‘Apples – out, mushrooms – in'; toward a theology of queer advocacy in the American Jewish community

ABSTRACT

In Jewish tradition, two holiday plates, the Passover Seder plate and the Rosh Hashanah Seder plate, hold profound significance due to their inclusion of simanim (symbolic foods) which carry deep social, cultural, and spiritual meanings. The blessings construct and express the Jewish tradition as a means of fulfilling the collective wishes and hopes of the Jewish community for survival, continuity and protection. This article delves into an initiative aimed at introducing new symbols onto these ceremonial plates, including various fruits and vegetables, as symbols of inclusion for LGBTQ + individuals within the Jewish tradition. The queer blessings reflect LGBTQ + phobic responses and struggles for public recognition. This innovative effort, widely disseminated through social networks, was conceived and championed by ‘Keshet’, a prominent Jewish organisation dedicated to advancing LGBTQ + inclusion in Jewish life and communities. Thus, I argue that the organisation enacts a theology of queer Jewish advocacy, facilitating the adaptation of religious discourse, rituals and customs to align with contemporary queer lifestyles.

KEYWORDS:

• Jewish tradition
• LGBTQ+
• community
• Jewish holidays
• practical theology
• advocacy

Introduction

In recent decades, substantial efforts have been undertaken to welcome LGBTQ+¹ individuals into religious spaces, including in Jewish communities (Avishai 2023; Crasnow 2021). The first gay synagogues were established in North America during the latter half of the twentieth century. The Reform movement was first in allowing LGBTQ + people to serve as rabbis, followed by a similar decision by their Conservative counterpart. Concurrently, there has been the development of a Jewish queer² lifestyle, enabling LGBTQ + individuals to celebrate both the queer life cycle and the Jewish life cycle while acknowledging their diverse life experiences (Ben-Lulu 2021a, 2021b, 2021c, 2022, 2023; Drinkwater 2019, 2020a, 2020b; Eger 2020).

In this article, I explore how Keshet – an American Jewish grassroots organisation that works for the inclusion of LGBTQ + Jews – acts to promote creative celebrations of Jewish holiday customs using an egalitarian agenda. By suggesting new holiday symbols (simanim) for two important holidays, Rosh Hashanah and Passover, I examine how these new initiatives allow LGBTQ + Jews to have the option to expand Jewish traditional boundaries and narratives by introducing new symbols through vegetables and fruits previously unused in ceremonies. Through this, LGBTQ + Jews are invited not only to contribute to preserving holiday traditions but also to play a role in evolving these traditions. This action signifies their nonheteronormative sexual/gender identity as an integral part of Jewish history and contemporary community and underscores their contribution to the ongoing existence of the Jewish people. These foods are traditionally consumed on holidays, with the blessings recited over them serving as a way to now acknowledge LGBTQ + identity and performance.

Based on a practical religious paradigm, I clarify what can I discern from this regarding Keshet theology as a queer religious organisation and its perception of the sexual/gender identities of LGBTQ + Jews. How does this intersect with Jewish faith, identification and sense of belonging? This approach allows me to align with theological perspectives that emphasise a connection between life itself and religious practice (Latini 2011). In other words, I argue that this expression of LGBTQ + Jewish performativity, created by LGBTQ + Jewish Keshet members, is more than folkloristic; rather, it is a political act representing an intersection between two narratives and faiths: Jewish narrative and queer narrative. The first is based on holidays and symbols informed by themes of survival, protection and security, while the second strives for life without discrimination, concealment and shame.

Addressing the concept of identity ‘otherness’ and the associated social and political repercussions serves as a crucial foundation for exploring reactions to exclusion and discrimination, particularly at the intersection of Jewish and LGBTQ + identities. In this context, queer theory encourages us to acknowledge the significance of ‘queer’ not merely as a passive victim but as a catalyst for change in the pursuit of social justice – the queer is a social agent (Bourcier 2012; Green 2010). Queerness, within the framework of this theory, highlights the existence of an ‘other’ in the realm of identity, challenging conventional/heteronormative norms related to gender and sexual identities and performances. By recognising and embracing queerness as a transformative force, individuals can actively contribute to the ongoing struggle for social equality and inclusivity. Therefore, De Lauretis (2000) suggests that to adopt a queer perspective requires the development and adoption of a critical approach to different areas of life and attitudes.

Jews have historically faced persistent challenges of concealment, anti-Semitism, and persecution rooted in their identity. The emotional landscape, entwined with perceptions of vulgarity, pride, and uniqueness, has significantly molded their collective consciousness. This identity experience draws attention to historically resonant intersections between Jewishness and queerness, exploring the connections between homophobia and anti-Semitism, as well as the intersections of queer theory and theorizations of Jewishness (Boyarin, Itzkovitz, and Pellegrini 2003).

