At 17, I dropped out of Jewish day school. At 27, I’m making Jewish, Queer and BIPOC history. For my younger self, this future was completely unimaginable. And yet, here I am!
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
A few weeks ago, I turned 27. As the dawn of my late twenties rises, I find myself reflecting on 17-year-old me — the choice to leave high school and the decade of healing that now lies between us. Like too many queer kids who grew into queer adults, living long enough to see myself inching toward 30 feels nothing short of a miracle. Baruch Hashem, thank God!
Between you and me? I’d rather spend our time together talking about almost anything else than my high school experience. But before moving on, here’s what you need to know:
As a Black, queer and trans kid in a Modern Orthodox Jewish day school in the South, my time there:
A) Was NOT great.
B) Was REALLY NOT great.
On a daily basis, I sat in class, roamed the halls and went through the motions of teenage life, all while consuming a seemingly never-ending cocktail of racism, queerphobia, isolation and misunderstanding. Walking away from that environment marked a step toward freedom, deepening my sense of autonomy and agency, reinforcing my freedom to forge my own path, build my own community and connect with Judaism on my own terms.
And while I hesitate to revisit my high school self, I have spent the last decade constantly asking: What would have helped me feel less alone, more supported, and empowered to exist in Jewish spaces as my full self? Most of all, what would have turned isolation and misunderstanding into a true sense of belonging?
The hard truth is, I still wrestle with these questions today. As a queer Jew of Color, fitting in, feeling supported and knowing I truly belong in Jewish spaces is something I am still figuring out. Yet, through it all, my Jewish identity remains unwavering and central to who I am.
The difference now is that I refuse to accept that struggle as inevitable. Instead, I fight to create the awareness, representation and education that highlight, celebrate and uplift the true diversity within the Jewish community — work that could have changed everything for 17-year-old me and has the power to create a lasting impact on countless others. Now more than ever, in a political climate determined to censor and erase the education and representation of marginalized voices, this work remains just as urgent, just as necessary, and just as life-changing, if not more so.
This belief led me to my dream role at Keshet, working with LGBTQ+ Jews of Color, and ultimately to my dream project, “Threads of Identity: LGBTQ+ Jews of Color in the Fabric of Jewish Life” — the first-ever report dedicated to understanding the experiences of LGBTQ+ Jews of Color in Jewish spaces. Centering the voices and experiences of 90+ LGBTQ+ Jews of Color, this report was born out of a glaring gap in research, representation and resources for LGBTQ+ Jews of Color, and from a core belief that I know to be true: as a community, we, as Jews, can and must do better.
“Threads of Identity” weaves together personal stories with illuminating statistics, highlighting the ways LGBTQ+ Jews of Color experience belonging and exclusion in Jewish spaces. Such as:
- 83% of respondents felt their sense of belonging in the Jewish community has been negatively impacted by situations related to their sexual orientation, gender expression, race, or ethnicity.
- 86% do not believe there are sufficient resources and support systems available for LGBTQ+ Jews of Color to turn to.
- 88% reported a lack of representation and understanding of their identities
- 77% percent feel burdened by the need to explain aspects of their identity within the Jewish community.
This report does not just speak about LGBTQ+ Jews of Color; it features our voices, our experiences and our truths. As one respondent put it, “We’re here, and we’re here to stay.” Another emphasized, “A place must be made at the table for us because we are just as important as the ‘traditional’ faces and identities seen in Jewish spaces.” The results were both deeply validating and, at times, painful to read. Across the country, LGBTQ+ Jews of Color described feeling isolated, excluded and pressured to compartmentalize different parts of their identity just to fit in. Many shared what it was like to be the only one — or one of few — who looked like them, loved like them, or existed in Jewish spaces as they did. They spoke of the weight of assumptions, the exhaustion of self-policing and the fear of being seen as “not Jewish enough” or “too much” all at once.
And yet, what also emerged from the data was resilience, Jewish joy and deep pride in Judaism. Despite the challenges we face, LGBTQ+ Jews of Color are not just seeking acknowledgment. We are seeking a true and unconditional sense of belonging, a birthright that should never be up for debate within the Jewish community.
Directly addressing the intersectional experiences of LGBTQ+ Jews of Color allows the Jewish community to challenge cultural biases and stereotypes of Jewish identity while expanding its own understanding of itself. The stories in “Threads of Identity” are proof of that. Proof that the Jewish community is far more diverse than many realize and that by embracing that diversity, we can create spaces that truly reflect and serve the full breadth of the Jewish experience.
At the heart of this work is a call for the broader Jewish community to rethink its understanding of Jewish identity in ways that embrace and more accurately reflect the diverse nature of its members. The findings in this report should serve as an open invitation for community members to take responsibility for ensuring that Jewish spaces are places where all Jews feel a sense of belonging, value, and empowerment. Spaces where the experiences of LGBTQ+ Jews of Color are not just acknowledged but celebrated.
For me, this report is more than just data. It’s a love letter — to myself at 17, to every LGBTQ+ Jew of Color who has ever felt alone, out of place or unseen. It’s a call to action, a vision for a Jewish community where we don’t just exist, but belong.
And I know that together, we can build it! Ken yehi ratzon, may it be so.
