyone.  The press is also trying to diminish the significance of a woman winning the Fields Medal by stating that no woman has yet won either the Abel or Wolf Prize in mathematics and talking statistics on the sex ratio of Ph.D.s in mathematics.

These prizes are all awarded for mathematical discovery in particular, not pedagogy, compilation of resources, or many of the other things that academic mathematicians do in their work. All but one recipient of the Fields Medal has been an academic.  When you think about mathematical discovery, you think about a bunch of dead white guys having eureka moments in their bath tubs with a crown.  And maybe, if you are the child of mathematicians like me who was the right age in 1994, you think about Andrew Wiles holing himself up in secrecy for seven years to prove Fermat's Last Theorem.  And, if you read the news, you might also think of the one non-academic Fields Medalist Grigori Perelman, who proved the Poincaré conjecture.  Even if you are the child of two mathematicians, you probably don't think about your mother running Maple calculations about complex manifolds while cooking dinner, or a young mathematician taking a break from writing a paper to nurse her child.  And you don't think about how the ability of even a brilliant mathematician to devote the time and energy to amazing discovery and to get the resources she needs is dependent on her gender.  Only 30% of mathematicians are women, and far fewer are tenured faculty at the world's top research institutions.

Before getting to the Fields Medal itself, let me push the other prizes to the side.  The Wolf Prize has only existed since 1978, and it is a lifetime achievement prize.  Its recipients are the authors of your college mathematical textbooks, the provers and conjecturers of Big Theorems, and the founders of new mathematical disciplines.  Among its recipients are many Fields Medalists, and it has no age cap.  This means that the gender bias in its recipients spans not just the last 20 years (assuming start of real mathematical work around age 20) but of the last 50 to 60 - Shiing-Shen Chern received the prize at age 73.  So, when looking at a Wolf Prize awarded in 2014, we need to look at the gender biases in mathematics at least back to 1964.  The Abel Prize has only been in existence since 2001, and despite its 6 million kroner ($1 million US) prize, is not discussed as a goal in mathematics.  Its recipients are mainly winners of the other two prizes, and I think it is still working to establish itself as a legitimate prize, and picking winners helps in that.  It is worth noting that my mother's thesis advisor, Isadore Singer, shared the prize with Sir Michael Atiyah in 2004 for the Atiyah-Singer Theorem, which won a Fields Medal for Atiyah but not for Singer, as singer was too old to win the prize at the time.  Similarly there is no age cut off for the Abel Prize, which is also in the process of making up for its years of not existing.  It is therefore not surprising that it has not yet been awarded to any women.

Now for the Fields Medal, which is awarded for outstanding discoveries by young mathematicians.  For young mathematicians to succeed in quests for discovery, they need to be in the right environment and have support and the time to make their discoveries.  This includes being in a research environment full of other talented mathematicians, usually ones in your own field, and having the support to do independent and collaborative research as well as teach.  Additionally, being able to make mathematical discoveries is not usually a matter of Eureka moments but of extensive contemplation and research, something which taking the time to bear and raise children, even if not taking time off from academic teaching responsibilities, can severely hamper women's progress in mathematicians.  While plenty of men mathematicians spend time raising children and caring for their families, they also have the option of having children later in life (which they do) and passing off care responsibilities to their partners in ways that are not acceptable for women.  The consistent gender imbalance of faculty at elite institutions makes it even harder for women to get the resources they need to overcome these challenges.  Top young women mathematicians are often given excellent positions at 2nd tier schools who are interested in attracting young mathematicians to keep and expanding which fields they have faculty in.  They take these jobs because tenure is hard to come by and they are then set for life.  But it makes incredible discovery harder.

I am hopeful with these latest Fields Medalists.  The inclusion of a mathematician from the global south means that meaningful mathematical educational structures are developing there.  The award going to a woman under 40 at a top American institution means that we are on the way to fixing the gender disparity in mathematics.  If she can now get the support she needs at Stanford, others will be able to as well, and more women will want to become mathematicians.  Programs will have to be more attentive to specific needs and concerns of women.  And maybe fifty years from now, the Fields Medal, the Abel Prize, and the Wolf Prize in mathematics will all be able to be given to amazing mathematicians of many genders on a regular basis.

9 Av

This year I find that my fast has been easy so far, with three hours left to go.  Not that that's the point of Tisha b'Av, but it's noteworthy.  I feel appropriately in touch with brokenness and conscious that our world remains unredeemed. But Tisha b'Av as mourning doesn't feel meaningful, maybe because I'm already mourning.  In addition to the loss of Mr. Boy, this year Tisha b'Av is my grandpa's yahrzeit.  The metaphor of a bottom speaks much more to me this year.  It feels like the world, the people Israel (not to mention the land), and my life have all hit bottom.  I wish I could write more on this, but now is not the time.

Anyway, some 9 Av meditations if you are in need.  Not standard ones.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dRPwFAoQwxc

http://www.theguardian.com/world/2014/jul/20/sayed-kashua-why-i-have-to-leave-israel

Peace is a Radical Pursuit: A Poem for Shabbat Jazon

Peace is a radical pursuit

Not the desire of polite society

To avoid the drama and chaos

Of conflicting human instinct

The pundits cry out for the moderates

"Where are the reasonable voices?"

They ask for the confrontation-averse

They call for the champions

Of maintaining the status quo

The wise who would rather

Continue to live in a world

Of unchallenged hypocrisy

Where occupation is sustainable

And terrorism acceptable - for now -

As long as it doesn't flood

The news feed or clog

The air waves or clutter

The rabbi's disagreeable sermon

The pundits cry out for the peacemakers

"Where are the reasonable voices?"