Drawing from Heitink (1999), I suggest that this theoretical trajectory – which emphasises the power of individuals to change their reality and recognises the centrality of agency – supports a pragmatic and practical religious analytic view. I see this particular religious-queer example as representing an effort to integrate Jewish faith into performative praxis. This proposal is not merely a detached philosophical concept; rather, it constitutes a tangible political action capable of deepening the connection between religious values and social justice, as well as gender equality. In essence, it signifies a religious endeavour to rectify a historical injustice of exclusion, embodying a queer religious mission and reducing LGBTQ + alienation in religious communities along with their distancing from religious identity and faith (Pitt 2009; Thumma 1991).

As such, such an expression of advocacy theology contributes to the broadening of our understanding of liberation theology (Cone 2010). While some view this theology as addressing individual needs, particularly during times of temporary crisis (Frame 2009), I posit that experiences of LGBTQ + phobia represent ongoing crises – recurring and resonating in the lives of LGBTQ + individuals, especially within religious collective contexts (Hollier, Clifton, and Smith-Merry 2022; Kimmel 1997). Hogeterp (2020) coined ‘theology of advocacy’, emphasising the need to listen to communities and ‘seek the good where God has placed them’:

The history of genocide, crusades, slavery, colonialism and the ever-present stain of ethnic conflict - speaks a clear message: when people groups are considered less than human injustice and death are the result. In each of these cases, ‘the other’ was and is considered less than fully human. Response to these tragedies and the prevention of them need to be rooted in a deep affirmation of human dignity.

Following this humanistic theological view, this study examines the pragmatical aspect of how to convert the liberal idea, into a folkloristic performance that contributes to expanding the boundaries of the Jewish tradition and reshaping it. Following Geertz’s (1973) anthropological framework, I assume that this particular interpretive religious act may validate the idea that cultures are comprised of interconnected networks of meaning, necessitating an analysis focused on untangling the patterns of meaning and discerning their societal context and significance.

Through a textual analysis of Keshet's proposals for introducing new symbols into the holidays and an interpretation of its gender/sexual intentions, I aim to precisely understand the nature of the proposed change and identify the new social message. This will provide practical insights into how contemporary religious communities can respond to these political and spiritual shifts initiated by religious LGBTQ + organisations and individuals. Thus, in contrast to previous research which primarily focused on liturgical and textual aspects (Hoffman 2012; Levy 1985; Marx 2015; Penner 2018), this discussion shifts its focus toward the practical interpretation of the material and symbolic dimensions of these holiday simanim.

Hirschfeld (2000) emphasised the power of material culture and various objects to produce a discourse on sexuality and gender and to create a different emotional and political attachment to familiar objects, which is also queer. Indeed, prior to infusing these holiday customs with LGBTQ + symbolism, earlier attempts had been made in the spirit of gender resistance at adding a new symbol to the Passover plate. For instance, in the early 1980s Susannah Heschel, a famous Jewish feminist, introduced the practice of placing an orange on the Seder plate as a gesture of solidarity with Jewish lesbians, gay men, and other marginalised groups (Heschel 2003). This addition has since been embraced by numerous Jewish feminists (Bernstein 1997; Wessinger 2000). According to Zylberberg (2002, 163), the orange symbolises ambiguity for many contemporary Jews, while also serving as a symbol of hope, signifying the potential for tradition to evolve and flourish.

Furthermore, new Seder simanim challenge established notions of the political impact of the private/public space. Many Jewish holiday rituals and customs are traditionally conducted in public spaces such as synagogues, and consequently play a crucial role in shaping the spiritual, civic, and religious identity of the Jewish people (Shoham 2017). In contrast, the simanim are domestic and their celebration takes place in individual homes. Whereas acts of resistance and queer visibility often occur in the public sphere (Carter 2004), the simanim encourage a more ‘silent’ form of resistance within domestic settings and space. They may provide a chance to initiate family conversations, fostering deeper connections and encouraging genuine, authentic, and intimate exchanges. This occurs particularly when these ritual conditions are deliberately activated to create an environment conducive to such meaningful interactions.

