I recently participated in a BBC Radio 4 series on antisemitism in comedy. (Never not self-promoting.)
The usual questions I was expecting, such as, “How did you get started in comedy?”, to which I had to refer to my precocious career as a 16-year-old agony aunt and doing impressions of various cheder teachers at the Friday night dinner table. I improvised some decent responses to the questions, but one utterly blindsided me. “When you perform on Jewish platforms, do you worry some Jews may take issue with your sexuality?” The honest answer is no.
As loyal fans of my stand-up (mainly my mum) will know, I out myself as a gay Jew within seconds of arriving on stage, informing the audience of my key USPs just in case any commissioning editors or fascists are in (hopefully never the same person). A while ago I did a stand-up gig called “The Borscht Belt” at JW3 that was, demographically, exactly what you would expect: a Catskill-esque crowd ready for some Seinfeld-esque observations with an interval for a Sushimania platter and Diet Coke shipped in from Golders Green.
When I was introduced to the stage, I genuinely did not think for a minute that anyone would take issue with me being gay. They may take issue with me being an Arsenal fan, disliking gefilte fish, voting Labour or living in south London but certainly not for being gay. And I was right.
This encouraged me to reflect upon the security and grounding I have within our community. I grew up in progressive communities, where every communal leader I seemed to encounter was either LGBT+ themselves or an active ally. Our calendars were peppered with events celebrating and showing solidarity with the queer community, such as Priday Night Dinners held on the erev Shabbat before Saturday’s Pride march; a service commemorating World Aids Day and countless panel discussions on how to strive for greater understanding within our community.
I remember the slow realisation that I was more into Billie Piper as Rose than David Tennant as the Doctor or more into Posh than Becks, but never feeling that to be in conflict with my Judaism, the Judaism I love, the Judaism that is integral to my soul.
It has never been an issue in any Jewish space I have found myself in, from JSocs to the Jewish Gooners, from Seder nights to summer camps.
This alliance and intersection between the queer and Jewish community is well documented, from Miriam Margolyes to Harvey Milk, Larry Kramer to Joel Simkhai, founder of Grindr.
Broadly, progressive Judaism has often been ahead of its peers when it comes to attitudes and practises towards homosexuality and gender identity, supporting the decriminalisation of homosexuality, ordaining openly gay rabbis, officiating same-sex marriages and last year approving a ruling authorising non-gendered language for the aliyah, and the honours of the hagbah and the gelilah in the shul service.
While I do not believe in trickledown economics, I do believe in trickle down attitudes. I know we still have a long way to go and I know that not all in our community have felt this level of safety and acceptance, something the charity Keshet is doing fantastic work on. But phenomenal progress is being made in the world of gay Jewry. The club night Buttmitzvah, now in its seventh year, sells out within hours of ticket releases and is a phenomenal evening, full to the brim with chutzpah, horas, and unapologetic queer Jewish joy.
This year, there were more Jews than ever attending London Pride, not just within Keshet’s ranks but Jews of all denominations, wearing Pride kippot, and tallit were spotted in hundreds of other groups such as the National Education Union, Soho FC and NatWest, to name but a few.
This instils confidence that this sense of unapologetic pride in self is being felt far and wide, that people have chosen to wear both on their sleeve. (Well, head and legs in these cases.)
The queer struggle is not yet over. The Jewish struggle, too, remains unfinished.
But for those of us lucky enough to belong to the intersection, we must ensure that we continue to exist proudly, showing off our queerness to the Jewish community and our Jewishness to the queer community.
Together, we can show the next generation just what a badge of honour it is to be a gay Jew.