They ask for the confrontation-averse

They call for the champions

Of maintaining the status quo

The wise who would rather

Continue to live in a world

Of unchallenged hypocrisy

Where occupation is sustainable

And terrorism acceptable - for now -

As long as it doesn't flood

The news feed or clog

The air waves or inflame

The imam who is a foreigner

Anyway - from the Bronx

How exotic - And always

Jews first and Muslims after

Peace is a radical pursuit

Not meant for civility

Peace is not easy or quiet

It does not make way

For celebrity gossip

Or whatever it is that

Normal people care about

Peace is abnormal, anomalous

A miracle, I say, all say

Peace means I must care 

About your happiness

As much as I care about mine

It means I must hurt about your pain

As much as I hurt about mine

Peace means that I know

That the word naqba

Emotionally translates to galut

That it is real and

That it will be felt

Statehood or not

For the rest of forever

Until mashiaj comes

To be a Jew means that I believe

With perfect faith that she is on her way

Already, though she delays

To be a Jew means to believe

In the radical notion

That peace is possible

Even now, especially now

Achieving peace as a Jew

Means I must be like the disciples

Of Aaron - loving peace and pursuing it

To be a Jew is to be a storyteller

Of exile - of survival

That inspires the Dalai Lama

To be a Jew is to respond

To the most heated argument

With the affirmation

That these and these are

The words of a living God

The merciful, the compassionate

In which I may not believe

To be a Jew means

To not oppress others

Because I know oppression

To be a Jew means I must beat

My swords into plowshares

And my spears into pruning hooks

And then I must beat my plowshares

Into trumpets and my pruning hooks

Into guitars - to be the folk song army

To be a Jew is to turn

To turn my song into prayer

To be a Jew is to end

All my prayers with prayers for peace

And to pray not only with my words

But also with my feet

Peace is a radical pursuit

Not for those who justify any

Violence against tunnelers

Who are obviously up

To no good at all

Not for those who try

To figure out who

Has the moral high ground

Peace does not blame or shame

Peace is not the absence of violence

It is the hurling of understanding

Against hatred, of love

Against fear, of kindness

Against all types of aggression

Peace is a radical pursuit

It is the humble admission

That I don't know
What it's like to be you

That I will never know

What it's like to be you

But that I wish for you

To have everything that I want

And everything that you want

Peace is a radical pursuit

It is the acknowledgement

of guilt and pain and sorrow

Peace is a radical pursuit

It is an offering

Of the broken self

To experience 

Further vulnerability

Peace is a radical pursuit

Peace is not the prophet's vision

Peace is not the musician's hope

Peace is not the artist's aspiration

Peace is not the poet's dream

It is her job

Peace is as close to us

As the air we breathe

And as perplexing

As that breath we spend

So many hours trying to find

Welcome to the world's

Most hazardous occupation

Peace is a radical pursuit

It is not standing with anyone

It is sitting with everyone

It is for the brave-hearted

It is for the strong-willed

It is for the faithful

Peace is the proclamation

That in the face of every

Unimaginable provocation

As well as the expected ones

We will not feed the trolls

Except at the dinner table

Where they should eat more

Moderation perpetuates

Hatred and violence

It exacerbates

The pain of the status quo

Moderation is unreasonable

Peace is the reasonable alternative

Peace is a radical pursuit

Impatient, chutzpadik, a loud

Call to prayer at sunrise

Peace is a pundit

Demanding that we abandon

Being perpetrators and being victims

Peace is an activist

Fighting for its presence

Peace is an organizer

Asking you: Are you radical enough?

How The Religious Institute Aims to Improve the Lives of Religious Bisexuals

In my life, I have been seen by others as a straight woman, a lesbian, a gay man, and even a straight man (which still baffles me).  Once people get to know me, they learn that I say I have attractions to people of multiple genders, but they don't often believe me.  When I started dating Mr. Boy, many of my friends who met me after my previous relationship with a man were shocked.  Even though I had stated my bisexuality (for lack of a more convenient term), my friends assumed that was talk and I was really only attracted to women.

In religious contexts in particular, even in otherwise queer-friendly spaces, this invisibility is worse and I have often encountered outright biphobia.  I think part of the reason bisexual invisibility is increased in religious spaces is the focus on finding one person to share your life with (I say one here because religious groups, as a whole, have not caught up to ideas of non-monogamy).  When people are in a relationship, this is praised in religious communities to an extent that erases sexual orientation.  This is particularly true in liberal Jewish communities where the reaction to someone saying they have a partner of the same gender is to ask if that partner is Jewish (another conversation for another time).

The Religious Institute today releases a book-length guide which will improve the experience of bisexual folk in religious communities.  The first resource of its kind, Bisexuality: Making the Invisible Visible in Faith Communities, is a comprehensive guide for religious communities to welcoming and inclusion people who have attractions to more than one gender whether or not they identify as bisexual.  The book asks the reader to consider whether the B in LGBT actually gets heard at her congregation.  Parts 1 and 2 of the book present an overview: Part 1 focuses on what bisexuality is and how people experience it and Part 2 on the justifications for inclusion of bisexuality on religious grounds from a variety of religious perspectives.  Part 2 also contains a brief contextualization of the "problematic" passages about LGBT folks from Tanakh and the New Testament.  The third part of the book outlines how to create a "bisexually healthy" religious community.  And the last part of the book outlines additional resources.  In short, the book attempts to address the issue Emily Alpert Reyes describes in her column "Why Bisexuals Stay in the Closet", which, incidentally, gets quoted in the book (props to friend and fellow University of Chicago Alum).

Suggestions in the book range from the often-overlooked-but-easily-implemented (writing out lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender so that the B isn't functionally silent) to the takes-specific-training-and-is-hard-to-implement, like the model of pastoral care it advocates.  That and the background information in Parts 1 and 2 enable this guide to be used by clergy and lay leaders regardless of prior familiarity with the issue, but also allow those with much experience to go even deeper.  The beginning of the introduction best describes the intricate issues examined in the book:

Imagine the following situations in your faith community:

• A congregant comes to you for pastoral counseling. He is excited, yet distressed that 

although he has always identified as straight, he has fallen in love with someone 

of the same sex.

• You are on the search committee for a new pastor in your community. One of the 

applicant’s profiles states that she identifies as bisexual. 

• A married woman in your congregation finds explicit homoerotic websites on her 

husband’s computer and comes to you for advice.

• A person everyone believes to be gay comes to a congregation party holding hands 

with a person of another sex.

• Two middle school students in the youth group announce that they are bisexual. 

Is your faith community prepared for these situations? Is your faith community open to 

people whose sexuality does not fit into the categories of gay/lesbian or straight? Does 

your faith community have access to resources about bisexuality and bisexual people? 

Even if you think you are good at theses issues, I encourage you to read through this book to see if your practices fall into some of the pitfalls the Religious Institute has identified.  I was surprised that some behaviors I thought were inclusive (hello big many-gender-loving trans guy here) could actually be detrimental.

Things the book does really well:

* Casts a wide net on what constitutes bisexuality that is well-explained.  The authors explicitly state who the guide is intended to help include, even, and perhaps especially people that don't use the term bisexual to describe themselves but experience same and other gender attractions on at least one dimension of sexuality.

* Combats the gender binary by using terms like "another gender" and "another sex" instead of "opposite sex" or "opposite gender".

* Talks about the ways in which bisexuals contribute specially to religious life and spiritual awareness.

* Presents nuanced and well-informed definition of sexuality and accounts of bisexual experience. I love the multiplicity of bisexual narratives in the book.

* Breaks down suggestions in a way that any congregation can start to implement immediately.

