Diagnosis: Human
Diagnosis: Human
Nicole Smith
Rabbi Julie Pelc
5/10/08
Gender makes me angry. Year after year, ever since I rejected my first polka dot toddler sized dress, I have been haunted by a set of categorizations that make little sense to me. I was always a happy, active kid and I loved playing outside, exploring, digging in the dirt and causing mayhem. Elementary school followed the same pattern. The other girls had tea parties, I played kickball. Even if I wanted to be friends with another little girl, they had little interest in my outspoken, dirt smudged, 7 year old self. Barbie's were always ridiculous to me- disproportionate and undeniably plastic. I could see little or no point in driving dolls around in "Barbie Jeeps" or whoever the corporate sponsor was that year. Most of my friends were boys, with the exception of the occasional fellow-female-eschewer of the mundane and pointless. So it went, straight through till I moved to Japan in the summer after 4th grade, where I was an anomaly in so many ways that no one cared. My friends in Japan were so overwhelmed by the cultural differences between America and Japan that the fact that I was a tom-boy was secondary. In Japan, the gender divides fall along vastly different lines. Boys have their own coarse slang and vocabulary, while women are more tied to the politeness often associated with Japanese culture. Children are socialized to optimal interpersonal relationships, and though I struggled at first, I came to understand the intricacies of the culture. Within my two years there, the parents of my friends told me that sometimes I was "more Japanese" than their children.
This cultural achievement was rewarding, but returning to America was not so simple. In Japan, age thirteen is not a "sexual" age. Children still spend their time in school, secondary school, with family or playing with friends. In America, the space between 4th grade and 6th grade is a time of sexual awakening, of experimentation with clothes and makeup, pushing limits- trying cigarettes and marijuana in the forest behind the middle school, of cliques and gangs. Boys and girls cordon off and gender roles blossom. I was not prepared. I was different, at best, and at least, outright strange.
I'm not sure if I ever "caught up" per say. By being so removed from the hormonal shift allowed me to analyze it critically, and I decided I would rather not engage in their mindless self destructive behaviors. I could see the strangeness of wearing revealing, expensive clothes to "attract" fellow twelve year olds. This isolated me, but I found a few kids who were on the same page as me and survived (these kids turned out to be their own kind of crazy, but that is a whole other chapter).
Perhaps because of the backlash I experienced, I began to look to other places for human connections and differing world views. I embarked on a journey to understand the religion my atheist family had eschewed, Judaism. I read book after book after book- books I would later find on my syllabi for college.
Here, I sought to understand the gender roles. My mother, an ardent feminist, had instilled in me that patriarchal religions fundamentally oppress women. I liked Judaism a lot. I appreciated the thickly woven traditions, the beautiful services, the never ending questioning and the belief in a just God. The limitations against women in procuring a get, the idea of a mehitzah, the prohibitions in the more orthodox sects of touching the opposite gender all perturbed me, but I'm a firm believer that anyone who blindly embraces all the beliefs behind any philosophy or religion is either stupid or being manipulated. It's not that I think we should treat religion like a grocery store and only pick up the things we want, but that all humans have a propensity towards being shortsighted, and our religious expressions must be melded so that we do not deny ourselves of fundamental human expression in the name of what other human beings think God wants us to do. So, I went forward and at age 15, joined my local reform synagogue in Berkeley. My parents were very upset, but I was able to walk to the synagogue for services and the Rabbi would drive me home. I incorporated much of Judaism into my life, but still struggled most prominently with the gender divides. I leaned towards Conservative Judaism in terms of beliefs, but Conservative Judaism wouldn't ordain gays and lesbians until this year!
The decision to become a Rabbi came gradually. I had my bat mitzvah at age 17, and shortly after, decided to study Jewish studies in college. Again, my parents were appalled, but I knew that my life had to be defined by my decisions, so I pushed forward. I googled Jewish Studies and found the University of Judaism. It seemed perfect, situated in Los Angeles, with scholars aplenty and attached Rabbinical Seminary that rumors whispered would begin ordaining gay rabbis by the time I was ready to apply. I applied to several schools, got into many, but the letter of acceptance from the UJ loomed large. I thought college would represent a free exchange of ideas. I knew I would confront others who disagreed with me, but never, ever did I think, as a high school senior, that I would be signing up for four years of battling for acceptance. I thought that people understood, or would at least be open to trying to understand. Surely, I thought, no where could be oppressive as my highly dysfunctional family.
