The Religious Case for Gay Marriage, Part I
7 Kislev 5772 / 3 December 2011
Rabbi Daniel Cotzin Burg
There is an old (and pretty bad) joke that comes from the first line of this week’s parasha: How do you know that Jacob our father wore a yarmulke? Because the Torah says, Vayetze Ya’akov, “Jacob came out”… and do you really think he would go out without his yarmulke?! Of course, in our day, we could add an updated (but equally bad) rendering: How do you know Jacob was gay? Because it says “Jacob came out.” Now before we start any frivolous rumors, let’s set the record straight, so to speak. Jacob wasn’t gay. At least, there is no evidence of this. For God’s sake, the man had 13 children with four different women. So, unless you want to make the argument that he was compensating for something, we’ll stick with our thesis. Rabbi Yohanan and Reish Lakish, probably. David and Jonathan, maybe. But not Jacob.
But let me ask you this: what if he were? What if through some document or archaeological excavation it was to be demonstrated that Jacob or Abraham or Isaac was gay? How might our tradition view them? Would each still be admired? Would they become historical pariahs? I raise this question of Judaism and our view of homosexuality for two reasons. First, because being the rabbi sometimes means you get to talk about what you want, even if it doesn’t have anything to do with the parasha! But, the truth is, I think this is a critical time to be having this conversation. As you may know, a bill which would have permitted same-sex unions fell short last year in the Maryland House of Delegates. And the state legislature will take up the issue again this coming year in its next session. Governor O’Malley has pledged to support it. Some have already promised to quash it. We, at Beth Am, ought to be engaged in this.
And the Jewish world, too, has been grappling with the issue of gay or lesbian marriage. Rabbi Steve Greenberg, a rare out-gay Orthodox rabbi, made headlines last month by officiating at 6th and I Synagogue in Washington at what was dubbed the first Orthodox gay wedding. And the Jewish Forward ran a piece this week about how our own Conservative Movement is grappling with the establishment of a ritual to mark the marriage of two men or two women in an appropriate Jewish context. It seems that everyone is talking about gay marriage – whether to do it, how to do it, why or why not to do it.
To be clear, I recognize that there are differences of opinion on lots of issues within every congregation, particularly ours. You know the old line: “two Jews, three opinions… except at Beth Am where there are at least four or five!” But, this is who we are. Though I suspect my remarks will find many sympathetic ears this morning, I know some of you do feel different. I won’t lie to you; I hope to convince a few of you, but we are a big-tent congregation and that means that I am committed to there always being room here for voices of appropriate dissent – including on the issue of same-sex marriage.
So here’s my thesis with regard to the legislation: from an authentic Jewish perspective, there is little reason to oppose but several good reasons to support this bill. There are two fundamental and ancient rabbinic principles that apply. First of all, the Torah, often, does not mean what it says. The Torah says eyin tachat eyin, eye for an eye, but it means (say the Rabbis) monetary compensation. The Torah says (three times, no less) lo t’vashel g’di bachelev imo, do not boil a calf in its mother’s milk, but it (clearly) means no chicken parmesan. And the Torah says if you have a habitually rebellious son you should take him out to the city gates and have the community stone him to death. To which the rabbis famously respond: true, but a child whose misdeeds are worthy of such punishment never has lived nor will he or she ever live. Such a child simply does not exist. But in our case, where Leviticus 18:22 reads “v’et zachar lo tishkav mishk’vei isha” – to’eiva hi, you shall not lie with a male as one lies with a woman, it is an abomination… in this case, the Torah probably means what it says. Rabbis Dorff, Nevins and Reisner, in their permissive responsum on homosexuality argue that even here the Torah means something very specific which may not apply to gay couples in our day, but the verse does seem to be describing a particular sex act which, some would argue, is fundamental to male homosexual encounters.
Which brings us to the second fundamental and ancient rabbinic principle: the Torah is no fixed document. It, much like the constitution of the United States, can be amended. This is hard. It should be done infrequently and only with good reason. But, though God may be infallible, Torah is a book. A good book. A holy book. Perhaps the best book ever written. But it is a book! If we make it into a god, it becomes a poor substitute for the One God of the Universe, not a shield against idolatry as it was intended. So it stands to reason that there are times when the book must be radically reimagined and even, in a manner of speaking, re-written. This is no modern Conservative Movement innovation. There are ancient rabbinic tools called a takkanot, “correctives” or g’ezeirot, “decrees,” which without altering the Torah text itself, undermine its plain and previously understood meaning in favor of a radically different one.
Let me give you two examples. In the 10th Century Rabbeinu Gershom of Mainz issues a decree which stated that though polygamy is Biblically permissible, it is nevertheless forbidden. His ban on plural marriage was so widely accepted that, even though it has technically expired, it is still universally upheld by Ashkenazi Jews. Another example is Hillel’s prozbul, which functionally allows one to lend money on interest even though this is expressly forbidden by Torah law. Why the shift? Because even though the Torah’s intentions were good, to discourage abuse of the poor, the reality was that the wealthy would abstain from lending to the needy at all, especially near the sabbatical year when all debts would be cancelled. A law that was meant to prohibit unfair lending became a disincentive for essential support of those who were less fortunate. The prozbul, then, creates a legal fiction which alters the law and allows lending to fellow Jews with interest. What does all this mean? It means that if the law is deeply impractical or unjust, under the right conditions and with the right rabbinic support, it can be changed.