Things I don't like about the book:

* The phrase "bisexually healthy".  I assume it is meant to parallel the organization's use of the term "sexually healthy", but I don't think the usage is parallel and I think the term is confusing, even after it is defined.  I would advocate the words "friendly" and "safe" for bisexuals instead.

* The book is extremely monogamy-normative and does not address the issue of how to include and pastor to bisexuals who are not monogamous.  I personally think that the attitudes can exhibit the same poly shaming that is normative in many religious communities.  As a poly ally, this rubbed me the wrong way.

* Christian buzz-word terminology.  Uses of the terms "welcoming and affirming" and "faith communities" that originate or were popularized in Christian contexts present a barrier to non-Christians reading the book.  We would use "inclusive" and "religious communities."

Things that should be improved for the next edition:

* Better representation (particularly resource-wise) of religious traditions other than progressive Christian denominations.  In one resource list, Christian resources are divided by denomination, but no Jewish movement resources are listed.  Instead, there is one sub-header "Jewish" that lists Keshet and Nehirim.  This sort of listing, combined with the Christian-centric terminology

* More testimonials, with special effort to include testimonials of folks who are partnered to someone of the same gender.  Where partners are discussed in personal narratives, they are always of another gender than the writer of the narrative.

* A consistent use of gender instead of sex when the authors do not mean to focus on phenotypic, genotypic, or legal sex.

* Expansion to non-Abrahamic traditions - the book as it is now relies on the shared context for expression of values of Abrahamic faiths and the shared values of the Abrahamic religions.  Many other religious traditions are sexually healthy and would like to be safer, inclusive spaces for bisexual folks, and this guide would not be useful for them.  The authors state that it is intended for Christians, Jews, Muslims, and Unitarians.  But this sort of inclusion is necessary in all religious spaces.

In all, this is an incredibly practical and useful resource, and every religious (or faith, I suppose) leader should invest.  Good work, Religious Institute!

Nuanced Perspectives, Digital Media, and Human Beings

After a deliberate absence from digital media following the death of Mr. Boy, I have been re-immersing myself in digital content lately, returning to getting my news online, keeping up with my twitter feed, and catching up on my webcomics, fanfiction serials, and blogs.  Facebook still remains elusive, as any time I log on, somebody is still congratulating me on my marriage, and I don't yet have the strength to change my relationship status.  While on my calculated hiatus, I read the news in the local paper and also the New York times, and kindly bowed out of any discussions regarding new developments on the interwebs.  Returning, I have a new perspective on the way media is produced and reacted to online.

We make big controversies over things that are trivial and minimize or sideline those things that terrify us.  Fierce debate can occur about what really happened in the elevator with Jay-Z and Solange, what should have happened, and how all the players in that situation should act following the incident.  Since none of us have power over what happens in the Carter-Knowles family, we could speculate without consequence.

But when Elliot Rodger killed 6 people and injured 13 others because he felt entitled to have women who rejected him, the internet quickly broke into 3 camps that did not converse with each other.  I'll call the first camp the extremist camp.  This is the camp of people who believe Rodger was justified in doing what he did, or at least that he wouldn't have done it if women had been more reasonable.  Some members of this camp have since been arrested.  The second camp was the feminist camp, which saw Rodger's crime as part of a systematic hatred of women that should not be tolerated, exemplified here.  And the third camp is the isolated crazy person camp, which puts forward Rodger's history of mental illness as explanation of what happened.  After each camp responded, they moved on, focusing on other facets of existence.  They were able to do this by compartmentalizing the killings, either as part of their own crusade against uppity women or as an extreme case of a systemic societal problem (either as perpetrator or victim).  Although their voices on the internet are louder than proportional, advocates of mass murder are few, and the world treated the killings, if not the motivation behind them, as an isolated case.  We compartmentalize mass murder because to treat it as something that could happen to us or by us terrifies us and if we really stopped to consider how anyone could become or be a victim of mass murder, we would cease to be productive citizens.

Still, the approach of over-analyzing topics that we can wrap our heads around and not analyzing those we can't is extremely problematic, as Jonathan Z. Smith outlines in his essay about the White Night.  The essay, entitled "The Devil in Mr. Jones", counters the assertion that Jim Jones was an isolated case in religion and the best approach is to move one.  Smith argues that if we dismiss how the Peoples Temple was started, how it grew, how it developed into Jonestown, and how the White Night occurred as unrelated to the study of religion, we will not understand how Jones manipulated religious phenomena in a way that caused the deaths of over nine hundred people.  If we say that atrocities are only committed outside of a societal framework, we don't correct the societal framework in a way to reduce the occurrence of atrocities.

I've recently read some flame wars on the use of PrEP (a medical phrophylatic approach to reduce risk of contracting HIV).  A bit about the treatment: Truvada is administered to HIV-negative patients who are at high risk of contracting HIV, including men who have sex with men, sex workers, and injection drug users.  Early studies suggest that the prophylaxis is highly effective for males who are compliant with the protocol.  So the flame wars, instead of discussing how we can provide PrEP cheaply to those who may benefit, weigh the merits of advocating PrEP instead of condom use (as if we only have space to do one or the other), and whether we should even be trying to convince gay men that they should alter their behavior to avoid contraction of HIV.  People are arguing over how gay men act or think instead of how to allow this resource to be useful to as many people as possible.

As a Jew, it's been hard to escape the news about the recent kidnappings of students at Yeshivat Har Etzion.  Before going further, let me say the non-nuanced, unequivocal things I think about the situation.  First, these students are victims of a crime.  Second, it is the wish of any decent human being that they be returned safely as quickly as possible.  Third, I believe that the modern State of Israel has a right to exist and a right to govern the land it currently occupies.  Fourth, Palestinians are human beings and have a national identity and have a right to self-determination in their own land.  Fifth, a two-state solution to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict is the solution most likely to eventually achieve lasting peace and stability in the region, which should be a desired goal for the entire world.  I've followed reporting from various sources with various political inclinations regarding the kidnappings.  But the internet is in two camps: either Israel is at fault for its occupation or the Palestinians (as a whole) are at fault because Jewish teens were kidnapped..  There is no nuance to the argument.  Even Samuel Heilman's article urging a systemic look only advocates that Israel and its yeshivot do more to protect their students to prevent students in yeshivot from getting kidnapped in the first place.