My freshman year, the adjustment was relatively bumpy. My roommate had "never met a lesbian before" and I was bombarded with ignorant questions (don't these people have google??) such as "How do lesbians have sex?" and "How can you know you're gay if you've never had sex with a man?" People didn't know what to do with me. I became a resource for the bi-curious, a sounding board for the closeted and representative of the Gay. Quickly, I realized that my identity was being defined by the fact that I am not straight. Instead of talking to me about my interest in writing, politics, or my incredible yo-yoing skillz, people talked to me about being gay. Gay marriage. Gay Rabbis. Gay Hollywood. Gay, gay, gay. It extended beyond the social, into my classroom experience. In the core curriculum, my Identity and Community teacher put off discussing gay marriage, because I had the flu and was absent. Luckily, my freshman year, there were many gay and lesbian kids on campus. We banded together, creating the "Lesbian Lounge" as a queer friendly atmosphere.
Not so for my next year. My allies graduated or moved off campus. The next year brought more inquisitive and unschooled students who carried the torch of ignorance right into my second story dorm room. The trend began increasingly apparent. I was not an individual. I was an oddity, a friendly, intelligent oddity, but an oddity. My relationships were the source of speculations. Would I date beautiful women? "Dykes"? Would I, perhaps, select some lucky Jewish stud with which to have a threesome? After Jackie and I met and began to date seriously, our male friends never seemed to be able to get this idea out of their heads. I was not taken seriously as an independent woman, nor as part of a committed, monogamous relationship. If I were to approach a friend in a heterosexual relationship and demand a threesome, could you even fathom the repercussions?! Classes did not improve. Any mention of gay issues and fifteen pairs of eyes would dart in my direction. Did I sign up for this? Should I really have to anticipate never ending comments, stares, jokes and insults?
The reality of being who I am at the UJ was overwhelming. Jackie and I became more and more withdrawn from the school, spending all our time together, where we were safe away from the prevalent stereotypes. It's amazing how often one's gender is called into question as a gay woman. Any masculine trait is seen a symptom of the "Gay" and any feminine quality, abnormal and quaint. "Nico, you can sew?! Weird! I would never expect that of you!" I do not believe there was much animus behind such statements, but the size of the school, in combination with the conservative, sheltered Jewish upbringings made it very difficult.
When faced with life at the UJ as it is, I saw more and more what I would be up against as a gay, woman Rabbi. With my faith faltering, my interests expanding and the prospect of being looked at like I am at the UJ for the rest of my career, I realized I would not be happy. Some may call this weak, some may call it giving up. They may be right. I guess this is not the battle I want to spend my life fighting. There are just too many people who believe deeply in Leviticus 18:22 and Genesis 19:4-5. There are too many who believe its unnatural. Too many who believe that they, as normative heterosexuals, can tell me that I made the "decision" to live as a lesbian. There are also other fights that I want to fight. I believe I can really make a difference in this world, using my unique skills and talents. I will find a good use for myself, just, I suppose, not through Judaism.
The previous pages have scratched the surface of the world that brought me into the Constructions of Gender class. Surely, I thought, this class would make the students see what they were doing, and where their beliefs were short sighted and offensive. But I was outnumbered, 18 to perhaps four. The material covered in the class was ideal, it was the students who were lacking. When discussions emerged, again and again, carefully worded but with no hidden meaning, students couldn't help but state that different gender roles, homosexuality and other differences would hurt society. The fact that no one called for an abolition of all heterosexual marriage, or "gray" gender neutral toys for children, or even all women in the workforce was irrelevant. Again and again, the three or four open minded students would say "opportunity for change, not forced change" but no matter. The majority could only hear the sound of their own logic. It wasn't long before I saw that they were not interested in real discussion. They came to the class for re-affirmations from each other. They sought safety in numbers and they found it. Personal heart wrenching stories from those who know too well the burden of being different fell on deaf ears. Those within the heterosexual, male/female norm seemed threatened by feminism, trans issues, and egalitarian Judaism. Never mind those of us who believe in difference believe that difference defines us. Never mind that none of the brilliant minds from throughout the ages that brought us civilization, science, religion, democracy, and art- no, none of those minds that changed our society were "normal." Never mind us, we're "weird."
