“Courage, my friend; you do not walk alone.”

This phrase was sung, belted, whispered, and exclaimed at the end of the first Keshet Shabbaton that I ever attended. Right before singing this for the first time, the leaders of Keshet told me that this song was sung in South Africa to protest against the unjust and oppressive apartheid that had been ongoing for decades. The purpose of the song was to unite people from different classes, as well as fostering a community of different classes. 

When I first sang this song, it was my freshman year of high school. I was 15 years old, still trying to find my place both within the Jewish and queer communities, the innermost circle of a venn diagram that I thought was thoroughly impossible to coexist in. Even though I have always lived in Massachusetts, a state which consistently ranks as one of the most blue and most LGBTQ+ friendly, that hasn’t always been my experience here. The August before my first Shabbaton, I was transitioning from my little Jewish Day School bubble into a large public high school sea in which I felt totally alienated and out-of-place. Being a queer teen here can still be extremely hard despite appearances and narratives.

I’ve always really loved learning about geography, as well as the vast differences between  various regions in the U.S.. I am so curious about how people’s identities and experiences are shaped by where they live. Why is there rampant homophobia in some places and not in others? And what can we learn from a diverse set of queer teens across the country? Where do they find queer joy in these hard times? In states with relentless anti-LGBTQ+ legislative campaigns, there can be and always will be queer joy amidst the barbaric attacks on our human rights.

The U.S. is a multifaceted place. The news that tries to tell us how bad things are for LGBTQ+ people, the cruel anti-LGBTQ+ voices that spew misinformation about us, are not the true story. They don’t come close to conveying our strength, the diversity of our queer community, and our commitment to joy and resistance.

I want people to know that our community continues to thrive in spite of all the hatred and misinformation. Queer joy is alive and well, and the way that our community shows up for each other everyday is incredible. And it is taxing work.

My good friend Eli from South Florida shared: 

“From state-mandated censorship in our classrooms to blocking access to gender-affirming care, our government has taught constituents and those in other states that either it’s acceptable to treat those in the LGBTQ+ community as second-class citizens, or that being queer is something shameful… I urge others to reflect upon the love and joy this community instills, and consider whether hatred, fear, and danger is more important.” 

Eli lives in South Florida, a region that tends to be much more blue and accepting than the rest of Florida, specifically the panhandle and northern regions of the state. Even living in a part of Florida that’s generally more accepting is extremely difficult, as laws are in effect to diminish the dignity and queer experiences of Floridians, a state with a rich and powerful history that has always included queer people.

In another warm and sunny state, California, my friend LJ (17, he/him) has had a starkly different experience:

“I think California has shaped my queerness by surrounding me with queer community. We have a lot of queer areas like West Hollywood and places in San Francisco that create safe spaces and have historical significance [for queer people].” 

As LJ shared, West Hollywood is the same place that Chappell Roan mentions in her hit song “Pink Pony Club”, a song about someone finding queer community outside of their homestate-Tennessee- and moving to California to seek out the community she desired.

From out in the middle of our country, my friend Wren (18, they/them) in Oklahoma shared:

“As a trans Oklahoman, I spent several hours twice a year—missing school—to drive to a state that would provide gender-affirming care until I turned 18. Even recently, Senate Bill 904 restricted certain facilities from providing gender-affirming care, forcing me to find a new clinic and physician.” 

When asked about queer joy, my friend hesitated and named that queer joy is not easy to come-by. They said: “In Tulsa (the second largest city in OK) we have drag shows and a big pride festival in October (plus my school had a GSA) but I only know so many queer people because of Keshet,” something they had to leave the state to find. In spite of all that, Wren is staying in Oklahoma to “fight with their 2SLGBTQIA+ family for a future where we deserve where we are seen, respected and loved”.

And lastly, my friend BZ (18, he/him) from Maryland shared that he finds queer joy everywhere he goes, in spite of some challenges posed by Orthodox Judaism’s strict rules:

“The main way I find queer joy in my life is by simply being myself. Even when the world disapproves of expressions of queer joy, I always make sure to surround myself with people who love me for who I am. In my own form of resistance, I refuse to bend to society’s attempts to limit my self-expression. Nothing and no one can make me change who I am.” 

For him, Maryland hasn’t played a huge role in his queerness; rather, his Orthodox upbringing has. He has found it “more difficult… to be open about [his] queer identity,” as there tend to be more rigid expectations and rules about both gender and sexuality in his community as compared to the Conservative and Reform movements. Despite these challenges, “Nothing and no one can make me change who I am”, says BZ.

We are all in this together.

The battle for queer rights isn’t a linear path, and it looks different throughout the United States. I want people to understand that no matter the state, there is still a long way to go before we have liberation. And yet, nothing can diminish our sense of pride. 

Call to Action 

Despite so many Americans, especially queer Americans feeling hopeless, there is still hope. We can still make a difference through our actions. 

• Vote! For people who are over 18, voting in the midterm elections is vital. Democracy, as well as voting, is one of the most important liberties that people in America have today, and by voting, it will ensure that people will elect representatives who, instead of alienating queer people, will uplift queer stories. 
• Advocate for LGBTQ+ rights! For those who are too young to vote, here are other ways to be involved. Anyone can write letters and postcards to representatives, whether to inform them of the struggles of being queer in America or to ensure that certain protections in various states don’t get repealed. Phonebanking is an extremely common way to talk to representatives in order to uphold protections for LGBTQ+ people, and anyone can do it regardless of age. No matter the age or citizenship status, anyone can make a difference; doing so WILL aid in the protection of queer people. Contact your elected officials right now!

In spite of all the fears that the queer community does face, we all have the courage; nobody within the community has to walk alone. Even though it’s been years since my first Keshet Shabbaton, the words of that song continue to echo in my mind, as the queer community is infinitely stronger when we are all united.