This discussion will be structured as follows: First, from a sociohistorical background, I will contextualise Keshet within the framework of the development of queer religious organisations and communities in the North America. I will emphasise the significance of these communities in translating theological ideas into practical actions aimed at promoting social justice and advocating for the rights of marginalised groups, particularly the LGBTQ + community. Following this, I will delve into an in-depth discussion of the role of food within a symbolic Jewish context, especially during holidays. Subsequently, I will provide a brief methodological explanation. The core of the article lies in presenting the simanin and their interpretations, which will be divided into two case studies: the Rosh Hashanah plate and the Passover plate. In conclusion, I will summarise the key themes that emerged during the analysis and demonstrate how this specific initiative can contribute to the broader understanding of theological and liturgical changes and transformations in contemporary religious denominations.

It is crucial to recognise that Keshet is an American organisation, and, as such, the interpretations it provides may incorporate specific local elements characteristic of American LGBTQ + politics. Nevertheless, there could be cross-cultural issues, such as those related to racism based on skin colour, that may also be pertinent to other regions. Therefore, I do not intend to make sweeping universal claims about the entire LGBTQ + community or Jewish LGBTQ + individuals. Rather, my aim is to spotlight a specific interpretation that has the potential to illuminate diverse cultural trends while also highlighting shared experiences.

Religious advocacy, protection and opportunity to queer recognition

Keshet envisions a world in which all LGBTQ Jews and our families can live with full equality, justice, and dignity. Keshet works for the full equality of all LGBTQ Jews and our families in Jewish life. We strengthen Jewish communities. We equip Jewish organizations with the skills and knowledge to build LGBTQ-affirming communities, create spaces in which all queer Jewish youth feel seen and valued, and advance LGBTQ rights nationwide. Fighting for justice is a deeply Jewish act. Together, we rally the Jewish community to put our values into action by advancing LGBTQ rights nationwide.

(Keshet's website³)

Keshet was founded in 1996 as a small, volunteer-run group in greater Boston by Jonathan Krasner and Jared Goldfarb and is now a national organisation with offices in the Bay Area, Chicago, and New York, in addition to headquarters in Boston. Keshet is the only organisation in the U.S. that works for LGBTQ + equality in all facets of Jewish life – synagogues, Hebrew schools, day schools, youth groups, summer camps, social-service organisations and other communal agencies. The organisation has developed the leadership of LGBTQ + Jewish teens, trained Jewish educators to prevent anti-LGBTQ + bullying and celebrate LGBTQ + Jewish identity, and mobilised Jewish communities to protect marriage equality and transgender rights.

This specific case of Keshet as a LGBTQ + Jewish organisation advocating for an egalitarian religious agenda necessitates a more profound exploration of the trajectories and intersection between the LGBTQ + community and religiosity in North America. When Christian attitudes toward homosexuality were predominantly unfavourable, one of the pioneering religious institutions that emerged at the end of the 1960s was the Metropolitan Community Church (MCC), also known as the Universal Fellowship of Metropolitan Community Churches (UFMCC). It was an international LGBTQ + church affirming the mainline Protestant Christian denomination. The first congregation was established in Huntington Park, California, by former Pentecostal pastor Rev. Troy Perry⁴ in October 1968. Today, MCC boasts affiliation with 222 member congregations across 37 countries, with a particular focus on outreach to LGBTQ + families and communities. While the MCC has encountered challenges, such as being denied membership in the US National Council of Churches, many local MCC congregations are active members of local ecumenical partnerships worldwide. Additionally, MCC is currently part of several statewide councils of churches in the United States.

Howe’s (2007) work highlights the MCC’s vital role in providing networks and ideological support for LGBTQ + migrants by suggesting a ‘conceptual foundations of social justice and human rights practices corresponding to the complex concerns that arise regarding the migration of binational lesbian and gay couples and individual lesbian and gay people. As a religious institution, MCC may also draw upon its depoliticised legitimacy as a church rather than being perceived as an advocacy-oriented organisation’ (103). Sumerau’s (2012) ethnographic research at MCC demonstrates how mobilised discourses, emphasising racial inclusivity, the reduction of class distinctions, and gender equality within the church, serve as indicators of individual moral worth. Moreover, these members anchor these discourses in the authority of Biblical scripture, enabling them to assert moral legitimacy within the broader Christian community. Stewart (2008) also argues that MCC has undergone a similar process of biblical interpretation, similar to other Christian denominations, to make the Bible relevant and purposeful for its members.

The founding of MCC thus encouraged the creation of gay Jewish synagogues. Since its establishment, the Reform Jewish community, as a non-halachic denomination, has served as an alternative to Orthodoxy, offering a variety of religious practices and liturgical texts based on the values of liberalism, pluralism, and gender equality (Meyer 1995). The Reform Jewish liturgy serves as a platform for assimilating social and cultural changes, including linguistic and content changes within a feminist-queer context (Ben-Lulu 2017, Marx 2015; Umansky 1995).