I can only say that my identity has been shaped by knowing what I am not. I am not closed off to ideas, even ideas that I initially disagree with. I will not define myself in fundamentals. I know that I have the personal strength to be who I am, even if it pains me to see how others react to me. I know that when one is doing something which fulfills them, and is not hurting another, I will not foist my opinions of what is okay onto them. Certainly this may seem to be a slippery slope to some. I have taken a fascination with the Mormon sect this semester, and have had a side pet project to understand their historical practices which are foreign to me. I have struggled with the decision in 1890 to ban polygamy. To me, as long as all parties are consenting, non related adults, I see no reason why they should not be allowed to practice their beliefs in their own homes. Is it confusing for a child to be raised by one father and multiple mothers? Certainly no more than being raised by a single mother and her two sisters. Certainly no more than being raised by the State of California. Are we so interested in projecting our beliefs of what is barbaric that we will not give people the opportunity of self determination? Abuse is one thing and should be ended where ever possible, but we must weigh the exposure to all different perspectives. In Europe, American families who feed their young children exclusively at McDonalds are seen as abusive, and who are we to disagree? Yet, these families keep their children while our states scoop up the children of polygamists and throw them into the foster care system (Obviously, there are valid interventions, when children are being molested or abused. I refer only to the removal based on the practice of polygamy). This class has taught me that sometimes we must learn to respect differing sociological constructs, be they gendered, religious, or even just personal preferences.
Heading out into the world beyond college, I know I have grown from being forced to confront, every day, the differences between me and the rest of my classmates. I hope that there have been a few students that I have gotten through to. I hope that my fellow students will learn from being exposed to a person as intense as I am. Though I couldn't speak up much in the Constructions of Gender class (it's hard to talk with your jaw clenched), I learned a lot about what motivates people to cling to their normality. It's scary and lonely to be different on this planet. Shockingly, the secret is that we are all different- cliche as it sounds, most people are scared of other people taking away their sense of normality. By clinging to the lowest common denominator, it seems less lonely. Someday, perhaps with age, perhaps with experience, perhaps with a little too much wine at some idle Sabbath dinner, I hope it will click that it's okay. We're all okay. We are all given the same diagnosis. Not male, not female. Human.
******
I'm not looking for debate or commentary on my writing. read it if you think it's interesting, but don't judge my experience unless you've lived it.
Nicole Smith
Rabbi Julie Pelc
5/10/08
Gender makes me angry. Year after year, ever since I rejected my first polka dot toddler sized dress, I have been haunted by a set of categorizations that make little sense to me. I was always a happy, active kid and I loved playing outside, exploring, digging in the dirt and causing mayhem. Elementary school followed the same pattern. The other girls had tea parties, I played kickball. Even if I wanted to be friends with another little girl, they had little interest in my outspoken, dirt smudged, 7 year old self. Barbie's were always ridiculous to me- disproportionate and undeniably plastic. I could see little or no point in driving dolls around in "Barbie Jeeps" or whoever the corporate sponsor was that year. Most of my friends were boys, with the exception of the occasional fellow-female-eschewer of the mundane and pointless. So it went, straight through till I moved to Japan in the summer after 4th grade, where I was an anomaly in so many ways that no one cared. My friends in Japan were so overwhelmed by the cultural differences between America and Japan that the fact that I was a tom-boy was secondary. In Japan, the gender divides fall along vastly different lines. Boys have their own coarse slang and vocabulary, while women are more tied to the politeness often associated with Japanese culture. Children are socialized to optimal interpersonal relationships, and though I struggled at first, I came to understand the intricacies of the culture. Within my two years there, the parents of my friends told me that sometimes I was "more Japanese" than their children.
This cultural achievement was rewarding, but returning to America was not so simple. In Japan, age thirteen is not a "sexual" age. Children still spend their time in school, secondary school, with family or playing with friends. In America, the space between 4th grade and 6th grade is a time of sexual awakening, of experimentation with clothes and makeup, pushing limits- trying cigarettes and marijuana in the forest behind the middle school, of cliques and gangs. Boys and girls cordon off and gender roles blossom. I was not prepared. I was different, at best, and at least, outright strange.
I'm not sure if I ever "caught up" per say. By being so removed from the hormonal shift allowed me to analyze it critically, and I decided I would rather not engage in their mindless self destructive behaviors. I could see the strangeness of wearing revealing, expensive clothes to "attract" fellow twelve year olds. This isolated me, but I found a few kids who were on the same page as me and survived (these kids turned out to be their own kind of crazy, but that is a whole other chapter).