In my own head, the argument is very nuanced.  It starts with compassion for the teenagers and worry about their lives and safety.  I am angry at the kidnappers, but am reserving judgment on whether they acted as a part of a larger organization.  Whenever conflict is at the brink of resolution, violence escalates.  And yes, while Heilman may not think it does much, I am reciting Psalms for the missing boys.  Then, my head goes to the point that Gush Etzion is in the West Bank, and in my mind it is immoral for Jews to occupy the area, and I don't understand any Jew who lives, studies, or sends their children to the area.  And I also know about the four villages in Gush Etzion that existed prior to Israeli Independence that were destroyed by the Arab forces in 1948 and their predecessor Migdal Eder.  And I know the land they were built on at that time was formally purchased despite the fact that it fell on the Arab side of the Partition Plan.  And I know that K'far Etzion was founded in 1968 in part by the families of people who had lived in Gush Etzion prior to 1948.  But, in my view times have changed, politics have changed, and the best way to have avoided the kidnappings in the first place is for Jews to withdraw to Partition Plan borders, or for Jews who do not want to to live under the authority of a Palestinian state.  Currently though, Jews, particularly those involved in perpetuating and expanding formal Jewish structures, living on Palestinian land are part of the problems of occupation.  Yet I know the reality of moving an established yeshiva is not simple.  And I know those kids.  Well, not Naftali Frenkel, Gilad Shaer, or Eyal Yifrah, but those like them.  They are reasonable men who took gap years, or occasionally grew up in Israel and studied at the yeshivot in Gush Etzion, some of which were prestigious.  The range of their politics about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict mirrors that of the Jewish community as a whole: from staunchly anti-Zionist to extremely pro-Israel.  They are, on the whole, nice Jewish boys, who taught me how to identify which yeshiva someone had attended by the specific type of kippah srugah he wore.  And the ones I lived near in college opened their homes to me, a non-observant (by their standards, at least) queer Jew because that was how they wanted to celebrate Shabbat.  And when I married the Catholic Mr. Boy, they sent us the well-wishes of mazel tov and sheva brachos [sic] because they wanted to be a part of our happy occasion.  They are the fiercest pronoun police and can't stand it when anybody does it wrong for me.  And they have taken down mechitzot so I may pray with them.  So, when I hear the developing news and I watch the minutes tick by, I don't see Naftali, Gilad, and Eyal.  I see Yoni, Rafi, and Zach*.  I see Asher, Avi, and Daniel*.

I don't have a way to reconcile my image of settlers helping perpetuate a system of apartheid with the providers of shabbes tisches and blessings for my big gay interfaith wedding.  And absorption in the internet's way of forming camps doesn't help.  But people do.  Being open to making friends with people I never thought I'd interact with, both online and in person, allows me to see the nuance in situations.  It allows me to know that unless someone can have access to a stable living environment and follow up care, he is not likely to be compliant with a PrEP regimen.  It allows me to recognize that Palestinians and settlers are human beings, both when they are living well and when they are choosing poorly.  And it allows me to admit that the stuff that horrifies me horrifies me because it is horrifying, whether it be the mass suicide of an entire religious movement or the kidnapping of boys, and I need to try to understand it rather than compartmentalizing it.

*Names changed to protect identities.

Stop Questioning My Gender Identity: On Piers Morgan, Janet Mock, and the trans narrative

Twice a week, on average, my Twitter feed erupts in some sort of controversy.  Like many activists, only "one side" of the issue appears in my feed, as I've constructed my twitterverse to be full of people whose thoughts, opinions, and interests are in concert with mine.  I have plenty of avenues to read the thoughts of people I respect that I disagree with, so I don't bother cluttering my twitter feed with homophobic, antichoice, conservative, transphobic, racist, procensorship, or interventionist sorts unless I also happen to be friends with them.  To be exposed to the opinions of people with whom I disagree, I need only read the newspaper, and if I want to be inundated with them, I can watch FOX News.  My twitterverse is therefore a space where I want to hang out: comfortable, welcoming, inviting, interesting, and safer, if not always safe.

The most recent controversy that popped up on my feed is the controversy over Piers Morgan's initial interview with Janet Mock.  The controversy has been extensively chronicled in the media, so I'll avoid rehashing it at length here.  In short, Janet Mock objected to the way Piers Morgan framed her story as being the story of someone who was formerly a boy and man and became a woman the moment she had vaginoplasty in Thailand.  Janet Mock's fan base got defensive and attacked Piers Morgan, calling him transphobic, and telling him he owed all trans* [sic] people everywhere an apology.  Piers Morgan objected to the criticism, accused Janet Mock of orchestrating abuse of him, and cited an article to justify his framing that she had been a man that Janet Mock did not write herself and critiques in the book, Redefining Realness: My Path to Womanhood, Indentity, Love & So Much More, which she was on the show to promote.  Morgan painted Mock as someone who was out to destroy his reputation, said that she did not object at the time, and repeated that he is a supporter of transgender rights.  Morgan's painting of the controversy fed into mainstream cultural narrative of transgender women: that they are deceptive, as did his overemphasis on Mock's coming out to her romantic partner, insinuating that if she had chosen not to do so, she would be a liar - a man trying to deceive another man into believing that he is a woman.  I do not believe Morgan meant to feed into this myth, but I also don't believe he did enough to avoid its presumptions.  Because of the controversy, Morgan invited Mock back to the show.  In the second interview, he asked her why he was being villified, what he did that could be interpreted as offensive, and why she did not object initially if she had a problem.  She explained (over and over) that she was assigned male at birth, she never identified as a boy or a man, she did not object initially because she was appreciative of the opportunity and scared about how an objection would be taken, and she reiterated that she did not villify Morgan.  She called him an ally and asserted the importance of him getting it right because of his platform as an ally.  She advised that we follow how trans women identify in order to describe them, rather than projecting our own assumptions on how they must identify or feel.  Morgan could not understand what a trans woman of color could possibly find scary about a straight white man.  The interview had several interruptions, but by the end, Mock seems to have communicated that there is a difference between sex and gender, if not that there was a power dynamic that made her fear of speaking out at the time justified.  While Redefining Realness is primarily about intersectionality, and Mock has stated that she cannot live a single identity, Morgan still reduces her appearance to a coming-out narrative and did not let her talk about the book.  Both interviews seem as though the questions were prepared only from the Marie Claire piece about Mock rather than a read of her book.

If Morgan had stopped after the second interview, it would have been an amazing thing for both of them.  Mock had the opportunity to explain what she found problematic, and Morgan had the opportunity to frame himself as an ally, trying to do his best to be supportive, and trying to understand if and how he failed so as not to repeat the mistakes.  However, then there was a panel, in which Ben Ferguson asserted that Mock was a man and boy and Amy Holmes said that the only reason that Mock appeared on Morgan's show is because she is trans (not, for example, that she had written a book as part of her activism).  While Morgan did a good job containing and reiterating what he had learned in closing the panel, there was no reason to have the panel for him to acknowledge he had learned something new.