Since the establishment of the first Reform gay synagogues at the beginning of the 1970s, inspired by the Gay Liberation Movement, queer Jewish liturgy and the subsequent ordination of gay rabbis were motivated by the Reform Jewish ideology of gender equality. Beth Chayim Chadashim (BCC), the first gay synagogue, was established in 1972 in Los Angeles and was built with Rev. Perry's assistance. Rev. Perry agreed that BCC members should have their own congregation and offered the use of the church’s facilities free of charge. According to BCC's website⁵, weekly Friday night services were held at MCC, created and led by temple members, with guest rabbis officiating on occasion. From the beginning, particular community liturgy reflected the ‘creative services’ then being introduced in Reform and some Conservative congregations and included the original contributions of members, in addition to selections from the Union Prayer Book and other siddurim (prayer books).

In addition to the BCC, focusing on Congregation Sha’ar Zahav (CSZ), San Francisco's gay and lesbian synagogue, Drinkwater (2020a, 2020b), concludes that the creation of a unique queer liturgy, notably the first gay Siddur (prayer book), played a pivotal role in shaping a queer, sex-positive Judaism that celebrated and politicised sexual minorities. This development also fostered new forms of chosen families and embraced an ethic of egalitarianism and lay-led inclusiveness (2019, 177).

All of these examples demonstrate the connection between sociological perspectives and religious paradigms and illustrate the significance of a theology of queer advocacy. Its foundations and core values are not merely preserved within philosophical discussions about the relationship between humanity and God, biblical textual debates concerning the interpretation of divine commandments, or phenomenological explorations of believers’ unarticulated experiences. Instead, they are affirmed through the significance of ritual-liturgical communal practices that promote gender equality and social justice within religious settings.

Eat with significance: decoding food’s symbolic secrets

Food plays a central symbolic role in shaping culture, fostering faith, and constructing social collective narratives (Chung et al. 2016; Roof 2010). Diverse foods become a repository of memories, an embodiment of how material culture intersects with the human body, which, in turn, becomes an instrument of remembrance, commemoration, and tradition. Consequently, society invests significant effort in preserving traditional foods (Trichopoulou et al. 2006). These foods also facilitate direct encounters with the Self and with the ‘other’, fostering conceptual and commercial collaborations (Bessière 1998).

For instance, Laznow (2019) argued that Jewish foods serve a dual purpose, offering both comfort and nostalgia among the Jewish community of Argentina. During family and community meals on Passover and Rosh Hashanah, these foods also take on a symbolic role. However, over the years, they have evolved into the traditional Jewish culinary repertoire, carrying a profound message aimed at preserving Jewish identity and maintaining community boundaries (189).

However, food not only has a sentimental role of preserving and perpetuating long-standing values ⁣⁣and tradition but also a subversive political role, challenging existing hegemonic concepts. Amram (2022) shows how alternative kinds of Kashrut (ritual suitability) create new hybrid foods representing the roots of an innovative and controversial ‘Palestinian-Israeli food’. Another study shows how the use of food can be a bridge not only between conflicting nations but also between contrasting times and cultures. Avieli and Markowitz (2022) explored the role of watermelon in the watermelon festival among African Hebrew Israelites and uncovered how it holds significance in deepening their spiritual connection with the Jewish people.

Certainly, within a religious context, food, eating, and diverse dietary practices conspicuously manifest the strengthening of faith, the formation of religious identity, and the delineation of differences from other religious communities (Bynum 1985; Feeley-Harnik 1995; Norman 2012). According to Cohen (2021), studying food enriches our understanding of religion and of individual and group differences in broad ways. Heiman et al. (2004, 11) found that food purchases are largely affected by religious lifestyle and cultural factors, in addition to prices and income. We find that patterns of behaviour vary among followers of different religions, resulting from different dietary norms.

In a Jewish context, anthropologists and folklore researchers have emphasised the role of food and dining in conveying political, cultural, religious, and gender messages during holidays, festivals, and various other practices. Levy (2018), for instance, highlights the muffleta, a pancake customarily served at the Mimouna, a traditional Maghrebi Jewish custom at the end of Passover, which functions as a reminder of the harmonious coexistence between Jews and Arabs in Morocco. Conversely, Levy also discusses how the muffleta contributed to the stereotypical labelling and stigmatisation of immigrants from North Africa. In addition, other study (Ben-Lulu 2020) shows how dried fruits in the Tu BiSh’vat Seder have new significance when women organise the ritual. Using these fruits, they symbolise the aging of their bodies and engage in discussions about life, death, and the human body. Moreover, even Hanukkah donuts have been a subject of Talmudic discussion and controversy (Weingarten 2004).

