From clandestine Shabbat dinners with chosen family in Dupont Circle in the 1950s to proudly marching in the world’s biggest Pride celebration in 2025 under the Bet Mishpachah banner, LGBTQ Jews are deeply intertwined in the queer history of Washington. Despite their consistent presence in the fight for equality, LGBTQ Jews have not, historically speaking, received their flowers.

One museum in Judiciary Square is trying to change that by highlighting the historic contributions LGBTQ Jews have made to D.C. The Capital Jewish Museum officially opened its doors to its “LGBTQ Jews in the Federal City” exhibit in May and has been educating the community — and history fans — since.

The Washington Blade sat down with the two major forces behind bringing the exhibit to life at the Capital Jewish Museum to discuss some often-neglected parts of D.C.’s queer history.

The exhibit begins with a timeline of important moments in both Judaism, like the establishment of the six genders mentioned in ancient rabbinical writings, and in America’s LGBTQ history, like the Stonewall Riots. As you walk further in, the timeline begins to highlight important events for LGBTQ Jews in Washington, spanning from the 1800s to the current day.

When asked why produce an exhibit on LGBTQ Jews, Sarah Leavitt, the director of Curatorial Affairs, was quick with an answer and a smile. Aside from teaching the detailed ways LGBTQ Jewish icons—like Frank Kameny, for example, who led the fight for gay and lesbian people to work openly in the federal government—alongside other spectacular histories, it was clear it was also meant to inspire.

“‘Why not?’” Leavitt said. “This is an important story to tell. We wanted to tell it, so that’s what we did… It encourages people to do the work of the next stage, as whatever that is.”

Jonathan Edelman, collections curator at the Capital Jewish Museum, explained that for him, the exhibit was more than showcasing the revolutionary work of LGBTQ Jews in D.C.—it was also about making the museum’s archives more accurately reflect all colors of the Jewish rainbow.

“My number one responsibility… is to help enhance our archives, so that it’s a collection that more accurately reflects the Jewish community we claim to represent,” Edelman said. “This exhibit helped us start to fill one gap… But we have a lot more work to do.”

That work began at kitchen tables across the DMV — and took off from there.

“I sat at a lot of kitchen tables and listened to people tell their stories,” he said. “When we started collecting, I really got the sense, especially from LGBTQ Jewish elders, that people were just waiting for someone to ask about their story… a button from a protest in 1979 that meant so much to them… was also empowering.”

In addition to the multitude of political buttons that announce “LOUD PUSHY JEW DYKE” and the piece of the AIDS memorial quilt hung on the wall with a square highlighting some of the Jewish people who died alongside a sewn synagogue, there is an astonishing number of artifacts in the exhibit. The two creators of the exhibit shared their favorite artifacts for all to see. Edelman’s favorite is one of the earliest editions of the Washington Blade (known as the Gay Blade back in 1969). Leavitt’s is a copy of meeting minutes from Bet Mishpachah, Washington’s LGBTQ Jewish congregation—both representing queer resilience in Washington.

Jocelyn Kaplan was one of those people who shared their special objects and stories with Edelman and Leavitt. She gave the museum stacks of old “Gay Blade” prints from when they were a single sheet of paper.

“She thought she was the only one who had these feelings,” Edelman explained. “One night she was at a bar or a restaurant, and saw copies of the Blade, and she picked one up, and discovered community for the first time. And so this very ordinary piece of paper may have saved her life. And the power that this publication had in helping people find community before the internet is meaningful.”

Leavitt’s favorite piece, the meeting minutes, was made more special after a member of Bet Mishpachah found herself in the notes.

“Several of the people at the meeting were listed without their last name because it was the early ’90s,” Leavitt said. “They were worried that somehow their boss was gonna get a copy of these meeting minutes from their synagogue… she remembered that fear. … That was a moment from 35 years ago that kind of stabbed her in the heart again.”

The exhibit is eye-opening, to say the least. Touching on cultural icons of D.C. history like Esther Goldberg, a well-known Jewish drag queen—complete with a disco ball and gown—to signs of progress toward a more inclusive space for LGBTQ Jews, like the Hebrew workbook on display without gender-specific pronouns for non-binary Hebrew learners.

While sitting on the couch in the middle of the exhibit, next to rotary phones that have LGBTQ Jewish elders sharing their stories with the spin of the wheel, Leavitt admitted that the exhibit wouldn’t do justice to LGBTQ history if it were a perfect balance of struggle and success. One struggle some Jewish people had internally wrestled with was the inclusion—or rather lack of inclusion—of the history of gay men in the Holocaust. Some wanted these museums and memorials to honor only the Jewish people who suffered the most during the time. Others wanted gay men who died alongside Jewish people to be memorialized and recognized.

“It’s not always a pretty story, but it can be one,” Leavitt said about the twisting of LGBTQ and Jewish histories. “I think grief weaves its way through all of our stories… But we can’t do a show like this without talking about trauma.”

On the opposite side, there are remarkable accounts across the exhibit floor that show the relationship between the LGBTQ community and the Jewish community supporting each other. Bet Mishpachah, for example, has been marching in D.C.’s Pride celebrations since the 1970s.

“Some felt that this was holy work—their activism,” she added.

When asked what they hoped visitors to the museum would take away from the exhibit, they gave different answers, but both put LGBTQ Jews at the center.

“I hope queer Jewish elders feel seen, like their story is finally being told,” he said. “I hope younger queer people learn the history of this movement… and then I hope our non-queer visitors understand that queer history is Jewish history.”

“I hope it shows we can do it, and that the community can trust us with their stories,” she finished. “Hopefully this is just the beginning.”

Admission to the Capital Jewish Museum’s LGBTQ exhibit is $12 for adults, $10 for seniors 65+ and students with valid ID, and free for children 12 and younger.