When our synagogue heard about the horrific tragedy that took place at the Pulse nightclub in Orlando, it was at the same time that we were celebrating our festival of Shavuot, which celebrates God’s giving of the Torah.
As Orthodox Jews, we don’t travel or use the Internet on the Sabbath or on holidays, such as Shavuot. But on Sunday night, as we heard the news, I announced from the pulpit that as soon as the holiday ended at 9:17 p.m. Monday, we would travel from our synagogue in Washington, D.C., to a gay bar as an act of solidarity.
We just wanted to share the message that we were all in tremendous pain and that our lives were not going on as normal.
I had not been to a bar in more than 20 years. And I had never been to a gay bar. Someone in the congregation told me about a bar called the Fireplace, so I announced that as our destination. Afterward, I found out it was predominantly frequented by gay African Americans.
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Around a dozen of us, wearing our kippot, or yarmulkes, went down as soon as the holiday ended. Some of in our group are gay, but most are not. We did not know what to expect. As we gathered outside, we saw a large, drunk man talking loudly and wildly. I wondered whether we were in the right place. Then my mother went up to a man who was standing on the side of the building. She told him why we were there. He broke down in tears and told us his cousin was killed at Pulse. He embraced us and invited us into the Fireplace.
It turned out that we had so much in common. We met everyone in the bar. The bartender shut off the music, and the crowd became silent as we offered words of prayer and healing. My co-clergy Maharat Ruth Friedman, shared a blessing related to Shavuot and lit memorial candles on the bar ledge. Then everyone in the bar put their hands around each other’s shoulders and sang soulful tunes. After that, one of our congregants bought a round of beer for the bar.
Everyone in the bar embraced. It was powerful, moving, real and raw.
After that we moved to the outdoor makeshift memorial service at Dupont Circle. As we gathered around the circle, people kept embracing us. Some were visiting from Los Angeles but joined in full voice clearly knowing the Hebrew words to the song we were singing.
As we were singing, I looked over at some gay members of our congregation and saw tears flowing down their faces. I felt the reality that we are living in a time of enormous pain. But I also felt that the night was a tremendous learning experience for me. I learned that when members of an Orthodox synagogue walk into a gay African American bar, it is not the opening line of a joke but an opportunity to break down barriers and come together as one; it is an opportunity to learn that if we are going to survive, we all need each other.
Rabbi Shmuel Herzfeld leads Ohev Sholom, a Modern Orthodox synagogue.