Other than his insistence that he is a victim in the situation and his defensive stance, Morgan did exactly what allies should do: he asked questions, he listened, and he learned.  Mock, for her part, did exactly what she should do: she spoke up when she felt able that something an ally had done bothered her, and she patiently explained why while reiterating her understand of him as a supportive person.  As far as apologies are concerned, I don't believe anybody ever owes anybody an apology.  An apology is an expression of remorse for wrongdoing.  If Morgan wishes to apologize to Mock for mischaracterizing her story unintentionally, he is free to do so, and if Morgan wishes to apologize to his viewing public for not treating a guest in the most respectful manner possible, he may do so.  As far as all transfolk everywhere? The fault there lies with society, not with Piers Morgan.  We must give our allies the benefit of the doubt when they misstep.

Back to my Twitter feed: I felt alone, even though I'm not alone.  I identify as a man, but I have not always.  I used to identify as a woman, and I used to identify as girl.  I was never a boy.  Sure, I was a tomboy, and that led to many trying to impose the identity butch on me, but tomboy is a fundamentally girly gender expression.  I owned it.  I was the girl who liked sports. I was the girl who could spit farther than most boys.  I was the gamer, the geek, the stagehand, the techie.  I had Shirley Temple curls past my shoulders, wore mostly flannels and birkenstocks, and took pride at being able to get along with the men better than with other women.   was the kid who wanted to be an astronaut because Sally Ride's story inspired me (and also space is cool).  I still answer the curious question, "I didn't know women wear yarmulkes" with a strategic explanation that outside of Orthodoxy many women choose to.  I joke that it took me so long to come out as a man because I wanted to be Julie Silver whe I grew up. I still do, by the way.  I was raised on feminist literature and feminist ideals, and the women and men in my life emphasized the amazing women in the world.  I still took many of the amazing women in my life, particularly many of my early teachers, for granted. I looked forward to joining their ranks.  My eulogy for my grandpa was about his support of me growing into a strong woman.  Then my identity crashed.  As I learned more and more about the way the lens of gender is constructed, I learned that I my conceptions of my gendered self don't match how femininity has been constructed or how feminine masculinity has been constructed, and "woman" became too uncomfortable a term.  So I stopped using it.  For a while, I tried to be outside the constructed gender binary, but I identified with particular kinds of masculine constructions of gender identity, and I ended up feeling that the box "man" is broad enough to include me.  When I identify as a man, people see me for me, and I can interact without the gender dysphoria I used to have. When I identified as a woman, my masculinity was the most important, visible aspect of my identity.  Now, as an effeminate man, neither my effeminacy nor my masculinity stands out.  I sometimes am read as a butch woman, sometimes as a gay man, sometimes as delightfully androgynous (and therefore genderqueer - another problematic assumption), sometimes as a queer man, and very rarely as a straight man.  When I talk about the times in my life when I identified as a girl or a woman, I use feminine pronouns for myself, and when I talk about times since I stopped identifying that way I use masculine pronouns for myself.  This sometimes shocks the people I'm around; I've been known to make jaws drop when I say I used to be a Girl Scout.  Being socialized to be a girl and become a woman is an important aspect of my identity.  I don't compartmentalize me, and I know that it grants me a queer perspective compared to other men.  When trans activists claimed to speak for me that the language Morgan used would be wrong for any trans person, they were wrong, and they made me feel like my narrative wasn't valid.

Allies, haters, the indifferent, and trans activists should not discount my story because there are people who have always identified with a gender that does not match the sex they were assigned.  By being open about having been a girl and a woman, I am being true to myself at those times.  By identifying as a man, I let my gender presentation fade into the background, so I get to interact on a level that takes my gender as a given instead of a question.   And isn't that what Janet Mock wants for herself?

The Menace of HIV/AIDS

I'm sick of correcting people about Mr. Boy dying.  Oh, so he died of cancer?  Well, no, but cancer killed him.  He died of AIDS.  The kind of cancer he had is rarely fatal for those with "normal" immune systems, but the 2-year survival rate for HIV+ folks who get it (because of HIV) is 50%.  But we still don't like to say people died of AIDS.  A long illness, or the secondary cause of death does better, because then we can live in the illusion that AIDS isn't scary anymore.  We can live in the illusion that health care is good enough that as long as HIV+ people have access to it they will be healthy for an indefinite period, and it won't be AIDS that they die of, but something else, and we can protect ourselves from infection.  And we can live in the illusion that there's no longer a stigma about being HIV+.

Maybe it's that I've had a positive partner, or more than "my fair share" of people in my social circle who are positive, that makes me so sensitive to this.  In the US, 1.1 million people are HIV+.  There are more than 315 million people in the US.  1.1 million people represents about one third of one percent of the population.  About 20% of my social circle is positive, and this was also true before I knew Mr. Boy.  In 2010, more than 15,000 Americans died of AIDS.  In 2013, three people in my social circle (including Mr. Boy) died of AIDS.

But the stigma of AIDS is still prevalent in our society.  When I was read as a gay man walking down the street with Mr. Boy, the assumptions of AIDS on people's faces was easily readable.  And in news stories, the assumptions between the lines make me crazy.  There was recently an article in the New York Times shaming gay men for not taking Truvada as a preventative measure.  And the small piece about  Walter Reed blood samples getting mixed up and what Walter Reed is doing to try to find a positive patient is full of stigma.  In the article, the person is assumed to be infecting others through unprotected sex or sharing needles, because the author assumed the risk of having someone who has HIV and does not know it must be elucidated for the reader.  The biggest segment of new infections of the disease is actually the monogamous partners of males who are not monogamous, contracted through heterosexual sex.  Maybe the author knows more about the patient details than I do, but if so, the details should be put to help finding the patient, not toward creating a scare of one HIV+ person who does not know she is.  The CDC estimates almost 1 in 6 positive folks don't know.they are positive, totalling to almost two hundred thousand people.  If that's your story, make it your story, but otherwise, make the story about the inability of military hospitals and their private contractors to maintain accurate patient data.

How the URJ Biennial exacerbated my pet peeves with the Reform Movement

I did not attend the URJ Biennial in San Diego.  My parents did, and I watched videos, though not live broadcasts, as I was busy during the days it occurred.  I was impressed with several of the pieces that are now available on the URJ's YouTube channel including R' Rick Jacobs' keynote, the women clergy (many of whom I learned from at camp and in NFTY) talking about how important NFTY was to their own experience, and R' David Ellenson's d'var torah and blessing of R' Aaron Panken.  I enjoyed learning about the work of the Ruderman Foundation, and fun facts about the progressive nature of the Women of Reform Judaism.  Neshama Carlebach explained how she was made to feel at home in the Reform Movement and is now choosing it for herself.  The cast of musicians was tremendous.  I experienced both naches and horror as current NFTYites cheered (naches because it's NFTY and horror because the cheer has changed in minor ways in the ten and a half years since I was a NFTYite).  I felt proud of the Movement in which I was raised.

