Growing up, I often felt invisible. As the fifth of six children, it was easy to fly under the radar as one of the middle children. Although my parents gave us all loving attention, I could be easily tucked away and go unnoticed in my family. To garner individual attention amongst all my siblings, I either had to do something very good or very bad to stand out.
But coming out to myself created a deeper, more difficult kind of invisibility. As a teenager in the Orthodox community, I had never seen anyone else who had a similar experience to me. There was no one I could speak to about my own experiences. Because there was no one I could share my truth with, I was completely invisible. No one I spoke to in day school, in college, or in my Orthodox community saw my true and whole self.
Being visible, by coming out publicly, would have meant annihilation: alienating those around me, and getting kicked out or shunned in my school and Orthodox community. But this invisibility, which preserved my place in the community, hurt me at my core.
I found visibility – mine and others – to be healing. One of my first steps towards revealing my true self was when I lived in Israel, and through a friend found out about a secret meeting of Orthodox lesbians. The first time I gathered the courage to attend, I opened the door and was shocked to see the admissions director who had interviewed me for Stern College. From that moment on, I understood that I wasn’t alone. There were others who shared my experience of being queer in the Orthodox community.
This underground community helped me see my own identity and experiences reflected in others and even celebrated. I found a home. And when I delved into the Jewish sources, I saw that lesbian visibility in Jewish texts dates back to the 12th century, with the Mishneh Torah witnessing that Rambam knew of women in his community who loved other women.
Seeing myself in this group gave me hope. It helped me envision a future for myself with a wife and children, the future that I am living now. Without the possibility of seeing others like me, I wouldn’t have been able to embrace my own visibility.
Visibility holds up a mirror, and allows us to see ourselves more clearly. This is one facet of what I do on our warmline every day. When someone calls us who feels completely alone, I say “I see you. You’re not the only one.” Just as others did for me, I show those who I speak to that there are others like them. Being seen helps to begin the work of healing and self-discovery. Shedding the mask of invisibility – even just for one person – is the first step to finding love, hope, and community.
Miryam Kabakov
Executive Director