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There is a generally accepted concept in the orthodox Jewish community, that whatever ails a young person can be cured by getting married. If a person is rebellious, unmotivated in school, unmotivated to find a job, suffers from physical or emotional handicaps, or is gay – all can be fixed with a walk to the chuppah.
From my experience in the secular world, this concept of marriage as a cure-all runs contrary to the popular way of thinking. I can remember older relatives discussing wayward young people by saying things like, “How is he ever going to get married if he doesn’t get serious? How will he support a family if he can’t hold down a job? She will never find a husband if she keeps behaving this way!” The assumption was that you needed to get your house in order before adding another tenant.
In orthodox marriages, it seems that people are, literally, unfinished, before getting married. Not unfinished as in, the future spouse is the last ceremonial brick put into place, completing the structure. Unfinished as in, the wooden frame is barely up. Both because of the young ages at which men and women marry and because of familial and communal involvement in making matches, many young people find themselves under the chuppah with a virtual stranger.
They might also find themselves under the chuppah not because the other person loves them, but because they are using them to repair damages they have suffered – either to their reputations, their emotional health, or their sexual identities. Marrying someone for any other purpose than love, seems to be a disaster waiting to happen.
I am reminded of a story I was told by a woman who had suffered such a circumstance in her first marriage. Names and details have been changed to avoid recognition. Any similarities to people bearing the same names and in the same circumstances are purely coincidental. This woman, we will call her Penina, became religious through an orthodox Jewish youth group during her teen years. Living in a small town with little Jewish life, she decided to move to a large east coast metropolitan city for college. Penina quickly adapted to big city life, and joined a thriving Jewish congregation primarily made up of baalei teshuvas (secular Jews who have become religious).
As Penina made friends and participated in Jewish life in her new community, she naturally became interested in shidduchim and the prospect of finding her bashert (soul mate). She had a few other female baal teshuva roommates, and they would swap dating stories and give each other encouragement through this process. In the orthodox world, those young people from orthodox homes usually have their parents helping to navigate through the world of matchmakers. For those without orthodox ties, they are dependent upon their rabbi and rebbetzin for dating suggestions and advice.
While Penina and her friends were going about their lives as newly observant young women, Sholom and his friends were also tackling similar issues from the men’s side. Sholom grew up in the city where Penina now lived. However, he too grew up in a secular environment. After graduating college, Sholom found that he grew ever more confused about his life and where it was headed.
One day, an orthodox rabbi, we will call him Rabbi Ploni, came to give a lunch time shiur at the large consulting firm Sholom worked at. After the shiur, Sholom spent a good twenty minutes shmoozing with Rabbi Ploni, who invited Sholom over for shabbos. That was the beginning of a wonderful relationship, not only with the rabbi, but with his family and many other new friends from his congregation.
Sholom moved closer to the shul, in order to be able to walk there on shabbos. He began keeping kosher, shabbos, yom tov, and davened with a minyan three times a day. His mode of dress began to change. He grew a beard, wore a kippah, a white shirt, dark pants, and black jacket. His new uniform really made him feel the part of the person he wanted to become. There was only one problem. Sholom was gay.
Ever since Sholom was a boy, he felt different from the other guys in his circle of friends. During his teenage years, when everyone around him seemed obsessed with girls, Sholom felt indifferent. He supposed that as he got older and reached puberty, he would start noticing girls too. However, puberty came and went, and Sholom still did not find himself attracted to women. Disturbingly, he found himself increasingly attracted to men. At first, the attraction was directed towards Hollywood celebrities or models in advertisements. He could handle the feelings if they were only directed at strangers.
In college, he roomed with a young man who, at first glance, was complete computer nerd. Sholom and his roommate, Mark, hit it off directly. Sholom was a gamer back from the days of Atari, and the two set up television screens and gaming devices in their dorm room and played during their spare time. They shared a love of skiing and mountain biking as well. Eventually, during their Sophomore year, Sholom began to realize that for the first time, he was attracted to a man he knew in real life. More than attracted, he was in love with him.
The next two years of college were agony for Sholom. He kept looking for clues to discover if Mark was gay or straight. Usually, it was obvious right away if a guy was straight. Either he talked incessantly about girls, or he had a girlfriend, or was trying get one. Mark didn’t have a girlfriend and didn’t talk about girls. He didn’t talk about guys either. Mark also never made what could be seen as “a move” on Sholom. It was murky. Sholom decided the best course of action was to keep his revelation to himself and suffer in silence. When they finally graduated, Sholom felt sad at the prospect of saying goodbye to Mark, but relief that he would no longer be tested every day.