Watching the videos from the Biennial also made me aware of the ideological distance between myself and the Reform Movement, even as there are more and more Reform Jews whose personal observance is traditionally radical rather than rebellious.  I felt alienated from the spectacle of pride in a Movement in various ways.

Ideologically, the movement is democratic and capitalist.  The Reform Movement is the movement most focused on inclusion of interfaith families, most talkative on issues of social justice, and claims it is the queer-friendliest (although it does not use that term).  These attributes were trotted out over and over to justify the Reform Movement's market share in America, propped up with unsurprising data from the Pew Research study on American Jewry.  As a socialist raised in the context of multiculturalism who has had the privilege of being a part of genuinely pluralistic Jewish spaces as well as post-denominational Jewish spaces, the competitive nature and liberal democratic values espoused to back it up were a turn-off.  I'm not interested in beating other groups of Jews (or anyone).  And, as my high school English teacher would say, show, don't tell me, that I should want to be a part of your organization.

The Reform Movement has what Rick Jacobs described as respectful differences with Israeli Prime Minister Benyamin Netanyahu.  Support for Israel as a political entity as the democratic and Jewish state was talked of the entire time, ignoring the socialist history of political Zionism, and almost entirely ignoring the injustice of occupation in favor of struggles within "Israeli" society for women's equality and religious (read Jewish religious) freedom (on which R' Rick Jacobs said the Movement and Bibi have respectful differences).  Furthermore, both Bibi and Vice President Joe Biden talked about the importance of keeping Iran from getting nuclear weapons.  Cue Tom Lehrer's "Who's Next?".  My thoughts on Israel, and on the relationship between Israel and American Jewry are quite complex.  Suffice it to say for this that I think the focus of American Jewish engagement with Israel should not be parroting support for injustice by buying into excuses.  The Reform Movement has a vested interest in Israeli politics, having programs and institutions there, and not having its rabbis recognized by the theocratic machine.  Therefore it should be outspoken on every issue that it cares about relating to Israel, and it should not describe any differences regarding subjugation of human beings as "respectful".  It should not stand by when Israel blames the failure of the Peace Process entirely on Palestinians.  As a well-organized body of progressive American Jews, the URJ should exercise its critical perspective on the ways in which Israel does not live up to Reform Jewish values, just as the Religious Action Center does the US government.

Lastly for the major issues, the Campaign for Youth Engagement grates my nerves.  Don't get me wrong; I support the involvement of young Jews in Jewish life.  I benefited tremendously from URJ camping (9 summers at OSRUI and one at Kutz), and my involvement in NFTY led me to feel like a part of the Jewish community rather than a token or an outsider.  The messaging of the Campaign for Youth Engagement is patronizing at best and selfish at worst.  Selfishly, it reads: the reason we should engage youth is that we need somebody to take over for us in 25 years.  The patronizing read is the message: youth are the future of our movement.  As a teenager, being called "the future" was one of the worst things you could say to me.  What I learned from being engaged as a kid and as a teen was that I did not have to wait to express my Judaism.  I was a Jew then, and I could live Jewishly.  My thoughts, insights, learning, and actions as a Jew mattered, even my first summer at camp when I was nine.  As I grew up in the realm of informal Refom Jewish education, I found support for my deepening religious observance in the youth movement and in the professionals who served it.  I found a camp counselor who was extremely traditionally observant.  I found the first person I called my rabbi (who is not ordained as such) in my teacher and mentor Danny Maseng, who implanted within me not only a love for Jewish music but the seeds of the spirituality I am currently building for myself.  I found the first rabbi I would call my rabbi in NFTY in the form of R' Arnold Jacob Wolf, z"l, who knew how to criticize my point of view and point me in the right direction while taking my angry rebellious teenage self absolutely seriously.

A URJ cynic would look at my life and say I am not a success story of Reform Jewish youth engagement. My primary Jewish involvement is not through a Reform congregation, but rather an independent Jewish community called Mishkan run by Rabbi Lizzi Heydemann (ordained at the Ziegler School at American Jewish University, which is affiliated with the Conservative movement) who was also taught by Rabbi Wolf. Since June, for the first time in my life, I do not belong to a URJ congregation.  (Two of the congregations I'm looking at joining happen to be URJ congregations, and one is more traditionally observant than most URJ congregations.)  I married a non-Jew, who, if he survived, would have made the most fabulous rebbetzin [sic].  I am looking toward becoming a rabbi and HUC-JIR is not even on the list of schools I'm considering.  After my first year as a camp counselor, I did not stay involved with OSRUI.  I am far to the left of the Reform Movement politically.  While I consider social justice to be of paramount concern for any Jew, my personal Jewish focus has turned more and more to tikkun middot (which I first learned about at sija in the Bayit at camp).  My theological views include a God that still actively performs miracles.  I can read resurrection of the dead and praying for the coming of the Messiah in metaphorical ways, although I generally prefer to talk of geulah rather than goel whenever possible.  I don't pray for a return of the beit hamikdash, but I do mourn its loss. I believe that we do not have to discard halaja to come up with ethical Judaism.  My political Zionism and my religious Zionism are separate. I don't feel there are any areas of Judaism that are not deserving of questioning.  I feel that there need to be ritual boundaries between what Jews are able to do and what non-Jews are able to do.  This perspective is particularly informed by my growing up with one Jewish and one non-Jewish parent and that non-Jewish parent later converting.  I don't believe that saying we are welcoming makes us so.  And I believe that talking about gender equality as women being equal to men enforces a binary that we should not be enforcing.  So, I'm in no way, the married-to-someone-I-met-in-Tzofim-become-Rosh-Eidah-go-to-HUC-JIR-or-law-school-or-med-school-join-a-Reform-Temple-20s-and-30s-group-future-URJ-board-member success story that the Campaign for Youth Engagement means to create.