Perhaps because of the backlash I experienced, I began to look to other places for human connections and differing world views. I embarked on a journey to understand the religion my atheist family had eschewed, Judaism. I read book after book after book- books I would later find on my syllabi for college.
Here, I sought to understand the gender roles. My mother, an ardent feminist, had instilled in me that patriarchal religions fundamentally oppress women. I liked Judaism a lot. I appreciated the thickly woven traditions, the beautiful services, the never ending questioning and the belief in a just God. The limitations against women in procuring a get, the idea of a mehitzah, the prohibitions in the more orthodox sects of touching the opposite gender all perturbed me, but I'm a firm believer that anyone who blindly embraces all the beliefs behind any philosophy or religion is either stupid or being manipulated. It's not that I think we should treat religion like a grocery store and only pick up the things we want, but that all humans have a propensity towards being shortsighted, and our religious expressions must be melded so that we do not deny ourselves of fundamental human expression in the name of what other human beings think God wants us to do. So, I went forward and at age 15, joined my local reform synagogue in Berkeley. My parents were very upset, but I was able to walk to the synagogue for services and the Rabbi would drive me home. I incorporated much of Judaism into my life, but still struggled most prominently with the gender divides. I leaned towards Conservative Judaism in terms of beliefs, but Conservative Judaism wouldn't ordain gays and lesbians until this year!
The decision to become a Rabbi came gradually. I had my bat mitzvah at age 17, and shortly after, decided to study Jewish studies in college. Again, my parents were appalled, but I knew that my life had to be defined by my decisions, so I pushed forward. I googled Jewish Studies and found the University of Judaism. It seemed perfect, situated in Los Angeles, with scholars aplenty and attached Rabbinical Seminary that rumors whispered would begin ordaining gay rabbis by the time I was ready to apply. I applied to several schools, got into many, but the letter of acceptance from the UJ loomed large. I thought college would represent a free exchange of ideas. I knew I would confront others who disagreed with me, but never, ever did I think, as a high school senior, that I would be signing up for four years of battling for acceptance. I thought that people understood, or would at least be open to trying to understand. Surely, I thought, no where could be oppressive as my highly dysfunctional family.
My freshman year, the adjustment was relatively bumpy. My roommate had "never met a lesbian before" and I was bombarded with ignorant questions (don't these people have google??) such as "How do lesbians have sex?" and "How can you know you're gay if you've never had sex with a man?" People didn't know what to do with me. I became a resource for the bi-curious, a sounding board for the closeted and representative of the Gay. Quickly, I realized that my identity was being defined by the fact that I am not straight. Instead of talking to me about my interest in writing, politics, or my incredible yo-yoing skillz, people talked to me about being gay. Gay marriage. Gay Rabbis. Gay Hollywood. Gay, gay, gay. It extended beyond the social, into my classroom experience. In the core curriculum, my Identity and Community teacher put off discussing gay marriage, because I had the flu and was absent. Luckily, my freshman year, there were many gay and lesbian kids on campus. We banded together, creating the "Lesbian Lounge" as a queer friendly atmosphere.
Not so for my next year. My allies graduated or moved off campus. The next year brought more inquisitive and unschooled students who carried the torch of ignorance right into my second story dorm room. The trend began increasingly apparent. I was not an individual. I was an oddity, a friendly, intelligent oddity, but an oddity. My relationships were the source of speculations. Would I date beautiful women? "Dykes"? Would I, perhaps, select some lucky Jewish stud with which to have a threesome? After Jackie and I met and began to date seriously, our male friends never seemed to be able to get this idea out of their heads. I was not taken seriously as an independent woman, nor as part of a committed, monogamous relationship. If I were to approach a friend in a heterosexual relationship and demand a threesome, could you even fathom the repercussions?! Classes did not improve. Any mention of gay issues and fifteen pairs of eyes would dart in my direction. Did I sign up for this? Should I really have to anticipate never ending comments, stares, jokes and insults?
The reality of being who I am at the UJ was overwhelming. Jackie and I became more and more withdrawn from the school, spending all our time together, where we were safe away from the prevalent stereotypes. It's amazing how often one's gender is called into question as a gay woman. Any masculine trait is seen a symptom of the "Gay" and any feminine quality, abnormal and quaint. "Nico, you can sew?! Weird! I would never expect that of you!" I do not believe there was much animus behind such statements, but the size of the school, in combination with the conservative, sheltered Jewish upbringings made it very difficult.