All of these examples illustrate the symbolic significance attributed to food within religious communities. However, researchers have taken for granted the heterosexual sexual and cisgender gender identity of their subjects. In my opinion, this constitutes a limitation in the comprehension of these narratives, as interpretation should also be inherently connected to an individual's experiences related to sexual and gender identity. Analysing gender and sexual perspectives sheds light on diverse perceptions of ‘self’, the definition of the ‘other’, and elucidates varied references to the body and its appearances across different spaces and times. This is especially critical for those experiences that society deems as non-conformist and potentially threatening. Consequently, I believe that this study has the potential to bridge an epistemological gap between food, religion and non-heteronormative sexuality/gender, facilitating a more comprehensive understanding.

Methodology

This study is based on a qualitative-interpretive analysis, considering textual analysis of two leaflets distributed by the Keshet organisation that were published in Rosh Hashanah 2021 and Passover 2023. These virtual leaflets contain instructions and explanations, which were given by the Keshet team, for assembling the new Seders simanim and inserting the new queer symbols. In the following section, I will present and analyse the interpretations they offered. I will attempt to identify the meanings they ascribed to the food and how they connect these meanings to their Jewish/LGBTQ + identity, bodily experiences, and sense of community.

Textual-interpretive analysis acknowledges the profound influence of written words in bridging the gap between our inner thoughts, past experiences, and future aspirations (Fairclough and Fairclough 2015). It serves as the conduit connecting ideas with actions, not only elucidating the rationale behind proposed changes but also providing justification for them. Within the context of LGBTQ + discourse, particularly in the realm of religious practices, bringing to light the voices of LGBTQ + individuals holds significant historical and political implications. This act shatters a lineage marked by historical exclusion and erasure, symbolising a powerful step toward inclusivity and recognition. Although these are interpretations at the micro level, they shed light on contemporary and historical life experiences at the macro level.

Therefore, this methodological decision, aimed at amplifying the voices of the laity rather than solely focusing on those in positions of authority who grant religious endorsement (such as rabbis), contributes to the subversion of conventional power dynamics. In a sense, this queer method (Browne and Nash 2010) challenges hierarchies not only of various stakeholders but also research tendencies to automatically prioritise interviewing authoritative figures, thus potentially maintaining control in their hands.

Opening a new year with diversity and inclusion

Here are some traditional and new LGBTQ ye’i rasones⁶ for your Rosh Hashanah table. As we move into a new year, let’s all work some participatory magic to usher in a more just and fabulous world! … For each food item, start the blessing with the invocation below, and then _nish with the intention for each food. All these blessings use a mix of feminine God-language and gender-expansive grammar developed by the Nonbinary Hebrew Project.

Yehi ratzon milfanekhe, adonai eloteinu v’elotei doroteinu … .

May it be your will, Eternal One,

our G-d and G-d of our (tr)ancestors … 

According to Jewish tradition, Rosh Hashanah is not just another Jewish holiday; it also marks the beginning of the year when the course of one's life for the upcoming year is determined. The traditional celebration includes a seder plate with up to nine different foods, including squash, fenugreek, and dates symbolising wishes for the new year. It is believed that these simanim will manifest as reality, and the wishes associated with them will come true. They are consumed during the initial meal of the holiday, accompanied by prayers recited before eating (Goodman 2018). The selection of these foods is often based on their physical attributes or puns on their names in Hebrew, Ladino, Yiddish, and other languages. This practice was first described in the Babylonian Talmud.⁷

Over centuries, Jewish communities worldwide have incorporated their interpretations and unique foods into this tradition. For instance, in some communities, consuming a date on Rosh Hashanah symbolises the shift from bitterness to sweetness, expressing hope for a sweet new year. An ancient custom from the time of the Sages advises avoiding sour foods during Rosh Hashanah. Among Ashkenazi (European) Jews, abstaining from nuts serves two purposes: they are believed to increase phlegm, causing discomfort during prayers, and their word in the gematria system corresponds to ‘sin’, making it suitable to avoid sin-related items during this holiday. Additionally, some individuals opt not to eat black foods as part of their Rosh Hashanah Seder plate.