However, without Reform Jewish informal education, I would have maxed out the Jewish knowledge of my congregation at an early age.  Without Danny's presence, Judaism would seem entirely intellectual to me.  Without Rabbi Wolf, Judaism would have become a boring set of rules that I didn't even follow.  I would not have developed a daily prayer practice and a reverence for Shabbat.  My parents would not attend synagogue on a weekly basis, and my dad has told me it was my passion for Judaism developed at camp that brought him into the Jewish community as a Jew and not just as related to us.  My partner would not have been enthralled by the rhythms and ethos of Jewish life. We would not have lived in the rhythm of the Jewish week.  And the thought of becoming a rabbi most certainly would not have occurred to me if I had not decided it was the best way to keep coming back to camp every summer for the rest of my life at age nine.  My Judaism might look like my brother's.  My brother had sporadic engagement with Judaism as a youth including a trip to Israel for the Eisendrath International Exchange, had a minor in Jewish studies at San Francisco State mostly because of the rampant anti-Semitism on that campus, and now his Jewish observance is mostly driven by his devout Catholic wife saying "don't you guys do this" and "shouldn't we...".  Judaism for him is at worst something he's stuck with and at best a peripheral connection to the rest of his family.  But then again, he and his wife belong to a Reform synagogue.  There's another possibility for what my Judaism might look like.  I might have gone what R' Benay Lappe calls "Option 2" and thrown out the baby with the bathwater, becoming an atheist who was raised as a Jew or identifying as "spiritual, but not religious".  I might have considered myself too good, too evolved, and too enlightened to practice ancient tribal customs.  My only engagement with Judaism might be seder at my parents' house.  Surely, if somebody had dismissed a teenage me as merely "the future" of Judaism instead of recognized me as a part of its present, I would have been dismissive in return.  Instead, camp and NFTY created places where I could be taken seriously where I was, where I developed the passion which led Judaism to be a central aspect of my life, and where my critiques of current Jewish practice started.  I don't need to feel a part of the Reform Movement, but I do need to feel a part of the Jewish people.  And I didn't feel an emphasis on that from the Biennial.

On Grieving

Mr. Boy died shortly after I posted a short list of his advice for me on November 20th.  Other losses have also touched me since Mr. Boy's death.  A mentor lost a father-in-law, a friend lost a father, Superman Sam whose story helped give me and Mr. Boy strength died, Peter O'Toole's death made news, and, of course, the world lost one of the most incredible humans ever when Nelson Mandela died.  With each loss, I thought I was in a place where my heart could not break more, but it seems as though compassion is unending.

I'd like to write something profound about Mr. Boy, but I think it's too soon for that.  I've been staring at a blank page for days trying to put something together for the service which will be Saturday.  But, as a trusted rabbi shared with me, there are no words.  Human language is not meant to describe grief.  We mourners are not meant to fit people, relationships, and pain into grammatical structures.  We are meant to learn how to hold the joy of love and caring and the pain of loss and absence together.  We are meant to refuse comfort, to be comforted, and to seek comfort from others (not necessarily in that order).  I am meant to reconcile the loss of my partner with the fact that I yet live.  That feeling my grief will be a part of my life in many different ways as I continue to live despite that I feel like my world has stopped.  To live with grief is to expand notions of family and community to include those who are not present.  To live with grief is to live radically - to participate in an ongoing revolution of reimagining life not based on what we planned but based on where we are.

Transgender Day of Remembrance

Even though today has been horrible in terms of my current situtation, I wanted to take the time to remember those who have died because they are Transgender.

Words of Wisdom from the Man I Married

Mr. Boy, dying, has made a number of recommendations to me for life after him.

1. Don't shave with a straight razor. You might be tempted, dandy as you are, but you're too clumsy.
2. You're a MacNeil now.  That means your motto is "To Conquer or To Die."  Conquering is always preferable, and is no longer meant only in a sense of conquering land or people. Spiritual conquering is the ultimate expression, these days.
3. Don't hang out with people who aren't stubborn; you have no capacity to interact with them well.  Stick with Jews and the Irish.
4. Laugh often.
5. You're better at being a good boy than a bad one; it's one of your best qualities.
6. Take time to mourn. Then move on.
7. Read the psalms.
8. No emotion exists that has not been properly captured by the Bard.
9. Being part of an Irish family means you can't ever get rid of them.  Don't try.
10. Add Irish to the list of languages you should learn.
11. Don't spend all your time remembering me, and when you do remember me, remember happy times and Hershey's kisses, not hospitals and vomiting.
12. There is an Indigo Girls song perfect for every occassion.
13. If people ask if you're Scottish, you say "Scots-Irish, by marriage."  Then they won't ask you any questions about your clan heritage.  But learn everything you can anyway.  Theoretically, you could owe fielty to Chief Rory.
14. Love.  Every person, every moment, every thing.
15. Don't try two days at a time. That's a recipe for disaster.
16. I will always love you. I don't know what happens after death (I'd like to think nothing), but if something does - I will still love you.
17. It will still be hard to be sexy while thinking of a red-nosed reindeer. Take comfort in the fact that some things will never change.
18. So I borrowed this one from my priest, but: Most of the time, what you think is a dementor is just a boggart.  And if it's really a dementor, eat chocolate.
19. Dream big; live bigger.  Life is always more amazing than your wildest dreams.
20. Though know'st 'tis common; all that lives must die,
Passing through nature to eternity.

Welcome to the last days - #FuckCancer

Yesterday Mr. Boy had unexplained pain.  When you have cancer, the doctors tell you what should hurt, and how much, and to tell them if your pain is not typical.  So he did.  And after tests, they saw that despite the aggressive chemotherapy, his cancer spread to his lungs.  In a "normal patient," they would advise continuing the chemo for the full cycle, as the full cycle is perhaps necessary for any effectiveness, but with an HIV+ patient with a very low CD4 count, it's too stressful on the body to continue the treatment.

What happens now is that the cancer will replicate, filling Mr. Boy's lungs until he can no longer breathe.  Without intervention, he may also suffer renal failure.  Mr. Boy does not want drastic measures, so the care he is receiving now is purely palliative.  The doctors say he has less than a week

I am in Toronto to be with Mr. Boy.  He's currently quoting Shakespeare, clearly using the time he has breath for its most exalted purpose.  He has to stop every few minutes to catch his breath.  I'm trying to be present, to enjoy the Shakespeare, to enjoy him before he's gone.

Drawing Strength from the Hardest Moments - #FuckCancer

Mr. Boy had methotrexate injected into his spinal column today, one element of his chemotherapy.  That process is painful and he'll be sore for a few days.  We're getting used to the routine of him being in cancer treatment.  We Skype before the doctors round on the patients, because after that, his day in the hospital is full of constant interruptions.  Sometimes we talk later, but we don't have deep conversations after 8AM.

It's hard to find the kind of support we're looking for.  Most support for cancer patients and their families focuses on hope.  What's important is that you have a positive attitude, there's a chance you could beat it, you could be one of the lucky ones if you just try hard enough.  What's important is that you think you have a chance you could survive.