In his innocence, Sholom was wrong. He would be tested many more times as he met men at work, out with friends, and yes, even at the very synagogue where he was trying to turn his life around. After being part of his new orthodox community for about six months, Sholom finally worked up the nerve to confide in Rabbi Ploni about his homosexuality. The rabbi spoke to him with such compassion and conviction, Sholom knew he had come to the right place.
Rabbi Ploni assured Sholom that in this messed up world, it was easy to get your feelings confused. He told Sholom that there was no such thing as a homosexual Jewish man. Hashem did not create men to want to be with other men. What Sholom was experiencing was akin to a crossed wire. His feelings of arousal were being misrouted to the wrong place. Rabbi Ploni knew how to reroute Sholom’s wires so that they would activate with the correct stimulation – toward women.
For the next six months, Sholom had a chavrusa with Rabbi Ploni. They learned sources in the gemara that talked about the nature of men, as well as some kabbalistic sources. Rabbi Ploni told Sholom to call him whenever he felt an attraction toward another man. By talking through his feelings, Sholom determined that he was really only acting out to avoid dealing with other childhood issues still bothering him. His same sex attraction was merely an avoidance method to dealing with real problems in his life.
Sholom felt such a sense of relief that he wasn’t actually gay. The more he worked with Rabbi Ploni, who assured him he was almost ready for marriage, the more optimistic Sholom felt about his future. He would marry! He would be a father! He would be an upstanding member of the orthodox Jewish community!
One day in the late summer, Rabbi Piloni took Sholom aside and said that he was proud of how much Sholom had progressed in their learning together. He told Sholom there was only one thing left to complete his transformation. Marriage! Rabbi Piloni had the perfect young lady for Sholom. She was a baal teshuva, almost finished with college, and looking for another educated baal teshuva to create a bayis ne’eman b’yisroel. Her name was Penina. She was also one of Rabbi Ploni’s congregants, and they were a perfect match!
Sholom was overjoyed at the prospect of closing the old chapters of his life, and creating new ones. However, he asked Rabbi Ploni if he should reveal his past confusion to Penina. Rabbi Ploni assured him that nothing good could come of Sholom telling Penina about his past. It was forbidden to speak loshon horah, even about oneself. Sholom should enter their marriage with a clear conscience and a light heart.
Sholom and Penina went through a whirlwind courtship and were married within two months after the chagim. Children followed soon thereafter. From the start, Penina sensed that something was wrong. With the exception of their wedding night, Sholom never instigated intimacy with her. At first, she took this as a sign of respect and consideration.
In fact, Sholom told her that he only ever wanted to engage in intimacy if she were in the mood – he never wanted to force his will upon her. However, after awhile, it seemed to Penina that Sholom was perfectly content to never engage in intimacy if she didn’t suggest it. Despite taking care of her appearance and trying to be desirable for her husband, Sholom did not seem attracted to her. Penina’s self-confidence plummeted.
Ten years into their marriage, Penina was taking Sholom’s suit to the dry cleaners where she found a bill from a hotel bar. Sholom had been in St. Louis on a business trip the week before, but supposedly he was alone. The bill’s tally showed that multiple cocktails were ordered, and Sholom never touched alcohol. That was the first red flag. The second red flag was a computerized statement of their credit card bill, which showed a charge from a local jeweler for a watch. Penina had not received a watch from Sholom, nor was Sholom sporting a new watch. Penina became certain that Sholom was having an affair. It would explain his distance and lack of desire.
Finally one evening, after the kids were in bed, Penina confronted Sholom. She accused him of sleeping with another woman. Sholom’s face fell, and he began to cry. He eventually admitted that he was having an affair. Sholom was having a relationship with a coworker named, Dennis. He apologized profusely, but said that he could no longer live a lie. He and and Dennis were going to move to a different city, set up their own company, and live as partners in their new life together. Sholom packed up shortly thereafter, moved in with Dennis (who was not Jewish), and began a secular existence as a gay man.
Penina now lives as a single mother in an orthodox community, who packs her kids up several times a year for visitation with their non-religious father, and tries to make sense of her life and where it went wrong.
I take Penina and Sholom’s experience as a cautionary tale. Marriage is not a magical band-aid for the ills that plague us. Marriage should not be used as a method to run away from our true identities. Marriage is not something that should be foisted upon a couple by well meaning bystanders. Marriage is a commitment that should be made by two loving, consenting, and mature adults who want to build a life upon a foundation that is already solid.