Keshet's additional simanim suggestions⁸, created by two Keshet members, Binya Koatz and Daph Ben-David, include dandelion, grapes, mushrooms, sprouts and an heirloom tomato on the Seder plate. These simanim are symbolically representative of the multifaceted nature of the LGBTQ + community. As noted, the LGBTQ + community comprises diverse identities that define themselves in distinct ways. These identities exist within various socio-political relationships in society and reference their bodies and expressions of self in manners that may appear contradictory when compared to other identities within the LGBTQ + community. Thus, the initial blessing upon the grapes aims to consecrate community unity. This is a significant choice, as grapes, and wine, in general, hold a central role in Jewish rituals. Wine is regarded as a festive beverage typically enjoyed on Sabbaths, holidays, and special occasions, and is the only drink with its own dedicated blessing (Fuller 1996). Consequently, the choice of grapes adds a distinctive Jewish element that highlights the uniqueness of the LGBTQ + community in all its diversity.

The second element on the plate is the dandelion, signifying rootedness, although it also can be seen as representing a queer act of reclaiming since the dandelion is typically considered a proliferating and disruptive weed. Even so, it also holds medicinal value in naturopathy, consequently symbolising that LGBTQ + individuals contribute to diversifying the heteronormative social order in their pluralism and liberalism and serving as a potential healing factor in a chauvinistic and LGBTQ + phobic society.

The disruption and subversion caused by LGBTQ + people in society are further reflected in the choice of heirloom tomatoes, symbolising the rejection of binary identity classifications because, at times, these tomatoes have a wide variety of colours, shapes, flavours and sizes. In addition, this kind of tomato usually has a shorter shelf life and is less disease resistant than hybrids, which can be said to represent the shortened life that LGBTQ + people may often have as a result of violence (for example, violence toward the trans community or young adult suicides) (Gibbs and Goldbach 2015).

The blessing over the mushrooms not only underscores the strength of community as a social network for protection, security, and empowerment but also sanctifies the compassionate political vision dedicated to combating all manifestations of LGBTQ + phobia and violence. This blessing imbues the mission with political significance, acknowledging the LGBTQ + community's active role in shaping reality, rather than accepting a passive victimhood. If this vision is realised and the blessing fulfilled by God, the future sprouts, symbolised as another element in the queer Rosh Hashanah order, will find their place. This pertains to individuals who will ultimately overcome the journey of shame, break free from the closets they have hidden in for years, and have their identities finally recognised and respected. This blessing infuses the out-of-the-closet journey, which is marked by stigma and disclosure (Corrigan and Matthews 2003), with religious meaning.

All these symbols bridge the queer past, marked by pain and concealment, with the hope for a brighter future rooted in political consciousness in a setting of Jewish performance and time. The invocation of God in these blessings reflects the understanding that the solution extends beyond mere political and legal struggles; divine intervention is also sought. The preservation of traditional customs alongside innovative adaptations signifies the perpetuation of the assurance of the Jewish people's existence – including the LGBTQ + community – as they fulfill God's commandments. In doing so, there is the possibility that God will guide the community toward achieving its vision of a life marked by respect and public recognition

Singing the individual and communal queer exodus

‘As LGBTQ + Jews and allies, each of us is unique. This Passover, the Keshet team shares seder plate foods and objects to represent our communities’.

Passover is a holiday of redemption, not only for the ethno-national people of Israel, but also in gender/sexual contexts. During recent decades, Jewish women and LGBTQ + people have reclaimed the historic narrative of their life, such as Pride Seder at CSZ or a special Haggadah for women who are female victims of sexual assault (Ben-Lulu 2021d). According to Dash Moore (2009), rewriting the Haggadah is practiced largely by activists in movements that aim to modify Judaism to address the changing demands of Jewish life. In the United States, these efforts have often sought to position Passover as a reflection of a universal democratic religion, notwithstanding America’s mixed success in fulfilling democratic ideals. Jewish communities in both Western Europe and North America have used the Passover Seder ritual to promote political views and to criticise opponents.

However, most research focuses on the textuality of Passover, with scarce attention to non-textual ritual elements such as the Seder plate (Smith 1999). The traditional Seder plate is not mentioned in the Mishna or the Talmud. However, by the time of the Rishonim (medieval sages) and the Shulchan Aruch (the printed code of Jewish law), it already had pride of place.

Keshet’s modification of the Seder plate tradition is distinguished by its contemporary adjustment: it reflects a manifestation of the genealogy of LGBTQ + inclusion. Keshet suggests seven new ingredients that symbolise identities and queer performances.⁹ The simanim can be classified into two categories: identity in relation to space and identity/performance in relation to race. Each category elucidates the significance behind the choice of ingredients and emphasises communal and spiritual historical trajectories.