Mr. Boy's cancer is such that the best hope is that he may survive for a little while longer and retain some quality of life, two years is a coin toss, five would be incredible - not good news for a thirty-one year old.  Our spiritual focus has been coming to terms with his death while trying to stay in the moment and enjoy whatever time we have.  The support focused on grief and loss seems altogether inadequate.  Not to say that it doesn't help, but grief is hard, and it takes time.  It takes time to let go of happily ever after, to let go of the possibility of children, to let go of dreams.  And incessant talk of death distracts from today.  Without knowing what Mr. Boy's quality of life after chemo will be, it's hard to make bucket list plans or even regular plans.  Taking joy in the now is

But we are finding strength from people who are share about their hardest moment facing terminal cancer.  People who have been told similar things that we have been told, or further along when the doctors tell them there is nothing more they can do.  One of the strongest stories that we grab on to is that of Superman Sam and his family.  A part of my extended camp community, Sam is an eight-year-old with AML now out of treatment options.  His parents blog at http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com about the experience of dealing with his cancer.  I've followed their story for a while, and Mr. Boy furiously caught up with it after his diagnosis.  We're members of Team Superman Sam, and we thank the Sommer family for sharing what's real about their experiences on a daily basis.  Sam is in our prayers, and we think he's incredible.  We hope he fills his remaining time with joy and love.  Mr. Boy hopes to do the same with his.

Visiting Mr. Boy

So Mr. Boy has been quite sick for quite sometime, and we found out not too long ago that he has Stage IV cancer.  He went to Toronto, where he grew up, for treatment.  And so I find myself here visiting him.  The chemotherapy is making his body weak and his mind tired.  He has no energy, can't eat right now, and the pain he's in is visible on his face.  This is depsite the medications they give along with the chemo to make him comfortable.

When I crack a joke, he tries to smile, but I can tell he's not amused.  Today, they're running some tests to see how effective his treatment is so far, one week in.  And I'm leaving to go back to Chicago, which breaks my heart because I want him to be here and I can see the sadness in his face that I can't stay longer right now.  He'll be here for three months.

One Jew's Praise of Halloween Customs

in memory of Bob and with all the love in the world for Bud and both of their families

I've seen many treatments recently of whether Jews should celebrate Halloween.  On a simple halakhic level, the practice of participating in rituals for another religion is forbidden.  Halakhah was not a big concern to me growing up, and still isn't.  The following is not an argument for why Jews should participate in American Halloween customs, but rather an outline of the benefits and Jewish values I received in my own life through having a rich experience of Halloween as a child.

My partner lives in Boystown, and gay men take Halloween quite seriously.  But the parades and costumes and frivolity of Halloween in the gayborhood doesn't compare to Halloween the way I remember it.  The Halloween I remember had no religious overtones, even in South Bend, where most folks are Catholic.  It wasn't until I studied French culture that I learned Halloween started as a religious holiday.

I lived in a neighborhood in South Bend that was the envy of other neighborhoods when it came to Halloween.  Kids would come to my neighborhood for the king size candy bars those in the mansions would hand out, and, of course, there was the haunted house my "behind" neighbors put together.  The best friends, Bob and Bud, who lived next door to each other, used their front yards as a spooky playground, and, I found out when I was older, their homes for the adult party.

As a small child, there was nothing so exciting as the fear that grips you when a hand grabs you in a candy bowl with false bottom.  Usually, my parents let my brother and I go trick-or-treating in a modest fashion.  The highlight was always the haunted house, whether the candy haul was great or sub-standard.

The haunted house brought the community together, and remains one of my best experiences of maintaining a yearly ritual that has the right intention and right actions - the haunted house captured both keva and kavanah of Halloween.  As I became an older child and knew that the hand in the cauldron was attached to a person, and even when I knew who it was under the table, it was still a frightful experience.  As I entered my years of being too cool to go trick-or-treating, as a neighborhood kid, I was put to work under that table with my hand in the candy cauldron or spraying silly string at kids from inside a coffin.  Becoming the man behind the curtain didn't take away the mystery or specialness of the haunted house experience; it added to it.  I was able to pass on the Halloween experience to those younger than me, and be responsible for helping my community.  And helping make Halloween happen helped me stay engaged with the tradition when otherwise it would have been uncool to participate.

When I was in high school, tragedy struck, and Bob was killed in a workplace shooting.  Bud, a fire chief, was one of the first responders at the scene.  After Bob died, Bud didn't feel much like throwing a haunted house and party without his best friends.  Bud put up a plaque explaining the absence of the community event.  The first year without the haunted house seemed empty.   The next year, the neighborhood community organization organized a day-time Halloween gathering in the park in the North Shore Triangle.  Halloween, after all, was a time that our neighborhood coalesced around, and we mourned Bob's absence but came together as a community to have Halloween without Bob, but for Bob and Bud.  Bud couldn't bear to celebrate by himself, and he didn't have to.

In college, my dorm organized a haunted house and brought people in to trick-or-treat, and as I became involved in the queer scene, many people my age do the costume thing and have celebrations, but there's not a proper ruach Halloween outside of my neighborhood in South Bend.

For me, Halloween is not about who has the cleverest, coolest, or sexiest costume.  It is not about how drunk one gets or who has the best drag act.  It is not about how much candy you collect or how scary you are or how scared you get.  It's not about the decorations or even about great death and ghost puns.  Halloween is about community, it's about support, it's about building things together.  It's about letting other people enjoy themselves and doing the work to make it happen.  It's about hospitality - having way more Halloween candy ready than necessary because you never know who will come to your door.  It's about remembering the amazing antics from last year or five years ago, and telling and retelling those stories.  And most of all, it's about the power of emanating kindness from the fast friendship of two men.

From Halloween, I learned values of tradition, kindness, what it means to be a part of a community, how to be there for those grieving, how to pass on my love for something to the next generation.  And I learned it better and clearer from a haunted house than from my synagogue.

Zman simjateinu

Sukkot is upon us.  For eight days, we are commanded to be happy.  I've always rebelled against this notion.  How can you legislate a feeling?

Marrying Mr. Boy

Mr. Boy dislikes science fiction.  He insists that Québecois is real French.  When he is involved in a project, he focuses on that to the exclusion of everything around him and his own self care.  He goes to Northwestern.  He's shy to the extent that it limits his social interactions.  He claims there are parts of his life I will never understand because I'm not a twin, and then doesn't explain them.

That's a short list of what I see as his shortcomings, to underscore that I know he has them.  That said, we're getting married, which still seems unreal after two days of being "true".  I feel blessed to have him in my life, and I'm looking forward to being married, and we're taking wedding planning one step at a time.

The requisite post about Shabbat Nachamu

So I'm a little behind on this blog, and Shabbat Nachamu was a few days ago.  The observance of it is poignant for me this year, as Shabbat Nachamu is a reminder that there's hope.  Even in the darkest times, when it seems like the end of the world as we know it, we are reminded that hope is real and also external to us.  When we have lost hope it still exists somewhere outside of us, and we need only locate it.