by Yocheved Lindenbaum
The aftermath of Thanksgiving dinner 2012 will remain etched in my memory forever. Our son, Asher, asked my husband and I to join him at the resolute dining room table under the crystal chandelier, the designated spot for all “important conversations.” We were expecting this sit-down, anticipating the exciting news that Asher and his girlfriend were ready to be engaged. To our surprise, there was no girlfriend in sight. Our youngest son, Yitzi, was sitting at the table solemnly awaiting our arrival.
Asher opened the conversation: “Eema, Abba — Yitz has something important to tell you.” Silence. And then with all the bravery a 15-year-old can muster, Yitzi said “I’m gay.” All I felt in that moment was shock. My brain scrolled through hundreds of questions and responses in rapid fire. In less than a minute, I thought to myself, “Is this a prank? Is the girlfriend hiding behind the curtains? Where the heck is this coming from?” Fortunately, God guided my reaction. I got up, walked over to Yitzi, hugged him tightly and said, “You are exactly the same person today that you were yesterday.”
While I managed to hold it together in the moment, I spent the next few days sobbing. I cried on and off for weeks afterwards for so many reasons, especially when we sang zemirot at the Shabbat table. What made me cry the most, and continues to sadden me today, is that I could no longer envision his future and his place in the Orthodox community.