Identity/Space

For Jon Cohen, Keshet director of community mobilisation, starfruit symbolises both the locale and the legal struggles entwined with it, particularly the engagement of Florida's Jewish community in the battle against a staggering six anti-LGBTQ + laws enacted this year, surpassing the total of the preceding seven years.¹⁰ It serves as a representation of the current juncture, not merely a beacon of hope for the future.

In Keshet Midwest youth engagement manager – Issac Young's case, his choice – apple butter – also stems from a deep connection to a place. However, for him, it is not a space shadowed by anti-LGBTQ + legislation; instead, it is a realm of memories and longing. This dual nature of their choices – one reflecting a perception of a place as a safe haven and the other embodying a space of struggle for recognition – illustrates the complex journey of recognition that characterises the queer lifestyles of LGBTQ + individuals within society.

Identity/Performance and race

Talia Makowsky, Keshet's Communications Manager, incorporating rhubarb into the holiday plate represents a performative display of her queer identity – a tangible expression of visibility – which holds a crucial role in the politics of queer recognition (Michelson 2019; Ross 2008). LGBTQ + symbols and visual objects play a vital role in constructing safe spaces and promoting public discourse about rights and identities. As a queer woman, she aims to challenge binary notions of gender aesthetics, confronting years of erasure.

For Is Perlman, Keshet youth engagement intern, the rambutan serves as a symbol not only of identity but also of a communal image. He highlights the ambivalent nature of the community, particularly for transgender individuals. Here, a noteworthy distinction emerges between the ‘inside-outside’ dynamics, encompassing identity and bodily life experiences that influence performance, and transgender identity (Anderson et al. 2020). Often, the external presentation does not align with the internal, resulting in an internal identity conflict and a societal struggle that pushes these individuals to appear ‘barbed and threatening’ while concealing their true identity (Bockting et al. 2020; Giordano 2018).

Keshet chief communications officer, Jay Smith’s selection of mustard seed harkens back to the sixteenth century and serves to establish Kabbalistic authenticity from that era. It also resonates with the experiences of the transgender community, which often grapples with violence and exclusion. Mustard serves as a bitter reminder of these challenges, but it also carries an optimistic message, signifying that the community is a source of vitality and solace. The call to find, even in mourning, a sign of life is a historic Jewish expression that acknowledges that destruction is not an ultimate conclusion; within it resides the potential for faith, resurrection, and redemption.

As another example, Keshet communications manager, Haim-Ezra Harrison suggests vegan collard greens to link the queer struggle for rights and recognition to the Black community's ongoing quest for acknowledgment and respect. In this case, the chosen product symbolically serves as a historical poignant reminder of the trauma of slavery, which lends legitimacy to the contemporary struggle for full equality and demonstrates the trajectory between race-food and exclusion.¹¹

In contrast to all the previous choices, Davia Loren, Keshet board member, did not suggest a food item but rather a gem. Precious gems such as opals have enjoyed a notable reputation throughout history, with many believing in their good luck and magical properties. This choice engaged with ancient Jewish history¹², when according to tradition, in the breastplate worn by the high priest on his chest, 12 gems were placed, each representing one of the 12 tribes of Israel.

Discussion

This study shows how queer Jewish organisations advance a theology of advocacy by offering new queer suggestions for traditional holiday customs. Created by Keshet, these blessings and symbols add a spirit of inclusion to the holiday meal, fighting against LGBTQ + phobia and validating sexuality/gender based on Jewish values and narratives. As initiatives, they represent a shared vision of societal reform aimed at creating a more just and equitable world. These queer blessings go beyond mere well-wishes; they carry an implicit expectation that the recipients will actively engage with and address social injustices.

Diverse interpretations of the vegetables and fruits newly added to the holiday plates on Rosh Hashanah and Passover confirm the symbolic importance of food as an expression of gender/sexual identity and the potential of food to be a means of reconciliation or closure between people (Lee 2011; Sered 1988). The blessings encourage viewing Jewish tradition in a new light, thus posing an adaptive challenge. As suggested by Benac (2020), it compels religious individuals or communities to reconsider and perhaps discard previous notions that they once believed defined them; for example, adhering to a conception of Judaism that prohibits homosexuality after rejecting LGBTQ + phobia.

These blessings thus illuminate liminal situations – mirroring the LGBTQ + Jewish experience. LGBTQ + Jews often grapple with double identity marginalisation, facing exclusion both from the broader Jewish community and from the general LGBTQ + community. This state of liminality not only signifies their unique identity but also shapes and reflects the theology that they enact. In line with the discussion made by Carson et al. (2021), it is indeed plausible to argue that liminal space serves as a crucible for transformation and growth, where individuals and communities are poised to challenge existing norms and usher in meaningful change.