Just how, then, might we approach the issue of gay or lesbian sex and, consequently, same-sex marriage vis-a-vis Jewish law? How might the Torah’s language be reimagined to permit the formerly impermissible? I will answer that question… but not today. In the next few months, as the conversation heats up in Annapolis, Beth Am will host our friends from Brown Memorial Church in Bolton Hill for a conversation entitled: “The Religious Case for Gay Marriage.” Pastor Andrew Foster Connors and I will present our thoughts on the theological and sociological underpinnings for supporting this change to Maryland’s laws. The specific date and time will be forthcoming. I hope you will attend.
But right now, I want to do something else. Instead of focusing on the halakhic “how” – how one might alterTorah law, I would like to discuss the “why” and the “what” – why is this so important? And what is so unjust about the status quo? Let me ask you this: what is the first commandment in the Torah? Pru u’revu, “be fruitful and multiply.” The generative impulse is a foundational yearning of humanity. We, like the rest of the natural world, have a primordial urge to procreate. But religions, certainly our religion, challenge us to move beyond the genetic, the fact of procreation, to the sacred reasons for procreation. Jewish tradition offers us a utopian vision of sorts in which the first two individuals, created in the divine image, share the gift of love and committed companionship. Even before, but certainly ever since Rabbeinu Gershom, the ideal of two people, dedicated to one another and raising a family together, has been at the core of Jewish community.
Of course, this is where the religious antagonists begin – “Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve” some say mockingly. But, if we strip away the anatomical challenges, the deep value of loving, committed companionship remains. And the reality is that having children is eminently possible for gay couples. The same options which exist for straight couples – and which are sanctioned by halakhah – are also available to gay or lesbian couples, options like adoption, artificial insemination and surrogacy. And let’s not forget that in addition to the generative rationale, there are many other reasons to get married. Intimacy, pleasure, devotion and abiding respect are all authentically Jewish motivators for making this ultimate commitment to the other. Certainly, in our day, there are so many gay or lesbian couples, who have made a choice – to commit to one another, often to rear children together – to be, together like heterosexual couples, greater than the sum of their parts. And some of these couples, many of these couples, would like the opportunity to affirm this commitment before their God and their communities and with the permission and blessing of their state of residence.
Companionship. Family. Fealty. Intimacy. Love. These are core Jewish values and they are not dependent on gender. Consider the line from the midrash (Avot d’Rabbi Natan): “[one ought to acquire a friend with whom] to eat and drink, read and study, sleep and share secrets of Torah and personal secrets.” No doubt the Rabbis are referring to a more platonic love, but no matter, the intimacy described is the sort of deep friendship to which any of us would aspire, is it not? And shouldn’t marriage be exactly this? My best friend, thank God, is my wife. We eat and drink, read and study, sleep together and share secrets. But whatever combination of genetics and early childhood influences combined to make me want to do this with someone of the opposite sex, this is simply not the case for some people. There are many in this world, some in this room, who are attracted to someone of the same sex. Our task, as religious people, as we would with anyone else, is to provide them a context for inclusion in the community. Our task, as a religious community, as we would with anyone else, is to sanctify and celebrate their good choices and help them overcome their bad ones. And I for one cannot look into the eyes of two people, committed to one another, dedicated together to leaving this world better than they found it, and tell them that Judaism has no place for them – that God has no room for them. That’s not my God and that’s not my Judaism.
My friends, last year’s gay marriage bill fell short largely because of some in the faith community who feel that fervent religious belief and support of marital equality are mutually exclusive. Well they’re not, and we must not allow this perspective to define our own religious convictions. The Sunpaper reported this week that a group of 70-80 clergy and religious leaders calling themselves the Maryland Marriage Alliance came together to launch a campaign against same-sex marriage in Maryland. Perhaps you support their views. But if you, like me, do not, then we have a choice this year. We can throw up our hands like the new-Atheists and blame religious people, zealots and fundamentalists for their “archaic” views. We can cede ownership of religiosity to them. Or we can stand up as a community of faith, in the name of progressive, ancient and authentic Jewish values, and show this city and this state that there is a different way, a better way.
Shortly, we will be celebrating Hanukkah. It is a story of triumph over adversity, of hope in dark times. David Wolpe tells the story of Hugo Grin, a rabbi in England who survived Auschwitz as a child. On Hanukkah, in the camp, he saw his father using their precious margarine ration to light the Hanukkah candles. Hugo protested: “father, this is food and there is not much to go around. Surely eating is more important than the chanukiah this year!” His father replied, “One can survive three weeks without eating, three days without drinking, but one cannot go three minutes without hope.” This year I am hopeful, hopeful, that we will see a brighter light, not just for same-sex couples, but for all of us who wish to live in a kinder, more inclusive and more just society.