When faced with life at the UJ as it is, I saw more and more what I would be up against as a gay, woman Rabbi. With my faith faltering, my interests expanding and the prospect of being looked at like I am at the UJ for the rest of my career, I realized I would not be happy. Some may call this weak, some may call it giving up. They may be right. I guess this is not the battle I want to spend my life fighting. There are just too many people who believe deeply in Leviticus 18:22 and Genesis 19:4-5. There are too many who believe its unnatural. Too many who believe that they, as normative heterosexuals, can tell me that I made the "decision" to live as a lesbian. There are also other fights that I want to fight. I believe I can really make a difference in this world, using my unique skills and talents. I will find a good use for myself, just, I suppose, not through Judaism.
The previous pages have scratched the surface of the world that brought me into the Constructions of Gender class. Surely, I thought, this class would make the students see what they were doing, and where their beliefs were short sighted and offensive. But I was outnumbered, 18 to perhaps four. The material covered in the class was ideal, it was the students who were lacking. When discussions emerged, again and again, carefully worded but with no hidden meaning, students couldn't help but state that different gender roles, homosexuality and other differences would hurt society. The fact that no one called for an abolition of all heterosexual marriage, or "gray" gender neutral toys for children, or even all women in the workforce was irrelevant. Again and again, the three or four open minded students would say "opportunity for change, not forced change" but no matter. The majority could only hear the sound of their own logic. It wasn't long before I saw that they were not interested in real discussion. They came to the class for re-affirmations from each other. They sought safety in numbers and they found it. Personal heart wrenching stories from those who know too well the burden of being different fell on deaf ears. Those within the heterosexual, male/female norm seemed threatened by feminism, trans issues, and egalitarian Judaism. Never mind those of us who believe in difference believe that difference defines us. Never mind that none of the brilliant minds from throughout the ages that brought us civilization, science, religion, democracy, and art- no, none of those minds that changed our society were "normal." Never mind us, we're "weird."
I can only say that my identity has been shaped by knowing what I am not. I am not closed off to ideas, even ideas that I initially disagree with. I will not define myself in fundamentals. I know that I have the personal strength to be who I am, even if it pains me to see how others react to me. I know that when one is doing something which fulfills them, and is not hurting another, I will not foist my opinions of what is okay onto them. Certainly this may seem to be a slippery slope to some. I have taken a fascination with the Mormon sect this semester, and have had a side pet project to understand their historical practices which are foreign to me. I have struggled with the decision in 1890 to ban polygamy. To me, as long as all parties are consenting, non related adults, I see no reason why they should not be allowed to practice their beliefs in their own homes. Is it confusing for a child to be raised by one father and multiple mothers? Certainly no more than being raised by a single mother and her two sisters. Certainly no more than being raised by the State of California. Are we so interested in projecting our beliefs of what is barbaric that we will not give people the opportunity of self determination? Abuse is one thing and should be ended where ever possible, but we must weigh the exposure to all different perspectives. In Europe, American families who feed their young children exclusively at McDonalds are seen as abusive, and who are we to disagree? Yet, these families keep their children while our states scoop up the children of polygamists and throw them into the foster care system (Obviously, there are valid interventions, when children are being molested or abused. I refer only to the removal based on the practice of polygamy). This class has taught me that sometimes we must learn to respect differing sociological constructs, be they gendered, religious, or even just personal preferences.
Heading out into the world beyond college, I know I have grown from being forced to confront, every day, the differences between me and the rest of my classmates. I hope that there have been a few students that I have gotten through to. I hope that my fellow students will learn from being exposed to a person as intense as I am. Though I couldn't speak up much in the Constructions of Gender class (it's hard to talk with your jaw clenched), I learned a lot about what motivates people to cling to their normality. It's scary and lonely to be different on this planet. Shockingly, the secret is that we are all different- cliche as it sounds, most people are scared of other people taking away their sense of normality. By clinging to the lowest common denominator, it seems less lonely. Someday, perhaps with age, perhaps with experience, perhaps with a little too much wine at some idle Sabbath dinner, I hope it will click that it's okay. We're all okay. We are all given the same diagnosis. Not male, not female. Human.
******
I'm not looking for debate or commentary on my writing. read it if you think it's interesting, but don't judge my experience unless you've lived it.