Therefore, with these blessings, practical theology can be seen as not limited to racial or socioeconomic critiques in contrast to Bedford-Strohm’s (2008) exclusive focus on poverty and public theology. As such, I found that Jewish queer practical theology is also ‘bilingual, speaking a theological and a secular language’ and ‘can be understood as a liberation theology for a democratic society’ (144); i.e. the redemption of LGBTQ + Jews. Issues of non-heteronormative sexuality and gender thus have an important meaning in the creation of Jewish ethics that matches today's postmodern social reality. Thus, I support Saumerau's conclusion that argues for the potential for gender and racial discourses to serve as symbolic resources for harmonising sexual and religious identities and locally constructing these identities and the vital role of intersectional analyses in assessing LGBTQ + experiences.

These studied practices generate a discourse that interprets an environment shaped by life experiences influenced by gender, sexuality, and embodiment. This contribution extends beyond basic theological considerations regarding the relationship between humanity and the divine. It delves into the exploration of a fundamental existential question – what defines a person or human being? This inquiry encompasses attitudes toward one's body, sexuality, and gender. I assert that these inquiries are essential not only in the sociological mapping of LGBTQ + politics and the pursuit of equal rights but also in the formation of theological politics. Through this lens, we can realise the delicate power dynamics between humanity and the divine and within oneself.

Furthermore, this creative initiative demonstrates that the struggle for LGBTQ + recognition should not be confined solely to ceremonial spaces (such as the synagogue), public events (such as pride parades), or the virtual realm. It should also extend to the domestic sphere and even encompass discussions related to food. For instance, another historical example linking public recognition with LGBTQ + and food is a special cookbook organised by members of the CSZ. They used this recipe as a means to combat the stigma surrounding AIDS and to raise donations to assist family members and patients within the community affected by the virus (Ben-Lulu 2021b, 87).

Therefore, I suggest that Keshet’s LGBTQ + holiday initiative ought to empower social change and cultural revolutions, as it reflects queer activism, which does not operate only outside the religious field. According to Anzaldúa (2015) any religious-spiritual action can also be interpreted as political-activist in scope – if the individual embraces the synthesis between them. So, in Anzaldúa’s words, it is possible ‘to respond not just with the traditional practice of spirituality (contemplation, meditation, and private rituals) or with the technologies of political activism (protests, demonstrations, and speakouts), but with the amalgam of the two: ‘spiritual activism'’ (2).

In sum, even though this creative Jewish queer food praxis has disseminated across the web, I am not in a rush to assert any ‘original traditions’ (Hobsbawm and Ranger 2012). Future studies can investigate the extent to which these ritualistic initiatives are embraced and where they are adopted or rejected, adding an empirical basis to the theological context surrounding queer experiences in the struggle for religious recognition.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Additional information

Notes on contributors

Elazar Ben-Lulu

Elazar Ben-Lulu, is an Israeli socio-cultural anthropologist specializing in the Anthropology of Religion, Gender and Sexuality, Israeli/American Reform Jewry, Queer Jewish liturgy/theology, and LGBTQ Studies. He currently serves as an assistant professor in the Department of Sociology and Anthropology at Ariel University in Israel.

Notes

1 Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transpeople, Queer and + means all other terms, such as intersex, non-binary and pansexual.

2 I used this inclusive term to indicate all non-heteronormative gender/sexual configurations, performances and identifications.

3 See: https://www.keshetonline.org/about-us/.

4 For more on his biography, see Perry, T. D. (1972). The Lord is my shepherd and He knows I’m gay: The autobiography of the Rev. Troy D. Perry. Nash Pub.

5 See: https://www.bcc-la.org/welcome/history/.

6 This embodied ritual is called simanim ('signs') in Hebrew and ye’i rasones in Ladino (after yehi ratzon, “may it be the Divine will”).

7 Tractates Horayot 12a and Keritot 6a.

8 See: https://www.keshetonline.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/08/simanim-w-footer-v3.pdf.

9 See: https://www.keshetonline.org/myseder/.

10 See: https://www.hrc.org/press-releases/gov-desantis-signs-slate-of-extreme-anti-lgbtq-bills-enacting-a-record-shattering-number-of-discriminatory-measures-into-law.

11 For example, Carter (2021) exposes the influence of racism and colonialism on US food policy, demonstrating its disproportionate impact on Black communities and people of color in poverty worldwide.

12 For instance, Mastrocinque (2002, 165) argues that the gem is immediately related to Jewish traditions concerning Judah, the son of Jacob.